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out. Without music, everything felt so real, so airless.
“You remember what Houdini did when we saw him! If he can
break out of chains, surely this Mary woman could have faked her
own death. What if she used a harness!”
Thom raised a dark eyebrow. “Did it look like she had much
room for a harness beneath what she was wearing?”
Charles blushed. “Well, but something like that.”
“And she put on the show knowing we’d be there at that
exact time?”
“I don’t know! What else makes sense?”
Thom’s fingers sighed into a sonata against the rippled glass.
“Arthur knows something. I wish he’d quit disappearing.”
“You could always follow him up the side of the house in the
middle of the night.” Charles looked smug at his brother’s sur-
prised expression. “There are benefits to being a light sleeper, and
sharing a room with your dreadful snoring. I’ve seen him, every
night this week, scaling the wall straight up.”
“Where is he going?” Thom briefly had an image of Arthur
sneaking into Cora’s room. It filled him with a flare of jealousy . . .
but certainly Cora didn’t seem the type to entertain those kinds of
affections. Especially not if Arthur were related to them, though
Thom couldn’t see any resemblance, and the story Charles had got-
ten from Minnie was entirely speculation on her part.
“He stays up on the roof, I think. Comes back down around
dawn. Our housemate is a very odd sort of fellow.”
“Indeed.”
“Your fingers are driving me insane. Go play the piano. Oh!
Better yet, go and
find me some fresh fruit. Mrs. Johnson’s pre-
serves are so sticky sweet they give me a headache. I promise to nap
