Deadly Secrets by Simpson Carla

Author:Simpson, Carla
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oliver Heber Books
Published: 2022-12-20T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

I rose early. The rain had let up during the night, the flooding in the streets easing.

I heard Brodie moving around in the outer office, the sound of the grate being opened at the fireplace, then what I hoped was the sound of the coffee pot being set to brew.

My clothes had been laid over the chair by the door, and I smiled to myself. He had obviously set them there. Who would have thought that chivalry still existed in the modern world!

I dressed and smoothed out the wrinkles as best I could manage under the circumstances, pulled my hair back, then went out into the office.

Brodie was slightly disheveled, shirt unbuttoned and loose, with hair hanging over his forehead, no doubt from attempting to fit his tall frame into the confines of the settee that had tufts of stuffing poking out here and there, and looked as if it might have been appropriated from a charity house. The Scottish reputation for thrift was not wasted.

Unaware of my presence, he grumbled and cursed something in Scots Gaelic as he reached for the coffee pot on top of the stove, then cursed again as he burned his hand. I admired the view of a handsome man being domestic. But I digress.

"It's usually recommended to use a cloth about the handle," I commented.

There was that dark gaze that I'd explored the night before and found quite intriguing.

"I would use it, if the damned thing could be found." He made a gesture to the pile of blankets on the floor in front of the chair that the Mudger had occupied the night before.

Mr. Cavendish and Rupert were nowhere to be seen now; only a faint odor of the hound remained.

I found the cloth in one of the desk drawers, of all places, and handed it to him.

"They seemed to have fared all right through the night."

"It was best to let them both out before there was a disaster," he replied.

He hung the coffee pot over the grate. In no time, it was bubbling away, banishing the lingering fragrance of the hound.

"Confined for too long, there's the risk of the place being torn apart, or other disasters."

By other disasters, I assumed the obvious, as I found my cup and took the cloth from him. I poured coffee for both of us, struck again by the companionable routine between us, much like...

But I digress.

I quickly downed my coffee, then slipped on my jacket and grabbed my bag and umbrella.

As we had discussed the night before, I was determined to speak with Mr. Monkhouse at the Times. Condescending little worm that he was, he might be able to provide information about the man who was found dead at the George Inn. And that could be important.

Brodie was to meet with Mr. Conner later that morning, after he had an opportunity to 'check out' the Bohemian Club, as Brodie put it. He didn't mention my suggestion from the night before, and I didn't bring it up again.

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