I went to the railing and peered out over the shady vista. The growth Jesse indicated stood twisted to awkward angles among the perfectly trimmed hedge, as if forcefully shoved aside and then allowed to fall haphazardly and brokenly back into place. “Did they find any torn fabric, or even threads, in the branches?”
“Unfortunately not,” he replied. “Which in itself provides a clue. It tells us the person was wearing sturdy clothing.”
“Not delicate silk or muslin,” I said. “The footsteps Clara heard . . . By the time she reached the pavilion, he was well away, and Clara was too distraught over what she found to give those footsteps another thought.”
I turned back to Jesse, reaching back to clutch the railing behind me. “The question is why?”
“Why was Madame Devereaux murdered?” Jesse sent me a warning glance. “Mind you, Emma, this is all speculation. We could be dead wrong, and Clara is guilty as sin.”
“I doubt that very much. What reason could Clara Parker have to murder anyone? What would her motive be?”
“Fortune-tellers make enemies all the time. Clara might simply have managed to make it to the front of a long line of people waiting to wring Ellen Deere’s neck.”
“Ellen Deere! I heard that name spoken once before today. Mrs. Stanford said it when Madame Devereaux first arrived.” The earlier incident flashed in my mind. “For an instant she looked furious . . . and so did Madame Devereaux, for that matter. But it was quick, and at the time I thought maybe I’d imagined it. Now, however . . . well. It certainly makes one think.”
“Mrs. Stanford, you say?” When I nodded, Jesse raised his eyebrows. “Looks like I’ll have to question Hope Stanford again, won’t I?”
“Jesse . . .” I pushed away from the railing. “Did you know her?”
“The medium?” He looked down at his feet, smiling slightly. “Yes, I knew her. All of us on the force did, like we know all of Newport’s more interesting entrepreneurs. She came down from Providence about two years ago—”
“Mrs. Stanford is from Providence,” I said quickly.
“Yes, I know, Emma. That doesn’t make her a murderer.”
“Maybe not. But someone committed a murder here today, and I’d bet my best hatpin it wasn’t Clara Parker.”
Chapter 5
Jesse and I returned to the house, where he instructed Aunt Alva’s guests not to leave Newport until further notice.
“Good heavens, are we suspects?” Roberta Spooner reached for her sister’s hand and the two women drew together as though against a common enemy. Even Jesse’s reassurances didn’t smooth the alarm from their brows.
“No, no, it’s merely a precaution, ladies. I might have more questions for you. But if you wish, the two of you may return to your own home.”
“But you said not to leave Newport,” the shorter, frailer-looking Edwina said. “And Sister and I live in Portsmouth. Though I must admit, it would be ever so comfortable to be amongst our own things. Not that it hasn’t been splendid staying at Marble House, mind you,” she added hastily with a startled glance at Aunt Alva. “Then again, perhaps splendid isn’t quite the proper term under the circumstances.”
“Oh, Edwina.” Roberta slipped an arm around her sister’s waist. “I’m sure Detective Whyte meant we’re not to leave the island. Since Portsmouth is on the island, our going home shouldn’t pose a problem. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Whyte?”
Jesse seemed to be fighting a grin. “Quite right, ladies. We’ll know where to find you if we have further questions for you.”
Hope Stanford brushed off the sisters’ concerns. “I for one have no intentions of running off. I’ve got important business in Newport and I’m not about to let a little thing like a murder deter me one bit.”
A little thing like a murder? I bit my tongue to keep from retorting. Instead, I said, “I’ll drive you back to town now, if you like, Jesse.”
Downstairs in the main hall, he drew me aside, out of the hearing of the footman attending the front door. The ladies had all retired to their guest rooms. I assumed Aunt Alva had likewise gone to her room, or perhaps she was with Consuelo. The house had grown quiet, and Jesse spoke just above a whisper. “Would you mind if I borrowed your carriage to get back to town? I can have it returned to you in an hour or two.”
“Well, yes, but why go to the trouble of having someone return it when I can take you?”
“Because I want you to stay here, Emma.” His voice dropped lower. The clinking of someone putting away china in the serving pantry drifted from across the large expanse of the dining room. The footman standing by the door looked straight ahead. We might have been invisible for all he registered our presence, but for a slight pricking of his ears.