For some reason, Sarah thought of Frank Malloy. No one would consider him suitable for her, least of all Frank Malloy, but she had to admit the idea was intriguing. She didn’t mention it to her mother, however.

“I’m afraid Richard isn’t ready to remarry either,” she confessed.

Mrs. Decker was surprised at that. “Hazel has been gone at least four years now.”

“Five, I think. But he’s still married to her in his mind. In fact, I don’t think he would have invited me to the opera if he thought I was seriously interested in a relationship with him.”

“Why else would he have invited you, then?” her mother asked in amazement.

Sarah couldn’t believe how easily she had brought the subject up. “He wanted me to help him understand his wife better.”

“But you didn’t even know her.”

“No, but I do have some understanding of the work she was doing when she died.”

“Work?” Her mother said the word as if it were slightly distasteful.

“Yes, Hazel Dennis was helping at the Prodigal Son Mission down by Mulberry Bend in Little Italy.”

Mrs. Decker absorbed this astonishing piece of information. “She hardly seemed the type, from what I remember of her. What is this place like? What kind of work do they do there?”

“They help young girls. Some of them have been abandoned by their families and others have run away from theirs because things were so bad for them there. They have no place to go and no honest way to make a living. The mission gives them a place to live and food to eat and an education. They also teach them how to operate a sewing machine and other skills they can use to get a job.”

Her mother was frowning again. “How do you know so much about it?”

“Because Richard and I went there on Sunday afternoon for a visit.”

She brightened instantly. “You went there together?”

“He asked me to accompany him. He wanted to find out why Hazel had been so interested in their work.”

“That was kind of you, Sarah.”

“I’m a kind person, Mother,” she reminded her with a grin.

“Of course you are,” Mrs. Decker said with a grin of her own. “And a lovely one.”

“At any rate, Richard was pleased with what he saw at the mission, and so was I. In fact, I was just thinking on the way over here today that I’d like to do something to help them myself.”

Mrs. Decker surprised her by frowning yet again. This frown looked worried. “That’s an admirable sentiment, Sarah, but I must warn you, it’s very difficult to compete with a ghost.”

For a moment, Sarah had no idea what her mother was talking about, but then it hit her. “I have no intention of competing with Hazel Dennis,” Sarah assured her.

“That’s the spirit,” Mrs. Decker said, making Sarah want to roll her eyes.

“I mean it, Mother,” she insisted. “I’m not interested in taking Hazel’s place in Richard’s life.”

“You would be foolish to even try.”

Sarah was beginning to think her mother was deliberately misunderstanding her, but she didn’t want to take the time to find out. She had a more important task to accomplish today.

“I do, however, want to help the mission, if I can.”

“Are you going to offer to deliver babies for them?” her mother asked doubtfully.

Sarah almost laughed at the notion. “I think the idea of the mission is to prevent them from having babies. No, I had something more practical in mind.”

Her mother was an intelligent woman. She guessed instantly. “And you want me to help.”

“Yes, I want you to have a party.”

“For the people at the mission?” She was horrified at the very thought.

“No, for your rich friends, so we can ask them to make a donation to the mission.”

Sarah didn’t know what reaction she’d expected, but her mother had heard only one word in that sentence. “We?”

She’d said that by accident, but it had turned out to be the magic word. “Well, I haven’t actually asked him, but I’d like Richard to help host the party. He already said he was going to make a donation himself, in Hazel’s memory. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind asking others to do the same.”

“How could he possibly refuse?” her mother asked. “We’ll ask everyone to make a donation in Hazel’s memory.”

Sarah could see she was already mentally composing a guest list. “How soon can you arrange it?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think a week should be enough time. I’ll have my secretary start making out the invitations this afternoon. As soon as I hear from you that Richard has agreed to participate,” she added shrewdly.

Her mother drove a hard bargain. “I’ll stop by his office on the way home and ask him.”

Sarah was probably being cruel, getting her mother’s hopes up like this. Still, she knew perfectly well Richard Dennis wasn’t any more interested in marriage than she was. Sarah would never have to refuse a marriage proposal she hadn’t received, and her mother would have a few weeks of happiness, imagining her daughter marrying her way back into Society’s Four Hundred.

Frank was only too familiar with the Prodigal Son Mission. He’d watched its transformation from a rundown boardinghouse into its present incarnation when Reverend Wells first took possession of it. He’d also watched a parade of young girls going through there during the past several years. Some had gone on to find respectable jobs and even to marry. Others had escaped back into the world they’d originally fled, managing to find men to mistreat and abuse them and make their lives even more miserable than before. He’d long since ceased to wonder why some chose one path and others another.

The girl who answered his knock was Irish, all gangly limbs, frizzy red hair, and enormous eyes that stared up at him apprehensively. People always knew he was a cop, even though he dressed just like every other man in the city. Nobody liked cops, and most people feared them.

A swear word escaped her young lips before she could stop it, and she quickly covered her mouth in horror at the slip. Probably, they frowned on swearing at the mission.

“Is Mrs. Wells here?” he asked as kindly as he could, hoping to reassure her.

“She ain’t done nothing. Nobody here done nothing!” she argued.

“I didn’t say they did,” he reminded her. “Now if you don’t want to get Mrs. Wells, I guess I’ll have to come in and find her myself.”

That prospect frightened the girl even more. “I’ll get her,” she cried, but she slammed the door in his face instead of inviting him in, as she should have. The lapse in etiquette didn’t bother Frank. As soon as her footsteps clattered away, he opened the door and stepped inside anyway.

The place fairly echoed with emptiness. The sparse furniture, bare wooden floors, and religious pictures made him think this was what a convent would look like. He doubted Mrs. Wells would appreciate the comparison.

He could hear the sounds of activity from upstairs, and after a few more minutes, a woman he recognized as Mrs. Wells came down the staircase. She moved slowly, her hand resting gently on the rail, her back rigidly straight, her face calmly expressionless. She was in no hurry to see him, nor was she reluctant. She had nothing to fear from the police.

“Mrs. Wells,” he said, removing his bowler hat as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

“And what would that be?” she asked, not at all concerned about whatever he might have to say to her.

Frank glanced up the stairs and saw several young faces peering over the railing above, straining to hear what he was saying.

“Is there someplace we can talk privately?”

“I don’t pay protection money to the police,” she warned him. “Our heavenly Father protects us.”

Frank decided to ignore the provocation. “I have some news about one of your…” He gestured helplessly, not certain what to call the girls who lived here.