“Miss Stokes?”
“Miss Jennings’ niece. She’s upstairs, going through the books.” The woman was already starting up the stairs.
Fenimore looked around the hall. Like most colonial houses, there was a central hall and staircase, with rooms branching out on either side. He peeked in the room on the left, the parlor, he guessed, and saw furniture shrouded in white sheets. All except the piano, which stood naked to one side.
“Doctor?”
He started and turned. A small, wiry woman, about fifty, in jeans, a sweat shirt, and sneakers held out her hand. Because of the sneakers, he had not heard her coming down the stairs.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he apologized. “I was in the neighborhood [lie number one] and thought I’d stop by and offer my condolences.”
“How kind.” Her smile was forced. “Come sit down.” She led him into the parlor. As she drew open the curtains and slid the sheet cover from the sofa, she explained, “We’re in the throes of clearing out Aunt Martha’s house. She lived here her entire life and although she wasn’t a saver, she still accumulated an amazing number of things. Please sit down.” She indicated the sofa — a stiff Victorian piece covered in worn rose velvet.
When they were seated, Fenimore said, “Your aunt was my patient for many years and my father’s before me. Her violent end was a great shock to me.”
“To us all.” Ms. Stokes caressed the sofa, eyes downcast. “But...” She looked up, “everyone warned her about walking these streets alone.”
“But she was so well known here.”
“True, but after dusk — and that’s when the attack occurred — she was just any elderly person — easy prey for someone looking for quick cash.” She frowned.
Apparently Ms. Stokes did not share her aunt’s fondness for the neighborhood, Fenimore thought.
“I know you have a sideline to your profession, Doctor,” Ms. Stokes said and stared at him. “I can’t help wondering if this call doesn’t have something to do with your other occupation?”
Slightly taken aback, Fenimore said, “Well... I can’t say that I wouldn’t like to see your aunt’s murderer brought to justice.”
Her eyes sparkled dangerously. “So would I. How can I help you?”
Fenimore was about to tell her when a ruddy-faced, gray-haired man in jeans and a T-shirt interrupted them. “Excuse me, Ms. Stokes, but I have those things you sent me for. Shall I put them in the kitchen?”
“Yes, Mike. This is Dr. Fenimore, Aunt Martha’s physician.”
“How do you do. I’ve sat in your waiting room many times,” he said with a smile.
“I recognize you. Miss Jennings’ driver.” Fenimore held out his hand. “I’m so sorry—”
“Yes.” He nodded. “A terrible thing.” Shifting his packages, he left the room quickly.
When they were alone again, Fenimore asked, “Did your aunt have any enemies?”
“Not that I’m aware of. Aunt Martha wasn’t the type to make enemies.”
Fenimore hesitated before his next question, then decided to risk it. “This is a personal question and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to...”
Her eyebrows rose slightly but she said nothing.
“Could you tell me who will profit from your aunt’s death?”
She blinked and said coldly, “That will be common knowledge as soon as the estate is settled.”
“I realize that, but you see, time is of the essence.” He waited.
“Then...” her words came slowly, “you don’t think my aunt’s death was a random mugging?”
“It’s important to look into every possibility.”
“Like on TV?” she said mirthlessly.
“Well...” He smiled.
Unexpectedly, she laughed. “I can tell you that she left me this house and the land around it. And her two employees, Henrietta and Mike, will never have to work again in their lives. So now you have three suspects.” She went back to caressing the sofa. “The bulk of the estate will go to my aunt’s favorite charities.”
Fenimore could detect no bitterness in her tone. “Do you plan to live here?”
“God no!” She gave a harsh laugh. “Fortunately this house is a historic landmark and the city has offered me a handsome sum for it. It will be restored to its former glory and opened to the public as a Heritage Site.”
At this point Mike reappeared in the doorway. “Will you be wanting me for anything else today, Ms. Stokes?”
“No, Mike. But tomorrow morning I could use your help with the books. I can pack them but I need you to carry them downstairs. And of course, you’ll be driving us to the funeral next week?”
“Oh yes, ma’am.” He was about to leave, when Fenimore stopped him.
“Mr.—?”
He turned back. “Mike.”
“Mike — do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill Miss Jennings?”
The driver’s eyes widened. “I thought they were after her pocketbook.”
“So you believe it was a random mugging?”
“Sure. What else? We told her over and over not to walk in this neighborhood by herself, but — if you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” he said with a glance at Ms. Stokes, “when it came to some things, your aunt was a very stubborn lady.”
“Yes, Mike, I know,” she said sadly.
“We all loved her,” Mike went on, “but she had a will of her own.” He looked again at Ms. Stokes for confirmation.
Ms. Stokes smiled slightly and nodded. “Mike is right. My aunt did not listen to advice when it didn’t suit her.”
“I’ll be going then,” Mike said. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”
As soon as he left, Fenimore asked, “How long has Mike been in your aunt’s employ?”
“Oh, goodness. Forever. I think he was in his twenties when he came to work for her.”
“And Henrietta?”
“She’s been with my aunt for as long as I can remember.”
“Two trusted family servants.”
“Absolutely.”
“Did they know about your aunt’s bequests?”
“I’m sure they expected her to leave them something, but I doubt if they knew the exact amount. Even I didn’t know that, and I was quite surprised by her generosity.”
For the first time Fenimore detected a slight note of disapproval. “Could I have a word with Henrietta before I leave?”
“Certainly.” She went into the hall and called the housekeeper.
The woman came from the kitchen, drying her hands. Her face showed traces of weeping.
“Are you all right, Henrietta?” Ms. Stokes looked concerned.
“Yes, ma’am.” She sniffed. “I just came on that teapot Miss Jennings was so fond of and...”
Ms. Stokes put her arm around the black woman. “I know this sorting out of her belongings is very hard on all of us. Dr. Fenimore would like to speak to you, if you feel up to it.”
She wiped her eyes and managed a smile.
“I won’t keep you. I just wondered if you knew if Miss Jennings had any enemies?”
Her mouth fell open.
“I know she wasn’t the type of person to have enemies, but she was active in the neighborhood, helping the high school, sponsoring a park, and creating a summer camp. There are always objections to major renovations of this kind. She must have stepped on a few toes.”
“If she did, I never heard of it,” Henrietta said defiantly. “That woman did nothing but good from the day she was born. You ask anybody around here and they’ll tell you the same.”
“That’s quite an epitaph.”
“Pardon me?”
“Many people would like to have such words said about them,” he explained.
“Well, it’s the truth.” Henrietta showed signs of starting to weep again.
Ms. Stokes patted her arm. “There, there.”