Free The Christening Day Murder by Lee Harris Page B

found in the Catholic church.”
    “Well, let the Catholic church worry about it. It’s no business of ours.”
    “I’m just asking for information,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage. “The Ritters were very cooperative when I called. They had a girl who worked for them, too.”
    The daughter laughed harshly. “That stupid little Darlene. I remember her. She worked for us before she went to the Ritters.”
    “Oh yes, I remember Darlene,” Mrs. Eberling said. “Rather a nice girl, except …” She trailed off.
    “I was interested in the person who worked for you after Darlene left,” I said, beginning to understand the chronology.
    “I think it’s time for you to leave,” the daughter said.
    “Mrs. Eberling—”
    “I think my daughter’s right, Miss Bennett. It was a long time ago, and my memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be.”
    “Do you think I could talk to your husband?” I asked without much hope.
    “J.J. died,” she said with a little smile.
    And all the secrets with him, I thought. I got up, thanked her, and went back to the foyer, closely accompanied by the daughter.
    “Leave my mother alone,” she said in a low voice. “I was only a teenager back in Studsburg, but I know that girl caused my family a lot of grief. We don’t need it raked up again. My parents were prominent citizens of Studsburg, and my father left a legacy that few men leave, a record of that town for almost twenty years.”
    “What did your father do to make a living?” I asked. “I’m sure that newspaper didn’t do it.”
    “My father didn’t have to make a living. It had been made for him a long time before. The
Herald
was a gift of love. It never once broke even, but it didn’t matter to him. That’s how people will remember him, as a generous benefactor. Is that understood?”
    I said it was. “Where would I be able to find the
Herald?”
I asked.
    “The library in Corning has the whole collection, but you’ll have to look at them on microfilm. They won’t let anyone but scholars touch the originals.”
    That was good news, because Corning was on my way home.
    “They’re all there,” she said, “right down to the last day. My father drove to Studsburg and handed them out to people as they were leaving. It was a commemorative issue, with photographs from the nineteenth century right through to the Fourth of July fireworks and the party they had that last afternoon.”
    “The baptism,” I said.
    “Yes, that’s what it was. It was a wonderful thing for him to do.”
    “Thank you, Mrs.…”
    “Whitney,” she said shortly.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Whitney.” I buttoned my coat and went out to my car.
    The first thing I did when I left was to find a bank and get some change and then find a pay phone. I am the last American without a credit card. Since I have virtually no financial history, and my own job pays very little, I have a long way to go to qualify for credit. So I pay as I go, and that means using lots of coins when I make a long-distance call from a pay phone. The person I called was Carol Stifler, and she was home.
    “I’m upstate,” I told her, “and I want to find someone you may have known. Harry said the Ritters had a young housekeeper that last year in Studsburg. Her name was Darlene Jackson. Do you remember her?”
    “She went to my high school. I didn’t know she worked for anyone in Studsburg.”
    “Do you know her married name by any chance?” I asked with two fingers literally crossed.
    “Uh, let’s see.” She made little thinking noises while Iwaited. “I know someone I can call, Kix. Where can I reach you?”
    I explained why I wasn’t easily reachable and said I’d call back when I had a chance. Then I drove to Corning.
    The librarian was very pleasant and very helpful. She set me up at a microfilm desk and gave me the last microfilm of the
Studsburg Herald
. It started with January 1 of that year. There was very little advertising—not surprising since