Page 74 of Murder in Moonlight
Constance nodded, accepting that. “And you think that is a motive for Albright to kill his father-in-law? Shouldn’t he have got the money out of him first?”
“Not if Miriam inherits a good enough sum. But there’s more to it than that. What if the bank isn’t really doing as well as everyone thinks?”
“You said you had looked into it,” she reminded him.
“I asked around. It’s not exactly the same as auditing their books.”
“Do you think they need it?”
“Think about it. Wouldn’t a proud and doting papa simplygivethe money to his daughter? Why make it a loan? And why not bail her out when she needs it? Then this business of the bank fraud—they didn’t charge Framley. Maybe thatwasin consideration of his family and his previous loyal service, but itcouldhave been to save their books from coming under scrutiny. A bank thrives or dies according to its reputation. Then again, Ivor Davidson made them money not so long ago, and yet Walter refused to invest in his new scheme. What if he couldn’t?”
Constance rubbed her forehead, thinking about it. “If it’s true, does it change anything? Does it give anyone a stronger motive?”
“Not that I can see,” Solomon admitted. “I just can’t help thinking it’s important somehow.”
“If it’s true,” she said. “Can you find out if it is?”
“Probably. In time. Do we have time? We can’t all remain trapped in this house indefinitely. We must already know all we’re likely to find out. Any of them could have committed this murder, for any reason we know of, or one we don’t. Either we have to think our way to the correct solution—and prove it—or…”
“Or what?” Constance prompted when he trailed off.
He looked up and met her eyes. “Or set a trap that will force the culprit to reveal himself. Or herself.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, I like the sound of that. What do we do?” Without warning, her face changed and she stood up, creeping rapidly across the floor in her stocking soles while she flapped her hand at him, clearly encouraging him to keep talking. She must have heard something he had not.
“That’s the problem,” he said, pulling words out of the air as he stood up. “I really have no idea. I’ll think about it.”
Her fingers closed around the door handle and yanked it open. Solomon threw himself forward to her side. But no one threatened her. No one could be seen in the passage in either direction, even when Solomon picked up his sputtering candle from the table and lifted it high. No open doors, no light, no person.
They slipped back inside, and Constance closed the door, her eyes wide as they stared into his.
“Someone was there in the passage,” she said. “I heard them. They brushed against the door.”
“I believe you. The question is, didtheyhearus?”
“Perhaps we sounded so threatening, they’ll bolt and give themselves away.”
It bothered Solomon more that it might make the killer stand and fight. “Well, it can’t be much surprise to anyone in the house that we discuss the matter. We’ve been asking questions since he died. It is possibly of more concern to our eavesdropper that I was in your room.”
“It will be interesting to see if that story spreads. Who will regard me now as the scarlet woman?”
“The prospect does not appear to trouble you,” he said, searching her face.
She shrugged. “My masquerade is almost over. It is time to go back to reality.”
There was a hint of defiance in the eyes that met his, and yet she accepted it. Solomon did not.
“There are ways out, Constance. You can change your reality.”
“As you did?”
He acknowledged the attack with a small nod. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“But did it make you happy, Solomon Grey?”
For a moment, the words stuck in his throat. Memory rushed on him so fast, so vividly, he couldfeelthe fun, the sheer joy of playing in the sunshine, the laughter, the companionship that he took for granted until it was gone. And the coldness of being alone, of being just one. That was a reality he could not change, only how he dealt with it. He had made a good, successful life, and he grasped that knowledge with both hands.
“I am not unhappy,” he said evenly.
