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“Their situation must be dire indeed.”
“That’s not all I learned yesterday,” I went on. “Mr. Chapman was in a relationship with Reggie Smith.”
A number of expressions flitted across Harry’s face before it finally settled into a look of disapproval. “You confronted him,” he said flatly.
“I broke into his office and he caught me holding a self-portrait of Reggie that I found in his desk drawer. I had to admit why I was there. Once he realized I already knew he was a member of the Portland Club, he admitted the rest.”
“Cleo,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Did he threaten to tell your uncle?”
“That’s your first question?”
He merely glared at me.
“We’ve come to a mutual agreement. He won’t inform Uncle Ronald that I broke into his office, and I won’t tell him that Mr. Chapman takes men to bed. Now, can we get back to what it means, please?”
He blew out a measured breath and I thought I was going to get a lecture about being more careful, but he refrained. “Chapman may have been jealous of McDonald’s relationship with Smith.”
“I think he was. He says Reggie Smith was in love with Ambrose McDonald, even after their relationship ended.”
“That matches what Smith’s neighbor and landlady said about him being in a low mood recently on account of him no longer seeing his artist friend with the studio.”
“Speaking of art, Mr. Chapman is Reggie’s alibi for the night of March thirtieth. He was with him from one AM until dawn. Reggie couldn’t have stolen the Grandjean from the Quornes.”
We both fell silent, considering the implications of that information on the murder. It may have none. The two events may not be linked.
At least, that’s what I thought Harry was thinking about. I was wrong.
“You should confide in one of your cousins,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Whatever is bothering you…if you don’t want to discuss it with me, you should talk to your cousins. A problem shared,et cetera.”
My heart pinched. His concern was touching. So much so that I couldn’t meet his gaze if it meant lying to him again. I went to sip my coffee, only to find the cup empty.
He reached across the table and rested a hand on my forearm. “Is it your uncle? Did he find out about your investigating? Or that you continue to see me?” His mouth set into a grim line. “It is, isn’t it? That’s why you don’t want to tell me.”
“No.” I couldn’t let him think that. I had to come clean. “My uncle still isn’t aware of any of this. Nor can I talk it over with either of my cousins. Flossy is too innocent and it’s about Floyd.”
He released me and sat back. “Let me guess. He got himself into trouble and can’t find a way out, so he asked you for help since you’re clever as well as practical.”
“He hasn’t asked for my help. His friend, Jonathon, did.”
Harry’s gaze snapped to mine. “Hartly? You’ve spoken to him privately?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
It was meant as a joke about Jonathon’s character, but Harry didn’t find it amusing. “Why unfortunate? Has he done or said something to you that he shouldn’t have?”
“Don’t worry about Jonathon. I can handle him.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle him. Why does Floyd let him go near you?”
“Harry,” I ground out. “I can handle Jonathon.”
The muscles in his jaw worked as he bit back his retort. After a moment, he said, “What did Hartly confide in you?”
“Floyd is in debt to a gambler. He borrowed money at an exorbitant rate, hoping to win it back but of course he didn’t. Now he owes even more and must pay it by the end of this week.”
