by Brenda Joyce
His mother, Lily, had given her love to her firstborn, Rick. Not that he could blame Lily. She had been too tired and then too ill to deal with his wild antics. It had been easier for her to let her older son manage the young, recalcitrant one. And that had only led to more mischief and disobedience. It was almost as if Lily had stopped caring, as if he could do anything and she would merely smile at him and collapse in her bed. And then, of course, she had died.
The Braggs had been stronger. By the time he’d moved into their home, doing whatever he wanted had become a part of his nature. He had even known that he was testing them, waiting for them to grow tired of it all and just send him far away. But they had not ignored his behavior. Not a single incident had ever passed that he was not reprimanded or punished. They refused to give up on him, but by then it didn’t matter. He was not a Bragg. They had five other children that they obviously and openly loved. He was the outsider. They could be kind, they could feed him, put a roof over his head and chastise him for being rude and mean, but it didn’t change anything.
Hart felt sorry for that child who had never been able to fit in, who had never been wanted, who had only been tolerated, first in Lily’s sordid home, and then in the Bragg mansion.
That child was a painful and constant reminder of far too much. And now, with Daisy and his child murdered, with his relationship with Francesca formally over, Calder felt alone. He reminded himself that the boy he was had died a long time ago— Hart had buried him with no small amount of satisfaction. But the reminder did not work. This time, there was a strong chance that he was really going to be sent away—to prison.
“Things went well, as expected,” he said quietly to Gray, as if his fears were not lurking.
“Things went very well, and you should not worry about anything. The police will find the real killer and this case will be closed,” Gray said firmly. He was a tall, thin man with a deep, resonant voice that would serve any Shakespearean actor well. It had served him well in court, time and again. “I know you have ended your engagement to Miss Cahill, Hart, but her reputation as a sleuth precedes her. I should be very pleased if she were to stay on this case.”
He did not want to think about Francesca. She had been the light in his life. Now his world had turned gray, like the skies overhead. “I’m not worried,” Hart said flatly. It was a lie, of course, but Gray could not know it. “And frankly, Miss Cahill is an independent woman. I could never dissuade her from pursuing an investigation.” His mouth softened as he spoke. Maybe that was why Francesca was so hauntingly beautiful to him, more beautiful than any other woman he had ever known. If he dared feel, it hurt so much to be without her now. But he’d had no choice. Besides, eventually she would have seen the light and left him.
Before Gray could respond, the reporters who had been present during the hearing raced out of the court building, calling his name. A dozen questions were shouted at him, all at once.
“Mr. Hart! Can you comment on what it was like to spend the night in jail?”
“Mr. Hart! Do you have any regrets regarding the death of your mistress?”
“Mr. Hart! Is it true that Miss Jones is really the daughter of Judge Gillespie? Did you know, sir?”
“Mr. Hart! Are you worried about being charged with the murder?”
Gray faced the reporters, whispering to Hart, “I suggest you leave, sir. I will take care of the newsmen.”
“Thank you,” Hart said, very surprised that the press had already learned about Daisy’s real identity. That would work to his advantage, and he had the inkling then that Francesca might have leaked the news. As he turned to go down the courthouse steps, he glimpsed his brother coming out of the building behind him. Rick had been present during the bail hearing, although he had not been called to the stand.
Hart had nothing to say to him and he started down the wide limestone steps. His six-in-hand was waiting at the curb.
“Calder.” Bragg caught up to him.
Hart did not pause. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Bragg took his arm, forcing him to pause. “Why not? In spite of our differences, we are brothers. I came to show my support.”
Hart saw with surprise that his half brother was being sincere. But then, it would be easy for Rick to be supportive now, as he had gotten what he really wanted. Francesca was now free. “Really? And what is it that you want now? My thanks? My undying gratitude?” It had been a hellish twenty-four hours and he lost his temper then. “Oh, wait! You need funds, and you need them from me.” He smiled coldly.
Bragg turned white.
But Hart could not stop himself, and he felt savagely satisfied that in spite of being a murder suspect, in spite of losing Francesca, in this brief moment he had all the power. “You are welcome to the money—I already told Francesca that. Just tell me how much. But I want some thing in return. I want Daisy’s killer found. I have no intention of going back to jail.”
Bragg was turning red. “She asked you for the funds?” He was incredulous now. “I don’t want a damn thing from you—and I haven’t, not in years!”
“I was under the impression you were desperate,” Hart said, aware that he was lashing out at his brother, when his brother had nothing to do with the deaths of Daisy and his child, or the loss of Francesca. He was the one who had wished his own child into nonexistence; he was the one who had terminated the engagement with Francesca.
“If I decide to pay that thug off, I will go to the banks,” Bragg said curtly. “But thank you for so kindly offering me the money!” He turned to go.
Hart seized his arm. “Wait. Stop.”
Bragg turned in disbelief.
Hart took a moment to gather his composure. He was angry and frustrated, but Rick was in trouble. “I am more than happy to give you the funds, Rick.” He spoke seriously now. “It has been a rough night. I am sorry for be having like a boor. Francesca told me all about O’Donnell. You need to think of the girls and not our rivalry.”
“You are hardly a rival,” Bragg said tersely. “And do not dare tell me how to prioritize! I have always put family first.” His meaning was clear—that Hart would only put himself first.
“Of course you have, because virtue and family devotion go hand in hand. Tell me something I don’t already know, Rick, such as what you will do, now that Francesca and I are no longer engaged?”
Bragg shook his head. “You know, Calder, you haven’t changed. You love to provoke! I will always care about Francesca, and I am very happy that you two are apart. She is too good for you. She deserves more than you can ever give her.”
“I happen to agree,” he said tightly. “But oddly, she accepted my proposal. I never really thought she would.”
“How could she refuse, when you could not restrain yourself from seducing her?” Bragg asked with scathing bitterness.
“I haven’t seduced her.” His anger instantly imploded. “I would never sink so low, not with Francesca.” He saw that Rick was startled. “But as we are being so honest with each other, what about your wife? Will you really remain wed to her now that she is paralyzed? Wait, I asked the wrong question! Now that Francesca is free, will you finally do what you really want to do, will you pursue her?”
Bragg’s expression quickly became one of disgust. “I should have known that you could not understand duty, devotion and love. I am not going to deny that I care deeply about Francesca, and I always will. But I would never turn my back on Leigh Anne now, when she needs me the most.”
Hart laughed. “You and Francesca are exactly alike. What a shame the timing has always been off for you both!”
“Why are you doing this now?” Bragg was incredulous.
Hart wondered the same thing. It made him ill to think of Francesca returning to his brother, but he could not ignore the dreadful certainty consuming him. Now that he had walked away, sooner or later, Bragg and Francesca would find their way back to each other. He was certain.
Bragg said quietly, �
��You did the right thing, Calder. Francesca has a good name. She doesn’t need to be a part of this scandal. I have come to realize that you really care for her. I know this wasn’t easy for you. You put her first. It was a noble act.”
He stared at his brother. “I cannot believe you are flattering me.”
Bragg shrugged. “You have protected her from an ugly scandal. No one could deny your actions were heroic.”
Such praise and candor from his brother left him speechless. It was a moment before he spoke. “For once, we are agreed— Francesca doesn’t need to be associated with me now.” Then he met his brother’s gaze. “Actually, when it comes to Francesca, we usually agree.”
“I hate to admit it,” Bragg said, “but you are right.”
“Then admit I am right once more,” Hart said.
“I don’t understand.”
“I want you to have the funds you need. I want the girls to be safe with you and Leigh Anne,” Hart said, meaning it. “You don’t have to pay me back. Consider the money a gift—an overdue Christmas present, if you wish.”
“I can’t accept.”
“You would put your pride first?” Hart was incredulous. “For God’s sake, the money isn’t dirty!”
“I will get the money, if I have to, but I am not taking it from you,” Bragg said harshly.
The brief amicability they had shared had vanished into thin air. “I knew you would die before taking one red cent from me.” He reached for the door to his carriage.
Bragg seized his arm. “Have you really ended it with Francesca? She thinks so, but I know you. Is this a ploy on your part?”
Hart smiled at him strangely. Then he climbed into the carriage, signaling his driver to leave.
AFTER PICKING UP JOEL, Francesca had Raoul drive them to the brothel where Rose lived and worked. But Rose was not in. Instead, Francesca had interviewed the madam, Mrs. Delaney, and two of her girls. Everyone agreed that Rose had become increasingly angry in the course of the past few months—and not just with Hart, but with Daisy. Rose had changed, becoming sullen, hostile and with drawn. According to Mrs. Delaney, there had not been any reconciliation with Daisy. However, no one believed her capable of murdering the woman she so loved.
Mrs. Delaney told her that Rose had said this morning that she was going to Daisy’s. Now, as Raoul parked the carriage across the street from Daisy’s brick home, Francesca wondered if Rose could really be the murderer. If she was, wouldn’t she avoid the scene of her gruesome crime? But if she were innocent, being at Daisy’s might provide some comfort in her time of grief.
As Joel and Francesca began to step down from the carriage, Francesca saw the front door of Daisy’s house open. Instantly she recognized the large, gray-haired man leaving. She seized Joel’s arm, pulling him back inside the coach, in shock. Brendan Farr, New York City’s chief of police, hurried to a small carriage that was waiting. He climbed in and the carriage drove off.
What was Farr doing at Daisy’s? He might have been there on police business, but he was not an inspector—he had an entire police force to run. Not only that, he had not been with any other police officer, and police men rarely conducted their affairs alone. Her instincts screamed at her. Something was amiss.
“Miz Cahill?” Joel was wide-eyed. “Wasn’t that the chief?”
She reached for his shoulder, her mind spinning. “Yes, it was.” How calm she sounded. Had Farr been at Daisy’s to look for evidence? If so, the fact that he was alone spoke volumes. If he was on this case, he was clearly acting on his own. She knew he despised her. She knew he was not loyal to Bragg. She thought he was only loyal to himself, and possibly to his own select group of men. Did he wish to crack the case himself? Did he want the glory, the fame? Or did he hope to circumvent her? Hart was both Rick’s brother and her former fiancé. He would be pleased, she thought, if Hart took the fall for Daisy’s murder.
But would he tamper with evidence? Hart had been framed. Francesca was uneasy. She had suspected Farr of criminal activities in prior investigations. She did not trust him and she knew he was ruthless. In this case, however, he had no motive for murdering Daisy.
She turned her gaze to Joel. “I am very suspicious,” she said.
He nodded. “Want me to tail him?”
It was a brilliant idea, but if Joel was caught, she would be afraid for his safety. “No. He’s a dangerous man, Joel. I’d worry what he might do if he ever found out that you were following him.”
“But he wouldn’t find out,” Joel said, his eyes dark with excitement.
“I can’t put you in that kind of danger,” Francesca said firmly. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, she tried to think of some other reason for his presence at Daisy’s. The more she debated the subject, the more she became convinced that he was up to no good—and that he was a threat to Hart.
Homer answered the door. “Good afternoon, Miss Cahill.” He seemed to have come to grips with his mistress’s murder and he let her in with a slight smile. “How may I help you?”
“Is Rose Cooper here, by any chance?” Francesca asked.
Homer nodded. “She is in the salon.”
Before he could lead her the short distance to the salon, Francesca restrained him. “Homer, what did Chief Farr want?”
“I don’t know, Miss Cahill, but he and Miss Cooper spoke for a few moments.”
Francesca rubbed her jaw. So he was investigating the case on his own! “Did he snoop about the house?”
“No.” Homer seemed surprised. “I believe he came here looking for Miss Cooper.”
Did he also suspect Rose? she wondered. “How long did they speak? Were you present?”
“He was only here for a few moments, perhaps five minutes, maybe ten. And I am sorry. They spoke behind closed doors. I didn’t hear anything.”
Francesca hesitated. “Homer, if he comes back, would you please tell me? And if he does, could you possibly, discreetly, eavesdrop?” She smiled sweetly at him.
Homer’s eyes were wide. “He is the chief of police,” he said in surprise.
“Yes, he is. But the department is terribly corrupt. I do not know why he is here. He is not an inspector. If Newman had come today, I would not be so dismayed.”
Homer nodded, appearing uneasy.
Francesca smiled reassuringly at him and he showed her to the salon doors. Although Rose was not the mistress of the house, Francesca waited while he knocked. Rose answered the door immediately.
Instantly, Francesca saw the dark circles under her eyes and the downward turn of her mouth. Although she was beautifully dressed in a dark blue velvet suit, it was obvious that she had just been crying. “Hello, Rose,” Francesca said softly, and she could not help but feel sorry once again for the other woman. The truth was, she hoped Rose was not the killer. “Are you feeling any better?”
Tears filled Rose’s eyes. “I will never feel better,” she said. Then, her gaze flashed. “No, I will feel better when Hart is in prison for his crimes.”
Francesca decided not to argue about Hart’s guilt or innocence. “I am glad I found you. I have some new leads and I need to ask you some questions.”
“This is not a good time,” Rose said.
“Has something happened? Did Chief Farr upset you?”
Rose spoke in anguish. “Did you know? Did you know that Daisy was pregnant with Hart’s child?”
It took Francesca a moment to realize that Rose had not known about the pregnancy. And in the next instant, she realized that the discord between Daisy and Rose must have been even greater than she had thought, for Daisy not to have said a word. “I found out yesterday,” she said. “Farr told you?”
“Yes.” Rose wiped at the tears that were falling. “I am unbearably hurt.” She turned abruptly and walked back into the salon.
Francesca followed her inside. “Did you and Daisy reconcile at all?” She wanted Rose to admit that they had not, as Mrs. Delaney and her girls had said.
Rose whirled, weep
ing. “I had thought so. I had thought there was hope. I mean, we did spend some time together. She said I was her dear friend. I thought that when she got over Hart, things would return to the way they were. But she was planning on having his baby and she did not tell me!”
Francesca put her arm around her. It did not seem as if Daisy had remained in love with Rose. “You don’t know that things wouldn’t have returned back to nor mal, in time,” she said, trying to comfort her.
Rose gave her an angry glance and pulled away. “Daisy misled me, and not for the first time!”
Francesca saw her sudden, open anger. “How else did she mislead you?”
“Does it matter?”
“I want to help,” Francesca said, but in truth, she wanted to know if Rose had been angry enough to murder Daisy even though she hadn’t known about the child.
Rose sank down on the sofa. “We spent a few nights together and that was why I had hope. She would act as if nothing had happened between us, and then it was all about her scheming to get Hart back. There were times when I felt used, Francesca. I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself. Do you think she was using me?”
Francesca was beginning to wonder that herself. “I think she cared about you.”
“When she told me she was going to accept Hart’s offer and become his mistress, I begged her to reconsider. I knew no good could come of it! She laughed. She loved me then—she told me not to worry. But within weeks, I was worried. Within weeks, Hart refused to allow me in this house, and she was happy! Do you know what it is like to have your heart broken, not once, but many times, by the same person?”
“No, I don’t. Did you share your feelings? Did you confront her?”
“Do I seem like the kind of woman who would keep my feelings to myself? Of course I told her how I felt, and we argued madly! We have been arguing for months.”