Nick asked, steering her back to what he wanted to know.
âI am the sole beneficiary. There are no children. But if you think Iâd kill my husbandââ
âItâs been known to happen.â
She stood as quickly as heavy bombazine and a stiff corset permitted. âAre we finished, Detective Greaves?â
Taylor hastily stowed his pencil and notebook, but Nick took his time getting to his feet. âSure, maâam. But I might come back to ask more questions. If you donât mind,â he threw in.
âIf they are more questions like that, you can be certain I mind. Good day to you both.â With a huff, she spun on the heels of her expensive shoes and marched out of the room.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
âL ook what I found on the front porch, Addie,â said Owen, strolling into the kitchen later that day. He held out a bouquet of daisies, a paper tag hanging from the twine tied around the stems. He squinted at the tag. âSays theyâre for you.â
Celia, who had been reviewing the household accounts in the warmth of the room, glanced at Addie. The housekeeper blushed furiously over the vegetables she was chopping.
âOch, what nonsense are you blathering now, Owen Cassidy?â She snatched the flowers from him and read the tag herself. âNo name again.â
âAgain?â asked Celia. âHave you received flowers before?â
Addie, who developed a sudden case of deafness, fetched a glass vase for the daisies and ignored Celiaâs question.
Owen chuckled. He plopped onto one of the kitchen chairs arranged around the oak table where Addie prepared meals. âI presume your being here means you have been released from employment,â said Celia.
He grabbed the last pieces of shortbread sitting on a plate. âWasnât at work five minutes before Mr. Kelly marched me out the front door.â
âI will speak to Mr. Hutchinson,â said Celia. âHopefully I can convince him to give you another chance and tell Mr. Kelly to take you back.â
âThanks, maâam,â Owen mumbled, his mouth full of biscuits. Addie, the flowers properly arranged and finding a home on the windowsill, took the empty plate over to the wet sink. Owen mournfully watched its departure.
He swallowed. âGot any more of those, Addie?â
âYouâve eaten the lot of them, Owen Cassidy. Do you think weâre made of sweets here?â Addie asked.
âNope, but a body can dream, canât he?â
âWhisht. Get on with you.â
Celia stacked the notices and bills into a neat pile and considered the boy. âSince you were forced to leave so quickly, I gather you did not have an opportunity to overhear what the other workers are saying about the murder.â
âNothing more than nobody seemed to be staggered that Dan got in trouble,â said Owen. âThis ainât . . . isnât gonna be good for Dan, though. He needs money to pay off some fella. Thatâs why we were digging in the cellar to begin with. Said he was gonna finally pay off his debt to some mean old cuss when we found that treasure. Only there werenât any treasure, was there?â
âNo, Owen,â said Celia. âWho told Dan about Mr. Martin having gold buried in the cellar? Do you know?â
âRob Bartlett, I think, maâam,â said Owen.
âRob Bartlett.â The person Maryanne had mentioned as being âtrouble.â
âOch, maâam,â said Addie, wiping her hands on the edge of her apron. âI canna say I like where this is going. You investigating and all again.â
âPlease do not worry, Addie.â
ââDo not worryâ? I canna help but worry when it seems youâve forgotten what happened last time,â Addie responded, grabbing the sack of potatoes waiting nearby along with an empty tin bowl. âIf you need me, Iâll be on the back porch
authors_sort
Pete McCarthy
Isabel Allende
Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
Iris Johansen
Joshua P. Simon
Tennessee Williams
Susan Elaine Mac Nicol
Penthouse International
Bob Mitchell