Deadly Kisses. Brenda Joyce

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      “Before Mr. Hart gets in trouble,” Joel said, nodding grimly.

      Francesca tugged on his cap again. She had become as fond of the boy as if he was her little brother, but then, she was very fond of his mother. Maggie Kennedy had been acting somewhat oddly lately. Francesca had taken tea with her twice, and the Kennedy sparkle had been missing from her stunning blue eyes. “How is your mother, Joel?”

      He grimaced. “I dunno. Something’s bothering her. She’s so sad all of the time. I mean, she pretends not to be, but I can tell.”

      Francesca hesitated. A month ago, she had witnessed her brother Evan saving Maggie from an insane killer, and there had been no mistaking his concern for her. As she had already suspected romantic sparks flying between the two, she had been delighted, never mind that an up town gentleman should not dally with a downtown seamstress. Evan was currently living at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He had been disowned by their father, much to Francesca’s dismay, but the bright side was he seemed to have abandoned his notorious gambling ways. He was now making an honest living as a law clerk, and Francesca was very proud of him for standing up to their father.

      While Evan was a ladies’ man with a rather large reputation, Francesca knew he would never compromise Maggie, and she was certain he had strong and genuine feelings for her. Hart had advised her to stay out of the affair, reminding her that Evan was courting the Countess Benevente. Most of society thought he might marry her, although Francesca wasn’t so sure. She could not imagine Bartolla Benevente marrying a law clerk. But then, she was a wealthy widow, so Francesca could be wrong. “Joel? Has my brother called at all?” She simply had to know.

      Joel scowled. “I thought we were friends! He used to come by all the time with all kinds of goodies an’ gifts. I ain’t seen him since Father Culhane tried to kill my mother.” He was angry now. “I know what’s up. He’s too busy with that countess to bother with me, Paddy or Matt.”

      Francesca reached for him but he pulled away. “He’s having a rough time these days,” she said gently, and it was the truth. “Imagine how you would feel if your father disowned you and you had to move out of the house. Imagine what it would be like if your father refused to call you his son.”

      “I don’t have a father,” Joel said sarcastically. “He’s a grown man, not a boy, so it don’t matter, anyway.”

      Francesca sighed. Joel had come to care far too much for her brother, and maybe Maggie had, too. She should not get involved, but if ever there was a time to interfere, it was now. If Evan was not going to pursue a relationship with Maggie, he should have never treated her as he had when she had been in so much danger. Francesca decided she would call on him later in the day. And then Daisy’s Georgian brick home came into view. She tensed, instantly forgetting all about her brother. An image of Rose, grief-stricken and holding Daisy’s mangled body, came to mind. Francesca was sobered by the recollection.

      Joel had learned to wait for Francesca to alight from the carriage first. When she had done so, he leapt to the street. “I’ll start talkin’ about,” he said.

      “And don’t forget Daisy’s servants,” Francesca reminded him as he started off. She had discovered long ago that witnesses spoke differently to different interrogators. Often she could get more information than the police, and Joel would certainly be handier with the staff.

      This time, the front door was firmly closed and her knock was promptly answered by Daisy’s butler, Homer, a white-haired man of middle age. He ushered her inside, looking positively stricken. Francesca thanked him and handed him her card. “Good morning. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was a friend of Miss Jones. I am a sleuth.”

      Homer read her card. It read:

      Francesca Cahill

      Crime-Solver Extraordinaire

      No. 810 Fifth Avenue, New York City

      All Cases Accepted, No Case Too Small

      “I do recall, Miss Cahill. I am afraid that…” He stopped, unable to continue, clearly distressed.

      “I was here last night,” she said gently, laying her hand on his shoulder. “I am so sorry about Miss Jones.” She would begin her investigation with Homer, she decided.

      “Thank you,” he whispered, ashen. “She was a good employer, ma’am. She was very kind to me and the staff.”

      “I know,” Francesca said softly, although of course she had not known. “I came to see Miss Cooper, but I should like to speak with you first.”

      He nodded, not at all surprised. “Are you going to find her killer?”

      “Yes, I hope so.”

      “Good! She did not deserve to die,” he cried. “I know she sinned, but she wasn’t a bad woman.”

      Francesca patted his shoulder. “Maybe you should sit, Homer. May I call you Homer?”

      He nodded. “I am fine. It’s just the shock….”

      “I know. At what time did you finish your duties last night?”

      “At half past five.”

      That was very early and Francesca was surprised. “But what about supper? Or did Miss Jones go out?”

      He shook his head. “She was staying in with a guest. She dismissed me, Annie and Mrs. Greene,” he said.

      Francesca was surprised. It seemed that Daisy had been planning a private evening with someone. But she had to make certain she had not misunderstood. “When Daisy was entertaining, she dismissed the staff?”

      He flushed. “Last night she wished for a private evening, Miss Cahill.”

      Francesca stared. What was he not telling her? “But this was her pattern of behavior?”

      His color deepened. “When I first came to be employed here, she would dismiss us when Mr. Hart called.”

      Francesca’s insides lurched and tightened. She should have been expecting that, she realized grimly. “And after Mr. Hart and I became engaged?”

      “She entertained Miss Cooper a few times, but other wise, she would go out, which was usual, or stay in alone.”

      Francesca blinked. “Miss Cooper does not live here now?”

      Homer seemed surprised. “No, she does not. But she calls once or twice a week.”

      It did not sound as if Daisy and Rose had resumed their former relationship. Or, if they had, it sounded as if it had lost some of its fervor, Francesca thought. “Who did Miss Jones see last night?’

      “I don’t know,” he said apologetically.

      Francesca’s mind raced. Before she and Calder had become engaged, he had called on Daisy and she had dismissed the staff. On a few occasions, she had dismissed the staff in order to see Rose. Calder, of course, had arrived at Grand Central Station at seven o’ clock—she had the ticket stub to prove it—so he could not have been her caller last night, for Daisy had dismissed everyone СКАЧАТЬ