WHEN SARAH GOT BACK FROM THE GANSEVOORT Market, carrying her bags of produce, the next morning, Mrs. Elsworth was waiting for her. She was pretending to sweep her front stoop, as usual, of course, but she was really just keeping herself outside where she could observe the activity of the street.

“Is the corn in yet?” she asked when Sarah greeted her.

“I saw some, but it didn’t look very good. It’s too early, I’m afraid.”

“I do so enjoy fresh corn,” Mrs. Elsworth said wistfully. “And of course, I always make the corn dollies out of the sheaves.” She donated these dolls to the various orphanages in the city. “The dollies bring good luck if you make them out of the sheaves of the last corn of the harvest, but living in the city, how on earth can you find such a thing? Sometimes I think we’ve become too civilized, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah thought of the four dead girls and knew she could have argued the point, but she didn’t. She didn’t have the heart for it at the moment.

“You don’t look quite yourself this morning,” Mrs. Elsworth observed. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

“I’m just tired, I think.”

“You have been out quite a lot lately. It’s not baby business either, is it? Are you helping that nice detective with another case?”

Sarah knew she shouldn’t burden Mrs. Elsworth with such things. “Something like that,” was all she said. She wished her neighbor good morning and went on into her own house. She’d just finished putting her purchases away when someone knocked on her back door. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to find Mrs. Elsworth there. She held a plate covered with a napkin.

“I baked a cake yesterday, and it’s more than Nelson and I can eat, so I thought you might help me by taking some.” Nelson was Mrs. Elsworth’s son. He was a banker and was seldom at home to eat much of anything.

“Thank you so much,” Sarah said sincerely. “Why don’t you come in, and we’ll share it. I can make some tea.”

A few minutes later the two women were sitting on Sarah’s back porch, enjoying the coolness of the morning shade and Mrs. Elsworth’s fluffy white cake.

“This is delicious,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Elsworth waved the compliment away. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you. And don’t try to pretend it’s nothing. I saw that young woman you brought home the other night. She’s the same one who left you the message, isn’t she? I hope she’s not with child. She’s so young…”

“It’s not that. She’s… well, a friend of hers was murdered and-”

“Murdered!”

“I didn’t want to involve you in this,” Sarah said. “It’s not a very pretty story.”

“Do you think I haven’t been shocked in my life?” Mrs. Elsworth asked, a little offended. “I could probably tell you stories that would curl your hair. Now, you look like you need someone to confide in, and I’m right here.”

Sarah knew she would probably regret doing this, but she told Mrs. Elsworth the story of how the four girls had been beaten to death, probably by the same man. And she told her what Luisa’s sister and friend had said about the man named Will.

“It seems as if Coney Island is the place where he met at least two of the girls, then,” Mrs. Elsworth observed.

“Yes, it does. And from what the girls told me last night, he may have bought Luisa a gift there, just as he bought Gerda the red shoes.”

“Red shoes,” she said, her disapproval obvious. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to find where those shoes were purchased, now should it? I wouldn’t imagine too many places sell such a thing.”

She was right, of course. Why hadn’t Sarah thought of it? More to the point, why hadn’t Malloy thought of it? He was the professional detective. They should go back to Coney Island and find the shop that had sold the red shoes and… But when Sarah tried to imagine Malloy returning to Coney Island, she realized she was probably wasting her time. Malloy wouldn’t go back to that place unless he was chained to a team of wild horses and dragged.

And when she thought about it some more, she realized she didn’t need Malloy anyway. It’s not like she was going to be looking for the killer himself, just a simple clue. She wouldn’t be in any danger. But it would be nice to have an escort all the same. Someone who knew his way around Coney Island. Someone who could tell her things about the place that Malloy wouldn’t know. Someone like Dirk Schyler.

“What are you thinking?” Mrs. Elsworth asked.

“I’m thinking I should visit some old friends. I haven’t seen them in much too long.”

THE OLD FRIENDS would have to be approached delicately, of course. Sarah had given the matter a lot of thought, and there was only one way she could insinuate herself back into the social life she’d left behind all those years ago, which she would have to do if she hoped to encounter Dirk Schyler again. She’d have to ask her mother for help.

Sarah’s parents lived on Fifty-seventh Street, just off Fifth Avenue, in a row of Italianate brownstones occupied by the upper crust of New York society. The Deckers had been born to wealth and privilege as the descendants of the original Dutch settlers of the area, called Knickerbockers, after the style of britches they had worn in the old days, by those who wished to disparage them.

Sarah had dressed carefully for the occasion, knowing her mother would be worried if she saw her daughter in her regular work clothes. She probably thought Sarah lived in abject poverty, when in fact, her profession earned her a comfortable living. Of course, her mother’s idea of “comfortable” would not be the same as Sarah’s.

It would have made more sense to wait another day, since it was raining when Sarah got up that morning, but she knew if she allowed herself time to think, she might not go at all. In any case, the rain was warm, hardly likely to give her a chill. And it might well keep other visitors away. Sarah was hoping for a private meeting with her mother.

The maid who opened the front door recognized Sarah, even though it had been a while since her last visit. “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” she said with a curtsy. “Please come in while I see if your mother is at home.”

Since this was Elizabeth Decker’s usual morning “at home,” when she was free to receive visitors, Sarah was fairly certain of being received. The maid showed Sarah into the parlor, which had already been prepared in expectation of callers. Sarah was happy to see her plan had worked and she was the first arrival.

Her mother came in a few moments later, her face flushed with pleasure. “Sarah, my dear, what a happy surprise!”

Sarah could see the questions in her mother’s blue eyes, and the silent reproach. She’d promised at their last meeting that she would come for tea one day when her father was home. She had not seen him in over three years, and her mother was anxious for a reconciliation. Sarah wasn’t quite as anxious, so she had dodged the issue by simply not having the time to call.

“You don’t have to try to make me feel guilty,” she told her mother as she kissed her cheek. “I know I broke my promise, but I’ve been so busy…”

“Too busy to give a few hours to your family?” her mother asked.

“No, too cowardly,” Sarah confessed.

Her mother frowned. “Your father isn’t an ogre, Sarah. He loves you very much.”

Of course he did. But he’d loved her sister Maggie just as much, and Maggie was dead because of his stubbornness and pride. Sarah wasn’t sure if she was ready to cope with her father’s kind of love again.

“I’ll see him soon. The first afternoon I have free,” she promised.

“Perhaps we should set a date so you won’t forget again,” her mother suggested, leading her over to one of the sofas so they could sit down.

“Yes, perhaps we should,” Sarah agreed vaguely. Then, before her mother could do so, she said, “Mother, I need your help.”