Pushing Murder by Eleanor Boylan

another secret flight, but if worst came to worst …
    She smiled and relented. “If you promise not to stay too long.”
    â€œPromise!”
    â€œI’ll ask Mrs. Ling to take you down. She’s probably through with her papers.” Sister went to the closet. “As well as your robe, I want a blanket over your knees. The chapel is all the way in the next building.”
    â€œIs it?” I said innocently.
    â€œI’ll remind Mrs. Ling how to get there.” I restrained myself. “Now, remember—”
    â€œJust a quick prayer.”
    Ten minutes later Mrs. Ling and I emerged from an elevator beside the chapel sign and beheld, as I’d hoped we would, a half-dozen or so policemen, any one of whom might have recognized Dan. Now I was just an anonymous old lady in a wheelchair milling with the crowd.
    â€œOfficer,” I quavered to a stocky one nearby, “I would so love to visit the chapel, but I understand there’s been something awful—a murder?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. The chapel’s closed to the public today.”
    â€œOh, dear. Do you suppose I could speak—I mean, is there someone in charge?”
    â€œThat’s Captain Redmond right there.” He took three steps to a wiry, gray-haired officer. Ah! Captain Redmond. The horse’s mouth? Mrs. Ling pushed me to a place near the wall, remarking on the crowd and hoping it wasn’t going to be too much for me. Captain Redmond was approaching.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, ma’am?”
    â€œOh, Captain, I did so want to say a prayer in the chapel. You see—”
    Helpful Mrs. Ling interrupted in that fatally good English of hers. “Captain, this lady is a friend of the woman who was murdered.”
    So much for carefulness. I heard my son’s voice: “You’d never forgive yourself if you tipped your hand.… Consider Sal’s safety.…”
    Captain Redmond was looking at me with interest. He said, “A friend, now. Is that so?”
    â€œWell, I knew her slightly.” I adjusted the blanket over my knees, avoiding his eyes. “Do you have any leads?”
    â€œI’m afraid not.” The captain’s eyes were definitely not avoiding mine. “May I have your name, ma’am?”
    â€œClara Gamadge.”
    â€œMaybe you know why the victim was here. Maybe to visit you?”
    â€œThat’s a possibility, and it makes me feel just awful. Well, I’m a little tired so perhaps I’ll skip—”
    â€œYou’re welcome to visit the chapel.” He was graciousness itself. “We just want to keep out the curious. I’ll go with you.”
    â€œI really shouldn’t keep Mrs. Ling from—”
    â€œI don’t mind at all.” She was all solicitude. “And you said you were most anxious.”
    Between graciousness and solicitude I was trapped. But keep your mouth shut, Clara. Janet Folsom was a chance acquaintance, and I had no connection with her presence here. Captain Redmond walked with us as Mrs. Ling pushed my chair down the glass corridor. I felt as if Dwight Dunlop stalked beside me and arrived with us at the leather door. Had he followed Janet, or had he waited for her? The captain nodded to a patrolman, who opened the door, and we entered the vestry. As the door started to close behind us, Sadd’s voice said, “May I come in too?”
    We turned, and I said quickly, “This is my cousin Charles Saddlier—Captain Redmond, Sadd.” Don’t let Sadd say they’d told him upstairs I’d gone to say a prayer for my dear friend Janet Folsom.
    Sadd indicated the library sign. “Not exactly a branch of the NYPL, but I saw a book I wanted to borrow when I was here yesterday.”
    â€œYesterday?” said the captain. “What time would that have been?”
    I sneezed noisily, and Mrs. Ling produced a tissue.
    â€œOh, quite early, before all the