A Murder in Time(128)

And that was the problem. Each scenario was possible, each suspect viable.

Kendra studied the slate board, and again felt that whispery sensation at the back of her neck. Someone had said something . . . what? She couldn’t get a handle on it; the thought remained as elusive as ever.

Fresh air. That’s what she needed. And she might as well get it on the walk to Thomas’s shack, as she still needed to interview him about yesterday. He’d been the last person to see Rose. Maybe he’d seen someone lurking nearby.

As she reached the door, it swung open and Alec entered. He raised his brows when he saw her. “Miss Donovan. I had hoped you were still in bed. Did you sleep at all?”

“Long enough. How about you?”

“A few hours. We plan to resume the search in the next hour.”

She nodded. “Good. I’m going to talk to Thomas about yesterday.”

Alec grabbed her arm, glaring at her. “Are you mad? Have you no sense? I am not about to let you go traipsing through the woods alone with a murderer on the loose!”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Bloody hell. You look like the victims, Miss Donovan! Do you not realize that?”

On some level, she had. But she shrugged, “In size and coloring, yes. But I’m older. I don’t fit the pattern.”

“He already broke his pattern!”

“I’m not a helpless fifteen-year-old. I can protect myself!”

Alec’s grip tightened, as though he wanted to shake her. “You would not be able to protect yourself against a lead ball.”

“Guns aren’t his style. He wants his hands around his victim’s throat. He wants to see her panic, her terror. He wants to watch the life go out in her eyes.”

“If this is your attempt to ease my concern, you are doing a bloody awful job of it!”

“I’m going to talk to the hermit. If you want to, you can come with me.”

“I shall.” He dropped his hand. “You might want to fetch your spencer, Miss Donovan. There’s a chill in the air.”



The hermit opened the door in answer to Alec’s knock. His eyes locked on the marquis, and Kendra thought she detected a gleam of fear.

“Your Lordship.” He licked his lips nervously. “Er, what do you want?”

Kendra said, “We need to talk to you, Thomas.”

His gaze swung back to her. “I helped search for the maid last night.”

“Yes. I heard. Can we come in?”

He hesitated, but they knew he wouldn’t deny her request. Not with the Marquis of Sutcliffe standing right there.

As Thomas stepped back, Kendra’s eyes scanned the dim interior. It was as she remembered, except the shutters from the window had been removed, though the window was so greasy with dirt that it barely allowed the gray light of the overcast day inside. She saw that the drug paraphernalia was no longer on the floor, but crammed on the table with dirty dishes and paint supplies. The odor was the same, a mixture of sweat, turpentine, and paint, mingling with the smoke from the fireplace.

Alec hung back in the doorway, his expression filled with distaste. She couldn’t really blame him; the air was fresher back there.

“You haven’t done much painting,” Kendra observed. She moved forward to stand in front of the easel. The canvas was still blue. The white female form in the center had taken on flesh tones, with more dimension, but it was otherwise faceless.

“Art requires sacrifice,” he mumbled, his eyes skating away from hers.

“Sure it does.” She moved around the easel. The space was so tight that her hip hit one of the cabinets, rattling the paint supplies strewn across the grimy surface. She put a hand up to steady them. “We need to talk to you about Rose. She made a sandwich for you yesterday.”

“I don’t know nothin’.”

“You went into the kitchens. Who did you speak to?”

He frowned. “The cook. I asked for somethin’ to eat. She told the little maid to give me some bread and cheese.”

“Did you wait in the kitchens while she prepared it?”

“Nay. I waited outside.”

“So Rose came outside to give you the sandwich?”

“Aye.”

“Did you talk?”

“She said the countess was havin’ a nuncheon out in the gardens. She had to help with that.”

“While you were talking, did you notice anyone around?”

“Who?”

“Anyone. People.”

Thomas shrugged. “A couple of gardeners.”

“How did you know they were gardeners? Did you recognize them?”

“Nay. I . . . I dunno. They could’ve been stable hands, I suppose.”

“Were they standing in a group, or were they separate from each other?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Thomas, I want you to think about the girl who gave you bread and cheese yesterday. She needs help.”

“I dunno nothin’.”

“You might know more than you realize. That’s why I want you to think about it.” Kendra paused, then asked, “Were you in the woods last Sunday? The vicar said he saw you.”

He stiffened. “I’m often in the woods.”