Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 05] by Deadly Caress

name or face of someone who was after Miss Conway, or someone who has been loitering about her flat.”
    Evan did not respond. He lay back more deeply against his pillows, dropping his hands. Tears stained his cheeks. “You must find the bastard who did this!”
    Francesca fussed with the pillows. “We will,” she vowed.
    “If only we had not fought so bitterly last week,” he said hoarsely, in more anguish.
    Francesca stiffened with dread.
    “You fought?” Bragg asked. “With Miss Conway?”
    Evan nodded, clearly briefly at a loss for speech. Then he said, “The last time I saw her, she would not even speak to me.”
    Francesca wanted to tell him not to say anything else. She was getting a very bad feeling indeed. She leaned close, murmuring, “Evan. No.”
    But Bragg said, “What was the nature of your argument?”
    Evan was grim. “I ended our affair. You see, I am rather taken with someone else, and it wasn’t fair to Gracie to continue on as if nothing had changed, when I was no longer in love with her.”
    Francesca was in despair.
    Bragg said, “And she was angry with the breakup?”
    “Furious. She cried, she threw things, and she cried again. It was extremely difficult and unpleasant,” he added.
    Francesca could no longer stand it. “Don’t say anything else!” she cried, leaping to her feet.
    He blinked at her. “Why ever not? It’s the truth, Fran!”
    “Because someone might think you decided to get rid of your unwanted mistress, Evan!”
    He understood and blanched.
    Francesca faced Bragg with hands on her hips. “Which we both know he would never do,” she said defensively.
    “You and I do know that,” Bragg said. “But the world does not.”
    “Bragg, Evan was attacked by LaFarge’s thugs on Monday afternoon. Grace Conway was murdered Tuesday evening. So let the world leap to erroneous conclusions if it will!”
    Bragg said slowly, “Actually, the coroner has stated that Miss Conway has been dead for some time.”
    At first she didn’t understand. “What?”
    “In case you did not notice, Miss Neville’s apartment was frigidly cold.”
    For a moment she couldn’t speak. Then, “When does he think Miss Conway was murdered?”
    “Twenty-four to thirty-six hours before her body was found by Mr. Bennett.”
    Her mind raced. “Bennett found her at half past seven on Tuesday night.”
    “That’s correct,” Bragg said, and they stared at each other.
    It was Evan who spoke up from the bed. “Which means I could have murdered her before I was attacked on Monday afternoon.”
    Bragg turned. “Yes. Miss Conway was apparently murdered sometime between Monday morning and Monday night.”

CHAPTER
FIVE
    W EDNESDAY , F EBRUARY 19, 1902—NOON
    T HERE HAD BEEN A time when it had been easy to get up in the morning, to bathe, eat a slice of toast, take some tea, dress. It felt like it had been years ago, the life of another, different woman. Now, her morning routine had become a vast, tiring chore, one difficult to accomplish and complete. As Connie started downstairs in the home that had been a wedding present from her father, she was stunned to realize that it had only been a month ago that she had been a happily married woman. Now, the hurt she carried with her night and day continued to weigh her down and remind her that she should have never trusted Neil.
    He was the last person she would have ever dreamed would hurt her.
    Neil. His handsome face filled her mind, but his turquoise eyes were accusing. Panicked, she shoved his image aside. He was the traitor to their marriage, he was the one who had lied and committed adultery, and she was the one suffering now.
    Connie did not know what to do. Other women would look graciously the other way, pretend all was well, and continue on as if nothing dire had happened. That was her mother’s advice. Connie knew she must continue on, somehow, yet she knew she simply wasn’t strong enough to do so. And that left her in a terrible dilemma,