Free Murder in Morningside Heights (A Gaslight Mystery) by Victoria Thompson Page B

for so long, Gino figured she’d forgotten what they were talking about, but she hadn’t.
    “They’d talk their Frenchy talk and giggle like they was little girls and then they’d look at poor Miss Billingsly who never learned to talk Frenchy, and you’d just know they was making fun of her. They could’ve said anything about her and nobody but them would’ve known. Made me sick to see it.”
    It must’ve made Miss Billingsly sick, too. And maybe it made her drink. Would it have made her mad enough to commit murder, though?
    He knew better than to ask Bathsheba such a question. “There’s nothing worse than having folks make fun of you right to your face and you can’t even answer back.”
    “Well, there might be some things worse, but not many.”
    “How are the ladies now that Miss Northrup is gone? Do you think they’ll make up?”
    Bathsheba took her time answering him. “I don’t know. I think it might be too late.”
    *   *   *
    F rank studied Pelletier’s smug expression. “Are you saying that the other female teachers would be angry that Miss Wilson became a professor?”
    “Not only the female teachers. The male professors as well. She is taking a position a man could have filled. A man who needs to feed a family, you understand.”
    Frank understood perfectly. “Did they think she didn’t deserve it?”
    “That is not the question. Many of the female instructors deserve to be professors.”
    “And wouldn’t they also resent Miss Northrup for taking an instructor position?”
    “Of course, but perhaps not as much.”
    And yet Miss Northrup was the one dead. Frank studied the professor for a moment. “I could’ve used you a few months ago, when I was in France.”
    Frank had expected Pelletier to brighten at the mention of his home country. Frenchmen seemed inordinately proud of it, although Frank couldn’t understand why. Instead, Pelletier stiffened slightly. “You visited France?”
    “Yes. My wife and I took a European tour.” He didn’t mention it was their honeymoon.
    “Where did you visit?”
    “Paris. Some cities in the south. I don’t remember the names. We saw a lot of old things. Are you from Paris?”
    “
Mais non
, I am from a tiny town in Bourgogne. You would not have visited it.”
    “Doesn’t it have any old things?”
    He smiled slightly at this. “All of France is old, but there is nothing of note in my hometown.”
    “I don’t suppose you have any idea who might’ve killed Miss Northrup.”
    Pelletier sighed. “I wish that I did. Such a tragedy.”
    “It certainly is.” Frank glanced over at the other desk. “I’m afraid I need to go through Miss Northrup’s desk. I don’t suppose you know where the key is.” He remembered the coroner hadn’t said anything about finding keys on Abigail’s body.
    Pelletier also glanced over at the desk. “I do not think it is locked.”
    Frank got up and went over. Sure enough, the drawers opened easily. He noticed that Pelletier had turned back to whatever had been fascinating him when Frank came in. Or maybe he was just unwilling to watch him search through the dead woman’s belongings.
    Frank wasn’t satisfied with his conversation with Pelletier. He wasn’t sure what had unsettled him, but he did know he’d probably be back with more questions very soon.
    The search was brief. Abigail’s desk contained nothing personal or particularly interesting. He found a sheaf of papers that appeared to be student assignments that she was in the process of grading. They were all in French, though, so he had no idea what they said. The rest were just the normal supplies he’d expected to find. All except for one thing, which he did not find.
    “Did she always keep her desk unlocked?”
    Pelletier looked up in surprise. “
Mais oui
. We keep the office door always locked, and there is nothing here worthy of stealing, I think.”
    “Do you lock your own desk?”
    “As I said, there is no need.”
    Then why was