No Quiet among the Shadows by Nancy Herriman

Author:Nancy Herriman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Beyond the Page
Published: 2020-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

“Thank you for escorting me home, Mr. Taylor. I expect it was not necessary, but Mr. Greaves will be appreciative.” Celia halted at the street corner. “You need not accompany me further.”

“But Mr. Greaves—”

“My house is in view. I am perfectly safe from here.” She handed over the carte de visite. “Give this to Mr. Greaves.”

“Lucky that kid found it.”

“Very lucky,” she replied. “Also, tell him we proved that our murderer could have fled the murder scene, arrived at Mr. Smith’s office, and rifled through his files in less than five minutes.”

Four minutes and twenty seconds, to be exact. Possibly connecting a killer to the person she’d observed through the chinks in the blind. If only she’d been able to see the man’s face . . .

“Will do, ma’am.” He gazed in the direction of her house, perhaps hoping to spot Addie out on the porch.

“On second thought, Mr. Taylor, perhaps you should escort me the rest of the way.” Where he could spend a minute or more with her housekeeper.

“Sounds like a good idea, ma’am.”

Mr. Taylor took her elbow as the delivery wagon from the butcher’s shop rattled past. The driver tipped his cap.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Davies,” he said, with his usual broad grin. “Is Miss Ferguson at home?”

“I . . . uh . . .” Blast. The fellow could not have picked a worse time to drive by.

Mr. Taylor grumbled under his breath. “I’ll be going, ma’am.” He stomped away.

Blast.

“No, I am afraid Addie is not at home,” Celia said to the deliveryman. “I will tell her you asked after her, however.”

“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” he said and tipped his cap again. Snapping the reins, he drove off.

After a glance at the departing—and dejected—Mr. Taylor, she headed for the house. Her neighbor’s dark-haired youngest son peered at Celia over the railing of his porch. “Good afternoon, Signora Davies,” he called out, waving.

“Good afternoon, Angelo.”

“Is Signorina Barbara home?”

“She will return soon, Angelo,” she said, hiking her skirts to make the climb up the stairs.

“Good,” he said. He was a handsome child, one of five boisterous siblings, whom she’d been required to tend to many times. “When she home, I tell Signorina Barbara of the man. He give me dime,” he said in his halting English.

Celia halted on the top step. “What man gave you a dime, Angelo?”

Angelo’s expression crumpled into an uncertain frown of worry that he’d done something wrong. “The man. With the . . .” He waved his hands over his chest. “Panciotto rosso.”

“Rosso?” Did he mean some piece of red clothing? “Red? Do you mean red?”

“Yes. He says I am good. I am quiet to . . . to see him in the . . .” He scrunched up his face and pointed toward the yards behind their homes.

“Did you see this man behind our houses here?”

“Sì.”

“Which house? Your house?” She pointed at the rear yard, visible through the narrow passage between the two houses. “Behind my house?”

Angelo nodded. “Sì, Signora. Your house.”

Gad.

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