A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (feel good books to read txt) 📕

I nodded once even as my smile slipped away and grief flooded me again. “Orpha was my teacher, and I took over her practice. I’m sad to say she passed away this week.”

“I’m very sorry to hear this,” Amy said.

“As am I,” Jonathan added. “She provided superb care for Amy and our baby.”

“Her funeral is tomorrow afternoon at two, at Main Street Congregational,” I told them.

“Thank you.” He glanced at his wife, who bobbed her head. “I expect we’ll see you there.”

Here in front of me was someone who doubtless was at the opera house Second Day night. I didn’t want to waste this opportunity. “Jonathan, did thee attend the Spring Opening festivities Monday evening?”

He looked over the top of his spectacles at me. He knew I had been involved in an investigation last year after I’d had to inform a victim’s husband—someone Jonathan supervised—of his wife’s death.

“Yes, I was,” he finally said.

I reconsidered. This was not the time or place to be asking him questions about Luthera’s—or anyone’s—whereabouts during the event.

“May I stop by the boat shop tomorrow? I have a question or two for thee.”

“Please. I’ll be there all morning.” He tucked Amy’s hand through his elbow.

“I thank thee. It was very nice to meet thee, Amy.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Dodge.” She smiled. “So far we have but the one child, but should I have need of a midwife again, I will seek you out.”

“Please do.”

The menfolk shook hands again and the Sherwoods made their way toward the door. Before they reached it, an usher escorted the green-eyed man from the Board of Trade meeting—the Brazilian, apparently—to a small table set for one.

David sat. “Doing a little sleuthing, I see.”

“Just a little. The thing is, the key has to be what happened during the banquet the night of the murder. Someone persuaded Justice Harrington to leave and then shot him in the alley. Did he or she then return to the event as if nothing had happened or go home?”

“You think Mr. Sherwood might have seen something to provide an answer.” He reached over and took my hand.

“He’s an ethical and observant man with a good memory. If he noticed something suspicious, he’ll tell me.”

“And you, my dear wife, will take the information to the police rather than acting on it.”

I squeezed his hand. “I will.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

After breakfast with David, I sent him along on his morning work. I donned my split cycling skirt, which luckily was roomier around the waist than my regular dresses, and set out on my steel steed to speak with Jonathan Sherwood. It was after nine o’clock when I turned onto Main Street and coasted down the hill. The day before had been sunny enough to melt away the slush. Patches of snow remained only in north-facing shaded spots.

As I pedaled past Patten’s Pond, I spied a tall man leaning against a tree, staring into the water. I braked to a stop.

“Zeb?” I called.

He turned and gave a half-hearted wave.

I wheeled the bicycle off the road and leaned it on the tree. I resettled my bonnet, which was always flying akilter from the wind created by riding, and took a closer look at him. His face was gaunt, and the dark smudges under his eyes made him look far older than his twenty-one years.

“Zeb,” I kept my voice gentle. “What’s the matter?”

He waited while the river-bound trolley clattered by, still pulled by horses. “Rose, other than when my brother died, this has been the worst week of my life.”

“Tell me.” I waited but got only silence in return. “Truly, it can help to unburden cares onto someone who loves thee.”

He folded his arms and gazed across the pond at the massive four-story Locke & Jewell carriage factory. “Very well. I’ve finally attained a position of some responsibility. I’m off the factory floor and meeting the carriage-buying public. I thought all was well. I thought Faith and I could start a family soon. But then I hear my employer is having financial troubles. I’m questioned as a suspicious person in a murder investigation. My own mother is a sad embarrassment, the laughingstock of the town. Even Faith is giving me odd looks. What am I to do?”

“Look at me, dear nephew.” I waited until he did. “Has thee done anything wrong? Any act illegal or unethical?”

“I never would.” He shook his head, hard.

“I didn’t think so. Then let us take these concerns one at a time. William Parry first. If his business goes under, thee will find employment elsewhere. Thee is gaining a reputation as a well-spoken, intelligent, informed salesman. I daresay Robert Clarke would welcome thee, or the Bailey business.”

“Maybe.” He stared at the ground.

I continued. “And we both know their products are of a higher quality.”

“That is most certainly true.”

“As for thy mother, I spoke with her yesterday after she was jailed.”

He raised his shoulders in a wince.

“She needs to stop drinking entirely,” I said in a gentle voice, “but the impulse has to come from her.”

“I know, Rose.”

“Would that she could go to a residence like a tuberculosis sanitarium, but one instead designed to help the recovery of those addicted to spirits. There is the Martha Washington Home in Chicago, a rehabilitation center only for women, and the New York Inebriate Asylum. I also know of several Keeley Institutes, but their injections of bichloride of gold seem like a questionable cure.”

“Either way, we’d have to get her to agree to go. At least my father got her home yesterday.” Zeb shook his head. “I don’t even know where she finds the stuff.”

“I understand. Now, about the murder. I’m working with the police on the matter. It will help if thee tells me everything, every detail, about Second Day evening. What thee saw, what thee heard.”

“I told them, Kevin and his lackeys.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Zeb.” I got his attention and pointed at my face. “Tell me. Come sit down.” I perched on a bench someone had placed