Glancing sideways at William, Amy said, “I thought you and Lady Carlisle were friends?”
“Ha!” She snorted. “’Tis hard to be friends with that one.”
“Mother, I think it is time for us to leave.” Mr. Miles arrived, glancing at his mother, then Amy and William. “I hope my mother has not been boring you with more of her childhood tales.” His attempted smile never quite fully formed.
“No. Not at all. It’s been a pleasant conversation.”
Mr. Miles gripped his mother’s elbow and nodded at them before walking her to the door.
William watched the couple leave the room. “If this was one of your books, now is when the reader would say, ‘The plot thickens.’”
Amy continued to stare at the door where Mr. Miles and his mother had just exited. “Just so.”
* * *
The next afternoon Amy sat at her desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. She could think of nothing to add to the new book she had just started. She gazed out the window at the lovely spring day. Soon summer would be upon them and it would be time to think about a trip to Sussex, to one of the beaches.
A month-long vacation had been her habit for years. She and Aunt Margaret packed up and moved to a cottage they owned near the beach. There she wrote, strolled in the sand, and enjoyed food unique to that area.
Some of her best writing had been produced at her writer’s retreat, which is how she’d begun to think of her time spent there. Aunt Margaret enjoyed long walks, read numerous books, and attempted to drag Amy away from her writing at least twice a day for some fun.
Her thoughts of summer, beaches, and warm weather were interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels rolling to a stop in front of the townhouse.
Within minutes Lacey was at her door. “Milady, those two detectives are back again.”
Amy moaned and dropped her head into her hands. Always hopeful that their visit would be to announce the news that the murderer had been caught, she placed her pen in the ink holder and stood. “Very well. I will be down directly.”
She checked her appearance in the mirror over her dressing table, adjusted her dress sleeve to cover the remaining bruise, and left the room. Just one step into the drawing room, Amy knew the detectives were not there with good news. Scowling would have been a kind description of their demeanor.
Both men took a seat once she sat, her heart taking funny little extra beats. Detective Carson came right to the point. “You have been interfering with our investigation.”
Well, at least they hadn’t come to arrest her for murder, so that was a relief. A slight relief, based on their stiff bearing.
Best to play ignorant and see what exactly they considered ‘interfering.’ “I’m not sure what you mean, Detectives.”
“One thing we have learned throughout this investigation is that you are not a stupid woman, Lady Amy. But if you want to pretend you don’t know what we’re talking about, I will play your game.” He pointed at her. “Did you not visit with Mr. Harris at his place of business to question him?”
She shook her head. “No. I went to his place of business because I was considering investing in his company.”
“Have you other investments, Lady Amy?”
She drew herself up. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I do.”
Carson leaned in, a nasty smile on his face. “How many of those investments have you personally visited?”
“Since I invest heavily in banks, and I visit my bank on a weekly basis, I would say all of them.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she realized her mistake. They were not in a jolly mood and would not appreciate her attempt at humor.
Detective Marsh glanced down at his ever-present notepad. “You said when we questioned you about Miss Eva Hemphill that you barely knew her, and had no idea she and your fiancé—”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“—had been courting before he proposed to you.”
“That would be correct, Detective.”
Carson stood and loomed over her, forcing her to lean back. She bristled at his heavy-handedness. This was becoming too much. They were treating her like a criminal.
“Yet you and your gentleman friend were both there to discover her dead body.”