“We’ll deal with that eventuality. For now, you’re both safe.”
She turned to the fire, feeling oddly melancholy. “Yes.”
He walked over to a side table and poured her a small glass of brandy, bringing it to her. “Drink this—you need it.”
She did as he requested, grimacing. “I much prefer the taste of sherry.”
“Brandy has more medicinal benefit in situations such as these.” He studied her, frowning. “You should go to bed, get what rest you can before Charlotte awakens. I suspect you’ll have your hands full tomorrow morning, dealing with the aftereffects of her imprisonment.”
“Who’s the patient in this house?” she asked lightly, smiling for the first time in two days.
“At the moment, you are,” he said firmly. “I must admit, it feels good to order you around for a change.” He smiled. “I’ve no doubt you’ll revert to your position of authority once you’re rested.”
“I trust you are on your way to bed as well?” she asked, blushing when she realized the boldness of her question. He smiled. “Though I would like nothing better than to come to bed,” he said in a soft tone that had her coloring further, “I have some reading I want to finish in the library. I’ve had all the sleep I can stand for the moment. I plan to help myself to a cup of your tea and retire a bit later.”
“Very well,” she said, more disappointed than she would admit. “Good night.”
For a moment, he looked as if he would block her exit, but in the end, he inclined his head, standing aside.
* * *
AN hour later, Hattie sat at her dressing table in her bedroom, brushing her hair. She was still too anxious to sleep, yet too exhausted to even raise her arms to braid her hair. The night was silent and still, the Canbys’ party having finally wound down and the guests departed.
She dropped the brush and buried her face in both hands. She’d been so utterly foolish, thinking she could go up against men the likes of Seavey and Johnson. She’d failed, and she’d almost lost Charlotte altogether. It was doubtful Charlotte’s reputation would ever recover from the incident—she might never make a good match.
Hattie stood and walked over to the window seat that looked out over the street below. Earlier, she’d sent Sara down to the Green Light with a short note of explanation so that Mona wouldn’t continue to worry about her. But what to do about Frank’s situation? About Clive Johnson?
A slight sound came from behind her. She smiled and started to turn. “So you’ve changed your mind—”
The pain was crushing. In less than a heartbeat, her world went black.
She never felt her fall, never felt the blood flowing from her, soaking the floorboards beneath her.
Chapter 16
THE kitchen was filled with the sounds of sobbing. Hattie held Charlotte, comforting her, and even Jordan found herself blinking rapidly.
A handful of Kleenex flew at her, which she used to swipe at tears. She blew her nose, then gave a mental eye roll.
Great. She was crying over the death of the person who was sitting across the table from her. Her life couldn’t get any more Twilight Zone–like unless she invited the ghost of Rod Serling to dinner.
“I still don’t think Seavey murdered you,” she said for what felt like the twentieth time.
“How can you say that?” Hattie glared through eyes swimming in tears. “He kidnapped Charlotte, he threatened me—”
“He loved you,” Charlotte countered, sniffling. “If you’d simply looked, you would’ve seen it. I don’t care what kind of man he was, he fell for you the moment he set eyes on you, the night of the fire.”
Jordan agreed. “He tried to tell you he was innocent—you just didn’t want to believe him.”
“Right after he took me to the hotel room where his men were holding Charlotte,” Hattie pointed out.
“Okay, true. But what about Clive Johnson? If you unionized, Johnson had as much to lose as Seavey. Johnson easily could have murdered you and framed Frank. Did you have any contact with Johnson again after you tried to fire him?”
“No,” Hattie replied. “But remember, Timothy was coming to the house with daily reports, so I had no reason to visit the office. And once Charlotte had been kidnapped, Johnson could’ve burned Longren Shipping to the ground—all I cared about was bringing her home safe. But I’m certain Timothy would’ve informed me if Johnson were up to something.”
“Only if he witnessed it, and I doubt Johnson would’ve allowed that to happen.” Jordan propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands while she thought. “No, it’s all wrong—Seavey’s profile doesn’t match that of a murderer.”
Hattie gave her a look of sheer incredulity.
“Okay, what I meant was, he didn’t have the psychological profile of a man who would’ve murdered you. I’m betting anyone who got a visit from Seavey’s thugs knew exactly what they’d done to deserve it. Seavey didn’t kill in anger—he killed for cold-blooded convenience, for business reasons.” Hattie opened her mouth to argue and Jordan raised her hand. “And let’s not forget that you agreed to his conditions that night. So really, he had no reason to kill you—at least, not unless you failed to live up to your end of the bargain.”
“He could’ve worried I’d go behind his back and tell Greeley who had kidnapped Charlotte.”
Jordan shook her head. “Seavey had warned you of the consequences. He knew you were too smart to risk Charlotte a second time. No, if he had anyone to fear, it was Frank. And it would’ve been far easier to kill Frank—Seavey would’ve had to get past him to get to you. Why not simply kill him?”
“Because Seavey needed someone convenient to take the blame,” Hattie said. “I doubt Chief Greeley could’ve overlooked murder, even if Seavey did have him on his payroll.”
She had a point. Jordan rubbed her face with both hands. Outside, the sky was lightening to the east. She’d actually stayed up all night, trying to solve a century-old murder. She ought to have her head examined. “I know I’m missing something, but I’m too tired to figure out what it is.”
“Who do you think killed Hattie?” Charlotte asked, speaking up for the first time.
“Good question,” Jordan admitted. “And at this point, I don’t even know where to look for the answer.”
“What about Seavey’s personal papers? If he loved Hattie as much as I believe he did, then he would’ve written about her death. He would’ve been devastated by it.”
“Well, of course he would’ve.” Jordan stared at her, amazed that she hadn’t thought of it herself. “Not only that, he had the resources to hunt down the killer himself. Brilliant!”
Charlotte preened, then her smile slid a little. “Maybe not. You’re assuming Seavey didn’t believe that Frank murdered Hattie.”
Jordan started to tell them she knew Seavey had visited Frank after the trial, then realized she’d have to explain how she knew that. It was getting damned confusing, trying to keep straight what information she could tell which ghost. She stood to leave. “It’s worth a shot, anyway.”
They gave her blank looks.
“It’s worth the time it will take me to at least check out the theory.”
“Oh. Where’re you going?” Hattie asked as Jordan jogged toward the front hall, the dog on her heels.
“Upstairs to find Seavey’s papers. Charlotte’s right—the clues have to be in his personal journal entries between the time of the murder and Frank’s trial, because he wouldn’t have been able to sleep until he knew who’d killed you.” She grabbed the kitchen door frame, halting her progress long enough to ask, “What was the date of the soirée?”