Deadly Vows by Brenda Joyce Page B

happened today—just as you cannot blame yourself. I have made enemies, as well.”
    â€œYes, you have, and Hart and I have actually considered the possibility that someone has decided to seek vengeance against you by stealing the portrait.” The engine roared to life and he straightened. He went around to the passenger side and opened her door. Francesca waited for Joel to scramble into the tiny backseat before she got in. As he closed the door, he said, “We have discussed this investigation several times, Francesca.”
    Her mind raced as he went around to his side of the car and got in. Hart had never mentioned sitting down with Rick to discuss the stolen portrait. “Bragg, I have already made a mental list of the people who might wish for revenge against me. Gordino, Bill Randall, Mary and Henrietta Randall, and Solange Marceaux are the only culprits I can truly think of.”
    He had put the car in Reverse. He paused and looked at her. She wasn’t quite certain what that look meant. “Gordino was incarcerated for running a con in early April. He won’t be out on the street till August.”
    Gordino was a vicious thug whom she had run into several times during her first investigation. “Good. He isn’t smart enough to have managed this theft, anyway.”
    Bragg smiled slightly, now backing the Daimler slowly out of the driveway and onto the still-deserted street. He shifted into Drive. “I agree.”
    She thought then about Bill Randall—Hart’s half brother. They did not really know each other, but they hated one another. Bill had not been able to abide the discovery that his father had sired a son out of wedlock. Hart despised his half sibling as well—a natural enough response, she supposed, to his father’s and brother’s rejection of him. But there was more to Bill’s antipathy. Sheshivered. “Bill Randall certainly hates me for discovering that his sister murdered their father.” She added grimly, “He also hates Hart.”
    â€œBill turned state’s evidence on his sister, Francesca.”
    She already knew that. Bragg was now cruising down Twenty-third Street toward Broadway, where hansoms, drays and an electric trolley were visible. Mary Randall had confessed to murdering Paul Randall, but only after Francesca had nearly exposed her crime. Bill had abducted Francesca to prevent her from going to the police with the facts of the case. Both brother and sister were very dangerous.
    Bragg said, “Bill Randall got off scot-free in exchange for his testimony. Mary is at Bellevue. Her lawyers successfully pleaded an insanity defense. She will be locked up for many, many years. However, Bill has an alibi for Saturday night—he was in his dormitory room at the university with both his roommates—and your portrait was taken on Sunday afternoon. It is virtually impossible that he could have arrived in the city the next morning in order to steal the painting. The earliest train from Philadelphia arrived at noon.”
    Bill was instantly taken off Francesca’s list of suspects. No one could arrive at Grand Central Station at noon and make it to the Channing home uptown to steal the painting in less than an hour. Francesca was sorely disappointed. As Bragg turned left onto Fifth Avenue, she asked, “And Henrietta Randall?”
    â€œTheir mother was sentenced to one year for her attempt to cover up her daughter’s crimes. She remains imprisoned on Blackwell’s Island.”
    â€œWell, that rules the Randalls out.”
    â€œI believe so. However, Solange Marceaux vanished into thin air when we raided her brothel during the investigation into Murphy’s child-prostitution ring.”
    She hadn’t thought about the icy blonde madam in months. Francesca had briefly posed as a prostitute in order to get into her establishment. Solange had been furious with the deception—she had even ordered