Inspector Sloane closed his eyes, put his gloved fingertips together, and thought for a moment. “Mrs Pitts, where do you normally place this cash box?”

“Well, ‘Spectuh-suh, I b’lieve I place th’ box in me desk but ah’ve nevuh seen it t’day.”

“Yes, well, it never hurts to check in the place of origin and habit. Shall we?” he gestured for her to show him where her desk drawer was.

“Follow me, suh.” She pulled up her skirts and apron and turned to go. “Thomas,” she hissed at a young boy playing in the corner, “go owt an’ tell Gina I wan’ ‘er in ‘ere to clean up the mess! An’ aftuh, go owt an’ play with th’ chums!”

The innocent-looking young boy nodded and quickly ran out, his rag bear trailing after him.

Sloane made his way through the house, following Mrs Pitts through the labyrinthine piles and scraps created in the tiny house. She led him through three tiny rooms and finally through a small flap that was a portal to a stark room that measured roughly five feet by seven with a dresser that looked as if it had never been used. Sloane made a note to himself to ask Mrs Pitts where she had received such a beauteous piece.

“This is your desk?” he asked to make sure.

Her response was a very vigorous nod.

“I see…”

He examined the bureau, but could not resist, “Mrs Pitts, this is ornately carved and extremely well-lacquered. If it is not too much of an intrusive inquiry, might I ask where you got this item?”

To his surprise, Mrs Pitts blushed. “Aw, suh, me ‘usband was wot got me this mess. But it’s too b’ootiful to be used, so ah’s a-usin’ it fo’ my finances, wot it could be used fo’.”

“Oh, but of course,” leaving the notion of how her husband came to possess a bureau of such great value to the discretion of Mrs Pitts. He examined it some more, and brushed his gloves over the top of the wonderfully carved oak bureau. “Mrs Pitts, you dust this regularly?”

“Ah, it’s wot it deserves, ain’ it?”

“Mmm. Very good. Now, show me the compartment that holds your salaries.”

“Ah, it ain’t no salary, ‘Spectuh-suh. Heeyah.” She pulled open the bottom right drawer and began taking out sheets and other miscellaneous scraps.

“And you always put it in THIS bottom right-hand drawer, Mrs Pitts, underneath all the garments?”

“Yessuh. Yeh can nev’r be too safe, suh.”

He went over and examined the drawer. He touched and smoothed over every crack and nook and made to take out the bottom of the drawer as if to search for a hidden compartment. None was there that he could deduce.

He then went about opening every drawer, even its mirrored twin running parallel on the other side. His searches were thorough but fruitless. He heaved a heavy sigh. “Mrs Pitts, I have naught but to say that we must now follow the steps you took today. It is the only course of action.” He gave her a knowing look, and Mrs Pitts’ face fell somewhat. “Although, is there some sort of daily ritual you follow before and after securing the cash box?”

“Well, suh, I’s usually makes a suppuh, suh, an’ then I’s put th’ children t’ bed, suh.”

“All right. We should check the kitchen, and that prove ineffective as well, we must then most certainly go through your motions of the day up to the point you sent your son to find me. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

Mrs Pitts gulped and nodded.

“ ‘Spectuh-suh, I should warn yeh, th’ kitchen’s a righ’ ole mess.”

“That is all right, Mrs Pitts—” she blushed yet again “—remember, I told you my services to you are always free.”

She nodded and they made their way to the kitchen.

END OF SECTION

A/N: I know this may have seemed a disappoint chapter, and it’s dragging on longer than I expected, but I swear, the story should be almost done! (it’s not as well-planned as the actual full-length feature of the WEALTHY WIDOW), AND I’m on a writer’s block for Rose. I’m not sure how to transition from my previous scene to the next. And I think I’m gonna keep that last (albeit really short) back part, and just go from there. My original’s lost on the (now) dead laptop of mine.