Page 79 of Murder in Moonlight
“I could kill you now,” he sneered. “Face to face. Would that make me a gentleman?”
Somehow, she held on to his gaze and her own sense of worth. “It would certainly make you the prime suspect in two murders.”
*
It didn’t takeSolomon long to understand the difficulty with the books. Bolton’s system merely borrowed from the usual, and it had been so heavily modified that it was almost impossible to follow the money from one column to the next, one book to the next. Eventually, by following one particular amount, he began to see daylight.
Still, the system was unnecessarily complicated. Why?
He had focused on another figure, to try to prove his theory, when a footman knocked at the door. Habit made him call, “Enter,” before he recalled that this was not his own office. Fortunately, neither of the policemen were present.
A footman entered carrying two letters on a silver tray. “For you, sir.”
“Thank you,” Grey said, taking the letters. Dragging his brain away from the numbers, he said, “How did you know I was here?”
“You were not at breakfast, sir. Miss Ellen told me I would find you here.”
Miss Ellen did not miss much. Solomon nodded dismissal to the footman and laid the letters on the desk. He turned back to the ledger, then paused and looked again at the letters. Picking up the first, from his warehouse manager at St. Catherine’s Dock, he saw that the one beneath was from his travelingsecretary, whom he had asked to look into the business of Mr. Ivor Davidson of Norwich.
Opening it first, he swiftly read the contents until he came to the line,He has overextended and is in dire need of investment. If he doesn’t get it within the next month, maybe two, he is going under. With such rumors, no one will touch him.
In which case, no wonder Davidson was so eager for Winsom’s partnership, and furious when he didn’t get it. Making a play for Ellen had been a desperate alternative… A desperate man committed desperate deeds. A desperate, angry, worried man. Had he taken the knife from the kitchen in a moment of fury? Then perhaps calmed himself, and then—perhaps even on his way to returning the knife—he could have spied Winsom in the garden with Alice Bolton. Would he not then have become enraged all over again by the self-righteous nature of Winsom’s refusal?
Though it was hardly proof of murder, Solomon could almost see these scenes playing behind his eyes and they brought a chill to his bones. Davidson hurtled to the top of Solomon’s list of suspects. Or perhaps joint top.
But Constance, who had always suspected Davidson, did not have this information. He didn’t put it past her to chase the man down, ask him questions that were too bold. If he was volatile enough to turn on his host…
Solomon was already out of his chair and striding for the door, stuffing his scrunched-up letter into his pocket as he went. In the hallway, he encountered the stately Richards, looking a trifle haggard yet as haughty as ever.
“Do you know where Mrs. Goldrich is?” he asked.Don’t be out walking alone with Davidson…He had warned her not to, even knowing she obeyed no one and trusted too much in her own ability to control any scene.
“I believe she is in the billiard room.” A gleam of malice shone in Richards’s eyes. “With Mr. Davidson.”
Chapter Seventeen
The ugly temperin Davidson’s eyes flared brighter. Constance held herself very still, pretending she barely noticed the cool, hard wood against her windpipe—not pressing or hurting, just touching firmly enough to show her how vulnerable she was to his strength.
She met his gaze without flinching, hoped he could not feel the hammering of her pulse. To her unspeakable relief, the anger began to die back.
The cue left her skin. Davidson turned it and stepped away. “You are quite right. I’m sure I’m already the chief suspect. As if I don’t have enough to worry about. You smell delightful, by the way. Are you wealthy, Mrs. Goldrich?”
“Wealthy enough that I need never marry a fortune hunter, though I appreciate your honesty. And your desperation.” She barely knew what she was saying. The cue was still in his hand, and he still stood too close for comfort. “What are you worrying about? Apart from the murder.”
He gave a lopsided smile, but before he could speak, the door burst open and Solomon stood there. Relief flooded her, turning her knees to jelly as the fear had not.
Davidson swung around to face him, and Constance slipped out of his reach, strolling around the billiard table on her trembling legs.
“Care for a game, Mr. Grey? I believe I am almost beaten.” Amazingly, her voice was very nearly steady.
And Solomon understood. She saw it in the flicker of his hard eyes. He didn’t move as Davidson walked steadily toward him.
“Take my place, Grey. I find I don’t care much for billiards anymore.”
Constance forced her legs to move faster, to prevent the inevitable confrontation. The eyes of the two men locked.
“Oh, Mr. Grey!” a female voice hailed him from the foot of the stairs.
Mrs. Winsom.
