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

“But I need to—” Ned started to rise.

Kevin stood. “No, Mr. Bailey, you don’t. What you need to do is sit right there while we confirm a couple of facts.” He glared until Ned plopped back down.

Chapter Forty

Kevin directed an officer to guard Ned. On our way out, the detective shouted at a young officer to accompany us and directed another to bring the wagon around to the opera house with great haste and wait for us. We then rushed around the corner, as it was quicker to walk than wait for a police vehicle and horse to be readied.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you, Miss Rose,” Kevin said as we hurried. “I’d queried a police contact up in Ottawa. I got a return telegraph today, saying Mrs. Harrington is some kind of markswoman. A sharpshooter. Canada’s own Annie Oakley.”

My breath rushed in. “So she’s good with a gun.”

“Very. She’s won prizes.”

The diminutive Oakley was famed the world over for her prowess with a rifle and for teaching other women to shoot. I’d read she had married Frank Butler in Windsor, Ontario. Had they also journeyed to Ottawa? Perhaps Luthera had been taught by the best shooter on the continent, lady or otherwise. I wished I’d had this information earlier.

Breathing heavily and reeling from all the sudden news, I followed Kevin into the opera house. Ned had most surely done the right thing by showing up at the station and reporting to Kevin. Doing it sooner would have been better, but thus it was. Thus all of it was. Now we had to find Luthera.

Inside, we both halted. The large foyer was packed with people. The double doors to the theater were closed, but a number of people seemed to be moving up the staircases on both ends of the building. A huge ballroom occupied the third floor, one often converted to a meeting space for purposes precisely like this one. I scanned the light-haired heads I saw, at least the female ones, and the black dresses. I didn’t spy Luthera. I did see Georgia Clarke, who gave me an enthusiastic wave from across the foyer.

“I don’t see the lady,” Kevin muttered. “Do you?”

“No. Shall we go up?”

Kevin nodded. “Don’t leave this door, hear?” he told the young policeman.

“No, sir. I won’t, sir.”

“If you spot Mrs. Harrington, detain her,” Kevin added to the wide-eyed fellow. “She doesn’t leave, and she doesn’t go farther in. She might be a murderess.”

“Excuse me, sir. I don’t know what the suspect looks like.”

I hurried to describe her and how she was likely dressed.

“Yes, ma’am.” The young fellow nodded so hard I thought his neck might hurt later.

“Shall we, Miss Rose?” Kevin gestured to the right toward the less crowded of the two sets of stairs.

I considered suggesting we split up but thought the better of it. I began to follow him, weaving through locals and visitors talking in small groups. I overheard snippets of conversation. “Weather is such a pity,” and “Murderer still at large,” were among them.

I halted. William Parry stood with arms akimbo in a corner next to the stairwell. He scanned the crowd. I grabbed Kevin’s elbow. He whirled.

I pointed and whispered, “Come with me.” I wove through the crowd until I stood in front of William.

“Good afternoon, William.”

He blinked, then looked sharply left and right as if for an escape route. Kevin and I closed in.

“A witness puts you on the scene the night of Justice Harrington’s murder.” Kevin scowled. “Why did you conceal what you knew?”

I whipped my head to look at the detective. This was not the approach I would have taken. Still, it was his case, not mine.

“Naturally I was there.” William’s voice rose. “What nonsense is this?”

“Was thee in the alley?” I asked more gently.

“No. Pardon me.” He turned his head and coughed into a handkerchief. “As you both can tell, I am not well. I was seized by a paroxysm that evening and absented myself to take some fresh air. I stepped into the passageway next to the building.”

Kevin opened his mouth for further bluster. I held up a hand to him. The passageway led to the alley.

“Truthfully now,” I said. “Did thee witness a cry, a shot, anyone fleeing? Thee must help us.”

William searched my face. He swallowed. “I heard steps running. Light heels, like a lady’s, in the alley behind the opera house. When I was about to go back in, I saw Mrs. Harrington. She was breathing hard as she shut the door behind her.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police with your information?” I asked.

“I didn’t think it was important.”

Or he didn’t want her implicated in a crime, because he desperately needed an influx of money to save his company?

“We have to find her,” Kevin murmured next to my ear.

I pointed upward. Kevin pushed through the crowd toward the stairs. William stared after him.

“Excuse me,” I said to him and made to follow the detective.

“Mrs. Dodge, wait.” William touched my arm.

I faced him. “Make it quick.”

“Do you think she killed her husband?” He didn’t speak softly and drew stares from others nearby.

When I stared back, they averted their eyes and hurried on upstairs. “That’s entirely possible,” I said to William.

“There goes that plan,” he mumbled. His plan to rescue his business.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to find Luthera.”

“But, Rose, you won’t,” Georgia said, suddenly at my elbow.

“Why ever not, Georgia?” I asked. “She’s been here all week despite her mourning.”

“Because she packed up all her things this morning, and she’s headed back to Canada.”

My heart sank. “What train did she catch?”

“She hasn’t yet, quite. It’s the four thirty.”

I sucked in a breath, spying the back of Kevin’s blue coat halfway up.

“Kevin!” I shouted, not giving a care for what people thought. I pointed to the door. “Depot.”

Chapter Forty-one

Kevin and I climbed out of the police wagon, which had driven us the few blocks to the train depot with bells clanging. The young officer had come along, too. Kevin