Free Murder on Waverly Place by Victoria Thompson

sitting around the table holding hands or wrists or something?”
    “That’s what they said. Six of them, including that girl they call Madame, although she ain’t like no madam I ever saw.”
    “In the dark,” Frank said.
    “So they said.”
    “Close that door,” Frank said. “Let’s see how dark it really is.”
    O’Toole closed the door. He had to use some force. It fit very tightly in its frame. Frank reached up and turned off the gas jet.
    O’Toole swore softly. “Can’t see my hand in front of my face.”
    He was right. Whatever happened here, no one else would have seen. “Open the door.”
    Frank found a match and lighted the gas again. He looked around once more, this time taking in all the details of the room. “There’s no window in here.”
    “No,” O’Toole confirmed. “This here’s a false wall.” He indicated the wall opposite the door. “There’s a space about four feet deep between it and the outside wall of the house. Looks like that’s where they store stuff. A lot of junk in there.”
    A large cabinet sat against the false wall. “What’s in there?”
    “Nothing,” O’Toole reported. “Just an empty cabinet.”
    Frank wondered why they had an empty cabinet in the room, but before he could figure it out, he heard a woman start to scream hysterically. Muttering a curse, he went back out into the hallway and into the front parlor. The cops O’Toole had set on guard were just staring helplessly as one of the women was having a fit. Frank had half expected it to be the young one, the spiritualist, but it was the other one. She was a woman about Mrs. Decker’s age and dressed like she had money and lots of it.
    The girl was talking to her, holding her hands and trying to calm her down, and by the time Frank got there, she wasn’t screaming anymore, just sobbing uncontrollably. The door to the office opened and Mrs. Decker stuck her head out. Naturally, she’d want to see what was going on.
    “Get back in there,” he commanded her in a voice very few people had ever disobeyed.
    Her eyes widened in surprise, but she had the good sense to do what he told her. Everyone in the front parlor had looked up when he shouted at her. The three men who had been waiting there instantly all began talking at once.
    “See here, you can’t keep us here like this!”
    “I have an appointment this afternoon!”
    “What’s going on? I have to see Mrs. Gittings!”
    “Quiet!” Frank shouted, and they all fell silent, even the hysterical female, who looked absolutely terrified. “I’ve got to ask each of you a few questions, and then you can go. Is there another room where I can meet with you in private?”
    “The dining room,” the tall man who’d wanted to see Mrs. Gittings said.
    “Do you live here?” Frank asked.
    “Yes, I . . . I work for Madame Serafina. I’m Professor Rogers.” He was very pale and he was clutching his hands together in front of him, as if trying to keep them from trembling.
    “I’ll talk to you first,” he said, indicating the hysterical woman. “And then you can go home.”
    “But I don’t know anything!” she protested tearfully. “I didn’t see anything. None of us did.”
    “Then it won’t take long for you to answer my questions,” he said reasonably. “Come along.”
    “You’ll be fine,” the young woman assured her. She seemed very calm for having just witnessed a murder, Frank thought.
    The older woman rose uncertainly.
    “Come with me, please, Mrs. Burke,” the Professor said, and he escorted her out into the hallway toward the room where the dead woman lay.
    She balked, but he took her elbow. “This way,” he said, and steered her toward the room across the hall. Sliding pocket doors led to a large empty room. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the large windows. Plainly, Madame Serafina had felt no need for formal dining. A chandelier hung forlornly from the center of the ceiling. It was an old one that had