Free Murder on Lexington Avenue by Victoria Thompson

then she threw open the door, and he realized what it was. She’d wanted to be sure he was in a position to see straight into the room, and she had stepped aside in one swift motion to make sure his line of sight was unimpeded.
    At first he didn’t comprehend what he was seeing, and then the two figures on the sofa pulled apart and jumped to their feet. The two figures were Mrs. Wooten and a man Frank guessed to be almost young enough to be her son. When the door had opened, they had been in an embrace. There was no other word for it. Frank didn’t think it was a comforting embrace either.
    “I told you, Annie—” Mrs. Wooten was fairly shouting, and then she saw who was there.
    Mrs. Parmer stepped in front of Frank and preceded him into the room. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Valora,” she was saying as if nothing untoward had happened, “but Mr. Malloy told me he needed to speak with Terry, so of course I brought him right up. It’s about Nehemiah’s death, so I know you’ll both want to help him in any way you can.”
    Frank looked at Mrs. Parmer in amazement. She must have known what they would find here, and she had wanted to make sure he understood exactly what was going on between Mrs. Wooten and Terry Young.
    Mrs. Wooten was glaring at Mrs. Parmer as if she’d like to rip her head right off her body, but Mrs. Parmer appeared to be blissfully unaware, although Frank knew that was impossible. Young was still too shocked to really comprehend any of it. He stood blinking in surprise, looking from one to the other of the women and then at Frank, trying to make sense of what they were saying. Then Mrs. Wooten wrapped her arms around herself and hunched over, as if suddenly in pain, and uttered a startled cry.
    “Valora?” Mrs. Parmer said in apparent concern. “What is it?”
    Then they all noticed that Mrs. Wooten was looking down in horror at where a puddle was rapidly forming around her on the beautiful carpet.

4
    “T HE BEST THING ABOUT THIS TIME OF YEAR IS THE fresh fruit,” Mrs. Ellsworth was saying as she pulled a pie out of the oven.
    “I never had peach pie before,” Maeve said, inhaling the delicious aroma. “I never even saw enough peaches at once to even make a pie!”
    “I love peaches,” Catherine informed them all, looking up from the half-eaten one she was cradling in her hands.
    “I do, too,” Sarah said with a smile. They were all gathered in Sarah’s kitchen, and Mrs. Ellsworth had spent the morning helping the girls peel and slice the fruit she’d gotten at the Gansevoort Market that morning and bake it into pies.
    “Look how many pies we’ve got,” Maeve said, looking at the collection they had cooling on every flat surface in the room. “Can you count them, Catherine, and tell me how many we have?” she added. She’d been teaching Catherine her numbers.
    “Oh, no,” Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed in alarm. “You mustn’t count them once they’ve come out of the oven. They’ll go bad.”
    Sarah and Maeve exchanged a glance, but Sarah decided not to scold her neighbor for her superstitions.
    “Well, however many we have, what are we going to do with all of them?” Maeve wondered.
    “Maybe you can take some to Mr. Malloy and Brian,” Mrs. Ellsworth suggested archly.
    “I’m sure Mr. Malloy’s mother would be insulted,” Sarah reminded her.
    “All the more reason,” Mrs. Ellsworth replied with a twinkle, making Maeve laugh.
    “Why do you want to insult Brian’s granny?” Catherine asked with a frown.
    “We don’t, dear. Mrs. Ellsworth is just teasing,” Sarah replied with a warning look at the older woman.
    “That’s right, I am,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her.
    “It’s not nice to tease people,” Catherine informed them gravely.
    “That’s right, it’s not,” Maeve confirmed in her best nursemaid voice.
    They heard the doorbell, and everyone looked up with varying degrees of disappointment. The doorbell usually meant Sarah was being summoned to