Daisy Dalrymple 03 - Requiem for a Mezzo by Carola Dunn

Author:Carola Dunn [Dunn, Carola]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical, Romance
ISBN: 9781575667522
Google: 93iSd9Kh7ycC
Amazon: B005KQ88F8
Goodreads: 293061
Publisher: Robinson
Published: 1996-01-14T23:00:00+00:00

10

As Daisy and Alec turned into the alley, she was feeling decidedly pipped. Alec had wormed out of her the romance between Muriel and Levich which she hadn’t meant to reveal. Worse, he’d guessed that Bettina had tried to spoil things between the two, and Marchenko would surely confirm it now that he could no longer claim not to speak English.

Muriel hadn’t killed her sister, Daisy was certain. She simply wasn’t capable of it, even though she had stopped loving Bettina—at least Daisy had managed to keep that confession from Alec.

She stopped at the back door to Abernathy’s music room.

“Here’s the key,” said Alec. “You go on in. I just want to see if Tom’s still next door.”

Daisy took the key but followed him, stopping beside him as he paused to knock the dottle from his pipe. The door of the studio stood open. Through it floated Lucy’s high, clear, irate voice.

“It’s bad enough you should lock me out of my own premises and make a filthy mess in there with your beastly powder, which will take me hours to clean up. But this is really too much!”

Sergeant Tring’s soothing rumble: “It won’t take but a minute, miss.”

Alec stepped in. “Miss Fotheringay, I’m Alec Fletcher. Is there some difficulty?”

At his heels, Daisy saw Lucy look him up and down as she said coolly, “Kindly call off your minion, Chief Inspector. I shan’t … Daisy, did you really give this man permission to ransack my darkroom?”

“Yes, darling. No need to get hot under the collar. After all, he’s hot on the trail of a murderer. Well, not to ransack, but to check for dabs.”

“Dabs!” Lucy exclaimed in disgust.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” Alec asked.

“I’ve dusted for dabs, sir, and I must say there’s not many, considering.”

“I use rubber gloves to handle chemicals.” Irritable yet complacent, Lucy spread her perfect, unstained hands with polished nails. “I’ve no intention of messing up my fingers with your ink.”

“It comes off easy, miss. You see, sir, there’s at least two different lots of prints and I need Miss Fotheringay’s for elimination purposes.”

“Most of the others are probably mine,” Daisy interrupted. “Do say you’ll take my fingerprints, Sergeant Tring.”

“It’d be an honour and a pleasure, miss,” said the sergeant solemnly, his little brown eyes twinkling at her.

While he inked her fingers one by one on his pad and took impressions on a shiny-surfaced white card, Alec drew Lucy aside. Daisy stretched her ears but Tom Tring talked as he worked and she couldn’t make out the others’ words. Not that she didn’t know perfectly well what was being said. Lucy looked haughty, then furious, then sulky, then alarmed.

“Ta, miss, that’s it,” said Tring at last. “Soap and water should get it off in a trice.”

“I’ll wash in the darkroom.”

Crossing the room, she heard Alec say, “I don’t want to give the impression that the cyanide which poisoned Mrs. Abernathy was definitely yours. It’s just a possibility. A strong possibility,” he added as relief lightened Lucy’s alarm.

“I’ll get rid of the blasted stuff,” Lucy snapped.

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