Sweet Murder (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 8) Read online

  Helen added, “The man had a knife wound in the back of his leg and told Clarence he had dropped a knife somehow and hurt himself. Clarence thought it peculiar because he couldn’t see how the man could have caused this unfortunate accident. He thought he’d have to have been an acrobat in the circus to do it, but he didn’t think that was the oddest part of his encounter with the man. It was the way he dressed.”

  Anna once again went on where her sister left off, “He said he had a scruffy beard and a decidedly dirty face, but that his hair looked so neatly cut as if he just visited a barber that morning.”

  “And his shoes, sister, tell Madeline about the shoes,” proclaimed Helen.

  “Yes, the shoes had nary a scuff on them and looked to be expensive. Clarence said he hasn’t much experience with the homeless, but he and his sister had volunteered for the Salvation Army, and he never saw a man look like this.”

  “It seems as the man mustn’t have been homeless at all. So why was he pretending to be and why the lie about the knife wound? Oh, Madeline, it is a mystery…just like Sherlock. I do hope Clarence comes across him again.”

  At the end of the story, Madeline smiled. She thought what they said was interesting, but she did not see the intrigue as the dear sisters did. Although what they described was a bit of a puzzle, it was just an attention-grabbing story for a group of people easily entertained. She was delighted for the sisters, though, and hoped Clarence went on to tell them many more exciting stories about his days as the medical attendant of the ambulance. She imagined it would be a fascinating occupation.

  Helen asked, “What do you think, Madeline? Are you on the case? Do you wish to meet Mr. Clarence and find out more about it?”

  Madeline did not wish to offend her friends and settled by saying, “Perhaps sometime this week, I will meet you at the end of the day when Mr. Clarence arrives with his latest news.”

  “Fine. Fine,” said Anna.

  “It’s exciting, isn’t it, sister? It will be just like the Ripper case in London. Oh, my, imagine that!” said Helen.

  Anna asked, “Do you think Mr. Hugh or Mr. Jonathan might join us?”

  Madeline answered, “I’m not sure. Jonathan is tracking a story about the mafia, and Hugh is finishing his architectural classes at university. I will, however, ask them just the same.”

  Mrs. O’Malley walked onto the porch with additional glasses of lemonade, made from the most succulent, large yellow lemons. You could smell the tangy fragrance when she handed the glass to Madeline and said, “You must go, Miss Madeline. You haven’t had a good, hand-wringing case in a while. Your brain will go rusty, Miss, and you’ll get a snout that don’t work no more.”

  Anna asked, “What do you mean by that, Mrs. O’Malley?”

  “Oh, that our Madeline’s gotten fairly good at sniffing out those who are up to some kind of criminal mischief. She’s got a keen eye for fanning away the smoke.”

  “I see. I’m afraid, Miss Madeline, you are out-numbered.”

  She commented, “You’re observations are not only correct but also force a mirror into my face. Heavens, what kind of a detective hesitates when placed before her is a colorful, jagged piece of puzzle? We will go tomorrow.”

  The cook said, “Dinner will be light fare tonight. Your father likes nothing more than a bit of chicken and vegetables and a hearty slice of watermelon on hot days like this.

  “Mr. Hugh’s coming up the walk now.”

  “Ladies, don’t you all look like a picture in miniature of your America. It’s one of the many reasons I enjoy the summer months.”

  Madeline believed he was referring to the myriad of breathtaking pastel colored tea gowns the ladies and she wore—the delicate fans, white gleaming rockers, and, of course, the dozen or so steps going up to the porch. Each step had its own clay pot of vibrant colored flowers of cherry red, peach, and sunny yellows. For a moment, she thought how wonderful it would be to remain lazy of body and mind on days like these. Still, already her train of thought was taking up its chisel and chipping at the plaster enigma of why this man chose this subterfuge as one of Chicago’s unfortunates relegated to a park bench when he was nothing of the kind. She couldn’t stop wondering what explanation could there be for this man’s deception and trickery unless it was for some nefarious purpose. She thought, Perhaps I am stretching my imagination out too far to suit my conclusion, but now that the aunts’ have piqued my curiosity, I am most anxious to speak with Clarence and to visit the area in the park where the man he saw the man.

  Her friend, Hugh, with his tapered black hair, appeared impeccably groomed at all times. He had become one of the dearest people in the world to her. She first met him when she traveled to London in 1888 with the purpose of a respite and a way for her to endure the Christmas holidays, as it would be the first year since the event.

  That year, Madeline had decided to travel across the Atlantic because it seemed another world, another world far from the one where the tragedy occurred. The year before, during the Christmas of 1887, Madeline had been dutifully assisting her father at his office just days before Christmas. It was there that she received the news that would forever haunt her, darken her days, and cause her to struggle to survive life as it was now.

  A policeman arrived, sat Madeline and her father down, and then told them how he found her husband, Russell, and their two children, Will, three years of age, and Nate, just turned two, lying dead in her home. He said it was presumed a lit candle that was too near the Christmas tree started the blaze that took forever from her a reason to live. Her husband’s body—charred beyond recognition, but the children looked to be only asleep, a sleep from which they would never wake. The man said he found the boys near the front door, but as they were too small to reach the door handle and overtaken by smoke—perished.

  Afterward, there was a period of time where she did not believe her mind was that of her own, but of some possessed person who no longer knew reality from fantasy. Her father’s treatment of opium helped her, but soon that presented yet another obstacle to overcome in her life, as she quickly became addicted to the drug. She was better now, using only morphine, which father said was unlike opium in its addiction, and could calm her during her worse days.

  And she was better, only using her morphine in times of terrible stress and partaking of alcoholic beverages more infrequently. However, she felt the demons of her tragedy would always chase her until she herself was in her family’s world. That was why her career as female sleuth provided such an important fulfillment for her, as she felt so useless in her life otherwise. When people would warn her of the danger, she would laugh to herself and think—Danger; there is no danger, for the most significant harm that could ever come to me has already occurred. Now I must do what I can while I can. Perhaps one day I will realize I’m into something I shouldn’t be, but until then…

  She mentally brushed off those invading memories from her mind when Hugh said, jokingly, “Madeline, what’s this I hear…you’re off to investigate some poor devil’s inhabitant, looking for clues to a crime, and you will be doing this at his home…the park?”

  “Hugh, honestly, did you not hear what Anna and Helen said and think it’s curious?”

  “I did, but think it is too wonderful a day, lest I say a “perfect day” to worry about the improbable when we have such good company beside us.”

  The silken white-haired ladies giggled like schoolgirls, his and their charm not being lost on anyone. Now free of a corset, Anna’s full figure allowed the bouncing of her body and reminded her of her grandmother. Helen reminded her more of Hugh, and if you didn’t notice the gentle lines on her face and hands, would believe her much younger than her age of sixty-two.

  Mrs. O’Malley’s light supper fare was a suitable choice; the heat drained their appetite and energy.

  Dr. Donovan commented, “Let’s go back outside on the porch and watch the children catch fireflies in their jars. It’s like a bottle full of stars. I’
m glad to see some traditions remain. Our city and its people are charging so fast into the future that sometimes it makes an old man like me feel he has no place in the world. Nothing seems familiar to me.

  “I didn’t mean to sound like a humbug. Now let’s see. Why don’t we all venture into the park this evening for a walk? Perhaps we can find out our wanderer dressed in fancy shoes.”

  Her father was smiling as he said it, and with the mood lightened and everyone in agreeance, the group of five set out for the park.

  Chapter Two

  August Bowman

  The park was merely ten blocks away, not a considerable distance, but still could prove tiresome to walk in the heat, which still radiated even after the sunset.

  The group leisurely strolled, stopping here and there to say “hello” to a neighbor or admire a new blooming flower and its fragrant aroma.

  They arrived and were only a few yards inside the park—heading for a bench to allow Anna and Helen to sit and be off their hot and tired feet. It was then all manner of bell ringing, whistleblowing, and shouting began.

  Anna spoke out nervously, “Heavens…is it a fire?”

  Dr. Donovan said, “Hugh and I will see what all the fuss is about.”

  Pointing in a direction where there was a dense amount of brush and hedges—resembling a rainforest, he added, “The sound is from that direction. Unless a policeman advises you to move, please stay here. We’ll return as fast as we can.”

  Helen asked, “Madeline, what do you think it is?”

  She was pacing now and looked up at her two friends.

  “Perhaps it is a fire, for there is only one other occurrence I believe that would cause such a ruckus, and that is if someone was seriously injured…or worse.”

  When Anna took a delicate lace handkerchief from her purse and wiped a tear from her eyes, Madeline said in alarm, “What is it?”

  “I feel terrible. We spoke about murder and mayhem in Chicago earlier and some nefarious creature lurking about in the park. We did it in such a devil may care fashion. It was just a lark. Now, to think someone may have come to harm makes me feel dreadful to have made light of such a thing.”

  “Sister, sister,” Helen said as she put her arms around Anna to comfort her.

  Madeline stood on the other side and said, “You are such a wonderful person. We all make light of tragic situations. Perhaps that’s how we internally come to grips with them. Someone with your heart and kindness should never feel they are guilty of a lack of compassion. Heavens!”

  Madeline squeezed her hands and assured her their banter did not reflect they were hard-hearted people. As she did this, she did not notice the two people who approached them. To not notice them was an unlikely. The two attired in such a way that they resembled a couple from the renaissance period.

  Standing near them were Joanie Sobon and Vincenzo DeFrancesco, a young couple whom she met previously during her involvement in a case at the Harrison Hotel. The two were gifted artists and regular fixtures at the Harrison. A cordoned-off area allowed people to observe the two painting portraits of guests who paid for their services. Although the general public could watch, only a hotel guest was privy to their talents and enjoyed the privilege to request a portrait. Joanie, the petite French woman, was flamboyant in looks and personality. With raven black hair, usually accented with feathers and gems, she frequently wore brilliantly colored gowns of rich burgundy and peacock blues that made her stand out even more.

  She and Vincenzo were having a stimulating conversation, and she could not tell whether the animation was from an argument they were having or something else.

  She called out to them, “Miss Sobon, Mr. DeFrancesco…hello there!”

  The deep blackness surrounding them in a park that had but a few gaslights prevented the two from immediately recognizing her.

  “Miss Donovan, Vincenzo, and I have not seen you for many months now, and of all places to see you—in the park—and after what happened. You do seem to be nearby when there’s been a murder!” said Joanie.

  Madeline started, “Did I hear you correctly? Are you saying there’s been a murder in the park?”

  Vincenzo replied, “Joanie and I were looking for an interesting background for a painting. A young couple who are getting married soon requested a portrait in a romantic setting. The gentleman’s parents said they would pay handsomely for an oil rendering of them.

  “We were only here—not more than a half-hour when we heard a woman scream and saw a man chasing after her. We thought someone accosted her. I followed them, trying to assist the woman, but it was not her suitor who caused her such distress but what she told me she had just seen.”

  Helen said, “Go on, sir.”

  Vincenzo hesitated as he looked at Anna and Helen, who trembled and said, “Excuse me, ladies. Are you members of Miss Donovan’s family?”

  “In a way we are, but not blood, I’m afraid. She is very dear to us, as our granddaughter.”

  After introductions, all conveying only a modicum of anything pertinent to their backgrounds, Helen said, “We can get to know each other at an afternoon tea, but at the moment, Mr. Vincenzo, please go on with your story.”

  He asked, “Are you sure, Miss Helen, it is most grim?”

  Helen replied, a bit haughtily, “I assure you, we can take it. We were with Miss Madeline in Whitechapel when we did not know if the Ripper was walking near enough to us to brush by our skirts.”

  Joanie looked at the two ladies, and Madeline nodded to her to confirm their words, and she continued on with their account, “The lady, well, she was crying and spoke strangely. She kept spitting the words out like they were a foul taste in her mouth. She and her companion were having a moonlight stroll and wished a bit of privacy for romantic playing.”

  Joanie coughed as if to convey a physical interlude of sorts.

  “She didn’t tell me her name, but the young man called her Maggie. She said they ventured into a secluded area…behind the trees. That’s when they saw blood trickling down on the ground like wine from a bottle. Maggie said she hoped it was from an animal. When they moved some branches to see where it was coming from, that’s when they saw the poor man. She said he was cut and cut again as if a demon slew him.”

  When Vincenzo saw the aunts did not appear as squeamish as he may have thought, he relayed, “Then her companion spoke about another aspect of the brutal murder. There were also rose petals strewn across the man’s chest. At first, he said because of the copious amount of blood, he did not notice the few scarlet red rose petals placed over the man’s wound.”

  Joanie touched Vincenzo’s hand to stop him and said, “Miss Donovan, it’s a sign of something, isn’t it? Do you think the man’s lover did this? Roses…they mean amour. Perhaps a secret love with a grievance did away with him.”

  “Joanie,” Vincenzo said, “Miss Donovan will think you’re a fanciful girl…secret love…murder. Honestly!”

  Helen commented, “Why couldn’t it be? Someone did the poor man in.”

  “Father and Hugh are returning…maybe they will be able to tell us something.”

  Dr. Donovan said, “The police are stopping anyone from coming in the entrance to the park. They didn’t confirm there was a murder; they only said someone died.”

  “Oh, dear…oh dear,” said Anna, “can we go home now, Doctor?”

  He replied, “I believe they will be requesting us to do just that any moment.”

  “Father, would you escort the ladies home? If Hugh is in agreeance, I’d like to stay until forced to leave. I liked to try and find out more about what happened here tonight.”

  Madeline looked at Hugh, and he nodded, “yes.” She could see her father was about to say something, perhaps to discourage her, but he did not, only conveying,

  “Please be careful. We’ll have a pot of tea waiting for you when you come home.”

  “Helen and I will watch for you from the window seat in the parlor,” said Anna.

/>   When the three left, Joanie asked, “What are you going to do, Miss?”

  “We can move as close as possible to the area and see what we can observe.

  “Joanie, do you remember what the woman looked like?”

  Joanie responded, “Her words held my attention. I only remember she was tall and fair. Her face seemed contorted in pain and terror. The woman started running after that with her friend following after her.”

  “She ran so quickly; anyone would have thought someone was chasing her. I imagine she will need a doctor tonight. Poor lady, I would not want you to see such a thing, Joanie,” said her mate.

  “Perhaps Mr. Scott and I should go ahead and…”

  Vincenzo was about to continue when he smiled and said, “Oh, I should not even have thought it. I see by the look on our ladies’ faces; they disapprove.”

  Hugh offered, “After our experiences at the Harrison, I would have thought you knew these two women a little better than to expect they would not wish to be in the thick of it, no matter what.”

  The four continued until they heard the shrill whistle of a policeman sending people back away from the scene. Hiding behind the nearest brush, the darkness and the chaos afforded them a peek at the crime scene.

  There were several policemen and other medical staff nearby. However, the body covering prevented seeing anything noteworthy.

  Hugh suddenly whispered, “Is that Jonathan?”

  Madeline said, “I can’t see clearly.”

  “If it is him, he may know a lot more than we do.”

  A man speaking through a handheld bullhorn said that the park was now closed and requested everyone orderly exit out of the area.

  Joanie said, “Everyone is leaving now like little rabbits sprinting away. I don’t think we will learn anything. Come, Vincenzo. I would like a glass of wine and a cup of solace.”

  Vincenzo stated, “Terrible. Chicago is changing and not for the good.