Page 46 of Murder in Moonlight

“My sympathies on your grievous loss, Miss Winsom.”

To her horror, her eyes prickled. Here with these policemen, she could not possibly break down.

“Would you like to have one of your family present?” Inspector Harris asked. “I prefer to speak to the bereaved alone, but if you would be more comfortable—”

That word again! “It is not possible to be comfortable,” she interrupted. “And I am not a child to need my hand held. What is it you wish to know, inspector?”

“When was the last time you saw your father?”

“When we went upstairs to bed. He gave me a candle.” Her voice wobbled, and she swallowed fiercely. “We said goodnight, as normal.”

“Then he did not seem worried or excited about anything?”

She frowned. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Happy or unhappy?” Harris pursued.

“Happy. He was always happy when we had guests. He is—was—a very sociable man.”

“And I suppose he liked all his guests.”

“Of course,” she said.

“They are all old family friends?” the inspector asked.

“Yes! That is, no, not really all. The Boltons are, of course. Mr. Davidson is of more recent acquaintance, only about five years, I believe.”

If she had hoped to put him off with sarcasm, she was disappointed. He did not even appear to notice, which made her slightly ashamed. She never treated people this way. Why was she behaving so badly?

“My mother met Mr. Grey in London last month,” she added, by way of recompense. “But they knew him by repute. Mrs. Goldrich is a friend of my brother’s. I don’t know when he met her, but she is very kind.”

“I see,” Inspector Harris said without expression. “Was your parents’ marriage a happy one, Miss Winsom?”

“Of course,” she said coldly.

He smiled faintly. “But you will not tell me they never disagreed or quarreled? That would be unnatural.”

“I shall take your word for it, inspector. If my parents disagreed, they did so in private. She always supported him in my hearing.”

He nodded, as though he believed her. “To return to the night in question. You took your candle from your father and went up to bed. Did you go straight to your room?”

She glanced at Mrs. Goldrich’s list, which lay on the desk in front of him. “You already know I did.”

“I know what you told everyone else,” he said pleasantly. “I am concerned with the truth.”

“I am not in the habit of lying!”

“Then that is the truth you would be prepared to swear to in court?”

Her restless gaze flew back to his. “Incourt?”

“If necessary. Miss Winsom, we are trying to discover the person who killed your father, not searching for salacious gossip. Do you know of anyone at all who would want to hurt him?”

She shook her head miserably. “No.”

She was never so glad to escape from anywhere, not even as a child being scolded or punished for misdemeanors. Vaguely aware that the sergeant held the door open for her, she glanced up at him and imagined she saw a trace of sympathy in his piercing blue eyes.

“Thank you,” she muttered.