Strong Spirits [Spirits 01] by Alice Duncan

Author:Alice Duncan [Duncan, Alice]
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2011-06-14T20:22:58+00:00

At least Edie wasn’t covered in flour. She’d been crying, though. Still was, for that matter, and I envisioned my shoulders turning stiff with glue made from salt tears and bread flour. I hugged her. “It’ll all work out, Edie. I’m sure Quincy didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Of course he didn’t!”

She sounded angry that I’d even mentioned it, evidently taking my reassurance as an indication that I thought Quincy was a killer, which it wasn’t. Heck, I was only trying to make her feel better. “I know, I know. Here, Edie, try to calm down. Harold asked me to come over. I guess I’d better get to where he and Mrs. Kincaid are.”

Gripping my hands so hard I feared my bones were going to break, Edie gasped out, “Come to see me later, Daisy. You have to tell me what the police are saying about all this. And what they’re going to do.”

“Sure. I’ll be happy to, Edie.” Thank God, she let my hands go.

“I’ll be making beds upstairs for the next hour or so. After that, I’ll probably be working downstairs.”

She wiped her eyes, spun around, and charged up the back staircase, presumably to make beds and dust furniture. I was beginning to think everyone in the Kincaid house that morning had gone crazy.

The commotion hit me before I was halfway down the hall to the drawing room.

“He’s dead! I know it! He killed him! I know it!” Stacy’s voice had squealed this incomprehensible sentence (I mean, what “he” was she talking about?), and it sounded as if she was enjoying herself.

“Shut up!” Harold’s voice. He clearly wasn’t enjoying anything at all about this latest wrinkle in the fabric of family life. He also sounded powerless, as if he didn’t anticipate anything he did or said to have an effect on his pill of a sister.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Mrs. Kincaid’s voice. She was obviously on Harold’s side, although she’d never scold her daughter, which was a dirty shame in the opinion of my humble self.

“Please, Miss Kincaid. Try to keep your voice down.” Father Frederick to Stacy, sounding exasperated.

“How can you even ask me that? He’s dead, I tell you!” Stacy. Screeching at full volume.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” I think that was Algie Pinkerton, but I wasn’t certain.

“Can we all calm down for a minute? I have to conduct an investigation.” And that, I’m sure I need not say, was Detective Samuel Rotondo. His voice was deep and icy and reminded me of granite and steel and other hard, impervious things, coated with a layer of frost.

Pausing before the door, I braced myself. While I really wanted to hear the dope from the horse’s mouth, as it were, I hated scenes and wasn’t looking forward to witnessing Mrs. Kincaid’s honest grief or Stacy Kincaid’s dishonest hysterics.

Bracing didn’t work, so I decided what the heck and pushed the door open. Everyone inside the room froze, then turned to see who’d interrupted the fun. The reactions were interesting.

Mrs. Kincaid gasped and bounded

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