lying at the curve of one chiseled cheekbone. Still, it was an extremely good-looking face, a face that one would be most gratified to see smiling stalwartly down as its owner, with a single deft sweep of his pocket blade, sheered the coils that bound one to the cold train tracks, already humming now to the vibration of the fast-approaching and relentless 9:05.
The owner of the face said to me, âMy name is Officer Medley.â Then, as though embarrassed by the formality, he grinned. Sheepishly, engagingly, charmingly. âBut you can call me Tom. Most folk do, hereabouts. Whatâs your name, sweetheart?â
I looked at Miss Lizzie, who stood off to one side, her hands folded Mandarin style into the loose sleeves of her black dress. Her lips were set in a thin suspicious line. Older and wiser, she was no doubt less susceptible to the allure of looks and charm; and perhaps especially, given her background, when they were being demonstrated by a representative of the Law. But, fractionally, she nodded.
I looked back at Officer Medley. âAmanda,â I said. My voice still sounded distant, alien; but, warming to the man, I could feel myself begin, slowly, to rise up from the depths into which I had tumbled.
He nodded, smiling. âAnd your last name is Burton,â he said, âand youâre from Boston. Isnât that right?â
I nodded. âBut how did you know?â
He smiled his stalwart smile. âWeâre supposed to know stuff like that, itâs all part of our job. Boston, eh? Itâs a lovely city, even for such a great big place. Iâve been there many times myself. Sometimes Iâll sit at one of the benches along the grass and watch the boats go sculling up the Charles. Did you ever do that, Amanda?â
I nodded. âWith Father.â
âThat would be Mr. Burton, the stockbroker.â
I nodded.
âAnd I suppose heâd be back in Boston now? For the week, that is?â
I nodded.
âWell,â he said, and tapped me gently on the knee, âweâll be in touch with him directly, sweetheart, and I know heâll be here as soon as he can.â
Miss Lizzie said stiffly, âI have already made arrangements to apprise Mr. Burton of the situation.â
Officer Medley looked at her and smiled his charming smile. âVery good, maâam. Thank you. That was considerate of you.â
Miss Lizzie gave him a curt nod.
He turned back to me and thoughtfully pursed his lips. âNow, Amanda,â he said, âI know youâre upset right now, and believe me, I feel very bad for you. But I understand thereâs been a terrible accident next door, at your house, and itâs also part of my job to ask you some questions about it. Do you think thatâd be all right?â
I said, âNo accident.â
He nodded, his handsome face serious. âOf course not, sweetheart. Your mother?â
I shook my head. âStepmother.â
âDo you have any idea, Amanda, who mightâve done this thing?â
I shook my head.
He nodded. âI wonder if you saw anyone about the house today, on the lawn or in the street, who was acting strangely-like?â
Again, I shook my head.
âAnd you were where, yourself, this morning, Amanda?â
âUpstairs. Sleeping. The heat.â
He nodded. âDidnât you have breakfast, then?â
âEarlier.â
âAnd your stepmother ate with you?â
âYes.â
âAnd when might thisâve been?â
I was about to answer when suddenly more footsteps, heavy and hurried, came pounding on the carpet, and then another policeman, cap still perched atop his head, exploded into the parlor. Shorter than Officer Medley, he was a heavyset man in his late forties with a round shining face and a bulbous nose. His skin would normally (I later learned) be florid with the ruptured veins and shattered capillaries of the valiant drinker, but now only two spots