Page 38 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
“Please do.” Mrs. Opperman pinched her lips together.
“I’ve been told you own the property at 322 Predicament Avenue, yes?”
“This nonsense again?” Mrs. Opperman pushed open the door and stepped onto the porch, letting it slam shut behind her.
Effie tried not to wince as she caught a whiff of cat urine drifting from the house.
“We’ve already spoken with the police about it, and we know nothing.”
“I understand that. I was hoping to get the names of the individuals who have recently stayed there.” Anderson was infusing a disingenuous politeness into his tone, and Effie was afraid if Mrs. Opperman snapped too much at him, he might well lose patience and bark at her.
Mrs. Opperman frowned. “How am I to know who has stayed there? Hobos and transients come and go, and they can have it. I merely keep it because it is part of my late husband’s trust, and I’d be wretchedly upset if one of those Charlemagnes were to get it. They want to own the whole town—them and people likeyour father.” Mrs. Opperman leveled a glare on Effie. She was surprised at the animosity in the woman’s expression. She’d not known anyone to dislike her father. He was a good man. Ethical. Fair. Wealthy? Perhaps, but then so was Mrs. Opperman.
Anderson drew a careful breath. “You’ve no idea then who may have been—?”
Mrs. Opperman held up a hand to stop him. “As I said before, I’ve no concern over that property as long as it stays in the trust. So no, I’ve no idea who may or may not have been staying there.”
“And the cemetery behind the house?”
“What about it?” Mrs. Opperman eyed them suspiciously.
Effie couldn’t help but hold on to Anderson’s arm a bit tighter.
“Do you have any family buried there?” he asked.
Mrs. Opperman sniffed. “Family? Absolutely not. Those graves have been there since my husband’s great-uncle first settled in Shepherd.”
“Why then don’t you sell the property if it is such an annoyance and there are no familial attachments to it? Would it be that much of a disappointment if it were sold to someone such as Miss James’s father?”
Effie looked between Anderson and Mrs. Opperman. She was unclear as to what Anderson was attempting to accomplish. At first, she’d thought he hoped to gain some names or insights as to who may have been in the house the night Effie and Polly heard the screams. But now his line of questioning had Effie herself questioning.
Mrs. Opperman hesitated only a moment, but it was enough for even Effie to notice the hitch. The woman’s chest rose and fell. Her voice lowered and became a thin thread of irritation that threatened to snap at any further questions.
“We are Oppermans. We don’t sell.” She spun, whipping open the screen door and marching inside. Again the door slammed shut behind her, followed by the resounding slam of the main door.
Anderson looked down at Effie. “Well, that settles that.” Turning, he guided her back down the steps toward the carriage.
“What do you mean?” Effie’s confusion was palpable.
“Mrs. Opperman was remarkably defensive, and she cut short the conversation. The question iswhy? Why care so much about a property you don’t keep maintained, a property where you allow strangers to drift in and out of? What is it about 322 Predicament Avenue that is so important to the Oppermans? And is it important enough for someone to kill for it?”
Effie was astounded by Anderson’s insight. She hadn’t gathered that at all. She’d merely ascertained that Mrs. Opperman was peeved and verging on infuriated. “Maybe the two are unrelated?” she offered as Anderson helped her up into the carriage. “Perhaps the Oppermans have a vested interest in the property beyond just ownership, and the violence there the other night has nothing to do with them.”
Anderson rounded the carriage, running his hand along the black horse hitched to it, and swung up onto the seat beside her. “The deeper question is, what business did Isabelle have at 322 Predicament Avenue that would bring her such harm?”
Effie stiffened at the thought. “I’ve put faith in you, that the woman Polly saw was Isabelle. But what if the woman Polly and I heard wasn’t your Isabelle? What if it were someone else entirely?”
Anderson stilled, not flicking the reins in his hands that would urge the horse forward. He stared down at them instead, his fingers toying with the straps of leather. Finally, he took both reins in one hand and reached into his inside coat pocket. Pulling out a folded piece of paper, he handed it to Effie.
She gave Anderson a hesitant look, suddenly feeling as if she’d pushed too far with her question. Yet he didn’t appear angry or annoyed. He merely waited.
Effie unfolded the paper, noting a feminine penmanship to the letter inside.
I am sorry. Please forgive me. Your songbirdis here. You will find me in Shepherd, Iowa.
Isabelle
Effie pulled her gaze up to meet Anderson’s. “It’s all right there. In the message!”
