Page 18 of Murder in Moonlight

“Yes.” It was true, in a manner of speaking. “And several very good friends.”

“I’m sorry.” He drew a deep breath. “I did not mean the party to turn out quite like this.”

“I know.”

“And now we shall have police, detectives from Scotland Yard, down here, raking over our lives and his.”

“I’m afraid that is unavoidable.” She just hoped they did not look too closely into hers and discover her name was false. Which was another reason to speak to Grey.

“The thing is,” Randolph said, “should one tell the truth?”

“I imagine it’s generally best, if one has nothing to hide.”

“Or if a friend has.”

“A friend?” she repeated, looking around for any sign as to the direction Grey had taken.

“You, for example.”

Her stomach jolted. Her eyes flew back to his face, though she managed—she hoped—to keep control of their expression. “I?”

“Where were you just after midnight, Constance?” he asked softly.

“In bed, of course, until I heard all the commotion.”

His lips twisted. “You can’t prove that any more than I can. In fact, I could, if I chose, tell the police that wherever you were, it wasnotyour own bed.”

She widened her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean I knocked on your door at midnight and you did not answer.”

“Of course I did not,” she said virtuously. “And frankly, Randolph, I am surprised at you, particularly in your mother’s house.”

He flushed but snapped back, “Well, I was pretty surprised too when I opened the door to discover you weren’t there! Where were you?”

She leaned her head to one side, regarding him. It annoyed her unduly to be discovered in a lie, and as usual, she attacked. “Is this where you accuse me outright of immoral behavior? Or of murdering your poor father?”

“No,” he said. “It’s really where we agree to tell the police we were with each other. The story will go no further, I am sure, and it means I can protect you.”

She almost laughed, though the disappointment was surprisingly deep. “You mean you can make sureIprotectyou.”

He flushed. “You misunderstand me.”

“No, I don’t. And my advice stands. Tell the truth, Randolph. I will.”

And she walked off toward the wood, raising one hand in clear dismissal, just in case he tried to follow her. She was striding along so furiously that she did not see the man seated on the tree branch among the foliage until he dropped right in front of her, landing lightly on his feet like a cat.

She stopped dead, glaring at Solomon Grey. He looked as elegant as ever in his well-cut clothes, even with bits of leaf clinging to his coat.

“Who has ruffled your feathers?” he inquired.

“You know perfectly well it was Randolph Winsom. I’m sure you had an excellent view of our encounter from up there.” She brushed past him and strode on.

“Lovers’ tiffs do not interest me,” he said, falling into step with her.

“If you imagine that boy is my lover, you are quite laughably wide of the mark.”

She expected him to ask, but he remained silent so long, merely ambling along beside her, that she turned on him. “Well, you are! Do you know he had the nerve to blackmail me into giving him an alibi? Of course, he pretended it was formyprotection, but he had already told me he knew I wasn’t in my room just after midnight. So I was to sacrifice my reputation in order to protect him!”