The Detective and the Woman by Amy Thomas Read Free Book Online Page A

thing, taking roles and probing for information as easy to him as breathing air, but it was new to me, and I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me give up. If he believed I could successfully pull it off, I would do more than that; I would be magnificent.
    The beginning of the evening had asked little of me in terms of conversation or activity, so my nerves were on edge when I looked up to find that John Murphy, the mild-mannered cattleman, was to my right. Ambrose McGregor was on my left, but he had already been forcibly engaged in conversation with his wife and the young Burroughs on the way into the dining room. He would have to be left until a lull, which I doubted would ever occur where Tootie was involved, or for after dinner, when Holmes might engage the men separately.
    I took a sip of the beverage in front of me and nearly coughed. It was Coca-Cola, an impossibly sweet, fizzy beverage America had produced during my time in England. Mistaking my expression as one of enthusiasm, Marion Edison, who was next to Holmes across the table, eagerly declared, ‘They say they’ll be selling it in bottles any day now, but Papa has it brought in from the drugstore for parties.’ I couldn’t help enjoying her excitement, though I’d have much preferred a glass of wine. Holmes had warned me not to expect the spirits to flow freely, as Mina Edison was a devout Methodist, her husband also held to Methodist teaching, and both were staunchly opposed to the consumption of strong drink of any kind. I smiled politely, and Marion beamed. I appeared to have unintentionally passed some sort of test in her eyes. All the better, I thought. Young people often have open ears and the benefit of not awakening others’ suspicions. At eighteen, I had known plenty of things with the potential to embarrass any number of other people. I thought I might find out what sorts of things Marion knew.
    The first course included a large green gelatin mould containing all kinds of fruit, and the conversation for a time was taken up with admiring it and with Tootie’s insistence that Mina’s cook should give her the recipe for her cook, who lacked the proper finesse in preparing such creations. Mina dutifully (and, I thought, with some measure of amusement) offered her cook’s services for lessons at any time. In my view, the modern craze for outlandish gelatin was ridiculous. It would have been one thing if the stuff tasted good, but it was horrid. The pile of sticky, indifferent fruit that ended up on my plate reminded me of the one thing I missed about my life in Yorkshire—the plain, unfussy cooking that still predominated in the English countryside. But I soldiered on and managed to fit in a comment about the superiority of American cooks’ mastery of the dish.
    After a few minutes, the men began to grow restless, and Murphy asked Edison what he was working on. The inventor’s eyes lit up at this, and my own interest increased. Everyone else at the table, even the loquacious Tootie, grew silent out of respect for the man. ‘I will show you all the new Kinetoscope tonight, if the ladies won’t mind the laboratory,’ he said deferentially. Several enthusiastic heads nodded, and Mina looked toward those of us who were newcomers.
    ‘Tom means the new motion-picture device he’s been working on. It’s terribly clever.’ She smiled sweetly at her husband and touched his hand lightly, which brought forth an answering smile from the inventor. ‘The best explanation will be seeing it for yourselves, I think,’ Mina continued, and I saw that Edison seemed disappointed not to be able to elaborate further.
    As the meal progressed, conversation became less formal and more diverse, and I finally found myself able to engage Murphy in conversation over the main course of oyster stew. ‘I understand that you are from Montana, Mr Murphy,’ I began, watching as he nearly knocked his delicate china bowl off the table. ‘I have never been so