Murder on Nob Hill by Shirley Tallman

Author:Shirley Tallman [Tallman, Shirley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Historical, Legal
ISBN: 9780312328559
Google: HI1KQ3GCP3UC
Amazon: 0786126779
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2004-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

An opportunity to speak privately to Samuel did not present itself until after the evening meal. Drawing him into the library, I related what I’d discovered about Peter Fowler's possible relationship with Rufus Mills, then asked, “Do you recall our conversation in the carriage yesterday morning? About the article you wrote on Chinatown last year? “Yes. Why?”

“In it, you mentioned opium dens and other places where a white man could buy the drug.”

He looked bewildered. “What does that have to do with—”

“Ever since Frederick's party, I’ve been troubled by Rufus Mills's sickly appearance that night.”

“Come on, Sarah. The poor man was probably suffering nothing more ominous than the common cold.”

“That's what I thought until I called on his widow this afternoon.” Briefly, I described my visit with Mrs. Mills, including her concerns about her husband's health. “I know this is going to sound farfetched, but I think he might have gone to Chinatown that night looking for opium.”

“Opium!” he exclaimed with a short laugh. “Good god, Sarah.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “I paid a visit to Charles's surgery after I left Mrs. Mills. He agrees that, taken as a whole, Mills's

symptoms over the past year are very similar to those of opium addiction.”

“That may be, but I still think you’re jumping to conclusions. And even if you’re right—which I’m not ready to concede—it doesn’t tell us why he was killed.”

“No, but it would explain why he lied to his wife. And why he ventured into Chinatown so late at night. Surely that's one of the few reasons a white man would risk going there alone.”

He looked thoughtful. “Have you mentioned these suspicions to anyone besides Charles?”

“No, and I don’t plan to until I have proof.” I regarded him hopefully. “I thought you might agree to ask some of your Chinatown contacts. Mills was well known. He might be remembered.”

He looked skeptical. “Stories of white men lounging about smoking the drug in underground opium dens are highly exaggerated. For one thing, most Chinese don’t want white men as customers. It makes them too conspicuous. The police may turn a blind eye to what the Chinese do among themselves, but it's a different story when Caucasians are involved. Besides, there are safer ways of indulging in the habit. Mills could simply send a servant to buy the stuff and smoke it in the privacy of his own home.”

“Assuming his wife would permit it,” I pointed out dryly. “And consider the risk. If it came out that Mills was an opium addict, he’d be ruined, socially as well as financially.”

He was silent for a long moment, but I knew my theory, however improbable, had captured his journalistic curiosity.

“All right, I’ll ask around the Chinese Quarter and see what I can come up with. But I can’t promise anything.”

“That's all I ask, Samuel.” I leaned forward and gave him a grateful kiss on the cheek. “Just see what you can find.”

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