Deadly Kisses (21 page)

He gave her an undecipherable look.

“And Calder?” She smiled at him now, as sweetly as possible.
“You have the power to break up with me, but you do not have the power to stop me from investigating Daisy's murder.”

“Oh, Francesca. Do not push me now, my darling.”

“Why? Because you are angry with yourself for being an idiot where we are concerned?”

His smile was dangerous. “I am angry at life. As I said, do not push me now.”

She decided to let go. “Do you want to hear about Gillespie?”

Walking over to the bar cart, he poured two very hefty Scotches. She was pleased to notice that his hands were shaking. Then he carried a drink to her. Francesca accepted it, noticing that he was careful not to touch her as he handed her the glass. “Yes.”

She felt more satisfaction then. If he wanted to know the progress she was making, it would keep them involved. She sat down, taking a good long sip of the Scotch. She had never needed a drink more. The alcohol warmed her instantly, and she waited for it to have its intended effect. She wanted the tension in her to dim.

Hart clearly needed the drink as much as she did, for he did not press her to reveal that day's discoveries. He sipped his Scotch, staring at it very thoughtfully. No matter their current status, Francesca felt the same bond she always had with him. He slowly glanced up at her. His eyes told her he felt it, too.

Managing as his friend would be difficult, if not impossible, she thought with savage pleasure. It occurred to her that, instead of accepting his dictum, she could use every wile she had to attempt to seduce him. She knew that if she could get him to take her virginity, he would marry her, no matter his intentions today.

She began to like the idea, oh yes.

“I can feel you scheming,” he remarked. “So, tell me about Gillespie.”

Her thoughts veered to the case at hand. She leaned forward
eagerly, about to describe her meeting with Gillespie, when Alfred appeared on the room's thresh old. Although they both looked up, he knocked lightly on the open door.

Hart was his usual abrupt self. “I asked that we not be disturbed.”

Alfred shot Francesca a very worried glance. “Sir, it is the police. I think you had better come into the front hall. They have a warrant to search the house.”

 

F
RANCESCA HURRIED INTO THE
front hall with Hart, Alfred behind them. Bragg was waiting there, his hands in the pockets of his dark brown jacket, Inspector Newman a portly figure at his side in an ill-fitting suit and a battered felt hat. Four officers in uniform stood behind them, staring at the life-size nude sculpture on the other end of the front hall. The moment she entered the marble-floored room, Bragg's gaze leapt to hers. In that single instant, she realized he knew about the failure of her engagement, for his expression changed, tightening. He glanced at Hart, looking disgusted and angry at once.

Hart's strides ate up the room. He halted before Bragg. “You have a warrant to search my house?”

Bragg glanced at Francesca again. “I'm afraid so. Given all of the evidence, there was no other choice.”

Hart's smile was nasty. “There is always another choice.”

Bragg handed him the document. “Why don't you read it?”

“No, thank you. You would never trump up such an important document, now would you?” He whirled, gesturing at the rest of his house. “Please, feel free. I have nothing to hide.”

Francesca's heart was leaping wildly. She wished Rick had not done this. But of course, the police would not find anything, unless they found more evidence of his involvement with Daisy.

“Calder,” Bragg said sharply. “I need that note Daisy sent you, asking you to meet her that night.”

“I can't find it.” Hart shrugged mockingly at him, as if to say, tough luck.

Bragg grimaced and turned to her, lowering his tone. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine,” she lied, too brightly. She glanced nervously at Hart, but he was pretending to ignore them. “What do you expect to find here, Rick? Hart is not the murderer.”

He sighed. “Francesca, Chief Farr approached me about the need to search the house. And he is right. It would be remiss of the department not to take a good look around Hart's home.”

“Farr!” she exclaimed in disgust. “I still think he is up to no good.”

He touched her arm. “Let's talk privately.”

Unable to stop herself, she glanced at Hart. He had been very jealous of her friendship with Bragg until recently and she had no desire to provoke him now.

But he no longer pretended to ignore them. His smile flashed, as cold as ice. “By all means, have a little tête-à-tête. After all, you are a free, unattached woman now.”

“We can speak here,” Francesca told Bragg.

He took her arm. “I don't think so. He will have to get over it.”

Francesca glanced once more at Hart as Bragg led her into an adjoining salon, often used by the family when they visited for smaller, more intimate gatherings. Hart simply stared at them before walking away, his gaze terribly intense. Rick closed the mahogany doors. “I heard, Francesca,” he said quietly. “One of the newsmen told me of Hart's statement to the press. It will be in tomorrow's newspapers.”

She searched his face for any sign of pleasure on his part, but she could find none. “Aren't you going to gloat? Or at least say I told you so?”

He started. “No, I am not.” He touched her cheek briefly,
shocking her. Instantly he dropped his hand. “I know you have been smitten. And I can see that you are very hurt.”

She turned away so he would not see the instant effect of his kind words. Moisture gathered in her eyes. “If I must admit it, then I will. My heart is broken, just as you have always claimed it would be.” She dared to wipe a tear away and then smiled very brightly at Bragg. “But he is being very noble. He wants to protect me from his fall from grace.”

Bragg studied her. “Francesca, I have always predicted this moment. Hart has a past filled with terribly reckless, self-indulgent behavior. It was simply impossible for the two of you to carry on and not have some thing or someone rise up from his past this way.”

She hugged herself. “I thought you believed he would someday turn to another woman.”

“There was always that possibility, too. I am not gleeful. I hate seeing you hurt this way. But I happen to agree with you. Calder is actually being noble, for once in his life. He is doing the right thing now. If he cares for you at all, he should be protecting you from shame and scandal.”

She turned away restlessly. “He still cares for me, very much, and I am not giving up. I expect for us to be reunited, sooner or later.”

He was silent for a moment. “I know you think that would make you happy, and I suppose it would, for a time. But what next? How much more of this could you take?”

“It won't be like that.”

“What can I do to help you now?”

She smiled slightly. “Help me find Daisy's killer.”

The light in his eyes flickered oddly. “That wasn't what I meant.”

“That's all the help I need.”

He regarded her, rubbing his jaw. Francesca realized he had not shaved that day, and that he had dark circles under his eyes.
She noted that he seemed tired, worn, strained. She touched his sleeve. “I have been so wrapped up in my own dilemma that I haven't asked you about yours!”

“Everything is fine,” he said, pulling away. “What did you find out in Albany?”

Francesca knew everything was not fine, but she would not pursue that topic now. She told him every detail of her meeting with Gillespie, and that she expected him in the city the next day, hopefully with his wife and daughter Lydia.

Bragg was thoughtful. “So you do think he was genuinely surprised that she had been murdered?”

“Yes,” Francesca said. “Frankly, he seemed stunned. But I am almost certain he knew that Honora had be come Daisy Jones, and that implies he also knew that she had become a prostitute.”

“So he becomes a suspect—if you are right,” Bragg said.

“I can't imagine any man killing his own daughter.”

Bragg remained calm. “It does happen.”

“Yes, unfortunately, I suppose it does,” Francesca acknowledged grimly. “Rick, we need to interview him very thoroughly. We need to confirm, once and for all, if he knew his daughter was Daisy, and if he also knew where she was and what she was doing. Did he have any contact with her? And what about Martha Gillespie and Lydia? Did they know, or was this the judge's secret?”

Bragg met her gaze. “Is there any chance he was
not
surprised by her murder?”

“I have already wondered if it was theatrics,” she said slowly. “Right now, I cannot imagine him being the killer. He is so grief-stricken.”

“We know one fact for certain,” Bragg said after a thoughtful pause. “Daisy was a blot upon the Gillespie name.”

“So you suspect Judge Gillespie? You think he murdered his own daughter in order to protect his reputation?” The concept
was simply horrifying. But any alternative theory was far better than Hart remaining on the top of the police's list of suspects.

“I refuse to rule anyone out. And by the way, New man brought Rose in today. She will not name the client she was with on the first. I am beginning to think she has no alibi for that evening, and that moves her right to the top of my list of suspects.”

Francesca could not help but be relieved. She had to voice her thoughts. “That is odd. She has admitted to stopping by at six or seven—at a time when she could be accused of committing the murder. So why not make up an alibi for the entire evening?” She suddenly gasped. “Wait! Rick—if she murdered Daisy, she would know exactly when the murder happened. And that would explain Rose's odd alibi. For example, if Daisy was murdered at eight-fifteen, and Rose did do it, she would claim to be occupied at that precise time—which is what she has done. She would not know that we are looking at a larger window of opportunity, one in which she could still fit.”

“That is excellent thinking,” Bragg said with a smile, impressed. “Francesca, sometimes your mind is exceedingly clever.”

“I am going to push Rose tomorrow,” Francesca said firmly, elated with her latest theory. “I want a break in this case, Rick, a real break. What did she say about Daisy's pregnancy?”

“That subject was not raised,” he said. “Unfortunately I was not present when Newman interviewed Rose and he did not think to ask her about it.”

“Rose surely knew about the child,” Francesca said with growing excitement. “That certainly adds to her motivation. She must have been furious that Daisy was having Hart's child! That would only solidify the bond between Daisy and Hart, while causing more conflict for her and Daisy.” Francesca made a mental note to herself to discuss Daisy's pregnancy with Rose immediately. “Did you have any luck locating either George Holstein or David Masters?”

“Both men denied any involvement with Daisy—at first. I interviewed them myself. They were both very involved with her, but they both have solid alibis, Francesca. Masters was with his wife and two other couples at the opera. Holstein was at a restaurant with his wife, his brother and a dozen other guests for his wife's birth day celebration.”

“So our list of suspects is a list of three,” she said seriously. “I want Hart ruled out.”

His gaze was direct, searching. “You are so loyal to him, still. If the two of you do not get back together, I wonder, will you continue to be so loyal and so supportive?”

Francesca was not going to think about a future with out Hart. “He deserves my faith.”

“Does he?”

She jerked. “That's not fair.”

“I have always had a bad feeling about this case,” he said quietly. “I really hope Hart is innocent, but I must consider that he has tremendous motive and all the means.”

“So does Rose. And surely now you must agree she has even more motive and more means! She was there at Daisy's for most of the evening—for all we know, the entire evening. Hart was at home until well after the murder. He has an alibi,” she said, flushing. “So he
claims,
” Bragg said skeptically. “And so Alfred claims.”

He seemed to know that Alfred was lying to protect Hart. Francesca was uneasy, and once again, she felt terribly guilty for her part in the deception.

He gave her a look. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“Only that Calder is not a killer.”

“Again, I hope not,” Bragg said. “In any case, we will be better able to proceed with Gillespie in town. I'll send word the moment we learn he has arrived.”

“I am very eager to pursue this lead,” Francesca admitted. She felt as if she had just barely escaped being caught in the terrible but necessary lie she had encouraged Alfred to tell. Sooner or later she was going to have to confess her deception to Bragg. Surely he would understand and forgive her?

Then she studied Bragg's handsome face. The lights were dim in the salon, but there was no mistaking the fatigue and strain she had glimpsed earlier. Her heart stirred. He was fighting to hold his marriage together and she knew it for a fact. “How is Leigh Anne, Rick?”

As if at a loss for words, he shook his head.

She took his hand. “What aren't you telling me?”

“I don't particularly wish to add to your burdens,” he said.

“Do not be noble now! It's Mike O'Donnell, I can feel it,” she exclaimed.

He sighed. “I expected O'Donnell to demand money—I even encouraged it. But he is too clever. He has not made any attempt at extortion, and he continues to insist that he has every right to the girls. I can't arrest him and end this if he does not do anything criminal.”

Francesca was wide-eyed. It took her a moment to absorb what Bragg had said. “So he is playing you.”