Chapters (43)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Contents
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Postscript
- Also by Rhys Bowen
- About the Author
- Copyright
“Oh, dear. That’s not good,” I said. “Now the fact that strikes me is that he wasn’t dead when you arrived and the front door was open. That indicates to me that he had just been stabbed before you got there and that maybe the killer slipped out as you went into the studio.”
“You mean he was in the house at the same time?” Sid shuddered. “How awful. I might have been his next victim.”
“He probably only had one knife,” I said. “I suspect he did what he came to do and then all he wanted was to get away. You are absolutely sure that there was nobody else in the room? Was there anywhere one could hide?”
Sid frowned. “There was a red velvet curtain hanging as a backdrop for the painting he was working on. I suppose someone could have hidden behind that,” she shuddered.
“Now think, Sid. Sometimes we take in more details than we realize. Was there anything about that room that struck you as different, odd, unusual? No bulge behind the drapes? No sixth sense that somebody else was breathing?”
Sid closed her eyes, then shook her head. “It all happened so fast, Molly. I came in, went straight up to him, and saw he was dying. I didn’t have time to look at my surroundings. When I did, afterward, it was only to look for an escape route. I saw the open window and made for it.”
“Never mind,” I said. “Perhaps by now the police have identified a fingerprint on that knife that matches a known criminal. And even if they have your fingerprints, they wouldn’t know how to start looking for you, especially if they think you are a young man.”
Sid clutched at my hand. “Molly, you are so calm and wonderful and efficient,” she said. “I know you’ll be able to help me prove my innocence.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “It seems to me we have to establish who would want to see Mr. Bryce dead. Either it was an unplanned murder—he surprised a burglar who thought the house was empty—or someone came with the intention of killing Mr. Bryce.”
I felt Sid shudder. “He was a horrible, rude, and prejudiced man,” she said. “But nobody deserves to die in that manner.”