No Pity For the Dead by Nancy Herriman

think he might’ve killed Nash?” Nick asked as Martin began snapping the watch lid again.
    â€œAnd then tried to dig him up again?” asked Martin, sounding incredulous. “I doubt they even knew each other.”
    That wasn’t what Cassidy thought, though.
“What about anybody else who works here?”
    â€œI have no idea. Nash was a rich man, and everyone knew it,” he said. “The man was a fool and liked to carry money on him, show off his cash. Did you find any on him?”
    â€œI didn’t check the man’s pockets, Mr. Martin. The coroner will make a full inventory of what was on the body.”
    â€œAnyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if you find that Nash was robbed, and the killer decided to implicate us. Simple as that.”
    â€œThat’s a thought.” It might even be correct. But in Nick’s experience, most thieves didn’t go to the trouble of burying their victims. They just let them lie where they fell. “So you’re thinking this was a robbery. That doesn’t explain what he was doing here in the first place, though.”
    â€œI think the reason Virgil Nash was killed and buried here is your job to uncover, Detective.”
    â€œThat it is, Mr. Martin. That it is,” said Nick. “I’d like to speak to your partners about the man. Where are they?”
    â€œMr. Hutchinson is overseeing a project of ours near the Second Street wharf. I expect Mr. Russell is with him as well.”
    â€œWould either of them have reason to kill Virgil Nash?” Nick asked.
    â€œYou’ll need to speak with them.”
    â€œWhich I plan to do.” Nick shifted his weight and stared at the man. “Last night, somebody tried to remove the body after Mr. Matthews and Mr. Cassidy found it. Can you tell me where you were last evening?”
    â€œI’m going to cooperate, Detective, despite that insulting question,” said Martin, spots of red appearing on his neck. “I was eating at Jean-Pierre’s, as I usually do on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The proprietor can tell you I was there.”
    Nick located a scrap of paper in a pocket along with a pencil and made note of the information. “Can anybody speak for what time you got home from Jean-Pierre’s?”
    â€œI live alone. The woman who cleans my house and cooks for me doesn’t live at my residence, either. And on Tuesdays and Thursdays she leaves early, since I always go out to dine.”
    â€œI see.” Nick returned the paper to the inside pocket of his coat. “I’ll probably have more questions for you, Mr. Martin, so don’t go leaving town.”
    Martin hoisted himself to his feet. “I have no intention of leaving town, Detective. Because I want to make sure you do your job.”

C HAPTER 3

    â€œSo you are positive, Hetty, that you gave Mrs. Hutchinson her glass of water shortly after eight,” Celia asked the maid, keeping her voice low. After sweeping up the shattered remains of the figurine, Jane had gone to Grace’s bedchamber, but Celia did not want either of them to overhear.
    â€œI’m sure, ma’am.” Hetty nodded briskly. “I am.”
    â€œDid you hear Mr. Hutchinson come in last night?”
    She nodded again. Celia worried for the muslin cap pinned to her hair, which looked in danger of becoming dislodged. “I did, ma’am. I’d finished in the kitchen and gone up to my attic room when I heard him at the front door.”
    â€œHe does not expect you to wait up for him?”
    â€œNo, ma’am.”
    Late nights must be a common occurrence, then. Poor Jane
.They had not been married two years yet, and already he was spending evenings away from her. Not unlike Patrick, who’d invented numerous reasons to delay returning home at night in the years after they’d wed. His decision to take to the sea—and then to disappear after his ship’s boiler