Free Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue by Victoria Thompson Page B

stained as well, and Maeve helped her strip off her chemise and petticoat. She pretended not to see the bruises. Some were freshly dark while others had faded to green or yellow or even rose. Just as the maid had said, he’d hit her only where the marks wouldn’t show. Maeve was afraid to see what might lurk beneath her corset and drawers so she quickly dug out a clean petticoat and slipped it over Una’s head before she could think to remove the rest of her clothes.
    â€œWhat dress would you like to wear?” Maeve asked. She only had the choice of the one her mother had brought yesterday and the one Maeve had randomly chosen to bring today.
    â€œI should wear black,” she said.
    â€œI don’t think you have anything black,” Maeve said as matter-of-factly as she could manage. “You’ll have to order something. In the meantime, why don’t you wear this?”
    She chose the darker of the two dresses, a royal blue that would bring out the blue in Una’s eyes. She was, Maeve had to admit now that she’d gotten a good look at her, a truly beautiful young woman. Or she would be under other circumstances. Her haunted expression gave her a helpless air that Maeve didn’t like at all. Men might find it attractive, or at least some men might. Not Frank Malloy, of course, and she hoped not Gino Donatelli. Randolph Pollock probably would have found it irresistible, along with her raven black hair and her bright blue eyes.
    When Una was decently clothed again, Maeve sat down on the bunk beside her.
    â€œHas your attorney been to see you?”
    â€œAttorney?”
    â€œYes, your lawyer. Your mother hired him.”
    â€œWhy would she hire a lawyer?”
    â€œThe police think you killed your husband.”
    For the first time, a spark of spirit flared in her lovely blue eyes. “I wouldn’t kill Randolph! He’s my husband. I love him!”
    â€œYou were the only one there when they found him, and you had blood all over you.” Maeve nodded to where she’d dropped Una’s ruined dress on the floor of the cell.
    â€œI don’t remember that.”
    â€œDo you remember if your lawyer came to see you?”
    â€œA man was here.”
    â€œWhat did you tell him?”
    â€œI don’t . . . Nothing. He asked me some questions, and then he went away. I didn’t talk to him, though. I didn’t know what he was asking me.”
    Maeve knew the attorney well. He’d know what to do about the bruises. People might feel sorry for Una if they knew her husband beat her, but that also gave her a reason to kill him. Maeve wasn’t going to tell anyone else about it until she’d talked it over with the attorney.
    â€œWhat happened that day?”
    â€œWhat day?” Una asked. She seemed perfectly sincere.
    â€œThe day your husband died.”
    She winced. “I don’t know.”
    â€œYou don’t know or you don’t remember?”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œThe servants said someone was arguing with Mr. Pollock.”
    â€œReally? I don’t know who that could have been.”
    â€œDid he have a business partner?”
    She frowned. She looked even more helpless when she frowned. Maeve would never understand the appeal. She wanted to slap Una. “He had business
associates
.”
    â€œThat’s what he called them?”
    â€œYes. He would tell me he was meeting with his associates and I wasn’t to bother him.”
    â€œDo you know their names?”
    â€œI met a few of them. We had them to dinner sometimes. He wanted them to see what a lovely wife he had.”
    She seemed proud of this, although Maeve found it disturbing. Had Pollock literally shopped around until he found a woman who would look nice sitting at the dinner table? He’d hardly known Una when he proposed to her, so he couldn’t have chosen her for any other reason.
    â€œWas there anyone