I’ll miss him.” She wiped her cheek. “I . . . I’d like to think it was quick . . . that he didn’t suffer. . . .”
“I should think he didn’t even know it,” Pitt replied gently.
She glanced at Tellman. He thought she was afraid Pitt was being kind rather than honest.
“Back of the head,” Tellman confirmed. “Probably went out straightaway.” He startled himself by wanting to comfort her. She was everything he disapproved of, and as unlike Gracie as possible. Gracie was small and thin with a wide-eyed, quick little face and as spiky a nature as he had ever met. She was careful, sharp-witted, and as brave as anyone he’d ever known. In fact, she was altogether the opposite of the sort of woman he had always been drawn to and imagined one day he would marry. Liking her was reasonable enough, respecting her certainly was, but they disagreed about so many things, important things like social justice and people’s place in society, it would be ridiculous to think of anything more than a pleasant association.
Of course it was ridiculous! Gracie didn’t even like him. She tolerated him because he worked with Pitt, no more. She probably wouldn’t have done that, had she a choice. But she would have given tea and homemade cakes to the devil if Pitt had asked her to and she thought it would help him in a case.
Pitt was still talking to Lily Monderell, asking about Delbert Cathcart’s life, his clothes, his trips to the theatre, his parties, the sort of people with whom he spent his time when not seeking clients.
“Of course he went to parties,” she said quickly. “All sorts, but he liked theatre best. It was almost part of what he does.”
“Did he dress up himself ?”
“You mean fancy dress, for society balls and the like? Probably. Most of those folks do.” She frowned. “Why? What’s that got to do with who killed him?”
“He was . . . in fancy dress,” Pitt replied.
She looked surprised, a little puzzled.
“That wasn’t usual. He preferred to be . . . ordinary. He said what you picked for fancy dress gave away too much of who you were inside.”
“What would he dress as . . . if he did?” Pitt asked.
She thought for a moment or two. “Only time I remember, he went all in black, and he carried a pen and a looking glass. Kind of a clown, I thought he was. What was he wearing when he died?”
Pitt hesitated.
Her face darkened. “What?”
Pitt looked up at her. “A green velvet dress,” he answered.
“Dress? What do you mean?” She was obviously at a loss.
“I mean a woman’s gown,” Pitt elaborated.
She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s . . . silly! He’d never wear that kind of thing. Somebody else did that to him . . . after . . .” She shivered and blinked hard.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell us who it might be,” Pitt pressed.
Her voice was higher pitched, sharper. “Well, I can’t! His friends are colorful, a bit wild, spend a lot on their pleasures, but not to do that! Poor Delbert.” She looked beyond Pitt to something within her own imagination, her eyes troubled. “I’d help you if I could, but it isn’t anyone of his friends I’ve met.” She focused on Pitt again. “I want you to find him, Mr. Pitt. Delbert didn’t deserve that. He was a bit too clever sometimes, and he didn’t always know when to keep his observations quiet . . . and that can make enemies. And he saw too clearly . . . but he wasn’t a bad man. He liked a good joke, and a good party, and he was generous. Find out who did that to him. . . .”
“I’ll do everything I can, Miss Monderell,” Pitt promised. “If you would give me a list of Mr. Cathcart’s friends, we’ll see if any of them can help us also.”
She stood up in a graceful movement and walked over to the bureau, skirts rustling, a wave of perfume teasing Tellman, warm and sweet, and confusing him all over again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mariah Ellison was nervous. That made her angry because it was
“I should think he didn’t even know it,” Pitt replied gently.
She glanced at Tellman. He thought she was afraid Pitt was being kind rather than honest.
“Back of the head,” Tellman confirmed. “Probably went out straightaway.” He startled himself by wanting to comfort her. She was everything he disapproved of, and as unlike Gracie as possible. Gracie was small and thin with a wide-eyed, quick little face and as spiky a nature as he had ever met. She was careful, sharp-witted, and as brave as anyone he’d ever known. In fact, she was altogether the opposite of the sort of woman he had always been drawn to and imagined one day he would marry. Liking her was reasonable enough, respecting her certainly was, but they disagreed about so many things, important things like social justice and people’s place in society, it would be ridiculous to think of anything more than a pleasant association.
Of course it was ridiculous! Gracie didn’t even like him. She tolerated him because he worked with Pitt, no more. She probably wouldn’t have done that, had she a choice. But she would have given tea and homemade cakes to the devil if Pitt had asked her to and she thought it would help him in a case.
Pitt was still talking to Lily Monderell, asking about Delbert Cathcart’s life, his clothes, his trips to the theatre, his parties, the sort of people with whom he spent his time when not seeking clients.
“Of course he went to parties,” she said quickly. “All sorts, but he liked theatre best. It was almost part of what he does.”
“Did he dress up himself ?”
“You mean fancy dress, for society balls and the like? Probably. Most of those folks do.” She frowned. “Why? What’s that got to do with who killed him?”
“He was . . . in fancy dress,” Pitt replied.
She looked surprised, a little puzzled.
“That wasn’t usual. He preferred to be . . . ordinary. He said what you picked for fancy dress gave away too much of who you were inside.”
“What would he dress as . . . if he did?” Pitt asked.
She thought for a moment or two. “Only time I remember, he went all in black, and he carried a pen and a looking glass. Kind of a clown, I thought he was. What was he wearing when he died?”
Pitt hesitated.
Her face darkened. “What?”
Pitt looked up at her. “A green velvet dress,” he answered.
“Dress? What do you mean?” She was obviously at a loss.
“I mean a woman’s gown,” Pitt elaborated.
She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s . . . silly! He’d never wear that kind of thing. Somebody else did that to him . . . after . . .” She shivered and blinked hard.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell us who it might be,” Pitt pressed.
Her voice was higher pitched, sharper. “Well, I can’t! His friends are colorful, a bit wild, spend a lot on their pleasures, but not to do that! Poor Delbert.” She looked beyond Pitt to something within her own imagination, her eyes troubled. “I’d help you if I could, but it isn’t anyone of his friends I’ve met.” She focused on Pitt again. “I want you to find him, Mr. Pitt. Delbert didn’t deserve that. He was a bit too clever sometimes, and he didn’t always know when to keep his observations quiet . . . and that can make enemies. And he saw too clearly . . . but he wasn’t a bad man. He liked a good joke, and a good party, and he was generous. Find out who did that to him. . . .”
“I’ll do everything I can, Miss Monderell,” Pitt promised. “If you would give me a list of Mr. Cathcart’s friends, we’ll see if any of them can help us also.”
She stood up in a graceful movement and walked over to the bureau, skirts rustling, a wave of perfume teasing Tellman, warm and sweet, and confusing him all over again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mariah Ellison was nervous. That made her angry because it was
Similar Books
