Page 73 of Ghost in the Garden
Harris nodded curtly, said goodnight, and departed, Flynn at his heels.
“You can go,” Angela flung at her. “I don’t need you anymore.”
The suspicion that Constance was being manipulated surged forward and would have stuck, except there was something very like disappointment, even hurt, in Angela’s eyes. She had expected Constance to back up her accusation against Iris. Instead, Constance had let Solomon disprove it.
Solomon was already on his feet. Constance rose more slowly.
“Will you manage?” she asked Angela. “I can stay.”
Solomon’s arm twitched, but he said nothing. Was that a faint softening in Angela’s face?
“I know. But I need to be alone.”
Constance swallowed and nodded once before she walked toward the door.
“Come back tomorrow,” Angela said from her chair. “If you want to.”
“Goodnight,” Solomon said. Constance was not capable of speech.
They walked into the empty hall and across toward the front door, which she had never used before.
“Do you want to get your things?” Solomon murmured.
“Tomorrow will do.” Suddenly, she just wanted out of there. The whole building and everyone in it oppressed her. Though Solomon stopped to speak to the constable at the door, she kept on walking and let herself out.
The cold air was a relief. She lifted her face into it, and a moment later, Solomon swung his overcoat around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she whispered, taking his arm. “Let’s find a hackney.”
“This is wrong,” Solomon said abruptly. “All wrong.”
“It’s certainly not what we expected when we set out so smugly to catch our ghost. Do you think Iris could have done it, Solomon? In the way Angela suggested?”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?” she asked, because she really wanted to know.
He shrugged. “It’s just about possible for her to have entered the house before we started watching, and then run out again in time to come back in while we were watching. I just don’t see why shewouldgo back in.”
“So that we would give her an alibi. Which we did.”
“And Angela didn’t like it,” Solomon pointed out.
“She wants it to be Iris. That’s jealousy and grief talking. A desire for revenge. When she thinks about it, I’m sure she’d rather know who really killed him.”
“And it might even be Iris.”
“In a fit of pique because her stream of presents had ended?” Constance said doubtfully.
“It must have been powerful pique.” He glanced down at her. “I just asked the constable how Lambert died. An axe through his head.”
“Jesus,” she whispered. “Just like Gregg.Couldshe have killed them both?”
“I don’t think she could have killed either of them, physically speaking. She’s agile, but she’s not strong—never had to do the kind of work that gives you the muscle to swing an axe with such force.”
Constance caught her breath. “No, butFrankFraser could. He knows about the affair. The key’s been in Iris’s possession for weeks. He could have taken it at any time and had it copied. He can’t have liked the arrangement.”
“Or its ending?” Solomon said thoughtfully. “Well, if he did it, I expect he’s already scarpered.”
