When the door opened it revealed a young policeman in a starched blue coat with shiny brass buttons that winked in the dim hall light. “Miss Cooke? My name is Officer Hodsdon. I’ve come ’round to ask a few questions.”
Had they found the body? Tabby shot Eli a questioning look over her shoulder, and found him with a stricken expression on his face. But then it cleared and he nodded for her to let the man in. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, letting the officer step inside.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, glancing at the remnants of their meager dinner on the table.
Eli pushed back his chair and stood, and Tabby winced as he wobbled a moment before finding his balance. “No trouble at all,” he said gruffly. “Were you able to apprehend the robbers?”
“Ah, no, that’s not why I’m here, I’m afraid.”
Uneasiness swept over Tabby. Eli was a free man in Boston, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have to worry about hysteria whipped up over fugitive slaves in the north. All it took was one witness claiming that a black man resembled a newspaper advertisement they had seen for a runaway, and an officer willing to hear them out. Tabby had to agree with Eli; Boston was certainly not as progressive as it prided itself on being. But Eli was well-known, a respected member of the community; surely no one would think to accuse him of being a runaway?
If Eli was thinking the same thing, his face gave nothing away. “And what would this be concerning then?”
The officer removed his hat and tucked it under his arm. “May I sit down?”
Tabby absently pulled up a stool for him, trying not to let her apprehension show.
“Thank you kindly,” he said, seating himself. He cleared his throat several times, looking almost as uncomfortable as Tabby felt, before he finally said, “I’ve come because there’s been a murder.”
Tabby’s hand flew to her mouth as her mind spun out in a thousand directions. Mary-Ruth? Her aunt or uncle? Oh God, what if it was Alice? “W-who?” she asked.
“Miss Rose Hammond.”
Relief surged through her. Tabby had never heard the name before. Eli likewise shook his head. “Don’t know a Rose Hammond,” he said.
“I believe she was the intended for Thomas Bishop’s son.”
The young woman whom Tabby had seen with Caleb just three days ago. She had been so young, so vibrant and beautiful. How could it be possible that she was dead, murdered? And why would an officer come to notify them? Tabby had never even met Miss Hammond, let alone spoken to her.
“You’ll excuse me, officer,” Tabby said, “but why are you telling us this?”
“I understand you buried Thomas Bishop earlier this week, and that the young Mr. Bishop has been back several times?”
Tabby opened her mouth to ask him how he knew that, but thought better of it and closed it again.
“He came back after learning of the theft of his father’s corpse,” Eli put in.
“Ah, yes. That,” the officer said. “Well, apparently the Hammonds’ butler overheard the younger Mr. Bishop arguing with Miss Hammond a few hours before her body was discovered in the family’s parlor.”
Tabby stifled a little cry. It couldn’t be Caleb. When he had kissed her, there had been an unexpected vulnerability in his touch. But then, what did she really know about the charming young man? This was why she couldn’t let her guard down; men were wolves in sheep’s clothing, waiting only for the first sign of weakness before striking.
“What I want to know from you,” the officer said, producing a little pad of paper from his pocket and licking at the lead of his pencil, “is what state of mind you found him to be in when he was in the cemetery. Was he distraught over the grave robbery? Did you speak with him about anything particularly of note?”
Shifting a little in her seat, Tabby tried to tamp down her prickling conscience as she remembered the kiss. She’d had passing clouds of shame about it all day, but mostly the event had taken on an otherworldly glow, her memory making the sun softer, the air warmer. Now she felt only a deep sense of guilt, compounded by the uneasy feeling that the kiss they had shared could have been the precursor to something dark and tragic.
“He didn’t seem particularly distraught,” Eli said, before quickly adding, “but he did seem taken off guard by the news. We didn’t speak much beyond that.”
The officer didn’t lift his eyes from his notepad as he scribbled this down. “I see. Anything else?”
Eli shook his head. “No, sir.”
Sighing, Officer Hodsdon flipped his pad shut and eyed the half-eaten meal on the table in front of him. “I must apologize again for interrupting your supper. Sometimes I lose track of the hour when I’m working.”
All Tabby wanted was to see the officer on the other side of the door and enjoy a warm drink by the fire, but she knew how important it was to appease him, to make him feel welcome, lest he decide Eli would make an easy target in the future. “It is no imposition,” she said. “Would you take a cup of coffee before you leave?”
He gave her a surprisingly warm smile. “That’s very kind of you, miss. I’d appreciate that.”
Tabby could feel Eli bristling as she relit the fire and put on more water to boil.
Officer Hodsdon made awkward small talk, his furtive gaze following Tabby as she moved about the room. She hadn’t realized how young he was until he’d leaned in closer to the lamp, revealing fair hair and boyish features. For some reason, this put her more at ease, and a little of the tension she had been carrying between her shoulders relaxed. He was just a young officer who had drawn the short straw at the station. He held no malice against them, did not wish to make trouble.
“That’s heaven,” he said after Tabby had placed the cup in front of him and he’d taken a long draught.
She knew he was just trying to be kind—it was mostly water and sludgy grounds, supplemented with chicory root. Still, she was beyond relieved when he finally pushed his stool back and made ready to take his leave.
“Thank you again for answering my questions, Mr. Cooke,” he said. “I’m sure nothing will come of it, but when investigating the murder of a respected member of the community like Miss Hammond, we must be certain to leave no stone unturned.”
“Of course,” Eli said stiffly.
Once the officer’s heavy boot steps had receded down the stairs, Tabby slumped down into her seat. She hadn’t realized how tense and prickly the air had grown while the officer was there, how she had hardly breathed the entire time.
Tabby’s voice came out small in the quiet room. “Do you really think Mr. Bishop could have something to do with Miss Hammond’s death?”