A Scandal in Scarlet by Vicki Delany

Author:Vicki Delany
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

Chapter Thirteen

I went upstairs to my office to lick my wounds. Not only had Jayne learned more than I had, but she hadn’t needed to bother with the pretext of pretending to be something she wasn’t. She’d simply asked.

I had to consider that maybe I was going about this detecting the wrong way. Too clever by half, Ryan Ashburton had once called me.

I washed the aging makeup off my face and struggled out of the clothes and extra padding (have I gained weight, indeed!). When Sherlock Holmes was facing a difficult case, he settled into his comfortable armchair by the fire, steepled his fingers, lit his pipe, and instructed Doctor Watson to leave him alone.

I, on the other hand, had a business to run.

I went downstairs and told Ashleigh she could take her dinner break. While customers browsed, I surveyed the shop, taking mental inventory of what had been bought while I’d been out and what I needed to reorder.

Unlike me, the Great Detective didn’t live in the age of constant interruptions. I’ve found that I don’t need quiet, solitude, and three pipes to think things over. I can do that while my mind is going through mechanical tasks.

Elizabeth Dumont was now firmly at the top of my suspect list. She clearly had motive—jealousy of her husband’s previous wife; opportunity—she was at the tea; and means—along with everyone else at the auction, she could have grabbed the teacup chain on her way to the back room.

To top it off, Elizabeth had been a suspect in the death of her first husband.

I thought of her anger on the phone when Dan told her he wanted to go to the funeral home again today, rather than come to Elizabeth’s meeting.

The Black Widow.

Might Dan be next?

“Excuse me,” a woman said, “but I’m wondering if you can recommend a good book.”

“Something suitable for your beach vacation?”

She laughed. “How’d you know I’m on vacation?”

I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that one out. Pink shorts, flip-flops, sunburned nose, and a trace of chocolate ice cream on her pink T-shirt. “I hope you’re having a good time in West London.”

“Fabulous. I love it here. When I was a child, we came to Cape Cod every year, but I haven’t been back since. I’m so glad we decided to come again. I was told this was a great place to look for historical mysteries. They’re my favorite.”

“Then you are indeed in the right place,” I said. “Do you like the gritty stuff: dark alleys, tough men and desperate women, and dangerous killers? Or ladies in silk gowns and gentlemen hailing hansom cabs?”

“Dark and gritty,” she said with a laugh. I walked with her to the pastiche shelf and pulled out Dust and Shadows by Lyndsay Faye. “Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson on the grim streets of Whitechapel in pursuit of Jack the Ripper.”

She accepted the book with a shiver of delight. “When my husband and I were in London a few years ago, we went on a Jack the Ripper walking tour.

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