Chapter Eight
Constance woke inthe morning with the urge to buy Solomon a gift.
It wasn’t his birthday, and they had never been in the habit of giving extravagant presents to each other, just little, personal things, and the balance was certainly in Constance’s favor.
She needed to speak to her mother today, and the last time she had been in the shop, she had seen a silver and lapis lazuli signet ring that she’d thought Solomon would like. Why had she not bought it for him at the time? Because he was not a showy kind of man, and she hadn’t been sure he would wear it. But he would value it as her gift. And the deep blue would be stunning on his elegant hand…
She sat up quite suddenly.
“Solomon? What if Caterinadidpick the flowers that night, but not for herself? Could she not have meant to give them to her husband?”
Solomon opened his eyes. “What, a guilt offering because of her affair with Darrow?”
“Maybe. Husbands do it often enough. But it could just have been part of her euphoria that night that she wanted to give him something? Perhaps she dismissed Darrow because her true love was her husband, and she wanted to show that. Either way, it makes sense. She wasn’t hiding the roses. They need not be any kind of riddle. Just a surprise good-morning present.”
Solomon rubbed his eyes and levered himself up beside her. “Twelve red roses?” he said doubtfully. “Exactly the same gift asDarrow had given her two days before?”
Put like that, it didn’t sound quite such a good idea. “They were different flowers.”
“But the square is not their property. Stolen flowers hardly make a meaningful gift.”
“Do you think she would regard such a thing? I can see her doing it, a wild, impulsive gesture of love.”
Solomon put his arm around her shoulders. “You really have grown terribly romantic since you married me. Is this your final effort to be rid of the case?”
She frowned. “Actually, no. I think it’s the beginning of a new effort. Kellar is right about the pillows. And I think we need to find out if anyone living around the square saw who picked the roses that night. Also, we need to investigate all our chief suspects more thoroughly, especially whoever picked the roses.”
“And who are our chief suspects?” Solomon spread his fingers out from her shoulder and counted them off as he spoke. “Montague, because it would have been easiest for him—although the maid, Mary Webb, is also a possibility there; I just can’t see a motive. Darrow, because he was dismissed, or because she threatened his career in some way—only, how did he get into the house? We’ve never examined the back of the building to see how easy it would be to climb up to Caterina’s room. We’ve been too busy trying to prove shewasn’tkilled. But if Darrow could get in that way, so could other people.”
“Like Ellen Gentle the understudy,” Constance said, “although I doubt it.” She took a deep breath, looking up at him. “And Kellar.”
Solomon nodded. “And Kellar. We need to know more about everyone. And I think we should test the medicine, to make sure it just hasn’t been replaced with water.”
“How on earth do we do that without involving the police?”
“I believe I have a chemist working for me.”
“Of course you do,” she murmured. “The harder part will be extracting the medicine, if it hasn’t already been disposed of. Fortunately, the funeral is today, so we have an excuse to be at the house. Preferably while everyone else is out of it.”
*
While Solomon wentto his office at St. Catherine’s Dock to set off inquiries into Digby Montague, Constance called at her mother’s shop.
It was open early, as usual. Gerry was wrapping an expensive-looking parcel for a gentleman at the counter. Juliet was in the middle of the shop looking colorful and exotic as she extracted something from a display case to show to a young couple in worn, barely respectable clothing. Her gaze darted at once to Constance as soon as she entered.
Was that relief in her mother’s eyes? Unease prickled through Constance. Was Juliet in trouble again? Had her past caught up with her somehow? Or was she worried because she had seen Kellar last night?
The slight jerk of her head directed Constance to the back of the shop. On her way, she noticed the lapis lazuli ring still in its cabinet, its old, carved silver setting contrasting with the dazzling blue of the center.
Gerry spared her his usual boyish grin and a nod from the counter while he accepted payment from his customer. The parcel was indeed expensive.
Constance opened the door to the back room, sat down at the table that was no longer so rickety since Lenny Knox had repaired it, and helped herself to a butter biscuit from the plate in the middle.
Five minutes later, Juliet bustled in and sat down opposite. “I’d send Gerry for tea, only he’s busy. It’s unbearable in here if you light the stove in summer. I’m glad you called in—I want to speak to youabout your visitor.”
Constance blinked. “That’s fortunate. I want to speak to you about him, too.” And she had doubted her mother would co-operate, considering how close-mouthed she’d been when first told of their meeting in Venice.
“He knows who and what you are,” Juliet said abruptly. “He made it a point to find out. I don’t know why. But you need to be careful. He’s not quite the harmless, amiable gentleman he appears. He can be dangerous, Connie.”
