No Justice for the Deceived by Nancy Herriman

Author:Nancy Herriman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuth, san francisco, women sleuths, family secrets, high society, police detective, 1860s, budding romance, death by poisoning
Publisher: Beyond the Page Publishing

• • •

The rear door to the American wasn’t propped open like it had been earlier. In fact, none of the doors to the theater were open. Rehearsal must be finished for the day. Which made it difficult to confirm information sent to the station after Nick and Taylor had visited that morning. A note from one of the musicians stating that Ingram was late showing up Friday night. Maybe the man had been afraid to tell Taylor when he’d questioned the musicians about Ingram’s alibi. Maybe Ingram’s temper was worse than Preston Carr’s offhand comment had implied.

Nick rattled the rear door to the American Theater one more time, just to prove to himself it was locked. He scanned the length of the alley, his gaze settling on the back entrance of a costumer’s across the way. Maybe a visit to learn if they’d rented a Turk costume to a suspect in a poisoning would be worthwhile. The business’s alley door was locked, so he went around to the front.

Inside, a suffocating quantity of clothing hung from hooks and filled shelves. If Nick wanted a pair of breeches, they could supply them, along with a long vest in orange. A parson’s getup too. Tricorn hats were plentiful, as were plumes for decorating ladies’ hair. A flimsy white costume equipped with a bow and garlands of silk flowers had been spread across a table. Cupid, maybe? Perfumes must be a key part of folks’ costumes as well, given the sweet, musky smell of the place.

In the corner by the front window, a man was busy hemming a forest-green skirt. His long fingers moved swiftly as he squinted through the wire-rimmed spectacles poised on the end of his nose. He looked over from his needlework.

“Sorry I didn’t hear you come in, sir.” He set down his needle and removed the skirt from his lap, climbing off the stool he’d been seated on. “Are you here to collect a masquerade ball costume?”

“I’m Detective Greaves,” Nick replied, fingering a velvet mask on display with others in every color a customer might want. Including magenta. “I’d like to ask you about a costume you may have supplied to an individual connected to an investigation I’m conducting. Attempted murder.”

He recoiled so sharply his glasses fell off his face. He bent to retrieve them. “I . . . I . . . how can I help, Officer?”

“The person was wearing a Turk costume. That’s how it was described to me,” Nick said, examining the contents of the small storefront and not spotting anything that might fit his idea of a “Turk costume.” “A turban and a caftan with a sash. Do you offer costumes like that?”

“We haven’t had a call for an ‘Oriental Potentate’ or Turk costume in several months,” the fellow said. “I don’t even have any currently in stock. But there are other costumers in San Francisco who might’ve rented to the individual you’re looking for.”

None as conveniently close as this one was to the American Theater, though.

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