that were framed against blue toile wallpaper. Unlike Mamie Durant’s sitting room of colorful purples and reds, this room was a model of traditional propriety.
The biscuits arrived right away; we had just polished them off when Cora came into the room. She was an attractive woman, with olive skin, dark eyes and hair. She greeted us politely before sitting down, though she regarded us with a wary expression.
“Why are you here, Detective?” she asked. “Frankly, I can’t imagine what business you have with me.” She smoothed her plain blue skirt.
“Actually, our interest is not with you,” I said, after I introduced the others, “but with an acquaintance of yours—a friend, I believe.” I paused a moment before continuing. “We are searching for Stella Gibson. We believe you may be able to help us locate her.”
She stiffened slightly, but asked only, “And what leads you to believe I know anything about this woman? What did you say her name was, again?”
While I was unsurprised that she feigned ignorance, I had little time to waste. I went ahead and played my hand.
“Even before we located this letter,” I said, pulling the letter Stella had written out of my pocket, “Mamie Durant had told us you and Stella were friendly with one another.”
I placed the letter on the small coffee table between us. Cora simply stared—first at me, then at the small bloodstained envelope. After a moment, she picked it up and read it carefully before placing it back on the table. Her fingers slightly recoiled from the dark bloodstains and I realized she was repulsed but otherwise untroubled by the blood. It was a reaction that suggested she knew Stella was safe.
“I see.” Cora breathed in sharply as she stared out the window, absorbed in her own thoughts.
Alistair opened his mouth to say something, but I indicated he should not, with a slight shake of my head. I did not want to rush Cora; it seemed that she required a few minutes to compose herself and determine what to say.
“We need your help to find her,” I urged finally, after some time had passed. “The family for whom Stella has been working is quite worried. We believe she may have witnessed a murder, and if so, that fact places her in great danger.”
She looked at me, and her tone was scornful. “And I suppose you can protect her? Who are you, exactly? A small town detective working with the Wingate family, I presume? Your primary concern is with the Wingate girl’s murder, which means you cannot fully appreciate how your interference may itself endanger Stella.”
We had not mentioned the Wingate name or that a young woman was the murder victim. But it had not mattered; Cora already knew.
My voice held steady. “I am a detective with several years’ experience in the city, though now I am with the police in Dobson, New York. The Sinclairs are private citizens assisting me.” I showed her my identification as proof, then continued, “I believe Stella may have information that will help us catch Sarah Wingate’s murderer. Only when he is caught will everyone—including Stella—be safe.”
“I can protect her,” she responded with stubborn defensiveness. “You are the ones with little understanding of what she faces. You haven’t got the faintest idea of what my life, or Stella’s, is like.” She paused, eyeing Isabella, who sat gracefully, her composure unruffled. Then Cora continued. “I know how this city works and how to make my way in it. No one will look out for Stella better than I can.”
“Miss Czerne, you are a young woman of what—twenty-three? Twenty-four?” I hazarded a guess. “I take it you are helping Stella to hide somewhere in this city. You’ve been doing so for exactly four days. Do you really think you’re prepared to keep it up when four days stretch into ten, then thirty or forty? Stella is not earning money if she is in hiding, and her costs—and yours—will only grow. It’s no way to live for either of you.” I leaned in closer to her chair and my eyes locked on her own.
Cora smiled condescendingly. “I think you misunderstand both my position and wealth. It is true that men like Mr. Noland don’t marry girls like me. But he will not marry elsewhere any time soon; he simply can’t work himself up to it. He meets suitable girls who are pretty and whose company he enjoys. Yet he’s never quite certain they’re pretty enough or amiable enough to be