Murder on Pleasant Avenue Read online

  “I do not know who this Black Hand is, but I do know what goes on in my neighborhood. No one has taken anyone from the settlement house. I would not permit this, you see. The settlement does many good things for our people.”

  “And yet a young woman is missing,” Frank said, refusing to be sidetracked.

  “Perhaps she is, but she has not been kidnapped.”

  “And you can be sure of this?”

  “On my mother’s grave, Mr. Malloy. The young lady you are concerned about is perfectly safe.”

  “How can you know this?” Gino asked, obviously forgetting that he was supposed to let Frank do the talking.

  Esposito gave him a pitying look. “I told you, I know everything that happens in my neighborhood. You can stop searching for this young lady and go back to doing whatever you usually do in some other part of the city.”

  Gino would have argued, but Frank stopped him with a gesture. “I’m sure your word is good, Mr. Esposito,” Frank lied, “but I’m also sure you’ll understand that her friends and family would feel much better if they could see her for themselves.”

  “They will probably see her soon, Mr. Malloy. In the meantime, you can reassure them that she will come to no harm at all.”

  Before Frank could reply, they were all distracted by a disturbance in the hallway. Esposito called out something in Italian, and the disturbance ceased immediately. The door opened slowly, and the man who had accosted Frank and Gino outside the settlement house tentatively stuck his head in. The look he gave Frank and Gino should have curdled their blood, but they just stared back impassively.

  “They rode off in their motorcar and left me behind, boss,” he told Esposito.

  “We’ll talk about this later, Balducci. Mr. Malloy and Mr. Donatelli are leaving. Please escort them out.”

  Frank wasn’t quite ready to leave, but the chances that they’d learn anything more from Esposito were pretty small, so he rose from his chair. “If you’re wrong about this young lady, we’ll be back,” he told Esposito.

  “I am not wrong,” he said confidently.

  Balducci looked as if he wanted to strangle both of them, but he contented himself with muttering imprecations as he escorted them back through the empty saloon to the front door. He slammed the door a little too hard behind them, making the glass rattle ominously. When Gino had started the motor and they were safely away from the saloon, Gino turned to Frank.

  “Do you believe him?”

  Frank frowned. “I think he believes himself.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I think he was very sure that he was telling us the truth, but it doesn’t make any sense. How could a respectable young woman be safe if she disappeared from her home—and the settlement house is her home at the moment—without a word to anyone?”

  “She couldn’t,” Gino said. “It’s impossible.”

  “And yet Esposito seems certain that she’s fine.”

  Gino did something with the gears, and they turned a corner, somehow managing not to collide with a wagon going the opposite direction. Frank only managed to stay in the motorcar by clinging frantically to the side. “Do you think he knows what happened to her?”

  Frank straightened in his seat and tried to look calm. “I think he must. Otherwise, he would’ve claimed he didn’t know anything about it at all. And he wasn’t at all surprised that a young lady is missing. I got the feeling he even knew her name, which makes me really nervous.”

  “So should we keep looking for the house Mrs. Cassidi described?” Gino asked, nearly running down a peddler who didn’t seem to realize just how fast the motorcar was going.

  Luckily, Frank’s gasp was drowned out by the roar of the motor. “I’d like to go back to the settlement house and ask Mr. McWilliam a few more questions before we do anything else.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Oh, like how Esposito could know so much about what goes on at the settlement, for example.”

  “He probably has a lot of spies. Hundreds of people go in and out of there. Some of them would be happy to tell him anything he wants to know.”

  “Yes, and I suspect somebody at the settlement knows more about Miss Harding than Mr. McWilliam has told us, too.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but McWilliam—who claims to be practically engaged to Miss Harding—has no idea where she is, but a gangster who shouldn’t know her at all seems very sure she’s perfectly safe.”

  “That does seem strange, but if he kidnapped her, he’d know that, wouldn’t he?”

  Frank considered this theory. “I guess he would, and he might consider her ‘safe’ because she’s in his hands.”

  Gino cast him a worried frown before maneuvering the motorcar into a spot along the curb in front of the settlement house. “Should we tell Mr. McWilliam what Esposito said about her?”

  “It might make him feel better, but it also might scare him to death. I think I just want to find out what he knows about Esposito and his connection to the settlement house.”

  They’d just entered the main door when Christopher McWilliam came bustling down the hallway. “Mr. Malloy, Gino,” he called, hurrying toward them. “I have wonderful news!” He caught himself then and glanced around, aware of the curious looks from the people coming and going to the various classes. “Please, come up to my office and I’ll tell you.”

  Gino and Frank exchanged a bewildered glance and followed McWilliam up the stairs. As soon as he had closed the door behind them, he said, “Miss Harding is back. She arrived a few minutes ago, safe and sound.”

  This was good news indeed, but it raised a whole host of new questions. “Where was she?”

  McWilliam’s smile faded. “She, uh, she wouldn’t say.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I, uh, I don’t know. That is, I haven’t seen her myself. She came into the building and went straight to her room. Mrs. Donatelli saw her, though, and told me immediately.”

  “Didn’t you try to speak to her?” Frank asked.

  McWilliam frowned in obvious frustration. “I wanted to of course, but men aren’t allowed in the ladies’ dormitory. I did ask Mrs. Donatelli to see if she needed anything, but she wouldn’t open the door and just told Mrs. Donatelli she was fine.”

  And he couldn’t send anyone else because nobody else knew Miss Harding had been missing. But Miss Harding wouldn’t know they’d tried to keep her absence a secret either. She’d think people must have noticed, and she probably wouldn’t want to face anyone just yet. Like Mrs. Cassidi. But Frank wouldn’t jump to conclusions. “I see.”

  “Do you suppose they let her go because they heard you were investigating?” McWilliam asked.

  “It’s possible,” Frank allowed, glancing at Gino, who obviously shared Frank’s doubts. But maybe this was why Esposito had said Miss Harding was safe. Did he somehow know she was free? Had she escaped or been released? So many questions and so little chance of asking them. But maybe someone else could.

  “Mr. McWilliam, may I use your telephone?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Sarah had just finished visiting with all the current residents of the maternity clinic and determining that no one was in imminent need of her midwife services when she received the telephone call from Malloy. This time she didn’t have to wonder why he needed her at the settlement house. When Malloy had cryptically said their lost sheep had returned and could she come to tend it, she’d understood immediately: Miss Harding was back at the settlement house—either rescued, freed, or escaped—and Malloy wanted Sarah to minister to her.

  Wishing for a motorcar of her own—even though she knew the train would probably be faster—Sarah caught an elevated train to East Harlem. Teo Donatelli greeted her when she reached the settlement house.


  “Gino and Mr. Malloy have gone,” Teo explained in a whisper. “They did not want people wondering why they were here. I am to take you to Miss Harding.”

  Sarah nodded her understanding and followed Teo through a maze of rooms and hallways to the farthest row house in the group. This had been reserved for the women’s residence. It was quiet now, since the other female residents would be out working at this hour of the day. Teo took Sarah upstairs and rapped on one of the doors.

  “Miss Harding?” she called. “Mr. McWilliam has sent a lady to see you. She is a nurse.”

  “I’m not sick,” a voice called from inside. “I don’t need a nurse.”

  “Mrs. Donatelli,” Sarah said loudly enough for Miss Harding to hear. “Would you leave me alone with Miss Harding?”

  “Yes,” Teo said in surprise, then nodded her understanding and said, “Yes,” again more loudly. “I’m leaving now, Miss Harding. Mrs. Malloy will take care of you.”

  Teo made as much noise as she could, clattering down the stairs.

  When she was gone, Sarah called through the door, “Miss Harding, I know what happened to you. Mr. McWilliam sent me.”

  Sarah had half-expected another dismissal. Instead, after a long moment, the door opened wide enough for her to see the woman peering out at her. Plainly, she had been weeping, but now she merely looked alarmed.

  “What do you mean, you know what happened to me?”

  “We know you were kidnapped by, well, probably by the Black Hand or someone like them. As soon as Mr. McWilliam realized you were missing, he sent for . . .” Sarah glanced around, painfully aware of how easily they could be overheard if anyone chanced to enter this part of the house. “Perhaps we should discuss this more privately.”

  Miss Harding frowned, but she stepped back, opening the door wide enough for Sarah to enter, then closing it behind her. She was a striking young woman with hair like spun gold—a bit mussed now but still nicely arranged—and cornflower blue eyes. Her flawless complexion was blotched from weeping, but the redness was fading quickly since Sarah had distracted her. “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Sarah Malloy. I’m a . . . a nurse.” No sense in calling herself a midwife. Miss Harding would hardly be comforted by that knowledge. “My husband is a private investigator, and when Mr. McWilliam realized you were missing, he sent for my husband and his partner, Gino Donatelli.”

  “Who must be some relation to Teo Donatelli,” she said grimly.

  “Rinaldo’s brother,” Sarah said.

  “Why did Christopher send for a private investigator?”

  “When he realized you had been kidnapped, he wanted to protect you as much as he could. He knew the police had not been very successful at dealing with the Black Hand, and calling them in would make your abduction public.”

  “And ruin my reputation,” she added sharply. “Christopher would be very aware of that.”

  “As I said, he wanted to protect you. Perhaps you’d like to sit down, Miss Harding. I know you’ve been through an ordeal.”

  The room was spartan, furnished only with a narrow bed, a washstand, a dresser, and one wooden chair. Miss Harding had added a few feminine touches—a bouquet of flowers in a glass vase, drooping now after her absence, a framed photograph of an older couple who were probably her parents, and a bright blue bedspread—but nothing she could do would make the place appealing. She gestured less than enthusiastically toward the lone chair, realizing belatedly that she’d thrown her jacket on it. She picked it up and hastily hung it on one of the wall pegs that held her other clothing.

  The baby blue of the fabric stood out from the rest of the garments, which were all sensible black or brown. Only then did Sarah notice Miss Harding’s skirt matched the jacket, and if Sarah wasn’t mistaken, it was made of silk. What an unusually fine outfit to be wearing while working at the settlement house.

  Miss Harding seated herself on the bed. Sarah saw that she was clutching a soggy handkerchief. She touched it lightly to her eyes as Sarah sat down on the chair.

  “Miss Harding, I’m terribly sorry for what you went through, but if you can tell us anything at all about your captors or where you were held, that might enable the authorities to track down the men who are doing this and also free the others they are holding.”

  Miss Harding frowned. “Others?”

  “Yes. I spoke to Mrs. Cassidi. She was kidnapped as well, but you probably know that. She said she could hear children who were being held in the same house. Just imagine how terrified they must be, and their poor parents, too. If we could find that house, we could free them.”

  Miss Harding went very still, and she seemed to be studying Sarah carefully. “You think I was kidnapped by the Black Hand?”

  “According to what we have learned, they are the ones behind the kidnappings, yes. Mrs. Cassidi was taken in a motorcar out to a house in the country somewhere. Is that where you were held, too?”

  Miss Harding’s startling blue eyes closed for a long moment, as if she was trying to shut out a terrible vision. “No,” she said at last. “That is not where I was.”

  Could the Black Hand have more than one place where they kept captives? Of course they could, especially in a city like New York. Maybe this wasn’t even the same group that had taken Mrs. Cassidi. “Do you know where they took you?”

  Some emotion flickered across her beautiful face that Sarah could not identify. “Not far. Some place in the city.”

  “Then not in the country, like Mrs. Cassidi.”

  “No, not in the country.”

  “And you managed to get away.”

  “Yes.” Her expression hardened, and Sarah hated herself for making her remember.

  “I’m sorry. I know this must be very difficult for you. Was anyone else being held where you were?”

  “I . . . No, not that I know of.”

  “You were very brave to escape, since you didn’t even know where you were. Do you . . . Do you mind telling me how you managed that?”

  Miss Harding lifted the handkerchief to her face again, pressing it tightly to her lips as if to hold back another spate of weeping. Sarah swallowed down the lump of guilt rising in her throat. But if anything Miss Harding remembered could help them find the kidnappers . . .

  “I . . . It was a flat in some tenement building. They locked me in a room, but this morning, when I woke up, the door wasn’t locked anymore and the guard was gone, so I left. I ran out of the building, and then I just ran and ran.”

  “Where was it? This building, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t pay any attention. I just ran away as far and as fast as I could. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore. That’s when I looked up at a street sign. It’s so easy to find your way in New York, isn’t it? Not like other towns with streets like Main Street and Church Street that don’t help you find your way at all. Here, almost all the streets have numbers. It’s so sensible. When I saw the sign, I realized I was only a few blocks from here, and I came back. I . . . I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Naturally, you would have been concerned, since you would assume everyone knew what had happened.”

  “That I’d been kidnapped,” she said flatly. “Did Christopher tell my parents?”

  “Mr. McWilliam thought it best not to alarm them,” Sarah said as diplomatically as she could.

  “What about Lisa?”

  “Lisa?”

  “My cousin, Lisa Prince. She lives here in the city.”

  “Mr. McWilliam didn’t mention her.”

  “He doesn’t know her. She’s . . . too good for the likes of us.”

  Sarah decided she didn’t need to ask any more about Cousin Lisa. “Mr. McWilliam wanted me to see you, as a nurse, to make sure you weren’t injured in any way from your experience. Since I’m a stranger, h
e thought you’d feel more comfortable confiding in me.”

  “Because someone from the neighborhood would most likely tell everyone what happened to me,” Miss Harding guessed.

  “People can be thoughtless,” Sarah agreed.

  “And cruel. You have no idea. But I’m not hurt. I was not . . . mistreated, merely inconvenienced.”

  What an odd way to phrase it. Sarah studied her for a moment, looking for any traces of trauma, but thankfully, she saw none. Perhaps she really did consider being kidnapped a mere inconvenience. “I’m glad to hear that. You’re very brave. I’m sure you must have been terrified as well.”

  She blinked. “Of course, although no one actually threatened me.”

  “Did they give you any indication who they thought would pay your ransom?”

  She considered this question carefully. “They did not, and I could have told them that my parents are not in a position to do so.” Was that bitterness in her tone? Surely not. She was simply angry at those who had done this to her.

  “Do you feel safe here?”

  “What?” she asked in surprise.

  “Someone who has been through what you’ve been through is often frightened of it happening again. You’ll need to feel safe while you recover from your ordeal.”

  “But I told you, I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Perhaps not physically, but I think you’ll find it takes some time before you’ll feel truly yourself again.”

  “I see. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You may want to go home for a while.”

  “To Saratoga Springs?” she scoffed. “No amount of safety would be worth that.”

  “Of course, if you’re comfortable here, I’m sure—”

  “I could go to Lisa’s house.”

  “You mean your cousin?”

  “Yes. She married well. Her husband’s family is rich. Joseph Prince. He’s not really a prince, but he might as well be.”

  What a strange thing to say, but Sarah couldn’t expect Miss Harding to be completely tactful after what she had been through for the past two days. “Would you like someone to contact them for you?”