Richard Dennis sighed in defeat. “I’m sure you wouldn’t allow me to, Mrs. Brandt. All right, I’ll at least wait to see what transpires. But if he’s charged with murder, I will have no choice but to dismiss him. I’m afraid that’s the most I can promise.”
“Oh, Mr. Dennis, I can’t thank you enough!”
“But,” he said, stopping her effusive gratitude with an upraised palm, “I can’t permit him to return to work until this is settled, one way or the other. Those hounds from the press have been an unbearable nuisance all week, and if he were there… Well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain. People expect their bank to be quiet and dignified and trustworthy. If it isn’t, they move their money elsewhere.”
“I’ll make sure Nelson understands. He is as concerned about the bank’s reputation as you are, and he certainly doesn’t want to encounter the press, either.”
“But if the killer isn’t identified quickly,” he warned, “I can’t promise how long I’ll be able to keep him on.”
“Of course, but it won’t be much longer,” she assured him, without the slightest compunction about lying. She had no idea how long it would take to catch the killer, or if he’d ever be caught at all. But at least she’d accomplished her purpose, and Nelson’s career wouldn’t be ruined just yet.
“Now tell me, Mrs. Brandt, how on earth did you ever decide to become a midwife?” Dennis asked, changing the subject completely.
Since he seemed to be genuinely interested, she gave him the slightly edited version of the story, simply mentioning that it was a relative’s death in childbirth that had inspired her choice of careers. They chatted about inconsequential things for a few more minutes, until her parents judged it was safe to join them again. Then her father engaged Dennis in small talk until their guest deemed he had fulfilled his social obligations. In view of how violent the storm outside had become, this was rather sooner than he might have left, but the Deckers had no choice but to allow him to go.
Sarah gave him her hand, and he bowed over it. “It’s been a delight meeting you, Mrs. Brandt. I hope it won’t be long until we encounter each other again.”
“I hope so, too,” she replied sincerely, “and I promise not to ask you any favors next time.”
“Even if you did, I could only be flattered by your attention,” he replied.
Sarah smiled at the compliment, and he returned her smile. She didn’t dare look at her parents. They must surely believe their matchmaking had been a success, and oddly enough, Sarah was no longer annoyed with them for tricking her. Meeting Mr. Dennis had been a pleasure, especially because he’d proven himself a reasonable man by doing what she asked him. Nothing could have made him more attractive to her. No, she wouldn’t mind a bit if their paths crossed again.
“Did Richard agree to help your friend?” her mother asked when her husband had walked Dennis out and they were alone.
“Yes, he did,” Sarah said. “And thank you for arranging for me to meet him.”
Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you were angry with me for that.”
“I was merely annoyed, and not because you arranged for us to meet. You should have warned me, however, that he’s a widower. I’m not the only widow he’s ever been thrown together with, Mother. He had a right to feel he’d been deceived after Father invited him here to discuss business.”
“But you did want to see him because of a business matter, didn’t you, dear?” her mother asked without a trace of regret. “And if he suspected we were bringing him here to meet our daughter, he might not have come at all, especially with the weather being so bad.”
“So I’m in your debt,” Sarah said with a trace of amusement.
“Of course not,” her mother insisted. “We would do anything in our power for you, Sarah, without ever expecting something in return. Surely, you know that.”
“Especially if it involves meeting eligible men,” she said, not believing her mother’s protests for an instant.
“I hope someday you will thank us for that. You and Richard seemed to get on very well.”
“Once he agreed to help Nelson, we got along famously,” Sarah agreed. “Mr. Dennis is charming. How did his wife die?”
“Brain fever, they said. She fell ill, and the doctors could do nothing for her. They hadn’t been married very long. He was devastated, naturally, and he went to Europe for a while to recover.”
“And when he returned, his father put him to work at the bank,” Sarah guessed.
“Something like that,” her mother said. “I don’t know all the details.”
Her father came back into the room. “Dennis thanked me for introducing you,” he said to Sarah. “He seemed quite taken with you.”
“Don’t sound so surprised, Father,” Sarah chided. “I can be very charming when I make up my mind to it.”
“Apparently,” he replied, “but I felt certain you were trying to put him off with all that talk at supper about being a midwife.”
“Not every man would consider that off-putting,” Sarah said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.
“Then we’re fortunate Dennis isn’t one of them,” her father said, annoying her all over again.
“Now, dear,” her mother chided, “we mustn’t argue. Sarah has made a new friend, and she has also helped her neighbor. It has been a very successful evening.”
Her father took a seat opposite her. “So it appears. You would do well to cultivate your acquaintance with young Dennis,” he advised. “He has a promising future, and he stands to inherit a fortune.”
“What other recommendation could I need?” Sarah replied sarcastically.
“Sarah,” her mother cautioned, “there’s no reason to take offense. Your father and I only want to see you comfortably settled. Is that so wrong of us?”
“I’d prefer you wanted to see me happy,” Sarah said with a sigh.
Her mother’s smile was sad. “Why can’t they be the same thing?”
Frank decided his chances of finding Gilbert Giddings at home were better early in the day. Even the worst drunks went home eventually to sleep it off, and the storm last night had probably driven Giddings there earlier than usual. So he set off early Monday morning for the Giddings home. Strong winds had driven the storm out to sea, but they continued to endanger every man’s hat. Frank saw more than a few scudding along in the gutters before he reached Giddings’ house.
As before, he had to knock several times before Mrs. Giddings finally-and grudgingly-opened the door to him. She looked paler than she had the last time he saw her, and the strain of her circumstances had tightened the skin across her cheeks so that she looked as if she were held together with only the sheerest of willpower.
“Is your husband at home?” he asked. He felt sorry for her, but he couldn’t let sympathy stand in the way of doing his job.
“He’s here, but he’s asleep,” she said. “If you could come back later-”
“I can’t. Wake him up,” Frank said, pushing the door open wide enough to allow him to enter and making her take a step back. “I’ll wait.”
She drew a breath, not out of fear but rather to steal herself against even more unpleasantness. “He won’t be of much use to you until later in the morning,” she admitted, although Frank could see it cost her a bit of the tiny scrap of dignity she had left to do so. “The storm frightened him. He was quite… indisposed when he came home.”
“I’ve dealt with drunks before. They usually cooperate pretty easily when they’re feeling their worst. Just wake him up and tell him he can either talk to me here or I’ll drag him down to Headquarters for a little chat.”
He could see the hatred in her eyes, but he figured she didn’t hate him for what he was doing to Gilbert. She simply resented him for causing her one more indignity when she wasn’t sure she had the strength to bear even that one.