Read Online Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery by Victoria Thompson - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Thompson
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said.
“I don’t believe I’ve met your daughter-in-law, Lucretia,” Mrs. Decker said. “Will she be joining us?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I sent the maid to tell her we have visitors, but that girl does only what she wants.”
“How long have she and Paul been married now?”
“Almost two years, and no sign of a child yet. Young women today have no sense of responsibility. I was already expecting my second child when I’d been married for two years.”
“I’m sure you’re anxious for more grandchildren,” Mrs. Decker said.
“I don’t care a thing about grandchildren, but one has a duty to carry on the family name, doesn’t one?”
The parlor door opened, breaking the awkward silence, anda beautiful young woman stepped in, also swathed in the unrelieved black of full mourning.
“Oh, here she is at last,” Mrs. Devries said, as if they had been waiting hours. “My daughter-in-law, Garnet. Mrs. Decker and her daughter, Mrs. Brandt.”
Sarah and her mother made the proper replies to Garnet Devries’s polite greeting, then they offered their condolences on her recent loss, to which she merely murmured a stiff, “Thank you,” before taking a seat on the chair farthest from her mother-in-law.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Devries said. “I know Garnet will feel Chilly’s loss more than any of us. He was so very fond of her, you know.”
Sarah turned in time to catch an expression of the fiercest hatred twisting Garnet’s lovely features.
If looks really could kill, the Devrieses would be planning two funerals this week.
4
F RANK HAD GOTTEN THE ADDRESS OF C HILTON D EVRIES’S office from Felix Decker yesterday, and he found the building without too much trouble. Devries, it seemed, owned a good chunk of New York City real estate and kept his family in style by collecting rents from the thousands of people who had no choice but to live in the run-down hovels men like Devries provided for them. As an elevator operator guided the car to the top floor of the tall building, Frank wondered idly if Devries owned the building where he lived with his mother and his son.
An attractive young female sat at the desk in the reception area, a rare sight but growing more common by the day as women learned typewriting and other office skills. Frank recognized the type—plump and wholesome. Devries knew what he liked. She looked as if she’d been crying, but she smiled bravely as Frank approached her desk.
“May I help you?”
Frank introduced himself, making her smile vanish. “I need to speak to whoever is in charge now that Mr. Devries is”—he caught himself when he saw she was tearing up again—“gone.”
“I suppose Mr. Watkins could help you.” She disappeared into one of the offices that opened off the reception area and returned to escort him in.
Mr. Watkins greeted him with suspicion. An older man with graying hair and a solid gold watch chain stretched across his slight paunch, he looked like someone perfectly capable of assuming whatever responsibility would fall to him now that Devries was dead. He invited Frank to take a seat on one of the chairs situated conveniently in front of his desk.
“I’m very sorry about Mr. Devries,” Frank said. “Have you worked for him for a long time?”
“Twenty-seven years in March.” Watkins leaned back in his impressively large chair and peered at Frank thoughtfully. “Why are you here, Mr. Malloy?”
“Because we believe Mr. Devries’s death was not natural, and I need to find out who might have wanted to murder him.”
“Good God, you must be insane. Who would want to kill Mr. Devries?”
Frank remembered Lizzie the maid’s theory, but he didn’t voice it. “A man as rich and powerful as Mr. Devries must have made some enemies along the way.”
“Mr. Devries inherited most of his real estate holdings from his father, and I and my staff have added to them quietly and without drawing undue attention to Mr. Devries and his family. I
“I don’t believe I’ve met your daughter-in-law, Lucretia,” Mrs. Decker said. “Will she be joining us?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I sent the maid to tell her we have visitors, but that girl does only what she wants.”
“How long have she and Paul been married now?”
“Almost two years, and no sign of a child yet. Young women today have no sense of responsibility. I was already expecting my second child when I’d been married for two years.”
“I’m sure you’re anxious for more grandchildren,” Mrs. Decker said.
“I don’t care a thing about grandchildren, but one has a duty to carry on the family name, doesn’t one?”
The parlor door opened, breaking the awkward silence, anda beautiful young woman stepped in, also swathed in the unrelieved black of full mourning.
“Oh, here she is at last,” Mrs. Devries said, as if they had been waiting hours. “My daughter-in-law, Garnet. Mrs. Decker and her daughter, Mrs. Brandt.”
Sarah and her mother made the proper replies to Garnet Devries’s polite greeting, then they offered their condolences on her recent loss, to which she merely murmured a stiff, “Thank you,” before taking a seat on the chair farthest from her mother-in-law.
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Devries said. “I know Garnet will feel Chilly’s loss more than any of us. He was so very fond of her, you know.”
Sarah turned in time to catch an expression of the fiercest hatred twisting Garnet’s lovely features.
If looks really could kill, the Devrieses would be planning two funerals this week.
4
F RANK HAD GOTTEN THE ADDRESS OF C HILTON D EVRIES’S office from Felix Decker yesterday, and he found the building without too much trouble. Devries, it seemed, owned a good chunk of New York City real estate and kept his family in style by collecting rents from the thousands of people who had no choice but to live in the run-down hovels men like Devries provided for them. As an elevator operator guided the car to the top floor of the tall building, Frank wondered idly if Devries owned the building where he lived with his mother and his son.
An attractive young female sat at the desk in the reception area, a rare sight but growing more common by the day as women learned typewriting and other office skills. Frank recognized the type—plump and wholesome. Devries knew what he liked. She looked as if she’d been crying, but she smiled bravely as Frank approached her desk.
“May I help you?”
Frank introduced himself, making her smile vanish. “I need to speak to whoever is in charge now that Mr. Devries is”—he caught himself when he saw she was tearing up again—“gone.”
“I suppose Mr. Watkins could help you.” She disappeared into one of the offices that opened off the reception area and returned to escort him in.
Mr. Watkins greeted him with suspicion. An older man with graying hair and a solid gold watch chain stretched across his slight paunch, he looked like someone perfectly capable of assuming whatever responsibility would fall to him now that Devries was dead. He invited Frank to take a seat on one of the chairs situated conveniently in front of his desk.
“I’m very sorry about Mr. Devries,” Frank said. “Have you worked for him for a long time?”
“Twenty-seven years in March.” Watkins leaned back in his impressively large chair and peered at Frank thoughtfully. “Why are you here, Mr. Malloy?”
“Because we believe Mr. Devries’s death was not natural, and I need to find out who might have wanted to murder him.”
“Good God, you must be insane. Who would want to kill Mr. Devries?”
Frank remembered Lizzie the maid’s theory, but he didn’t voice it. “A man as rich and powerful as Mr. Devries must have made some enemies along the way.”
“Mr. Devries inherited most of his real estate holdings from his father, and I and my staff have added to them quietly and without drawing undue attention to Mr. Devries and his family. I
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