“So the Professor could have killed her to make sure that she wasn’t around to mess up his plans,” Malloy said.

“Except,” Sarah reminded him with a superior grin, “he wasn’t even in the room when she was killed.”

THAT EVENING, LONG AFTER M ALLOY AND SAR AH’S mother had left and when Catherine had finally gone reluctantly to bed, Sarah and Serafina had to tell Maeve and Mrs. Ellsworth everything they had discussed earlier in the day. Serafina had chosen not to return to the house on Waverly Place that afternoon as the Professor had asked. Even though she had scheduled clients who might have appeared, she simply couldn’t stand the thought of going back into the room where Mrs. Gittings had died.

Mrs. Ellsworth asked dozens of questions during Sarah’s narrative as the four of them sat around Sarah’s kitchen table, but Maeve just listened quietly, her expression unreadable. She was especially attentive when Sarah was describing the Green Goods Game.

When Mrs. Ellsworth finally ran out of questions, Maeve spoke up at last. “What does this Professor look like?”

They all looked at her in surprise.

“He’s tall and very dignified,” Sarah said. “Like a butler in a fine house. Dark hair with some gray at the temples.”

“That is powder,” Serafina said.

“What is powder?” Sarah asked, confused.

“The gray in his hair. He thinks he looks more respectable with gray in his hair.”

“How odd,” Mrs. Ellsworth remarked. “Most people don’t want their hair to turn gray.”

“Why did you want to know what he looked like?” Sarah asked Maeve.

“No reason,” she said, although Sarah was sure she had a good one. “Are you and Mrs. Decker going to visit those people tomorrow?”

“We’re going to see Mrs. Burke first thing, but not Mr. Sharpe and Mr. Cunningham. After we thought about it, we couldn’t figure out any way it was proper for us to visit a widower and a bachelor.”

“Oh, my, that certainly wouldn’t be proper,” Mrs. Ellsworth agreed.

“How are you going to question them, then?” Maeve asked.

“Mr. Malloy is going to see them.”

“But I thought he couldn’t question them without risking his job,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.

“He’s going to pretend that he’s just trying to get more information to use against Nicola.”

“But what if they refuse to speak with him?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

Sarah sighed. “Then I guess we’ll have to figure out something else.”

“You could have another séance,” Maeve said, surprising them again.

“Another séance?” Sarah echoed.

“Yes,” Maeve said, leaning forward eagerly. “From what you said, they’ll both want to see Serafina again as soon as they can. They probably are both still very interested in their own plans for her. One of them might have killed Mrs. Gittings just so he could do that very thing! So why not give them the chance?”

“I could invite them for a private reading,” Serafina offered.

“I thought you didn’t want to go back to the house,” Sarah reminded her.

“Not for another séance, but I could do the reading in a different room,” the girl said bravely. “I want to help Mr. Malloy.”

“And Mother and I could be there to engage them in conversation,” Sarah said.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “Perhaps Mr. Malloy will find out all he needs to know without our help.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sarah said fervently.

FRANK DECIDED TO CALL ON JOHN SHARPE FIRST. CUNNINGHAM didn’t strike him as the type to rise early. Sharpe lived in a tastefully large town house on a quiet, tree-lined street just off Park Avenue. A maid answered the door, a plump Irish girl with a plain face and a fancy starched apron who knew exactly what he was, and she didn’t want to let him inside. She acted like she was afraid he’d try to steal the silver or something.

“Just tell Mr. Sharpe that Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy is here. I need to give him some information about Madame Serafina.”

“I’m sure Mr. Sharpe don’t know no Madame anybody,” she sniffed.

“Just tell him what I said. I’ll wait,” he added, shouldering his way inside before she could slam the door in his face.

She gasped in outrage, but short of screaming for help, she had no option but to leave him standing in the entry hall while she went to announce his arrival.

Frank looked around while he waited. Somebody with good taste had chosen the furnishings. A lush carpet covered the floor and ran up the stairs. The wallpaper had fancy swirls in shades of brown, and several chairs that looked like they’d come from a castle sat against the wall, in case visitors got tired while they waited. Frank was admiring one of the large paintings of country scenes when he heard the maid hurrying back down the stairs.

“This way, if you please,” she said, her chin high and her nose higher. She wasn’t going to apologize for doubting him, and she wasn’t going to be one ounce more polite than she needed to be.

He followed her up the stairs to a parlor where Sharpe was waiting for him, and she closed the door behind him.

Sharpe stood with his back to the cold fireplace, legs apart, hands clasped behind him, his expression defensive. He wasn’t going to be one ounce more polite than he had to be either. “You have news about Madame Serafina?” he said the instant the door closed. “How is she?”

“She’s very well,” Frank said, looking around with interest. This was a formal parlor, a room seldom used. The velvet-upholstered furniture looked like nobody had ever sat on it, and the bric-a-brac cluttering every flat surface seemed well dusted but seldom admired.

“Where have you taken her?” Sharpe demanded.

“I haven’t taken her anywhere,” Frank said.

“The Professor said you did. She isn’t at the house, and he claimed he didn’t know where she’d gone.”

“When were you there?” Frank asked curiously.

“Yesterday. I…” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I went to see if she needed anything.

“She doesn’t,” Frank said. “When she’s ready to see clients again, I’m sure she’ll let you know. Do you mind?” he added and took a seat on the nearest sofa before Sharpe could say if he minded or not.

Plainly, he did. He hadn’t intended for Frank to stay longer than it took to find out where Serafina was hiding. He wasn’t going to object, though, not until he had the information he wanted. “When is she coming home?”

“As soon as I find Mrs. Gittings’s killer,” Frank said.

“I thought you’d already found him.”

“How did you know that?” Frank asked. Sharpe had left the house before they’d even known DiLoreto was in it.

“The Professor told me yesterday. He also told me you let him escape,” he added with more than a trace of disapproval.

Frank felt a flash of irritation, but he knew better than to let Sharpe see it. “We’ll find him,” he said with more confidence than he had any right to feel.

“He could be anywhere by now,” Sharpe snapped. “You’ll never find him.”

“We’ll find him,” he repeated belligerently. “He won’t leave town without the girl.”

Sharpe’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“He’s in love with Madame Serafina,” Frank said. “Didn’t you know?”

“So what if he is?” Sharpe challenged. “The Professor said he was nothing more than a servant. Madame Serafina would never waste herself on a man like that.” He didn’t sound very certain, though.

Frank didn’t press the issue. “Mr. Sharpe, would you mind answering a few more questions while I’m here? I need to make sure we have all the information we need so that when we do find this DiLoreto, we’ll be able to make a case against him.”

“I already told you everything I know,” he protested.

“I’ve found out some more information since then, and I need to check the facts with you, to make sure you saw the same things everybody else did. It will only take a minute,” he added apologetically.