“Then protect yourself for your own sake. Believe me, you don’t want to know what the press will say about you if you become Nelson’s champion. Making a scandal of Felix Decker’s daughter would sell a lot of newspapers.”

Sarah’s family was one of the oldest in the city, descendants of the original Dutch settlers, nicknamed the Knickerbockers. Their socially prominent position made them perfect targets, too. Sarah had already caused them enough heartache by marrying beneath her social station and forsaking their way of life. Plastering their name all over the scandal sheets would be unforgivable.

“I hate it when you’re right, Malloy.”

“And I’m always amazed when you admit I am,” he countered. “Now go home. I’ve got work to do. I need to get this murder solved fast because I’ve still got my own work to do, too. Don’t forget, I’m not even assigned to this case, and if anyone finds out I’m doing Broughan’s job for him, I’ll be the laughingstock of the department.”

“I suppose you want me to tell you how grateful I am that you’re helping poor Nelson,” she said with a smirk.

“I do, but I don’t expect you will,” he replied with a smirk of his own. “Good day, Mrs. Brandt.”

He tipped his hat and walked away, leaving Sarah shaking her head.

Frank strolled back to Thompson Street. The weather was turning colder. Soon the leaves would fall and winter would come with a vengeance. Tuesday evening had been a bit warmer than today but still chilly. Why had Anna Blake gone out that night? Surely not for a pleasant evening stroll. And why hadn’t she taken her purse? Had she been in a hurry?

He’d check to see if Mrs. Walcott was home yet so he could question her, and then he’d try the neighbors. He should search Anna’s room, too. Maybe someone had sent her a note asking her to meet him that night. That would be too convenient, but it was certainly worth a try. He wasn’t going to get very far at all until he found out why she’d left the house in the first place.

The maid at the Walcott house told him Mrs. Walcott hadn’t come back yet and Mr. Walcott had gone out, too. She wouldn’t admit him to the house without their permission, certainly not to search the dead woman’s room. He could have forced his way in, but he decided to wait until the landlady could escort him. No use in alienating the Walcotts before he had all the information they could give him.

As he left the Walcotts’ he noticed a curtain on the front window of the house next door moving. Someone was watching him, which meant someone was very curious about the goings-on at the neighbors’ house. If that person was as nosy as Mrs. Ellsworth was about her neighbors, he could learn a lot about the Walcotts and their boarders.

The woman who opened the door had snow white hair and a round pleasant face. Her faded blue eyes glittered with delight at the sight of her visitor, and she clapped her hands together as she peered up at Frank.

“Are you from the police?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” he said, removing his bowler hat and holding it in front of him respectfully. “Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about your neighbors, Mrs…?”

“It’s Miss. Miss Edna Stone. Oh, my, no, I wouldn’t mind at all. I’m not sure I can help you in any way. I have no idea who killed that girl, you know. How could I? They said in the newspaper that she died in the Square. What a horrible thing.”

Frank nodded solemnly. “I was hoping you might have seen something that night. Maybe something you didn’t even realize was important at the time. Could I come in and speak with you about it?”

“Oh, gracious me, of course you may. Excuse the mess. I’ve been so upset about that poor girl’s death, I haven’t had a chance to tidy up.”

She escorted him into a parlor that was so spotlessly clean, even his mother couldn’t have found fault with it. He wondered what on earth she could do to tidy it up.

“Please sit down, Mr. Detective Sergeant. Would you like some coffee?”

Frank allowed that he would. If she gave him coffee, she’d settle in for a nice long visit. He really doubted she’d seen anything the night Anna Blake had died, but he was sure she could tell him a lot of gossip about her and the others in the house. He made himself comfortable and looked around the room while he waited. Miss Stone had doilies everywhere and almost as many knickknacks as his mother, but he didn’t see a speck of dust on anything. No photographs, either. Miss Stone might very well be alone in the world.

The old woman returned a few minutes later with two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies on a gleaming silver tray.

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” he protested.

“No trouble at all,” she assured him, settling into her own chair and handing him one of the cups. “These cookies are probably stale. There’s no one here to eat them but me.”

The cookies were fresh and delicious. Frank ate two and complimented her on them before he asked his first question. “How long have you lived here, Miss Stone?”

“I’ve lived here all my life, Mr. Detective Sergeant. I was born in this house.”

Which meant she’d inherited it from her family, along with enough money to keep herself modestly even though she’d never married. How fortunate for her. Few women were so lucky.

“How long have the Walcotts lived next door?”

“Not quite a year now, I expect. They bought the place from Mr. Knight. His wife had died, and he was tired of living there all alone. At least that’s what Mrs. Walcott told me. Mr. Knight never even mentioned he was selling. Didn’t even say good-bye, either. Just up and left. Moved uptown, she said, into one of those fancy apartment buildings. I knew him forty years, and he didn’t say one word to me. Of course, he got funny after his wife died. Never was very sociable, and when she was gone, he just stayed inside most of the time. Didn’t even work in his garden anymore. Widowers get like that sometimes.”

“What do you know about the Walcotts?”

Miss Stone considered the question. “I’m trying to remember if she told me where they came from. Can’t say I recall, but they were thrilled with the house. Mr. Knight sold them most of his furniture, too, since he didn’t need it in his new place. Seems like she said her family left her a legacy or some such thing. That’s how they could buy the house.”

“When did they start taking in boarders?”

“Almost right away. Her husband couldn’t work, you know. Had some sort of nervous condition. So they needed the money.”

Frank almost smiled at the description of Mr. Walcott as nervous. “I thought she had a legacy.”

“She didn’t say, but it couldn’t have been much. Not enough to keep them, at least. She said she enjoyed having company in the house. They’d never been blessed with children, and she liked having other people around. Her husband liked to travel, so the boarders were company for her, as well as income.”

So far this story agreed mostly with the one Walcott had told him. “I understand that the two women who were living there lately had only been there a few months. Who lived there before?”

Miss Stone frowned as she tried to remember. “I don’t know all their names. One had red hair, I remember, and I’d swear it wasn’t natural. You know how you can just tell,” she added conspiratorially. “The way she carried herself, well, she didn’t seem quite respectable either, if you know what I mean. In my day, a young woman didn’t flaunt herself like that. But she didn’t stay long. Probably, the Walcotts agreed with me and turned her out. There was another one, Blevins or Cummings her name was. Something like that. Real pretty girl. She was there longer, but they told me she got married. I’m not surprised, as many men as came to call on her, she probably had her pick.”