Murder at Marble House(50)

For now, I’d leave Ed Billings to write his wretched article. My next stop, meanwhile, would be the jailhouse.





Promises were complicated, and that promise to Mr. Millford wasn’t the only one I’d made in recent days. I’d promised Aunt Alva I’d find Consuelo without involving the police. But just that morning I’d promised Derrick and Nanny and even myself that Consuelo’s welfare would take priority over Aunt Alva’s wishes.

Upon arriving on Marlborough Street, I entered the columned building and headed straight for Jesse’s desk in the large main room. My palms sweated and my mouth ran dry, but I had to do the right thing, for my cousin’s sake.

Jesse stood when he saw me enter through the wide archway, and strode to meet me partway across the room. Around us, police officers were milling around, consulting with each other, tapping on typewriters, and stuffing fistfuls of papers into filing cabinets. Along the wall where a pair of telephones was located, two plainclothes officers barked orders into the transmitters while pressing the receivers tight to their ears. A loud hum of activity surrounded me, yet it was the throbbing of my own pulse in my ears that drowned out Jesse’s greeting.

He shook my hand, then kept hold of it as he led me back to his desk. Briefly my gaze landed on the workspace directly behind his, the chair unoccupied and the blotter swept clean of papers, notebooks, and pens. That desk belonged to Anthony Dobbs.

“What brings you here, Emma?” Jesse asked as he beckoned me into the chair that faced his across the desk.

I leaned forward, my hands tight around my purse in my lap. “I need to tell you something, but I need you to promise me you’ll be discreet.”

His brows gathered above his nose and his gaze sharpened. Promises were about to become even more complicated.

“This doesn’t bode well so far, Emma.”

I stole a quick glance over my shoulder. Briefly I considered asking if we could go somewhere more private, but I realized that would only bring more attention to us, whereas in the busy room, no one paid us any heed. I craned my neck in Jesse’s direction and spoke quietly. “I need your help, Jesse, but in asking for it I’ll be breaking my own promise to someone and . . . well . . . that person could make life difficult for both of us.”

“Hmm, let me guess.” His teeth nipped at his bottom lip.

“Could we be speaking of Alva Vanderbilt?”

“Jesse, please . . .”

Anger claimed his features, but a wave of his hand signaled compliance. “Whatever you tell me will be held in confidence.” Before I could begin my tale, he added, “For as long as it can be, Emma. But if what you’re about to ask of me puts anyone in danger—yourself included—then I’ll have no choice but to call in reinforcements.”

“Fair enough.” I took another glance around and leaned closer still. “My cousin Consuelo is missing. Has been since the murder.”

“What?” Jesse went ramrod straight, his complexion turning ruddy. “And her mother didn’t see fit to report this?” Realization dawned in his features. “I asked her where her daughter was that day. She lied to me—” His mouth opened, then snapped shut, then opened again. “You lied, too, Emma. At least by omission.”

“That’s not true. When you asked about Consuelo, Aunt Alva and I believed her to be in her room. We had no idea she was missing until after you’d left. You asked me to speak with her and I went up to her room for exactly that purpose. Only, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere in the house.”

“And you have no idea where she went?”

“None.”

“You’ve had no word from her at all?”

I shook my head.

“Good heavens, Emma, what were you thinking?” His voice rose an octave and I quickly shushed him.

“Jesse, please. No one can know.”

“Why in the world not? Doesn’t her mother want her found? Don’t you? We need to notify the state police. Get the federal agents involved—”

“No, that’s exactly what we can’t do. Please calm down and listen to me.”

It took him some moments, but Jesse managed to rein in his irate disbelief and I began explaining. It wasn’t until I revealed what I’d read in her diary that he seemed to reach an understanding. “So you see,” I said, “we have every reason to believe she left the house of her own accord. It’s too much of a coincidence that she might have been kidnapped on the very day she wrote about wanting to find a life of her own. Nor is it quite possible that she left Newport. She is too recognizable to have gotten far without word of her whereabouts reaching Aunt Alva or her father.”