Laura Lee Guhrke Read Free Page A

cupid’s bow with a plump, delicious bottom lip that would give any man, including Mick, lustful thoughts and wicked intentions. It took an effort for him to bring himself back to the business at hand.
    He pushed aside a stack of files and reached for a pencil and notepaper. “You said you’ve come to report a murder?”
    She continued to stare at him in silence for several seconds, then suddenly she shook her head as if coming out of a daze. “I’m sorry for staring, but I’m a bit rattled, you see,” she said, her trembling voice validating the truth of her words. “Murder is rather disconcerting, isn’t it?”
    Without waiting for an answer, she rushed on, “Oh, I’ve dealt with a bit of crime here and there. Petty theft on the part of servants, and merchants who try to cheat you by putting too few herring in the barrel or short-weighting the flour, that sort of thing. And street urchins who look so innocent when they swarmaround you and ask for money, then there you are without your reticule or a farthing in your pocket. But dealing with a murder, I’m afraid, is beyond my experience.”
    She paused for a quick breath of air, but not long enough for Mick to get a word in. “Of course, there was the time that Mrs. Archer hit Mr. Archer over the head with a frying pan. Cast iron. He died, but she never meant to
kill
him, I daresay, just cosh him on the head, and that’s not the same thing as murder at all, is it?”
    Mick stared at her, a bit stunned by the rapid stream of words. His carnal imaginings about her lovely mouth were forgotten as she continued rambling on about Mr. and Mrs. Frying Pan, and he wondered if she ever intended to come to the point.
    “I didn’t ever dream such a thing would happen,” she went on, “and even if I had, I’m not certain I would have done anything to prevent it. Archer was a cruel man indeed, and even though he was her husband, I still say she was defending herself.” Miss Haversham’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “He drank, and men who drink can be unpleasant, even violent.” She gestured toward Mick’s face. “But then, you already know that.”
    Mick sat up straighter in his chair and felt a tingle along the back of his neck. It was a sensation with which he was very familiar, a sensation he usually got just before entering an opium den in Limehouse or turning down a dark alley in Whitechapel after midnight. A sense that he’d better watch his step and pay attention. “What do you mean?”
    “Well, didn’t a drunken man hit you?” she asked. “I’m getting quite a strong impression that’s how you received that black eye.” Before Mick could ask what had prompted her to such an impression, she spoke again, a tiny frown drawing her brows together. “Of course, I could be wrong. So many possibilities swirling around, and it’s difficult to sort it all out. I get muddled sometimes.”
    Mick was not surprised. If there was an actual crime somewhere in all this, he wanted the facts as quickly as possible. “Tell me about this murder you saw.”
    “Well, I didn’t actually see it with my eyes, but the impressions are so clear that I might just as well have witnessed it.”
    Mick didn’t have the slightest clue what she was talking about. “So you have seen a murder?”
    She lifted her head, looking at him with those pretty, chocolate brown eyes. “Of course. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?”
    There was no answer to that question. He tried again. “Where did this murder occur?”
    “I’m not exactly certain.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head to one side, causing a broken ostrich feather on her hat to fall forward across her face. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. I could clearly see greenery—trees, grass, and such. There was a border of rhododendrons and a bronze statue, though it had gone to verdigris, and those green statues are so hard to see amidst the shrubbery, aren’t they?” She opened her eyes and pushed