Murder on Black Friday by P.B. Ryan

Author:P.B. Ryan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-05-11T02:28:58+00:00

“There he is.” Will, walking arm in arm with Nell in the i Public Garden, pointed to the far side of the lake, where a lone figure sat slumped over on a bench, elbows on knees. From this distance, Nell would have taken him for an old man, were it not for that garishly striped jacket.

After Harry’s abrupt departure, she’d watched from the window of Munro’s office as he jogged east on Marlborough Street. He slowed down as he approached the park. Harry had always liked the Public Garden, Will had said. Idyllic in the manner of an English country estate, it was one of his favorite trysting places.

Harry lifted his head as they approached, squinting against the midday sunshine. His posture remained the same, as did his expression of drained resignation. He was hatless, his well-oiled hair in disarray, a crust of blood drying on his lower lip, that abraded bruise on his cheekbone purpling already.

He offered no objection when Will sat beside him on the bench. Nell, knowing better than to force him to interact with her, chose the next bench over—close enough to hear what was said, but far enough away so that Harry could dismiss her from his mind if he chose to.

From inside his morning coat, Will retrieved his own flask, which was oval-shaped and about half the size of Harry’s, and offered it to his brother. “Brandy,” Will said. “Not your poison of choice, I know, but…”

Harry took it and sat upright to swallow its contents in a single tilt. He returned it to Will, sat back, and scrubbed his hands over his face, flinching when he touched the contusion on his cheek.

“Sorry about that,” Will said, “but you were begging for it.”

Harry just stared, rheumy-eyed, at the breeze-riffled surface of the water. A young nursemaid was wheeling a perambulator down the walk that surrounded the lake; otherwise, this area of the park was remarkably empty for such a fine, sunny day. He felt around inside his coat, muttered something under his breath, and said wearily, “Forgot my cigars.”

Will pulled a tin of Bull Durhams from his coat and flipped it open. “Just don’t let the gendarmes catch you smoking out here.”

Harry slid a cigarette out of the tin and looked at it. “You have the nerve to call me a ditchdigger?” Indeed, when Nell first met William Hewitt a year and a half ago, he was the only wellborn gentleman she’d ever seen with a cigarette in his hand.

Will took out his match safe and lit his brother’s cigarette. He didn’t take one himself, which surprised Nell. If any situation called for an “inhalable nerve tonic,” it seemed to her it would be this one.

Harry drew on the cigarette, gagging. “Tastes like shit.”

Will’s gaze flicked in Nell’s direction. Knowing his instinct would be to upbraid his brother for swearing in her presence, she caught his eye and shook her head. It was better that she should remain on the periphery—seen from the corner of Harry’s eye, perhaps, but not heard.

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