Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue by Victoria Thompson

in particular who was . . . ?” How could she phrase it? “Who was there more often? Or who was more important than the others?”
    â€œI don’t . . . Well, maybe Mr. Truett.”
    â€œWho was he?”
    â€œHe was . . . I guess you could say he was more like Randolph’s friend. He never came to dinner, but he would visit Randolph in his study. He came almost every week.”
    â€œDo you know his first name? What did Randolph call him?”
    â€œHe called him Truett. He was very nice to me. Randolph didn’t want me to talk to him, but sometimes I would see him, and he always had a kind word to say.”
    â€œThat’s nice,” Maeve said, although the words wanted to stick in her throat. Who was Pollock to tell her she shouldn’t talk to someone? “Did he visit Randolph the day he died?”
    Una stared at her with sad eyes. “I don’t remember.”
    â€œI’m sure it will come back to you. Now I’m going to talk to your attorney, and he’ll come to see you again. This time, you need to answer his questions and do whatever he tells you to do.”
    â€œAre you going to leave me here?” she asked in alarm.
    â€œI have to. You’ll be safe here.”
    â€œBut these other women—they don’t like me.”
    â€œDon’t worry about that. They don’t like anyone.”
    â€œBut they’re mean to me.”
    Maeve felt a small stab of pity, although she knew it was wasted. Still, she couldn’t leave Una here unprotected. “If anyone tries to hurt you, call out for the matron.”
    â€œBut she doesn’t pay any attention to me.”
    â€œShe will now.” Maeve knew exactly how to get her to protect Una. “And you have to eat. Eat everything they bring you, no matter how much you might not want to. You have to keep up your strength.”
    â€œAll right.” She didn’t look happy about it, though.
    Maeve had one more question. “Why did you talk to me when you wouldn’t talk to anyone else?”
    She looked up in surprise, her blue eyes so wide and innocent that Maeve believed her. “Because I was afraid of you.”
    â€œGood,” Maeve said, meaning it completely. “Now do what I tell you. I’ll be back when I can.”
    She found the matron dozing in a corner of the gathering room. The woman jolted awake when Maeve bumped her chair.
    She looked like a weasel in a uniform, and she glared up at Maeve suspiciously. “What do you want?”
    â€œI want you to look after Mrs. Pollock. Make sure she eats and don’t let any of the others bother her. The redheaded woman stole her clothes. That better not happen again.”
    â€œI can’t watch them all the time,” she said and settled back into her nap.
    â€œYou can watch Mrs. Pollock all the time,” Maeve said, slipping five dollars out of her purse and holding it up. This was more than the woman earned in a week, Maeve was certain.
    The matron’s eyes widened. “Well, she does seem like a decent sort.”
    â€œNobody hurts her or bothers her or steals from her. If she calls for help, you see that she gets it. If she gives me a good report, you’ll get more.”
    The money disappeared into the weasel’s claw. “You can trust me.”
    Maeve was sure she could.
    *   *   *
    F elix Decker looked at his wife for an explanation, but she was as puzzled as he.
    â€œDid this Mr. Yorke say his sister is Mr. Pollock’s wife?” Elizabeth asked the maid.
    â€œYes, ma’am, he did.”
    â€œBut why is he
here
? He’s come all the way from Chicago. And why would he want to see you?” Decker asked his wife.
    â€œBecause I gave the servants at Pollock’s house my cardin case they needed anything. I suppose they sent him here. What confuses me is how could Una O’Neill be his sister?”
    â€œWhy