Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 04] Read Free Page B

Calder will be more than understanding, and you do not have to be frightened of him,” Francesca said, meaning it. “I will gladly speak with him, as soon as I can.” It had already crossed her mind that he might be able to help in this particular investigation, as he was so immersed in the city’s art world.
    “Thank you,” Sarah whispered, collapsing on the couch.
    Francesca stood, not really hearing Sarah’s frightened whisper. Then she decided she must dismiss Hart from her mind, as he had the knack of annoying her even when he was not present. It was his problem if he wished to waste his money on her portrait and hang it next to his sacrilegious Caravaggio. “We have a case to solve. In fact, I shall go home, fetch Joel, and see if there is any word out on the street about the who or the why of this. And then I shall go down to police headquarters to report this crime. It will be far better if I speak with Bragg directly instead of Mrs. Channing having to deal with a pair of roundsmen and then an inspector. First, however, I wish to interview Harris, the doorman.” She did want a head start on the case before the
police became involved. She simply could not help herself—this was her case. Mrs. Channing had made that abundantly clear.
    Sarah nodded. “I can see that, in spite of the unhappy circumstances, you are thrilled to be back at what you love most—sleuthing.”
    Francesca smiled a little. “I cannot seem to help myself, I guess. We are very alike, Sarah, you and I.”
    “I realize that. Although no one would ever know it to look at us, as you are so beautiful and so full of life, while I am drab and shy.”
    “You are not drab! You are not shy!” Francesca rushed to her and hugged her. “In fact, with your hair down and your big brown eyes, you are beautiful, Sarah, but most important, you are so unique.”
    “I do not mind being drab and I hardly care if everyone thinks me a timid little mouse. You know I do not care what others think. I only care about my art.” Her eyes changed, and suddenly there was the heat of anger within them. “Why, Francesca? Why?”
    “I don’t know. But I shall find out. I will not let you down, Sarah.” And it was a vow.
     
    Police headquarters was at 300 Mulberry Street. It was a slumlike neighborhood of hooks and crooks, pickpockets, whores, and thieves. Francesca was quite accustomed now to the sight of drunks loitering across the street from the police department’s front steps. She did not bat an eye as she walked past a young gentleman handing several silver dollars to a woman with a garishly rouged face and flaming red hair. Francesca did smile, though, as she passed Bragg’s very handsome black motorcar, which was parked right in front of the brownstone that housed police headquarters. Two roundsmen in their blue serge uniforms and leather helmets and carrying nightsticks were keeping an eye upon it. They did not bat an eye upon seeing her as she walked past, as she was now a familiar figure at police headquarters.
    An undeniable tension filled her. And it had far less to do
with the bloodlike red paint that had been spilled everywhere in Sarah’s studio than it did with the anticipation rising so strongly within her.
    She and Bragg had spent days and days together, solving three gruesome crimes. They had traveled throughout the city, into some of its worst and most dangerous wards. There had been interrogations; there had been violent confrontations—and she had been with him through it all. They had engaged in hours of debate and problem-solving; and recently, there had been more than one earth-shattering kiss, including their last one, at the Channing ball.
    Francesca shivered, pausing before going into the front lobby of headquarters. How could she have not fallen in love with Rick Bragg? she thought, but helplessly.
    She had fallen in love with him the moment they had met, at her own home during a party. He had been resplendent in a tuxedo,