Page 85 of Murder in Moonlight
“No one,” Randolph said in surprise. “Even the kennelman gives him a wide berth now, and I honestly can’t blame him for that.”
“So no one else goes into his kennel or his paddock?” Solomon asked.
“Only when I take him for a walk, if the kennel needs cleaned.”
Solomon turned back to the dog, clearly exhausted after his night’s adventure. He didn’t look very fierce. “I don’t suppose anyone’snotscared of him?”
“Not apart from you.”
“Oh, I was scared too,” Solomon said. “We didn’t become friends until I was resigned to being eaten.”
“He smells fear, and that frightenshimso that he attacks. Stupid, great beast.” Randolph frowned. “He’d be better if I could take him into the house, where he’d get used to people and see they’re no threat, but my parents would never let me.”
Solomon regarded him in silence until the younger man flushed with sudden understanding. “It’s my house now, isn’t it? I can take him inside if I wish. Only I don’t wish to frighten my mother.”
“Of course you don’t,” Solomon agreed.
Still, Randolph looked thoughtful as he ambled away toward the house.
“I don’tthink,” Constance said, “that that is the reaction of a man who killed his father for freedom and financial gain. And I believe he was genuinely worried about the dog—to say nothing of his mother and you. I definitely don’t think he let it out.”
“I believe we’re narrowing our list. But are we right to include the dog’s escape in our thinking? It’s hardly a sure means of attack. Whether aimed at me or at Mrs. Winsom, it was always likely to fail.”
“A sign of our murderer’s desperation?” Constance suggested. “After overhearing us last night?”
“Possibly. Though it could be someone trying to protect the murderer.”
“By committing murder themselves?” she said doubtfully.
“A murder made to look like an accident. The entire household and no doubt several neighbors could swear to the dog’s viciousness.”
She frowned. “It bothers me.”
“It bothers me,” Solomon said with an odd fervency that refocused her attention.
“You know something!”
He shook his head. “Only that you were in last night’s conversation too. We both need to be careful.”
The intensity of his gaze unnerved her, even while she basked in his concern. She resorted to mockery. “Why, Solomon, youdocare.”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, I am everyone’s favorite.”
He caught her arm as she swung back toward the house. “I am serious, Constance,” he said urgently. “No more billiard games with just one, notête-a-têtesor solitary walks.”
“I do understand, Solomon. I am not an imbecile.”
He let her go at once. “I beg your pardon.”
“If we are to be so careful of ourselves, how do we bait this trap we were discussing?”
“By being prepared,” he said, surprising her yet again. “And by pretending more knowledge than we have.”
A wave of excitement swept over her. “You have a plan,” she breathed.
*
