“What time did you get there?”
She hesitated, her instincts rising up now. She did not want to lie, but she desperately wanted to protect Hart.
“Francesca?”
She wet her lips. “Before midnight,” she lied. “I imagine it was just a few minutes after Hart.” She could barely believe that she was lying to a man she had once loved and still cared so deeply for.
Bragg rubbed his jaw. “Calder?”
“I found Daisy shortly after I first walked in,” he said, not looking at Francesca now. “It appeared as if she had been stabbed in the chest, many times. No one could survive such an attack, but I did check for her pulse.” He spoke very calmly, as if they were discussing the next day’s weather, but he was gripping the back of the chair he had been sitting in and his knuckles were white.
Francesca could not see his expression, because he had looked down, but she gave up all pretense now. Hart was distraught and anguished. He certainly still cared for Daisy, and Francesca was hurt and jealous, dear God.
But Francesca wanted to comfort him, too, and she moved closer to him. Instantly he glanced at her. She sensed he wanted to reassure her, and any grief he might be feeling was masked. Then he looked at Bragg. “I sat with her for a moment,” he said calmly. “I was in shock. I was very much in shock.”
Bragg nodded. “There’s blood on your shirt,” he said.
Hart had tossed his charcoal-gray jacket aside. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his dark tie loose and askew. He rarely wore a vest, and dried blood stained the finely woven white cotton material of his shirt. Now he glanced down at his own chest.
“You held her?” Bragg asked.
Francesca tensed.
An interminable moment passed and Francesca thought Hart was recalling the moment he had first seen Daisy dead on the study floor. She touched his arm; he did not notice. “I saw her the moment I reached the study door. It was ajar. There was so much blood. I knew instantly that she had been murdered.” Hart finally looked at his half brother. “But I checked to see if she was breathing. She wasn’t. I was on my knees.” He stopped. He had spoken as if reciting notes for a university class. Now he looked down. “Yes, I held her.”
Francesca turned away. Her heart beat so hard it hurt her there, inside of her chest.
“Go on,” Bragg said to Hart, as if he had not just revealed his feelings, when they all knew he had.
Hart shrugged. “I instantly wondered if the killer remained in the house. I was about to begin a search when I saw Rose coming inside, without any kind of wrap. Clearly she had only just stepped out. I was suspicious and I made certain she did not see me. She went directly to the study. She was not surprised to find Daisy dead there, but she was very distraught.”
“She still did not see you?” Bragg asked.
Hart shook his head. “We all know that Rose was very fond of Daisy. Although her behavior seemed suspicious, I left to search the house, on the chance I might find either the killer or a clue. I had just finished speaking with the butler and a housemaid when I ran into Francesca.”
“And that would have been at midnight,” Bragg confirmed.
“I guess so,” Hart said, suddenly sounding tired. “Are we through?”
Francesca would have been consumed with guilt for her deception, but there was too much worry and hurt. She could not get past the fact that Hart had admitted to holding Daisy in his arms, obviously grieving for her. She reminded herself that he had every right. After all, she still cared for Bragg. She would grieve until the day she died if anything ever happened to him. Why couldn’t she accept that Hart had continued to care for Daisy, too?
Because she had always been jealous of the fact that Hart had once wanted Daisy enough to keep her as a mistress.
Francesca did not want to think about how insecure Daisy had always made her feel. She took a breath and plunged into the fray. “Rick, I arrived just a few moments before I bumped into Hart. When I arrived, the front door was ajar. I found Rose with Daisy, in grief. There was no sign of a murder weapon. I covered up the body and I also thought to look for the killer, as I heard a noise in the hall. That is when I ran into Calder on the stairs.”
“And you went to Daisy, for what reason?”
Francesca reached into her beaded velvet evening bag and handed him the note. He read it and gave it to Newman. “Tag it,” he said. He faced Hart. “And the note Daisy sent you?”
Hart was rubbing his jaw. “It’s probably on my desk, where I left it.”
“I’m afraid I will need it, Calder.”
“I’ll send it to you,” Hart said. He walked away from Bragg and Francesca, as if deep in thought. Francesca watched him, aware of Bragg watching her. This was one case that she was not going to be enthusiastic about working on. She turned to Bragg. “Rose has admitted to finding Daisy murdered, Rick. I think we need to pursue her as a suspect, as distasteful as that is.”
Bragg spoke, not to Francesca but to Hart. “You have a houseful of witnesses, do you not, who will testify that you were at your home from the time you arrived there, at approximately 8:00 p.m., until you left for Daisy’s at half past eleven?”
Hart faced them from a distance. “Alfred let me in when I returned from the depot. I am sure he saw me go out.”
Bragg made a note. “And your driver can certainly testify to taking you to Daisy’s at half past eleven, can he not?”
Hart’s expression was impassive. “I took a cab.”
Francesca almost groaned. “Rick! Hart was at home for at least three hours! I am sure quite a few staff can testify to that.”
Bragg looked at her, not responding.
Francesca felt some panic bubble. Rick did not believe all that Hart had said.
“Rick, I want to speak to you alone,” Hart suddenly said.
Francesca was instantly alarmed. “Calder!”
“No.” His eyes had become shards of steel. “I wish to speak with my brother privately.”
Francesca’s worry knew no bounds. She hesitated and Rick said, “I want to speak to him alone, as well. Francesca, it is late. I will finish with Hart and he can take you home, as long as you promise me you will come in first thing in the morning to give an official statement.” He smiled at her.
But she did not smile back. If they wished to speak alone, then they were going to discuss her—or discuss something they did not wish for her to hear. When both men united against her, it was a losing battle. She looked at Rick, who was smiling too benignly at her, then glanced at Hart, who was not smiling at all. He appeared ruthlessly determined, but to do what?
“I’ll take you home in a few minutes,” Hart said.
She knew she could not prevent this private discussion. She sighed and faced Rick. “Of course I’ll come in tomorrow morning. What about Rose?”
