"And someone shot him while he was here alone."

Calvin's smooth face creased into a puzzled frown. "Then he's really dead? But why would somebody shoot him?"

Frank leaned back in his chair, ostensibly unconcerned. "Perhaps because he'd deserted his family and then refused to pay the promised sum of money to them."

"But why-" he started, and then stopped when Frank's meaning sank in. "You think I shot him? Why would I do a thing like that? He was my father!"

"The father who deserted you and caused your family great hardship while he was living in luxury. The father who took another wife and now refused to acknowledge you."

Now Calvin was angry. "I might've hated him, but he was still my father! And besides, if he was dead, he couldn't help us none, now could he? Killing him would be stupid!"

"But what if he'd decided not to give you the money he'd promised? What if he told you to go back home and forget about him or some harm would come to all of you? I know that would make me mad enough to shoot somebody."

"But I didn't even see him that day! I wasn't even in the house. And I don't have a gun, either!"

Frank was inclined to believe him. Calvin didn't even know Blackwell was killed with his own gun, so the killer wouldn't have had one. The story about the policeman sending him on his way was easy enough to check, in any case. And his theory about Blackwell refusing to pay the boy seemed farfetched. Blackwell wouldn't dare take a chance on offending Calvin and having him spread his story. Paying him off was a simple solution to a very complicated problem, one that Blackwell would have been a fool not to accept. Frank didn't think Blackwell was a fool.

Besides, if Calvin had taken the money and killed his father, he'd be miles away by now, just as Amos Potter had suggested. He certainly wouldn't have come knocking on the door and drawing attention to himself.

Now the boy was looking really frightened. "Are you gonna put me in jail?"

It would be so easy. The boy was penniless and alone. No one except his mother would care what happened to him, and she was miles away and powerless to help him. Frank could stick the boy in jail, beat him until he confessed, close the case, and collect his reward from Potter and Symington. That's what most of the detectives on the force would do. Frank had done it a time or two himself, although never with an innocent boy. The people he usually dealt with were criminals, guilty of something or another, even if it wasn't the crime he was investigating. If they went to jail, they deserved it, and the world was a better place with them behind bars.

But Calvin Brown was guilty of nothing.

"Did you kill your father, Calvin?" he asked.

"No, sir! I already told you."

"If I don't arrest you, what will you do?"

His eyes widened. Frank could see the fear and the hope mingled in them. "I ... I guess I can't do nothing much. I'm about out of money, so I've got to go back home soon. The ticket was just one way, so I'll have to hop a freight or something, but I got to get back home to help my ma." He thought a minute. "I sure would like to find out who killed my pa, though. I kinda feel like it's my duty or something."

Frank wanted him to stay, too. He might need to ask him more questions when he found out more about the case. And he did need to know who had sent the poster to Mrs. Brown. Someone, it seemed, was trying to cause Dr. Blackwell trouble. If he could find out who, he'd be a lot closer to finding the killer.

"If I pay your rent for another week, would you stay in town?" Frank asked. A few dollars was cheap enough for the help the boy might be able to give him. Besides, he wanted the boy close so he could keep an eye on him. "If you do, I'll even buy you a ticket back home when you're ready to leave."

Now the boy was thoroughly confused. "You ain't gonna arrest me?"

"I don't think you killed your father, Calvin, but you may be able to help me find out who did."

"How?"

"You can start by showing me the poster that was sent to your mother, if you still have it."

"I do. I even have the envelope, but it won't help you none."

"I'll be the judge of that. Let's go to your lodging house. I'll take care of your rent while we're there." The boy might be innocent, but Frank didn't trust him not to run if he had the means, so he wasn't going to give him money directly.

They went out into the hall to find Amos Potter waiting on a bench in the entrance hall. He jumped to his feet.

"Where are you taking him?" Potter demanded. "Are you arresting him?"

"Not yet, Mr. Potter," Frank said, noticing the boy's alarm.

"Why not?" Potter was outraged. "You know he's the one who killed Edmund! He's the only one who had a reason."

"I don't think we can be sure of that. But don't worry, Mr. Potter, Calvin will be in safekeeping in the meantime. Now if you'll excuse us, we have business to attend to."

Plainly unhappy, Potter reluctantly stepped aside and allowed them to leave. Frank was sure he'd have a few choice words to say later about the way Frank was handling the case, but he'd worry about that when it happened.

WHEN SARAH CAME downstairs after checking on her patients, she was furious to discover that Malloy had left with the boy. She'd intended to comer the detective and demand an account of what he'd learned. Now she'd have to find out later.

She collected her things, and Granger asked if he should summon the carriage for her.

"That won't be necessary. It's a lovely day, and I'd prefer to walk. I'll be back in the morning to see how the baby is doing," she told him.

"That wouldn't be a convenient time," Granger told her. "Dr. Blackwell's funeral is being held here at ten o' clock."

Why hadn't she expected this? Now she'd be sure to be here tomorrow. She wouldn't miss Blackwell's funeral for anything. "Thank you, Granger," she said, not telling him of her plans.

On the way home, Sarah mulled over the things she had learned from Amos Potter. She would have to share this information with Malloy, although she thought he probably knew most of it already. What he might not know was the difference in the versions of the truth that she had heard today. Potter insisted that Letitia had been happy to speak at Blackwell's lectures, and Sarah knew that Letitia had hated it so much she'd needed to use morphine just to get through them.

Did Potter know her true feelings? Was he trying to protect her, or did he honestly believe she was that devoted to her husband? Fortunately, it wasn't her job to find the answers. She could simply collect observations and pass them along to Malloy. He hadn't wanted her involved in this case, but here she was, in up to her eyebrows just the same. She hoped he'd be grateful for her help after all, but if he wasn'st, it didn't matter. She was going to help him anyway.

A quarter of an hour later she reached Bank Street, and as she strolled toward her front steps, she saw her elderly next-door neighbor, Mrs. Ellsworth, come out with her broom and begin to sweep.

No dirt ever had a chance to collect on Mrs. Ellsworth's front steps because she was out there ten times a day sweeping. She used this activity as an excuse to encounter everyone who passed by. Sarah wondered when she had a chance to do her inside housework since she always seemed to be watching out her front window for any activity that required her attention in the neighborhood.

"Hello, Mrs. Brandt!" she called cheerfully.

"How are you today, Mrs. Ellsworth?" Sarah replied. Since Mrs. Ellsworth had once saved her life, Sarah would indulge her whenever she could.

"Oh, I'm feeling quite cheerful, Mrs. Brandt. My apron fell off this morning, and that gave me quite a laugh."

This didn't seem particularly funny to Sarah, but she knew Mrs. Ellsworth well enough to know there must be some hidden meaning in the event. Mrs. Ellsworth found hidden meaning in just about everything that happened. "And why did you find this so funny?"

"Because when an apron falls off, it means the wearer is going to have a baby within the year!"

Even Sarah had to laugh at this, too. Mrs. Ellsworth was in no danger of having a baby this or any year. "Perhaps someone is going to leave one on your door-step," she suggested.

"Wouldn't that be something?" Mrs. Ellsworth said. "I don't think I'd even remember what to do with a baby, it's been so long. It's a nice thought, though."

"Or maybe it means you're going to be a grand-mother," Sarah said, teasing her. "Has your son been keeping company with anyone special lately?"

"Lord, no," Mrs. Ellsworth said. "All Nelson does is work at the bank, day and night. I tell him it's making him old before his time, but does he listen? Of course not. He tells me he needs to get ahead. I tell him he needs to get a wife. I want some grandchildren to spoil before I die."

"I don't blame you. But sooner or later he'll meet a nice girl and fall in love. Don't give up hope."

"And where have you been this lovely day? Delivering someone else's grandchild?"

"No, I was just visiting one of my patients who ..." Suddenly Sarah realized Mrs. Ellsworth might know the deceased. She was always following the latest in medical cures. "Have you ever heard of Dr. Edmund Blackwell?"

"Blackwell? Yes, indeed. He's getting quite famous. I went to one of his lectures. Nelson always tells me I'm a fool for believing these charlatans, but how do you know that one of them might not have really discovered something that will help cure people?"

Sarah wasn't about to agree with something so outrageous. "What did you think of him?" she asked instead.

"A lovely man," she said, really meaning it. "Quite handsome and tall, and his voice was like velvet. Just looking at him made me feel better," she added with a sly grin, "so I imagine his treatments are quite effective."

Sarah couldn't help smiling back. "I had no idea he was so attractive," she said. This probably explained why Letitia had married him, in spite of the difference in their backgrounds and their ages.

"And I'm not the only one who noticed, either, as you can imagine. Ladies tend to get sick more frequently if their doctor is handsome and charming, so Dr. Blackwell was in great demand. I even heard ... Well, that's of no matter."

Sarah glanced around to see if anyone else was in earshot and stepped closer to Mrs. Ellsworth's porch. "I guess you haven't heard about it yet, but Dr. Blackwell was murdered two days ago."

"Good heavens, no! I can hardly believe it!" She leaned her broom up against the house and came halfway down the steps so they could speak more quietly. "Did you say he was murdered? How on earth did it happen?"

"Someone went into his house and shot him. I understand the killer tried to make it look like suicide but-"

"But that nice Mr. Malloy wasn't fooled," she guessed. Mrs. Ellsworth thought very highly of Frank Malloy. "Does he know who did it?"

"Not yet. It seems Dr. Blackwell had a mysterious past that might have given someone a reason to kill him."

Mrs. Ellsworth snorted derisively. "I don't know what kind of a past he had, but I can assure you, if what I've heard about him is true, he has a present that might have given someone a reason to kill him, too."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked eagerly.

"What I mean is that rumor has it Dr. Blackwell's treatments sometimes involved intimacies that other doctors would have considered ... uh ... unprofessional."

"Intimacies?" Sarah echoed.

Mrs. Ellsworth glanced around this time, making sure she would not be overheard. "It's said he sometimes seduces his patients, Mrs. Brandt. Not that the patients were unwilling. I'm sure they were actually quite eager. But some of them, I've heard, have jealous husbands who resented their wives' devotion to the good doctor, even if they didn't know how deep that devotion went. Perhaps one of them found out about his wife's involvement and decided to rid the world of his rival."

5.

FOR THE FUNERAL THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH dressed in her best black serge and chose a hat that still looked moderately stylish. In the normal course of her life, she hardly ever needed to look stylish, but she'd been to far too many funerals since meeting Frank Malloy. She'd be forced to get a new hat if this kept up.

Although she was carrying her medical bag when Granger opened the front door to the Blackwell home, he could not miss the fact that she was here for the funeral, although she was a bit early. Her hat probably gave her away.

"I'm sure Mrs. Blackwell will be glad to see you, Mrs. Brandt," he said, although his tone belied the words.

Sarah, of course, didn't particularly care if Mrs. Blackwell wanted to see her or not. She was here, and they wouldn't dare cause a scene by trying to throw her out. She was, after all, Mrs. Blackwell's nurse, and who could fault her for paying her respects to the husband of her patient?

When she stepped into the foyer, she heard Amos Potter's voice coming from the parlor. He was instructing someone impatiently. Sarah peeked in and saw that Dr. Blackwell's large, ornate casket had been brought in during her absence. It was closed, probably because after having his brains blown out, he wasn't in any condition for viewing. Several large flower arrangements stood around, their scent rather cloying in the confines of the room, and the furniture had been moved back to make space for half a dozen rows of chairs.

Potter was telling one of the maids to move the flowers closer to the casket when Sarah called, "Good morning, Mr. Potter. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Potter looked up in surprise, and for an instant couldn't seem to place her. "Oh, good morning, Mrs. Brandt," he said after a moment. "No, I'm sure we have everything taken care of. Is Mrs. Blackwell ill?" he added with some concern.

"Not that I am aware. I did think she might need some support today, however. This must be a terrible strain for her."

"Oh, not at all. I told her she didn't have to worry about anything. I've taken care of all the arrangements. And under the circumstances, no one expects her to attend the service, of course."

"Sometimes that's worse, knowing you can't do anything or take part in something of such importance," Sarah said. "And don't underestimate the importance of a funeral. One must be allowed to mourn a loss such as this, and being unable to attend her husband's funeral will make it difficult for her to come to terms with his death."

Potter didn't appreciate being instructed in such things. "I'm sure I will be able to give Mrs. Blackwell all the support she will need in the coming months, Mrs. Brandt. You need not concern yourself about her welfare."

Sarah simply smiled. She'd expected as much from Potter. He was certainly eager to offer every assistance to the lovely young widow. Maybe she hadn't been so far wrong in imagining Potter could have killed Blackwell because he wanted Mrs. Blackwell for himself. She was going to have to discard the theory that Potter had seduced Letitia, however. One preposterous solution to this case was quite enough. Malloy was going to tease her mercilessly if she couldn't come up with a more menacing suspect than Amos Potter.

"I'll leave you to your duties," Sarah said, and continued on her way upstairs, ignoring Granger's disapproving glare.

Sarah checked on the baby first. The boy appeared to be fine.

"I give him the drops, just like you told me," the nurse reported. "No more, no less. Then he's like an angel. Eats and sleeps just like he should."

Sarah listened to his heart and his lungs and thumped his tummy. His color was good and his eyes were clear. He turned his head toward the nurse when she spoke, and he followed Sarah's finger with his eyes. He wasn't deaf or blind, and he seemed sound of body. They wouldn't know about his mind for a while yet, but Sarah could hope he would be none the worse for the morphine his mother had taken.

"He seems perfectly healthy," Sarah judged with more than a little relief when she'd finished her examination.

"Except for that hair. Did the morphine turn it that color, do you think?" the nurse asked with obvious disapproval.

"Certainly not," Sarah assured her. "He simply has red hair."

"Never saw hair like that on a baby," the nurse insisted. "It ain't natural."

"Many people have red hair, and it's perfectly natural," Sarah assured her as patiently as she could. People had the oddest prejudices.

The nurse hmmphed her skepticism. "How long do you think we'll have to give him that horrible stuff?"

"A few months," Sarah said. "We'll wait until he's gained some weight, and we're certain he's healthy. Then we'll gradually decrease his dosage. Have you heard how Mrs. Blackwell is doing?"

"Don't nobody tell me anything," the nurse said, a little disgusted. As a newcomer to the household she wouldn't have gained the confidence of the other staff members, and her job, of necessity, kept her from socializing with them. "I do know they're having the doctor's funeral this morning."

"So I gathered," Sarah said. "That's why I came today. I was afraid Mrs. Blackwell might be upset. I'd better go check on her."

The nurse made another rude noise. "If she's got some morphine, she probably don't even know what's going on in her own parlor."

Sarah gave her a quelling look which made her frown, but at least she didn't say any more. Sarah hoped she wasn't going to have to suggest that Mrs. Blackwell get another nurse, but if this one was going to be so disapproving of her employer, things could become very difficult.

Sarah learned from the maid lingering in the hallway that Mrs. Blackwell was awake and wanted to see her. The bedroom was dark when Sarah entered, the heavy drapes drawn against the morning sunlight. Mrs. Blackwell lay propped against her pillows, her face pale and her expression drawn.

"How is my baby?" she asked Sarah, who decided the woman might not be as selfish and spoiled as she had originally thought. At least she'd asked about the baby first.