particular about little else, but adamant about that. He always says bourbon turns him green.”
“She’s right, Father,” Neily said with a mirthless grin. “And it’s because of the time he and Alfred and I stayed up all night in the playhouse drinking your best Tennessee bourbon—” He broke off, then added with a rueful nod, “Yes, the stuff the president of Vanderbilt University sends you every Christmas. And we smoked cigars we pinched from your billiard room. We were all three sick as dogs the next morning.”
Uncle Cornelius shot him a reproving glare and rumbled something about young delinquents needing the proper restraint.
Neily shrugged. “It was years ago.”
“So you see,” I said eagerly, “someone tried to set Brady up. But they didn’t do a very good job of it. You need to let him go and continue the investigation.”
“We’ll continue the investigation, Emma.” Jesse patted the leather folder sitting on the desk in front of him. “We’ll consider all avenues. But I can’t release Brady. Not based on whisky versus bourbon.”
“But—”
“Now, if any of you can name someone else who might have had reason to do Mr. Goddard in,” he interrupted, “speak up. It could help Brady’s case.”
Uncle Cornelius began shaking his head. “Alvin was a good man. An excellent financial secretary and an ace businessman in his own right. Didn’t have an enemy that I knew of.”
My mouth fell. Rich and influential men always made enemies, always inspired envy and resentment. But I just as quickly closed my lips. I wanted to talk to Brady before I offered up any further theories. “Can I see my brother now?”
“Neily, go with her,” my uncle said before Jesse could respond.
I dug in my heels and raised my chin. “I’d rather see him alone.”
Jesse nodded. “I’ll take you to him.”
I promised myself I’d be strong for Brady’s sake. But seeing him in that cell, behind bars that were quite locked this time, undermined my resolve. The fact that he actually looked better than he usually did whenever I’d come to bail him out—less bloodshot, less pallid, less disheveled—only made matters worse. Because despite his more chipper appearance, for the first time I could remember, the devil-may-care light had faded from his eyes.
“Aw, don’t cry, Em.”
I held a handkerchief to my nose and tried to blink away my tears. “Can’t help it, Brady. They won’t let you go home with me this time.”
He wrapped his hands around two bars and brought his face closer. “Didn’t think they would, at least not yet.”
“But I have some new evidence. That bourbon bottle. Someone else had to have put it there. You didn’t drink any of it, did you?”
“Ordinarily I’d shudder and say no. But to tell the truth, I can’t remember much about what I did last night.”
I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration. Instead, I asked, “How’s your head? That’s also proof someone else was in that room. Did a doctor take a look at it?”
“Still tender and, yes, they brought in Dr. Kennison last night.” He raised a hand to the back of his head and winced. “But for all I know, Em, I knocked it against the bureau or the bedpost as Alvin and I struggled.”
“Don’t say that, Brady!” I stepped closer and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Especially where someone might overhear. You did not push Alvin Goddard to his death, so don’t go saying incriminating things and putting ideas into people’s heads. I’m going to get you out of here, Brady. I swear I will.”
“No, Emmaline. You can’t get mixed up in this mess. Leave it to the police. Let Jesse handle it.” His brow furrowed with worry. “Has Uncle Cornelius hired me a lawyer?”
“No, and . . . I don’t think he’s going to,” I said as gently as I could.
“He thinks I’m guilty.” His lips thinned. “Can’t say as I blame him.”
“Oh, Brady, why did you steal those documents?”
He met my gaze, his
“She’s right, Father,” Neily said with a mirthless grin. “And it’s because of the time he and Alfred and I stayed up all night in the playhouse drinking your best Tennessee bourbon—” He broke off, then added with a rueful nod, “Yes, the stuff the president of Vanderbilt University sends you every Christmas. And we smoked cigars we pinched from your billiard room. We were all three sick as dogs the next morning.”
Uncle Cornelius shot him a reproving glare and rumbled something about young delinquents needing the proper restraint.
Neily shrugged. “It was years ago.”
“So you see,” I said eagerly, “someone tried to set Brady up. But they didn’t do a very good job of it. You need to let him go and continue the investigation.”
“We’ll continue the investigation, Emma.” Jesse patted the leather folder sitting on the desk in front of him. “We’ll consider all avenues. But I can’t release Brady. Not based on whisky versus bourbon.”
“But—”
“Now, if any of you can name someone else who might have had reason to do Mr. Goddard in,” he interrupted, “speak up. It could help Brady’s case.”
Uncle Cornelius began shaking his head. “Alvin was a good man. An excellent financial secretary and an ace businessman in his own right. Didn’t have an enemy that I knew of.”
My mouth fell. Rich and influential men always made enemies, always inspired envy and resentment. But I just as quickly closed my lips. I wanted to talk to Brady before I offered up any further theories. “Can I see my brother now?”
“Neily, go with her,” my uncle said before Jesse could respond.
I dug in my heels and raised my chin. “I’d rather see him alone.”
Jesse nodded. “I’ll take you to him.”
I promised myself I’d be strong for Brady’s sake. But seeing him in that cell, behind bars that were quite locked this time, undermined my resolve. The fact that he actually looked better than he usually did whenever I’d come to bail him out—less bloodshot, less pallid, less disheveled—only made matters worse. Because despite his more chipper appearance, for the first time I could remember, the devil-may-care light had faded from his eyes.
“Aw, don’t cry, Em.”
I held a handkerchief to my nose and tried to blink away my tears. “Can’t help it, Brady. They won’t let you go home with me this time.”
He wrapped his hands around two bars and brought his face closer. “Didn’t think they would, at least not yet.”
“But I have some new evidence. That bourbon bottle. Someone else had to have put it there. You didn’t drink any of it, did you?”
“Ordinarily I’d shudder and say no. But to tell the truth, I can’t remember much about what I did last night.”
I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration. Instead, I asked, “How’s your head? That’s also proof someone else was in that room. Did a doctor take a look at it?”
“Still tender and, yes, they brought in Dr. Kennison last night.” He raised a hand to the back of his head and winced. “But for all I know, Em, I knocked it against the bureau or the bedpost as Alvin and I struggled.”
“Don’t say that, Brady!” I stepped closer and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Especially where someone might overhear. You did not push Alvin Goddard to his death, so don’t go saying incriminating things and putting ideas into people’s heads. I’m going to get you out of here, Brady. I swear I will.”
“No, Emmaline. You can’t get mixed up in this mess. Leave it to the police. Let Jesse handle it.” His brow furrowed with worry. “Has Uncle Cornelius hired me a lawyer?”
“No, and . . . I don’t think he’s going to,” I said as gently as I could.
“He thinks I’m guilty.” His lips thinned. “Can’t say as I blame him.”
“Oh, Brady, why did you steal those documents?”
He met my gaze, his
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