A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (pdf ebook reader .txt) 📗

“I didn’t.”

“Or who the foreigner was?”

He shook his head. “I only glimpsed green eyes, although I think I spied him at the Grand Hotel last night. My fishwife identity has its limits.”

I smiled at the image of him as a fishwife for a moment. I remembered the green-eyed man—Amado, according to Zeb—sitting behind Ned and me at the Board of Trade meeting. Maybe he overheard the motorcar idea and approached Ned later about it.

Jonathan added, “I will say the trio looked friendly and possibly excited.”

“Does thee know Zebulon Weed, who works for William Parry?”

“Yes, after a fashion. He seems an intelligent young man.”

“He is, and he’s married to my niece. I’m afraid the police think he might have been involved in the killing.”

“But why?” He frowned. “What has he to do with the Harringtons?”

“Nothing, to be sure. One thing I am attempting is to clear his name. Can thee tell me if thee saw him leave the hall or return to it?”

He pulled his mouth to the side. “He did escort a woman out, an older lady who appeared embarrassingly inebriated.”

I blew out a breath. “It was his own mother, alas. Does thee remember the time?”

“A bit after ten, I think.”

The same as Zeb had said. “What else can thee tell me? Did thee witness Justice leave?” I’d asked him earlier, but he hadn’t answered.

“No. Unlike many others, I didn’t stay on until late.”

I sighed inwardly. Too bad.

Jonathan continued. “As you can see, I’m in boat building, not the manufacture of carriages and their component parts. I’m only on the Board of Trade as a representative of this business because the Lowell family doesn’t care to become involved in the issues before the town.”

“I understand,” I said. “Have the police been to ask thee for information about the night of the murder?”

“Not yet. Until now I didn’t realize I had any.” He clasped his hands and shot a quick look at the clock on the wall, which was about to click over to ten thirty.

A brief knock from the interior of the shop sounded, followed by a young man popping his sawdust-powdered head in. “Mr. Sherwood, we’d like your opinion on the new dory design, sir.”

“I’ll be there forthwith.”

The man touched his cap and shut the door.

“Thee has work to do.” I stood. “And I must be on my way. I thank thee greatly for being forthcoming. Please do inform Kevin Donovan of any other details thee might remember.”

“I shall, as you deem it important.” He also rose. “I hope you will take care in your investigation, Mrs. Dodge. To have an unapprehended killer in our midst is an unsettling thought.”

“We are in agreement about that.”

Chapter Thirty

I stood outside the boat shop, considering my path. I also rued riding my cycle. The pregnant woman’s frequent need to pass water—one I knew well from my clients’ reports and was now experiencing for myself—was becoming an increasing problem. If I’d walked here or convinced David to drive me, I could easily hire a conveyance home or even hop on the trolley. But transporting a bicycle at the same time was out of the question.

Perhaps I could leave the steel steed here for the moment. I truly wanted to convey what I’d learned to Kevin, and then I needed to prepare myself, both my attire and my emotions, for Orpha’s funeral in three hours. I slid the bike behind a pile of boards.

I stuck my head back inside the front office. “I need to leave my bicycle here for a bit, perhaps until Second . . . I mean, Monday. May I?” I smiled to soften the request.

The woman raised one eyebrow but didn’t object. “As you wish. I assume Mr. Sherwood approved your request?”

The Amesbury-bound trolley clanked toward us.

“I’m sure it’s not a problem for Jonathan. I thank thee.” I shut the door quickly. I was sure, but I didn’t want to wait for the Gorgon to go investigate. I dashed across the road and was about to raise my hand to hail the trolley to stop. Instead, a runabout pulled by a handsome dappled gray cut in front of the car.

Luthera herself drove the two-seater open carriage. “Mrs. Dodge, would you like to ride with me?”

The trolley clanged its bell. By pulling over for me, Luthera had blocked its way.

I climbed in. “I thank thee.”

The trolley driver clanged the bell again and let out a shout. “Outta my way, lady!”

“We’d better get going,” I urged.

Luthera, still in widow’s blacks, clucked to the horse. “Let the man stew for a moment. What does it matter if they arrive in town two minutes behind schedule?” She smiled.

This was possibly the first time I’d seen her put on a pleasant face. Up to now she’d been alternately haughty, cold, or dismissive.

“Is Wilson busy today?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But there’s nothing like driving oneself to get to know a new place, is there?”

“I would have to agree.”

“You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

I shot her a glance. I did want to speak with Kevin, but spending ladies-only time with Luthera might prove illuminating.

“I need to return home by one o’clock, but it can’t be later than eleven right now,” I said.

“Good.” Her voice turned flat. “Let’s make a small excursion.”

Uh-oh. This might have been a big error in judgment on my part. She flicked the reins and the horse broke into a trot. I couldn’t very well jump out of a moving buggy, not in my condition, not ever.

I cleared my throat. “Did thee hire this horse and carriage?”

“Hire?” She cast me a scornful look. “Mr. Parry kindly lent me them.”

Luthera seemed to have an elevated sense of herself and her position in society. It didn’t bear speaking of. In my experience, people who regarded themselves as above others often received painful life lessons teaching them otherwise. She would get those lessons in time, or not. It wasn’t my place to deliver them.

We drove back toward Main Street without speaking. We passed