“I’ve been asking questions all over town ever since he was charged with extortion.” Can a peacock flash a self-satisfied grin? This one did. “Seems our detective is quite the braggart, especially when he’s been drinking. More than one source told me Tony’s been, ah, having relations with that little maid, the one who actually did the dirty deed.”
Chapter 9
“Anthony Dobbs and . . . Clara?” The notion clashed like cymbals inside me, because here might be the elusive motive—the reason Clara might have had to kill Madame Devereaux.
“You bet,” Ed returned almost joyfully. “I’ve just been to the police with my evidence, and Tony’s already been arrested. He’d tried extorting that medium just like he did the other shady characters in town. She threatened to expose him, so he put Clara Parker up to it. Probably told the girl he loved her so she’d be more than willing.”
I shifted my gaze to Mr. Millford. He nodded. “No one else but us has the story as far as we know, Emma, and we’ll be the first to run it. That’s why I called you in. I want you to sit down with Ed and tell him everything you remember from the murder scene, including what Clara said during the preliminary questioning. You were there, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was, but . . .” My temples throbbed. “My article, Mr. Millford. All the details are there. Why didn’t you run it?”
With one woman dead and my cousin still missing, my concerns were petty. I knew that. Yet I couldn’t help myself. Once again my employer had delivered a pat to my head before attempting to shove me aside.
He got to his feet and circled the desk to stand in front of me, where he smiled with grandfatherly kindness. “Now, now, Emma, don’t be upset. Ed has managed to sniff out the whole story. The other papers, they all ran stories that included only half the facts. By waiting and running this as our headline, we’ll outshine every other paper not only in Newport, but the whole of Rhode Island.”
“Only because I’ve filled in the details.” My heart thumped painfully in my throat. I tugged the bow at my neckline. “Why should I write three quarters of Ed’s article for him when my own account of the murder was ignored?”
“Because nobody cared, Emma,” my nemesis declared. “The locals couldn’t give a fig about this Madame Duvreau—”
“Devereaux,” I all but shouted. “It’s a detail, Ed. Get it right.”
This was met with an eye roll and a tug at the corner of his mouth. “Whatever her name is,” he replied with infuriating calm, “she wasn’t going to have Newport’s full attention until now, when a local became involved. Now it’s piqued everyone’s curiosity. Now it’s big news.”
“I cannot believe you,” I murmured. Faintly I heard Mr. Millford’s gentle admonishment that I remain calm, see reason, but I couldn’t calm down. I was tired of being reasonable, dignified, ladylike. I’d had it up to the neat little bow on my collar with graciously stepping aside and letting Ed Billings steal my headlines. “A woman was killed—killed, Ed. Do you understand what that means? Do you have a thimble’s worth of empathy in you? Do you even care that a life was snuffed out or that a young girl like Clara might hang for the crime? No,” I continued when he opened his mouth to reply, “I don’t believe you do. All you care about is seeing your byline beneath the front page headlines, and it doesn’t matter to you how it gets there. Not even if you have to steal your facts from me.”
“From you?” Ed chuckled, a sound that nearly drove me to commit murder myself.
Luckily for Ed, Mr. Millford intervened. “That’s enough, both of you. Ed, come to think of it, it won’t be necessary after all for you to consult with Emma.”
I experienced a moment’s elation that perhaps at long last I’d be shown some fairness, that I’d finally find validation as a reporter. And then Mr. Millford went on. “I’d quite forgotten I have Emma’s article right here.” He went back behind the desk and stooped to open the top drawer. He pulled out a sheaf of paper filled with familiar handwritten lines. “Here you go, Ed.”
Open-mouthed and incredulous, I watched Ed take my article from our employer’s outstretched hand. “Thanks,” was all he said before he about-faced and strode from the room.
“Get the completed article to me within the hour,” Mr. Millford called after him. “We’ll run the presses this afternoon and have a special edition on the newsstands by tonight.”