He reached the front door. It opened. A woman was suddenly in his arms, clinging to him, their silhouettes outlined by the glow spilling forth. Turning slightly, he lowered his head. They were kissing. Not a perfunctory brushing of mouths or a bussing of lips across a cheek. No, this went on for a while, with her arms going around his shoulders and his circling her waist.
The couple broke apart and Thanatos ushered the widow inside. As soon as the door was secured, Daisy opened the gate, hurried through, and took the time to close it quietly. Then she was running for all she was worth along the lawn that bordered the drive because she didn’t want them to hear her approaching.
Hedgerows lined the front of the house. Working her way between them and the brick facade, she tiptoed over until she reached the edge of the window. Removing the stethoscope from her pocket, she tucked the earpieces into place and then pressed the wooden funnel to the glass.
“—came to see me today. She must have followed you last night.”
“She’s trying to prove Bishop is innocent.”
“It would have helped matters if you’d managed to secure one of those unique buttons from his waistcoat that we could have left as a clue near your husband’s body.”
“I know that was the plan, but he never left me alone. He was worse than the chaperone I had when I was a debutante. Watching, watching, always watching. Feeding me. Wanting to play cards. There weretimes when I feared he could read our entire plan written all over my face. Why haven’t they arrested him? I’m afraid they suspect us.”
Daisy felt her heart clamor. Mrs. Mallard hadn’t gone to Bishop because she wanted a divorce. She’d sought him out because she needed someone arrested for her husband’s murder, someone who wasn’t the man she’d been kissing a few minutes ago.
“They’re not going to suspect you,” Thanatos said. “And they don’t know about me.”
“Well, that silly little inquiry agent does.”
“She won’t cause any trouble. I told her I was a medium you had hired to contact the spirit of your recently departed husband, so he could reveal who killed him.”
“Why in God’s name would you do that?”
“I had to tell her something. Although I have taken to the idea and decided we can use the falsehood to our advantage. Tomorrow you’ll call upon Swindler, tell him we held a séance during which your husband visited us and declared his murderer to be Blackguard Blackwood.”
“I don’t like the manner in which Swindler studies me. As though he can ferret out the lies.” Daisy heard the worry in her voice. “And that troublesome inquiry agent as well. The night you struck me, for a minute there, I thought she was going to discern the truth, that we wanted to raise Bishop’s ire, ensure he confronted Bertram. How did you know he would?”
“I didn’t choose him to take the fall without learning all I could about him.” Daisy seethed at the words. “I suspected a man who helped women escape a troublesome spouse would defend her if she was not treated well. I had the right of him.”
He was fairly gloating. Daisy thought she might be ill.
“Perhaps we should escape while we can. Now. Tonight. Go to France. The solicitor was here today. I have access to all the money.”
“It’ll leave things too untidy if we go, my sweet. We could never come back.”
A rustling in the nearby bushes had Daisy’s breath catching. Quickly, she glanced around but didn’t see anyone. She should probably depart. She had enough information to set Swindler on the correct path. But what she didn’t understand was the reason they’d chosen murder over a divorce? Granted, murder made everything happen sooner—
“Neither of us has any family here. Why does it matter if we can’t come back?” Widow Mallard asked.
“Your money will restore my place in Society. At my side, you will enter the aristocracy just as you wanted, just as I promised. We simply need to follow through on the plan.”
Another rustling, a bit louder, nearly made Daisy jump out of her skin. She jerked her head to the side—
An earsplitting screech suddenly echoed around her as something dark and terrifying flew at her. Reacting with lightning speed, unable to prevent her quick yell of alarm from escaping, she lifted her hands to protect her face and stumbled backward as a ball of fur slammed into her shoulder and sharp talons raked along her hands. She landed hard on her backside in that narrow fissure between pointed shrubbery leaves and rough brick. Lurching from side to side, she slapped at the feral beast until it finally scampered away.
She needed to scarper off as well. Absolutely. Because none of this had happened quietly. Unfortunately, in the foray, the stethoscope had become dislodged, lost. She hoped it didn’t cost a fortune to replace because she didn’t have the time to look for it. Crawling on her knees and injured hands, she made it to the opening, shoved herself to her feet—
“Well, what have we here?” a deep voice asked with a touch of amusement.
A large hand closed tightly around her upper arm and gave her a hard jerk, as though she was little more than a rag doll. When the motion stopped, she found herself standing on the tips of her toes, staring into the vengeful eyes of the god of Death.
“Unhand me.” She was grateful her voice didn’t quiver. She attributed her breathlessness to her encounter with the beastly cat, and hoped he did as well, rather than fear on her part.
“I think not.”
He began dragging her toward the open doorway, the light spilling out around the silhouette of Mrs. Mallard, wringing her hands. Daisy dug in her heels, but she was no match for his strength. God, how many times had she told Bishop she wasn’t in need of rescue? Yet, at the moment, she’d give anything for him to ride in on a white steed and get her out of this mess.
“Oh, God,” Mrs. Mallard cried pitifully, resembling the cowed woman who’d first come to Bishop. “The inquiry agent. What is she doing here?”
