Deadly Kisses by Brenda Joyce

simply had to know.
    Joel scowled. “I thought we were friends! He used to come by all the time with all kinds of goodies an’ gifts. I ain’t seen him since Father Culhane tried to kill my mother.” He was angry now. “I know what’s up. He’s too busy with that countess to bother with me, Paddy or Matt.”
    Francesca reached for him but he pulled away. “He’s having a rough time these days,” she said gently, and it was the truth. “Imagine how you would feel if your father disowned you and you had to move out of the house. Imagine what it would be like if your father refused to call you his son.”
    â€œI don’t have a father,” Joel said sarcastically. “He’s a grown man, not a boy, so it don’t matter, anyway.”
    Francesca sighed. Joel had come to care far too much for her brother, and maybe Maggie had, too. She should not get involved, but if ever there was a time to interfere, it was now. If Evan was not going to pursue a relationship with Maggie, he should have never treated her as he had when she had been in so much danger. Francesca decided she would call on him later in the day. And then Daisy’s Georgian brick home came into view. She tensed, instantly forgetting all about her brother. An image of Rose, grief-stricken and holding Daisy’s mangled body, came to mind. Francesca was sobered by the recollection.
    Joel had learned to wait for Francesca to alight from the carriage first. When she had done so, he leapt to the street. “I’ll start talkin’ about,” he said.
    â€œAnd don’t forget Daisy’s servants,” Francesca reminded himas he started off. She had discovered long ago that witnesses spoke differently to different interrogators. Often she could get more information than the police, and Joel would certainly be handier with the staff.
    This time, the front door was firmly closed and her knock was promptly answered by Daisy’s butler, Homer, a white-haired man of middle age. He ushered her inside, looking positively stricken. Francesca thanked him and handed him her card. “Good morning. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was a friend of Miss Jones. I am a sleuth.”
    Homer read her card. It read:
    Francesca Cahill
    Crime-Solver Extraordinaire
    No. 810 Fifth Avenue, New York City
    All Cases Accepted, No Case Too Small
    â€œI do recall, Miss Cahill. I am afraid that…” He stopped, unable to continue, clearly distressed.
    â€œI was here last night,” she said gently, laying her hand on his shoulder. “I am so sorry about Miss Jones.” She would begin her investigation with Homer, she decided.
    â€œThank you,” he whispered, ashen. “She was a good employer, ma’am. She was very kind to me and the staff.”
    â€œI know,” Francesca said softly, although of course she had not known. “I came to see Miss Cooper, but I should like to speak with you first.”
    He nodded, not at all surprised. “Are you going to find her killer?”
    â€œYes, I hope so.”
    â€œGood! She did not deserve to die,” he cried. “I know she sinned, but she wasn’t a bad woman.”
    Francesca patted his shoulder. “Maybe you should sit, Homer. May I call you Homer?”
    He nodded. “I am fine. It’s just the shock….”
    â€œI know. At what time did you finish your duties last night?”
    â€œAt half past five.”
    That was very early and Francesca was surprised. “But what about supper? Or did Miss Jones go out?”
    He shook his head. “She was staying in with a guest. She dismissed me, Annie and Mrs. Greene,” he said.
    Francesca was surprised. It seemed that Daisy had been planning a private evening with someone. But she had to make certain she had not misunderstood. “When Daisy was entertaining, she dismissed the staff?”
    He flushed. “Last night she wished for a