“That must be Francine. Walcott told the other girls that Francine had found a rich husband and moved to the country,” Sarah remembered. “Were there other girls before her?”
“One that I know of. The lady next door told me her name was Cummings or something.”
“Is she the other body?”
“No, it’s a man. Probably the old man who owned this house. Walcott told people he’d sold out and moved away, but apparently, they’d killed him and put him in the cellar.”
Sarah groaned.
“Does your head hurt?” Harold asked. “He hit you before I could get to him.”
“Let’s hope he knocked some sense into her,” Malloy said without the slightest trace of sympathy.
Harold glared at him, but he didn’t notice. He was heading down the hall.
“Where are you going?” Sarah demanded.
“To see if Walcott has recovered enough from Harold’s strong right arm to answer a few questions.”
“I’m going, too!” Sarah said, jumping to her feet. She was instantly sorry. She hadn’t drunk very much of the tea, thank heaven, but enough to dull her senses. That, combined with the elbow she’d taken to her temple, was enough to make her wish she’d risen more slowly from her chair.
“Suit yourself,” Malloy said, but he didn’t wait for her.
“I’ll help you,” Harold said, taking her arm. “I want to hear what happened, too!”
Walcott was sitting in the parlor, hands tied in front of him and looking foolish wearing the housedress with his masculine haircut. A uniformed policeman stood guard over him. Someone had tied a bandage around his forehead, where Harold had struck him with the stick he’d been using to frighten the dogs away. He looked a little woozy and very angry.
“It’s late,” Malloy was saying, “and I’m tired, so please don’t make me exert myself, Walcott. Just tell me the whole story, and that cut on the head will be the worst thing that happens to you tonight.”
Walcott was trying to look bored, but when he saw Harold and Sarah come into the room, his expression hardened. “You,” he said. “This is all your fault!”
At first Sarah thought he was addressing her, but then she realized he was glaring at Harold. “Because he came here to the house?” she guessed.
“Anna was a fool!” Walcott said. “She was never satisfied. I told her over and over again not to be too greedy, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Is that why you killed her, Walcott?” Malloy asked. “Because she was greedy?”
“No,” Walcott said, turning his anger on Malloy. “Because she was stupid.”
“How was she stupid?”
“First she wouldn’t be satisfied with what Giddings could afford to pay her. She made him steal from his company, which drew attention. If they’d pressed charges against him, we would have had the police here in an instant, asking all kinds of questions. And then she picked Nelson Ellsworth. That was the stupidest thing of all.”
“He was a mistake, wasn’t he?” Sarah guessed. “Because he wasn’t married.”
“She was supposed to check!” Walcott shouted. “She just asked some kid on the street who lived in the house. She didn’t bother to find out that the Mrs. Ellsworth who lived there was his mother!”
“So that’s why you were so angry with Anna,” she said, earning a black look from Malloy, which she ignored. “Because she’d chosen a man who couldn’t be blackmailed and because she’d drawn attention with Mr. Giddings.”
“She was causing too much trouble, and she wouldn’t stop,” Walcott said coldly. “I had to get rid of her before she ruined us all.”
“Is that why you killed Francine, too?” Sarah asked. “Because she was causing trouble?”
“No, because she got sentimental.” Walcott gave her a condescending glare. “One of her gentlemen friends killed himself, and she started feeling guilty. She even started talking about doing penance for her sins and maybe even going to the police, so I had to silence her.”
“The way you silenced the old man who owned this house?” Malloy said.
“It wasn’t like that,” Walcott said. “The old man wasn’t supposed to die. I’d thought of this foolproof way to make money, and I needed a house. Ellie knew about this old man who had one.”
“Who’s Ellie?” Malloy asked. “Is she buried in the cellar, too?”
Walcott gave him an irritated glance. “Ellie Cunning-ham, and no, she’s not buried in the cellar or anywhere else. I met Ellie when we were in a play together and-”
“You’re an actor?” Sarah cried, earning another black look from Malloy.
“Yes, an excellent actor,” Walcott said smugly. “I fooled you, didn’t I? I fooled everyone.”
He was right, of course. “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” she said. “Please continue.”
“Ellie and I started this thing together. She charmed the old man into renting us a room. Told him I was her husband. We gave him a little opium to keep him happy so he wouldn’t notice the gentlemen callers Ellie had. We might’ve given him too much, or maybe his time was just up, but one day he just died. We decided no one would miss him, and why should we leave and let the house go to some stranger? So we buried him in the cellar and told people we’d bought the house from him and he’d moved away.”
“What did you do with this Ellie?” Malloy asked.
“Nothing. She got bored and wanted to go back on the stage. She went on tour, and I never saw her again. By then I had Francine, though, so we didn’t miss her.”
“And after Francine ended up in the cellar, you got Catherine and Anna,” Malloy guessed. “What I want to know is why Anna didn’t end up in the cellar like the others.”
Walcott gave him an impatient look. “She was supposed to, but… I gave Francine opium and she died real quick, like the old man,” he said, apparently forgetting his fiction that the old man’s death had been an accident. “But with Anna… she was the one who got the knife. She was going to stab me, so I was just defending myself. I was going to put her in the cellar with the others, except she wasn’t dead. She was just pretending. While I was outside, opening the door to put her body in before Catherine saw it, she got away. I tried to follow her, but I lost her in the dark.”
Sarah looked at Malloy, and she knew they were thinking the same thing. Now it all made sense! The reason Anna had left the house so late at night, alone, was that she was running for her life. They’d assumed she’d been trying to get home after being stabbed, but she’d really been trying to get away. She’d managed to reach the Square before collapsing. No one there would have helped her or even taken particular notice. They would just have assumed she was drunk and let her lie there and die.
“Why did you try to kill Webster Prescott?” Malloy asked.
Walcott managed a sneer. “Who says I did?”
Before anyone could blink, Malloy gave him a back-handed slap, surprising a gasp from Sarah and a cry of outrage from Harold.
Malloy turned to them in disgust. “If you don’t have the stomach for this, you better leave now.”
Harold looked pale, and Sarah felt very light-headed again. She’d known Malloy’s tactics could be rough, but seeing them was much worse than simply knowing about them. Still, he was dealing with a man who had killed four people. She took a deep breath and said, “You can go if you want to,” to the boy.
Harold shook his head determinedly.
Sarah looked up at Malloy. “We’ll stay.”
He narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t challenge her decision. “Don’t make me ask you again, Walcott,” he said.
“Prescott was too smart,” Walcott said quickly, obviously anxious to avoid another blow. “He’d found out about Anna, that she was an actress, and then he came here, asking more questions. He frightened Catherine, and I was afraid she might say something to him if he got her alone. I had to take care of him.”
“You must be losing your touch,” Malloy said. “First Anna gets away, then Prescott. You botched it twice with the reporter.”