“Guests?” she supplied.

“Yeah, one of your guests,” he agreed, glancing up the stairs again. More faces were staring down at them now. All sounds of activity upstairs had stopped.

She glanced up, too, and instantly the faces vanished. The sound of scurrying footsteps was followed by the slamming of a door, and all was quiet. She turned back to Frank.

“Very well,” she said. “Please step into the parlor.”

He followed her into a shabbily furnished room. She didn’t bother to close the doors – or maybe she didn’t trust him enough to close the doors. She turned to face him, neither offering him a seat nor taking one herself.

“What is it?” she asked, making it clear she still didn’t think his visit was important.

“Did you have a girl named Emilia living here?”

Finally, he saw the apprehension he would have expected, although she was trying hard not to let it show. “A girl named Emilia lives here, yes,” she said cautiously.

“Blond hair, brown eyes?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly reluctant to admit it. “Why are you asking about Emilia? What’s happened?”

“She was found dead this morning in City Hall Park.”

She took a moment to absorb the shock. “That’s impossible,” she finally said. People always denied death at first.

“Why? Is she here now?”

Mrs. Wells’s apprehension was slowly giving way to anxiety. “No, but…” She glanced out the doorway, as if expecting to see the girl standing there. “She was going out this morning to look for work. She hasn’t come back yet, but I expect her any moment.”

“She won’t be coming back, Mrs. Wells. She’s dead.”

She shook her head slightly in silent denial. “I can’t… There must be some mistake.”

“There isn’t. She was identified at the morgue.”

Mrs. Wells was beginning to look noticeably agitated. “Who could have identified her?”

“Mrs. Sarah Brandt.”

“Who…?” she began, but then she remembered. And frowned with what might have been disapproval. “Oh, yes, Mr. Dennis’s friend.”

Frank felt as if he’d been punched. Dennis’s friend! Sarah had said she came here on Sunday. Had Dennis come with her? If so, she’d been with him on Saturday night and on Sunday, too. She’d only known him for a week! He felt something burning in his chest, as bitter as gall.

“Detective?” Mrs. Wells said sharply. “I asked you a question.”

“What was it?” he asked, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

“I asked you how Mrs. Brandt came to identify Emilia’s body.”

“She was wearing Mrs. Brandt’s clothing. I thought she might know who the girl was, so I asked her to come to the morgue.”

Mrs. Wells was completely bewildered. “How did you know she was wearing Mrs. Brandt’s clothing?”

“Because Mrs. Brandt is a friend of mine, too,” he said with a small sense of satisfaction.

Fortunately, Elizabeth Decker had suggested Sarah telephone to make sure Richard would be in his office this afternoon. He’d planned to go out, but he changed his plans immediately when he learned Sarah needed to see him. After Sarah had luncheon with her mother, she’d been delivered to Richard’s bank in the Decker family carriage, complete with its charming footmen.

Now she was being escorted directly into his private office by an obsequious little man whose plump body had been stuffed into a suit that was too small for him. When she entered his office, Richard rose from behind his desk and came out to greet her, taking her hand in both of his.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked in his very charming way as he led her to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Instead of returning to his place behind it, he sat in the other chair beside her. She had his full attention.

“I’m afraid our visit to the mission on Sunday had a profound effect on me,” she began, debating whether to tell him about Emilia’s murder. No use in starting out on such a tragic topic. She’d wait and see if she could work it naturally into her explanation.

“What kind of an effect?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“I’ve had a… a reawakening, I suppose you’d call it. I suddenly feel as if my life doesn’t have much meaning, and that I’m not doing anything important.”

“What nonsense,” he said gallantly. “Your work must be very important.”

She chose not to notice that he really wasn’t certain it was. “You’re right, of course. I do save lives,” she added, in case he hadn’t realized it. “But Mrs. Wells changes lives. I don’t think I could do the kind of work she does, but I could help her. I’ve asked my mother if she’d give a party and ask her friends to make a donation to the mission… in Hazel’s memory.”

She’d touched him deeply. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Sarah,” he finally said. “I think that’s the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“I’m not being kind, Richard,” she assured him. “I’m being selfish. I want to feel better about myself by doing something good.”

“I’m sure that’s the basic motivation for all charitable acts,” he said with an understanding smile.

“Perhaps it is. I hope it doesn’t matter what the motivation is, so long as the act itself is good,” she added.

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Would you come to the party?” she asked.

He seemed surprised. “Of course. I mean, I assumed you wouldn’t have told me about it if you weren’t going to invite me.”

Had he forgotten that he blamed the people at the mission for giving Hazel her fatal illness? If so, Sarah wasn’t going to remind him. “We want to do more than simply invite you. We were hoping you’d agree to help host. Perhaps you could also speak about Hazel’s work at the mission.”

“I don’t know what I could say, but I’ll be happy to play host. I’ve been to a number of this type of event. We should ask Mrs. Wells to come and speak about her work. She’s the one who knows the most.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. What a good idea.”

“She’ll probably also bring a couple of the girls along, to show the guests some examples of her success.”

Sarah almost winced when she thought of Emilia. “You haven’t asked me what inspired my sudden desire to help the mission.”

“I assumed it was a result of our visit there.”

Sarah took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “I wish that were all. I had a very unpleasant experience today. Do you remember that girl Emilia whom we met at the mission?”

He frowned in concentration. “I’m afraid I don’t remember any of the girls in particular.”

“She was the one who answered the door. Mrs. Wells said she’d been seduced by a man who refused to marry her and her family had disowned her.”

Plainly, he hadn’t seen any reason to remember the incident. “Has she approached you for help?”

“No, not exactly. She was found dead in City Hall Park this morning.”

“Dead?” he echoed in surprise. “A young girl like that? What happened?”

“She was murdered.”

An expression of distaste crossed his handsome face. “How unfortunate. But I suppose you can’t be too surprised with that kind of girl.”

Sarah wanted to demand to know what he meant by “that kind of girl,” but she refrained. She had little hope of changing Richard Dennis’s prejudices. She’d settle for getting his help in changing other people’s lives. “She was wearing my clothes when she died.”

“Your clothes?” he echoed, obviously confused.

“The clothes I donated to the mission on Sunday. That made me think, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ I don’t want any other girls to die like that.”

He nodded, his expression grave with understanding, although Sarah suspected he couldn’t even begin to understand. “Certainly not. And don’t worry, I’ll do everything I can to help. Would your mother like for me to give her a list of Hazel’s particular friends?”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate that. I can’t thank you enough for helping with this.”