Page 57 of Murder in Moonlight

She meant to stare him down, but he was clearly not going to crawl back under his stone. He held her gaze easily.

What did it matter anyway? Walter was dead.

“About a year ago, apparently. I found her earring in one of the spare beds last month, the day after they last visited us. And I could smell his soap on the sheets. I knew.”

She still had his full attention. “Did you confront him?” he asked.

“I had his things moved to the dressing room. He knew what it meant.”

“Did you know he had ended the affair the night he died?”

Dear God, was that kindness in his voice? Did he imagine knowing that made her feel better?

Did it?

She shook her head.Poor Alice. She had lost in the end. Though she still had her own husband.

As if he read her thoughts, the inspector said, “Did Mr. Bolton know?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Because he would be hurt? Or angry?”

“If you are implying Thomas Bolton killed my husband…”

“Did he?”

“Of course he did not!”

“How do you know?”

She stared at him. Was this a trap? What should she say? “I have known him for twenty years. He was my husband’s friend and partner. I could never imagine his behaving in such a way.”

“Nor Mrs. Bolton?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Did you go directly to bed the night of the murder, ma’am?”

“I already told you I did. It is still true.”

“There was mud on the shoes you left in the passage for the boot boy to clean that night.”

“There frequently is,” she said tartly. “I enjoy my garden.”

“Were you in the garden after the rain that day? No one else saw you go further than the terrace, which is never muddy.”

It had never entered her head that they would investigate anyone’s movements so thoroughly. She had to swallow before she could speak. “Then they were not looking. Which is also entirely understandable.”

*

Considering the tragedythat had occurred so recently in this house, Solomon was surprised to wake with a sense of eagerness and purpose that had been missing from his life for some time. It certainly had something to do with the mystery—was Constance right that he was prompted by guilt? He suspected novelty had more to do with it.

He had come to Greenforth because he was bored, and because it gave him one more chance, however faint, of discovering something more about David. He always hoped, but the strength of that hope faded with each passing year.

Now, even his business bored him. With the right people in place, it barely needed him. Finding the right people had been his biggest challenge. He could say the same for the charities he patronized. Apart from them, people had stopped interesting him in individual terms.

Until Constance Silver. The woman was a mass of contradictions, challenging his every prejudice. In fact, he hadn’t realized he had any prejudices until he met her. She defied labeling, did what she pleased, went where she liked by any means available. He found he liked those things about her, even if they were not always strictly honest. She was young—younger than he had imagined on their first meeting, if she were really only twenty-five or six. She was also beautiful, vibrant, intelligent—charming when she wished to be. Or when one took her by surprise.