Murder in Morningside Heights (A Gaslight Mystery) by Victoria Thompson Read Free Book Online

him. “Mr. Malloy was a police detective, Miss Wilson. He is more accustomed to questioning criminals than college professors, and he thought you would appreciate a gentler touch.”
    Now Miss Wilson was looking at Sarah the way the maid had a minute ago. “Then I suppose I should thank him for bringing you along, Mrs. Malloy. Won’t you sit down? Bathsheba, please bring us some coffee.”
    Frank managed not to show his surprise at the maid’s name, although he thought it probably fit. She did look like a sly one, and even though servants weren’t supposed to have an opinion about whom their employers entertained, Bathsheba seemed to be muttering to herself as she set off for the kitchen.
    The room was comfortably furnished with an overstuffed plush sofa and chairs. Delicate tables sat around, their tops cluttered with doilies and various figurines. Over the fireplace, which had been converted to a gas grate, hung a large painting of some Greek goddess in flowing robes that didn’t really conceal much. He managed not to stare.
    “We’re so very sorry to hear about Miss Northrup’s death,” Sarah was saying. “It must have been a terrible shock.”
    For just a second, Miss Wilson’s stoic façade cracked a bit, but only a bit. “Thank you. It was, of course. A shock, I mean. For everyone.”
    “Had you known her long?” Sarah asked.
    Miss Wilson visibly gathered herself again. “Almost five years now, I suppose. She was a student at the college, you know.”
    “Was she one of your students?”
    “Oh yes. I had her for several classes.”
    “And she was a good student?”
    “One of the best I’ve ever had. Teaching her was a joy. She simply loved learning and couldn’t get enough.”
    The sound of someone clattering down the stairway in the hall startled the three of them, and they all looked up as another woman appeared in the doorway that Bathsheba had left open. This woman was like a faded version of Miss Wilson, light brown hair where Miss Wilson’s was dark, and pale, white skin while Miss Wilson’s had a healthy glow. She also looked as if she’d just climbed out of bed, even though she was fully dressed. Her hair was half-down, with some of the pins sticking out at odd angles, and her eyes held the unfocused look of the newly awakened.
    “Are you talking about her?” the woman demanded.
    “Estelle,” Miss Wilson said sharply, rising to her feet with conscious dignity. “We have guests.”
    “I can see that! And they’re talking about her, aren’t they?”
    “This is Miss Billingsly,” Miss Wilson said. “She also teaches at the college.”
    “And you,” Miss Billingsly said to Frank. “You’re the detective, aren’t you?”
    Frank was already on his feet, since a lady had entered the room, and he sketched her a little bow. “Frank Malloy. And my wife.”
    Miss Billingsly spared not a glance for Sarah. She had trained her unfocused gaze on Frank. “Do you want to know who killed her?” She took a step toward him, and then another. “Is that why you’re here? Well, I’ll tell you who killed her.”
    Frank watched in horrified fascination as Miss Billingsly took one last step toward him, tripped, and went crashing to the floor.

3
    S arah jumped up and hurried to where Miss Billingsly lay sprawled on the floor. Malloy was closer and had already knelt down beside her, but seemed reluctant to take any action.
    “Miss Billingsly, are you hurt?” Sarah asked.
    The woman’s eyes fluttered and she frowned up at Sarah. “What happened?”
    That’s when Sarah smelled the alcohol and realized Miss Billingsly was drunk. “You fell. Are you hurt?”
    “I . . . I don’t think so.” She pushed up on one elbow. “Who are you?”
    “Bathsheba!” Miss Wilson called. She had made no move to help Miss Billingsly.
    Sarah helped Miss Billingsly sit up, being careful not to look at Malloy, because she was afraid if she did, she’d see her own amazement of the absurdity of this