disgraced them received pats on the back and the discreet applause of their fellows?
Climbing into the seat, I flapped the reins and set Barney to a walk. If it didn’t rain too hard, the oiled canvas roof should keep me fairly dry. I was just circling to the front of the house when a larger and more solid vehicle turned off Ocean Avenue and rumbled toward me.
Oh, dear. I should have planned for this and left earlier.
“Emmaline, where do you think you’re going in that weather-beaten contraption?” my uncle’s voice boomed even before the brougham had stopped. The rear door swung open and Uncle Cornelius leaned his grizzled head out of the carriage.
“Into town, of course, to see Brady and talk to Officer Whyte.”
“Not alone, you’re not. Jakes!” he called out. “Take Miss Cross’s buggy back to her stable and unhitch the horse.” The footman sitting beside the driver jumped down from the box. My uncle’s face angled back in my direction. “Emmaline, you’re coming with us.”
“Thank you, Uncle, but I’ll need my own carriage today. I have other errands to run. Jakes, turn around.”
The footman came to a standstill, looking from his employer to me and back again. I settled the debate with a “Giddup, Barney,” that started the buggy moving. “I’ll see you in town,” I called as I maneuvered around my uncle’s carriage and continued onto Ocean Avenue.
“We have the preliminary report from the coroner,” Jesse Whyte said once Uncle Cornelius, Neily, and I had settled ourselves in front of his desk at the police station. I was relieved that Officer Dobbs was nowhere in sight. Elbows propped on the desktop, Jesse tented his fingers beneath his chin. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look good for Brady.”
“Nothing looks good for Brady.” My uncle scowled. “He was caught red-handed.”
I bristled, but turned my attention back to Jesse. “What did the coroner say?”
“Bruising indicates the victim was struck on the shoulders, head, and the back of the neck before he fell.”
“Or was pushed,” Uncle Cornelius muttered.
Neily leaned forward, hands on his knees. “It couldn’t have happened in the fall?”
Jesse shook his head. “He might have struck one of those areas on the balustrade, but all three? And since he fell onto grass, it isn’t likely he acquired the bruises as he hit the ground. Besides, the blood had time to clot and cause discoloration before death occurred.”
“I don’t understand.”
It was Neily who turned to me to explain. “When someone dies, their blood stops pumping. That means no bleeding beneath the skin, and therefore no bruising.”
“That fits with my theory of a third person in that room. Someone who knocked Brady out and then attacked poor Mr. Goddard.” I stopped short. “Jesse, please don’t sit there shaking your head.”
But he did just that. “Sorry, Emma, but we found the candelabrum beside your brother. He’s already admitted to using it to see his way into the room.” He sent me an apologetic look. “I can’t ignore the facts. Brady had motive, opportunity, and the very weapon used to incapacitate Goddard before he was pushed to his death.”
“But . . .” My stomach sank as I realized this time he’d used pushed instead of fell. But I wasn’t about to give up. “There’s something else we’re all forgetting. Something no one thought about last night, not even Brady.” I gripped the arms of my chair. “The bourbon. Brady doesn’t drink bourbon. Ever. It’s champagne, cognac, dark ale, or Scotch whisky. Nothing else.”
“Oh, come now, Emmaline.” Uncle Cornelius patted my hand where I continued to clutch the chair’s arm. “Bourbon, whisky . . . obviously Brady grabbed the first bottle within reach when he snuck into the house last night. The butler’s pantry was well-stocked, and I seriously doubt he’s all that particular.”
“But he is, Uncle.” I slipped my hand out from under his. “He’s
Climbing into the seat, I flapped the reins and set Barney to a walk. If it didn’t rain too hard, the oiled canvas roof should keep me fairly dry. I was just circling to the front of the house when a larger and more solid vehicle turned off Ocean Avenue and rumbled toward me.
Oh, dear. I should have planned for this and left earlier.
“Emmaline, where do you think you’re going in that weather-beaten contraption?” my uncle’s voice boomed even before the brougham had stopped. The rear door swung open and Uncle Cornelius leaned his grizzled head out of the carriage.
“Into town, of course, to see Brady and talk to Officer Whyte.”
“Not alone, you’re not. Jakes!” he called out. “Take Miss Cross’s buggy back to her stable and unhitch the horse.” The footman sitting beside the driver jumped down from the box. My uncle’s face angled back in my direction. “Emmaline, you’re coming with us.”
“Thank you, Uncle, but I’ll need my own carriage today. I have other errands to run. Jakes, turn around.”
The footman came to a standstill, looking from his employer to me and back again. I settled the debate with a “Giddup, Barney,” that started the buggy moving. “I’ll see you in town,” I called as I maneuvered around my uncle’s carriage and continued onto Ocean Avenue.
“We have the preliminary report from the coroner,” Jesse Whyte said once Uncle Cornelius, Neily, and I had settled ourselves in front of his desk at the police station. I was relieved that Officer Dobbs was nowhere in sight. Elbows propped on the desktop, Jesse tented his fingers beneath his chin. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look good for Brady.”
“Nothing looks good for Brady.” My uncle scowled. “He was caught red-handed.”
I bristled, but turned my attention back to Jesse. “What did the coroner say?”
“Bruising indicates the victim was struck on the shoulders, head, and the back of the neck before he fell.”
“Or was pushed,” Uncle Cornelius muttered.
Neily leaned forward, hands on his knees. “It couldn’t have happened in the fall?”
Jesse shook his head. “He might have struck one of those areas on the balustrade, but all three? And since he fell onto grass, it isn’t likely he acquired the bruises as he hit the ground. Besides, the blood had time to clot and cause discoloration before death occurred.”
“I don’t understand.”
It was Neily who turned to me to explain. “When someone dies, their blood stops pumping. That means no bleeding beneath the skin, and therefore no bruising.”
“That fits with my theory of a third person in that room. Someone who knocked Brady out and then attacked poor Mr. Goddard.” I stopped short. “Jesse, please don’t sit there shaking your head.”
But he did just that. “Sorry, Emma, but we found the candelabrum beside your brother. He’s already admitted to using it to see his way into the room.” He sent me an apologetic look. “I can’t ignore the facts. Brady had motive, opportunity, and the very weapon used to incapacitate Goddard before he was pushed to his death.”
“But . . .” My stomach sank as I realized this time he’d used pushed instead of fell. But I wasn’t about to give up. “There’s something else we’re all forgetting. Something no one thought about last night, not even Brady.” I gripped the arms of my chair. “The bourbon. Brady doesn’t drink bourbon. Ever. It’s champagne, cognac, dark ale, or Scotch whisky. Nothing else.”
“Oh, come now, Emmaline.” Uncle Cornelius patted my hand where I continued to clutch the chair’s arm. “Bourbon, whisky . . . obviously Brady grabbed the first bottle within reach when he snuck into the house last night. The butler’s pantry was well-stocked, and I seriously doubt he’s all that particular.”
“But he is, Uncle.” I slipped my hand out from under his. “He’s
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