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Something Bridget Osborn had told her the day of Sally’s funeral.

George Osborn had never loved Sally. His wife had died in childbirth and apparently, he had always blamed the child.

*

By the time Athena had gotten home, the dinner hour was over.

The cook brought her a quick, cold meal.

Athena requested a cup of hot coffee to clear her head and then joined her sister and their pupils for their evening activities.

Selena kept giving Athena questioning looks, as if dying to know why she had returned so late.

It wasn’t until they had retreated to the privacy of their study that Athena could share what she had learned.

It had begun to rain, a quiet pattering that danced against the windowpanes.

Athena added another log to the fire, but the room was still chilly, so they huddled on chairs before the hearth, wrapped in woolen blankets.

First, they talked about Miss Quince. Everything they had theorized about her still seemed perfectly sound. Next, they discussed their newest and most unexpected suspect: George Osborn.

“He had a solid motive to kill Harold Sinclair,” Athena declared.

“Even with only one arm, he could have easily poisoned Sinclair’s drink. But surely, he wouldn’t have killed Sally?”

“We can’t be sure the two deaths are connected,” Athena pointed out. “But if they are—Miss Osborn told me that her father had no love for Sally, remember?”

“That’s right! He blamed her for his wife’s death.”

“He called Sally ‘the useless daughter.’”

“What a horrible thing to say.” Selena shook her head, her eyes downcast.

“All her life, Sally kept trying to please him, to no avail.”

Selena considered that. “If George Osborn killed Harold Sinclair, and Sally knew it, it would explain why she didn’t tell the authorities at the time.”

Athena nodded. “But her conscience had plagued her. I’ll bet that’s why she read the Bible daily.

And all that time, her father, the man she’d been protecting, continued to criticize and demean her.

Maybe, she finally cracked and decided to talk, her father found out about it, and he silenced her to save his own neck. ”

“But what about Sally’s unslept-in bed, and the blue shoes?”

Athena bit her lip uncertainly. “There’s a reason for that. We just haven’t hit upon it yet. Something tells me that when we figure that out, we’ll know everything.”

“We now have three suspects.” Selena crossed to her desk and took out a sheet of paper and a pen. “I’m going to write this down.”

LIST OF SUSPECTS

·Edward Ackroyd: Did he murder Harold Sinclair to prevent him from marrying his true love, Caroline Vernon?

·Margaret Quince: Did she murder her lover when he jilted her to marry Caroline Vernon?

·George Osborn: Did he murder the man who caused him to lose his arm and his livelihood?

All three of these individuals, they agreed, had a clear motive. All three could have also done away with Sally Osborn. And any one of them could have been behind the runaway carriage that had almost run Athena down.

Selena brought the list to Athena, who studied it with a frown. “Wait. What about Ethel Leighton? How does she figure into this?”

Selena hesitated as she sat down again by the fire. “Good question.”

“Miss Quinn and Mr. Osborn might have paid Ethel to lie about finding arsenic in Miss Vernon’s room, to divert suspicion from themselves. But Edward would never have done so—and besides, he was apparently back at sea by that point.”

“So he said, at least.” Selena blew out a frustrated breath. “Something about the whole Ethel Leighton angle doesn’t add up. Maybe we’re wrong about her.”

“Maybe.” A sudden thought occurred to Athena. “What if Ethel wasn’t paid to lie about the arsenic at all? What if she killed Harold Sinclair and framed Caroline Vernon, and that’s why she disappeared?”

Selena’s eyes widened. “It’s possible! But how on Earth can we prove that? We know so little about her.”

Athena crossed her arms. “I need someone to talk to about this, if only to get advice. But I can’t ask Neville Sinclair—he already made his opinion perfectly clear.”

“Isn’t Mr. Johnson in training to be the next parish constable?”

“Yes. But all we have are theories, Selena. Without proof, he’ll just laugh at us.”

“What can I do?”

“You can continue to teach with your usual skill and help keep this school running, as you have been doing.”

“But I want to help with the case.”

“I told you, after that carriage business, I need you to stay out of this.” Athena sighed. “If only I could ask Mrs. Hillman—but I can’t risk her having another stroke.”

Selena lowered her gaze and said quietly, “Why don’t you talk to Mr. Vernon?”

At the mention of his name, Athena’s heart seemed to skip a beat. Was it really only a day ago that she and Mr. Vernon had exchanged that kiss? “No. I can’t talk to him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I brought up the subject with him once before. He considered it to be a wild goose chase.”

“But we have more information now.”

“True.” Athena hesitated. Something else was true as well.

She admired Mr. Vernon. She felt she could trust him.

He had lived in Darkmoor Bridge all his life and knew all the parties involved.

Perhaps Selena was right. Perhaps now that Athena had some solid theories to share, he would have a more open mind.

But after that kiss, how could she even approach him?

*

“‘Cordelia took a deep breath and slowly entered the chamber. It was dark and cold. She heard someone breathing. Who could it be? Was the villain hiding there?’”

Miss Russell paused dramatically. She was reading aloud in the schoolroom from a chapter of her book in progress, The Ghost of Tembry Hall . The other four pupils leaned forward in their seats, hanging on every word.

“‘A cold breeze rushed by Cordelia’s face. But no window was open. It couldn’t have been the wind.

Suddenly, a bright-white figure appeared before her eyes.

It was a ghost! The ghost of a woman with long, dark flowing hair!

And she said—’” Miss Russell paused again, her blue eyes shining as she added in a tone filled with mystery, “To be continued tomorrow.”

The students groaned in unison. “Keep reading, please!” cried Miss Cecelia.

“We want to know what happens!” exclaimed Miss Jones.

“Just one more chapter!” pleaded Miss Weaver.

Athena stood with a firm smile. “Sorry, girls, that’s all we have time for this morning.

Thank you, Miss Russell, that was most engaging.

” She glanced out the window. Although it had rained lightly throughout the night, the sky was clear now.

“Class dismissed. Don’t forget your essays are due tomorrow.

Please proceed to the yard now for morning exercise.

It’s cold out, so be sure to wear your cloaks and beware of puddles. ”

As the girls filed out of the schoolroom, chattering, Athena gave Miss Russell a smile.

The girl certainly had a talent for storytelling, and she knew how to keep her audience engaged and wanting more.

Thankfully, these readings had appeared to fulfill the other pupils’ need for scary stories, for as far as Athena could tell, there had been no more secret midnight meetings in the attic of Thorndale Manor.

Later, while Selena was teaching the next two classes, Mrs. Lloyd announced an unexpected visitor. Mr. Vernon.

Athena met him in the entryway, where she struggled to rein in her errant heartbeat.

His raven-black hair was combed back sleekly above his handsome face, and his smile and bright-blue eyes were full of warmth.

His boots were wet and muddy, and she recognized his damp overcoat on the coat rack and his umbrella in the stand.

“Good morning,” he said with a bow. “I’ve come to take advantage of the break in the rain, to see if our handiwork fixed the leak in the roof.”

Only two days had passed since their kiss at the dower house, but it had felt much longer.

Athena couldn’t count how many times her thoughts had drifted back to that moment.

Is he thinking of it as well? Does he hope it would happen again?

If so, she must put an end to that kind of thinking immediately.

At the same time, she was glad he was here. It was the perfect opportunity to seek his advice about what she had learned in the matter of Harold Sinclair’s demise— if she could drum up the nerve to broach the subject, which might annoy him.

“Very well, sir.” She met his bow with a curtsy. “Feel free to make your inspection.”

When he returned from the attic, Athena was waiting for him at the base of the stairs. “How does it look?”

“Shipshape. Replacing those broken pieces of slate seems to have done the trick.”

“I’m so glad.” Athena’s insides quivered a bit as she steeled herself to speak. “Sir, may I have a word? I would like your advice on a particular matter, privately.”

One of his eyebrows quirked. “‘Privately’?”

“Yes,” she replied hastily, blushing at how that word might be misconstrued. “I mean away from the eyes and ears of my pupils.” Arrgh. That didn’t help.

“Of course. Lead the way.”

They retreated to the conservatory at the other end of the house.

“How may I help you?” he asked as they sat down across from each other on wicker chairs.

The damp air was imbued with the fragrance of the potted plants and trees that filled the glassed-in chamber.

Athena fiddled with her hands. Adopting her most business-like manner, she began.

“First, sir, I need to set something straight with you. It’s about the other day at the dower house. When we… kissed.”

“Yes?” His eyes twinkled.

“It was a lapse of decorum on my part. It can never happen again.”

“I see.” The light in his eyes dimmed.

“It is my hope that we can continue our friendship without the burden of any romantic entanglement.”

“‘Romantic entanglement’?”

“Yes. We agreed to be friends, and we must leave it at that.”