Page 37 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
“I’m told they own the property at 322 Predicament Avenue.”
Effie nodded. “Well, yes, but no one really associates with the Opperman family. They’re not very friendly.”
“How is it then they own 322 Predicament Avenue and, I understand, quite a few other properties around town? At some point in time, they must have had some influence here in Shepherd. And I assume they know what is going on at their own property.”
Effie shook her head, reaching up to tuck a wayward wisp of hair behind her ear. She noticed Anderson’s eyes followed her movement. “Mr. Opperman was influential years ago. Before I was born even. But after he died, all his assets were left to his wife, and she’s ... not in good health. In her mind, that is. No one knows why she’s neglected Predicament Avenue or left her other properties to be abandoned. Father says the Charlemagnes have tried to purchase them from her, but she refused. Foolish pride, he says.” It was the only explanation she could give Anderson.
“Be that as it may, someone must be tending to the house and the cemetery behind it. If you want to find out who is hunting your sister in the middle of the night, and if I’m to have any hope of finding ... well, we must interview them.”
“They won’t speak to you,” Effie insisted. Most everyone in Shepherd knew this to be true. The Oppermans were known more by the legalities of the Opperman Trust that owned various properties than by any congenial relationships to the remaining living Oppermans.
“Not to me, no, but they will speak to the man affianced to the daughter of the man whose bank manages their land trusts and holdings.”
“Pardon me?” Effie drew back. Certainly she hadn’t heard him correctly.
Anderson looked over his shoulder as if checking to be sure Gus had not entered with tea and would overhear. “If we use the influence of your name, and Mrs. Opperman believes I am your betrothed, it wouldn’t be untoward of us to approach her with questions. Especially in light of recent events ... that is,your attack.” His mouth was set in a grim line. “They owe us any assistance that can be given.”
Effie struggled for words. His reasoning made sense, but posing as her affianced? It may give him credibility if aligned with the James surname, but... “But you’re married! And if they’ve read the paper—”
“Let us not fool ourselves, Effie. My wife is dead.” A look of sadness flickered in Anderson’s eyes.
“There’s no body, though.”
“Nevertheless, my wife is dead.” He emphasized each word, his unblinking eyes boring into hers. Anderson slid forward to the edge of his chair and reached for her hand. It was the first expression of kindness she’d seen from him, the first physical touch that sent a pulse through her, and the first moment she dared to look at him. Truly look at him. She allowed herself to peer into his eyes, to glimpse behind the polished English façade. And for a brief moment, Anderson allowed her.
She saw grief there. Loneliness. And, lurking in the depths, fear. The sort of fear she couldn’t understand or place. It was not for her. It was darker than that. More urgent. And Effie knew then that Anderson had more secrets than he was prepared to expose.
“One thing you must learn, Miss James—Effie—and that is to trust me.” Anderson squeezed her hand. “I’ve been searching for Isabelle for months. I’ve crossed the ocean to find her. I’m well acquainted with having to obtain information creatively. And to be frank”—he released her hand—“nothing will stand between me and Isabelle.”
“I know,” Effie acknowledged. “We need to find her. Or—” she hesitated—“her body.” Effie searched the man’s face, the crevices on his forehead, the depths of his eyes, the angular cut of his unshaven jawline.
“Will you trust me?” Anderson’s voice dropped an entire octave.
It sent ripples through Effie as her eyes locked with his. In that moment, her own plans and intentions to try to find whoever had broken into Polly’s room faded away. She noted the determination in Anderson’s eyes. Determination plus something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Yes,” she breathed, “I will trust you.”
Her gloved hand rested lightly in the crook of Anderson’s elbow. She could feel the warmth of his arm through the material of his suit coat. He shot her a look that was neither reassuring nor was it a warning. Instead, it was almost as if he was making certain Effie wasn’t going to run away. He must have felt the way her body tensed as she descended from their rented carriage after arriving to the Opperman homestead.
It seemed Anderson was ignorant about the Oppermans and how intimidating they could be. He also didn’t know how reclusive they were, the numerous times the family had refused to mix with the community of Shepherd. That they had money was obvious given the property on which she and Anderson now stood. Anyone who lived in Shepherd knew that the Oppermans were not churchgoing folk, nor were they—dare she say it?—normal. Effie wasn’t certain how else to describe them.
Anderson was soon to find out.
The front door opened, and a rush of musty air flooded them, smelling like old laundry that had been wet for days. The great room behind the woman who stood in the doorway was cloaked in darkness, and Effie could tell that all the curtains had been drawn, the windows shut. No interior lights glowed as well, whether by flame or electricity.
Mrs. Opperman eyed them through squinted eyes. Her features were narrow, lined, with thin lips and a slender neck. She wore a black silk dress, buttoned to the throat. Though Mr.Opperman had passed on five years prior, it seemed Mrs. Opperman had no intention of leaving her mourning behind. “Yes?” She spoke to them through the screen door.
Effie looked at Anderson, her eyes pleading for him to take the lead.
“Mrs. Opperman, I presume?” he responded.
Mrs. Opperman’s eyes narrowed even more. “Yes.” Her voice was high and matched the sallowness of her complexion.
“My name is Lewis Anderson, and this is Miss Euphemia James, my fiancée and the daughter of Mr. Carlton James of—”
“I know who they are,” Mrs. Opperman snapped.
Effie looked down at her shoes. Anderson’s attempt to deceive in hopes of gaining Mrs. Opperman’s trust and goodwill would not be as easy as he might have expected.
“Let me get straight to the point,” Anderson continued.
