“I hope it tastes good, too. Come on into the kitchen. Everything’s ready,” she said, leading the way.
She’d set the table carefully, not asking herself why she’d taken such pains. Malloy probably wouldn’t even notice, and if he did, he might wonder himself.
“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” she said, indicating one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Would you like a glass of beer?”
“Sure,” he said, and she poured some from the pail that she’d gotten from her neighbor, who brewed it in his basement.
In a few moments she had the pot roast arranged on the plate with the potatoes and carrots around it. She placed it on the table with a sense of satisfaction.
Malloy raised his eyebrows and grinned a little, as if he were amazed that she had produced such a master-piece. “You went to a lot of trouble,” he said.
“Not really,” she assured him. “I enjoy cooking when I’ve got someone to cook for. Would you do the honors?” She handed him the knife to cut the meat.
He didn’t take it. “Better lay it down on the table,” he suggested deadpan, indicating the knife.
“Are you afraid I’ll stab you with it?” she asked in amusement, laying the knife down as instructed.
“No, but my mother wouldn’t let anybody hand a knife directly to someone. Means you’ll have an argument or something like that.” He picked up the knife and, using his own fork, began to slice the meat.
“I’m sure Mrs. Ellsworth would say the same thing,” she said. “She sent over a pie this afternoon. She must’ve known somehow that you were coming. Sometimes I think she has a crystal ball.”
“Maybe she just bakes a lot of pies and can’t eat them all,” he said, slipping a slab of beef onto her plate.
When they had both been served and the bread passed, Sarah took her seat opposite him and began to eat. The beef was tender and moist, thank heaven. She was never sure how to tell when it was done but not too done. She’d guessed right this time.
“I have some interesting news for you,” she said after a moment.
He stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. “About Brian?”
“No, nothing like that,” she assured him. “About the Blackwell case.”
He gave her a look, but she ignored it. “Did you know that Letitia Blackwell had a lover before she met her husband?”
“A lover?” he echoed, and took a bite of potato, chewing thoughtfully. “She must’ve been pretty young. She isn’t too old even now, is she?”
“No, she isn’t. My guess is that she had a schoolgirl infatuation. The object of her affections was the local schoolmaster. Her father disapproved, of course, or would have if he’d even known about it, which I doubt he did. Then the two of them actually eloped, or tried to. That’s when Letitia fell off her horse and was so badly injured. Apparently, the schoolmaster had to carry her home and face her father. It must have been an ugly scene, especially with Letitia hurt the way she was.”
“What happened to the schoolmaster?”
“He was let go and no one saw him again. Mr. Symington probably had him fired and banished from the area, as any good father would do. In any case, he was long gone when Letitia finally met Dr. Blackwell.”
“Any possibility he got more than banished?” Malloy asked.
Sarah blinked at him in surprise. “You mean killed?”
“You told me once that men like Symington aren’t above doing something like that, and he did practically ruin Symington’s daughter. Eloping with her was bad enough, but he nearly crippled her for life, too.”
“I have no idea, but we could try to find out,” she mused, then realized, “That would make Symington a definite suspect in Blackwell’s death, wouldn’t it? If he already had a history of killing men who harmed his daughter in some way.”
“It’s something to think about,” Malloy allowed. “Anyway, so the schoolmaster, dead or alive, was out of the way when the good doctor shows up, and she turns her attentions to him instead.”
“Not exactly,” Sarah said. “From what I understand, Blackwell was quite a devil with the ladies, and Letitia certainly may have found him attractive. You know that she was speaking at his lectures, even though she was terrified of public speaking. That’s why she started taking the morphine again. She injects it, did I tell you that?”
“Injects it? With what?”
“A syringe.”
“She does that to herself?” he asked, horrified.
“People can do amazing things when the need is great enough,” she said. “I understand that injecting it increases the drug’s potency. She’s very badly addicted.”
Malloy grunted. Plainly, he had little sympathy for people who needed sedatives to cope with life. “All right, so she was speaking at the lectures and didn’t want to. How did that lead to them getting married?”
“When Letitia said she didn’t want to do the lectures anymore, Blackwell suddenly developed a passion for her. He began to pay her court.”
“What did her father think about this? If he didn’t want her running off with a schoolmaster, I can’t believe he’d be any happier to have some quack doctor for a son-in-law either.”
“Symington didn’t think Blackwell was a quack,” she reminded him. “He respected him and was grateful for all he’d done for Letitia. And Letitia wasn’t an innocent young girl, either. If people found out about her elopement, she would’ve been ruined, and she wouldn’t have had any chance to make a suitable marriage. If the schoolmaster had actually deflowered her, her chances were even worse.”
“So her father was glad to get her safely married to anybody at all, even a poor quack doctor,” Malloy said.
“I don’t think it was quite that bad. He must have been genuinely impressed with Blackwell if he allowed his daughter to marry him-no matter what the circumstances. He also spoke at Blackwell’s lectures, too, when Letitia couldn’t because of her pregnancy, which proves he believed in the man. Or at least that he didn’t disapprove.”
Malloy took another bite of her pot roast. He seemed to be enjoying it, although he didn’t say anything. “All right, so Letitia had a lover. What does he have to do with Blackwell’s murder?”
“I haven’t gotten to that part yet,” she assured him. “I told you Blackwell courted Letitia. He must have been very charming, and Letitia would have been vulnerable. She’d had the broken romance with the schoolmaster, and she’d been an invalid for a long time, probably thinking she’d never marry at all. Then Blackwell apparently falls madly in love with her and begs for her hand in marriage.”
“Sounds like a Sunday matinee,” Malloy remarked, frowning with distaste.
“Exactly,” she said. “She would have been flattered, but it appears that Blackwell’s sudden affection for her was all a ploy. She wanted to stop doing his lectures, but he needed her. If they were married, he’d have her in his power, and she’d have to keep appearing at them whether she wanted to or not.”
“Then you don’t think Blackwell cared for her?”
“He wasn’t in love with her, certainly,” she said. “In fact, as soon as they were married, he stopped paying attention to her at all. According to her maid, Letitia was extremely unhappy because her husband neglected her so badly.”
“If what Mrs. Ellsworth said about him was true, he was probably too busy with all his other lady friends,” Malloy said.
“That’s certainly possible, and if the grief expressed at his memorial service was any indication, it’s true,” she said.
Malloy mulled this over for a bit as he finished off his pot roast. “So Blackwell had an unhappy wife who used morphine. There’s still one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I already asked you if you thought she was the kind of woman who could put a bullet in her husband’s brain, and you said no. Did you change your mind?”