A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (feel good books to read txt) 📕

that. I made a note to check the dark rose-colored dress Alma had made last fall for my marriage. It might have the same feature.

I was worried about David’s headaches. I prayed they didn’t signal a deeper health problem. What if he had some kind of tumor on the brain? He was a medical doctor, but he still might be ignoring the severity or significance of his pains. I loved him deeply and didn’t want him to suffer so. Also, our future as a happy family would be at risk if he were stricken. I resolved I would urge him to seek treatment, to find a specialist without delay.

When the telephone rang, I hurried to answer it before it awoke David. It was Kevin on the line, asking if he might come over to talk through the case. I glanced at the clock. It was only seven o’clock.

“Please do,” I told him. “I have a bit of new information.”

“Excellent. I’ll be along within the half hour. Thank you, Miss Rose.”

He arrived fifteen minutes later. After I cautioned him to keep his voice down so we didn’t wake David upstairs, we sat in the sitting room. I picked up my sewing project while he pulled out a slip of paper. I recognized it as my letter to him from this morning.

“I thank you for this missive, Miss Rose.” He chuckled. “I suppose I should have been calling you Mrs. Rose for the last six months, but I’m not a young man and am afraid I’m rather set in my ways.”

“Thee is not a spring chicken, but thee is not old, Kevin. Anyway, I don’t have a problem with thee using Miss Rose.”

He tapped a finger on the letter. “You asked me a few questions here. I’ll see if I’m able to address them, and then perhaps we can discuss a few other matters.”

“Very well.”

“I have heard about the Parry outfit being mismanaged. I haven’t been able to track down Ned Bailey today, nor Mr. Sherwood.”

“But did thee talk with Ned yesterday about the gun?”

He made an exasperated sound. “The man says he merely found it and didn’t want anyone to be hurt.”

“So he secreted it in his underthings? Hiding a weapon not his own doesn’t make sense.”

Kevin’s cheeks reddened at hearing the location of the gun. “No, it does not. He rightly should have found the nearest patrolman and turned it in.”

“Was it the size of the gun Justice was shot with?”

“As you’re aware, we have no way of knowing exactly, but it appears it could have been, from the caliber of the weapon and the size of Harrington’s wounds.”

“Thee no longer is interested in Zeb Weed, I hope.”

“Haven’t ruled him out completely, but he’s farther down my list at this point.” Kevin peered at the letter. “This business of hearing coughing, now.”

“William Parry has tuberculosis. His doctor has confirmed it.”

“Oh? What’s his name, this doctor?”

“Mary Chatigny.” I stifled a snort as I watched his jaw drop at hearing her first name. “Her consulting office is on the corner of Elm and Marston.”

“You ladies are making quite the strides, aren’t you? What will be next? The vote?”

“I certainly hope so.” I smiled. “But about William Parry, I spoke with him after Orpha’s funeral. He protested rather too strongly that he has no plans to merge with the Montgomery enterprise. I think a possible business deal bears looking into further.”

“Duly noted.” In fact, he drew a pencil out of his pocket and scribbled on the paper.

“Now, what about Luthera?” I asked. “Has thee had additional conversations with her?”

“The wife. Who seems to regard herself rather highly.”

“She does.”

“I attempted to engage her in a round of questions this very afternoon. She was not receptive to the idea, saying she had important business to conduct.” He raised his eyebrows and tossed his head when he said “business.”

“But you’re the police. The chief of police.”

“You’d think that might have held some sway, but no. She claimed a kind of exemption because she’s from Canada.” He clapped his hands on the tops of his legs. “This is a thorny case, Miss Rose, and it’s more frustrating than a bachelor with . . .” He let his voice trail off as his face reddened anew. “It’s frustrating. I’ll leave it at that.”

Which was a blessing. Kevin Donovan was a man of his times. I suspected his language was much saltier when he was in the company of his male colleagues. I picked out another few stitches.

“Ned Bailey stopped by here at dusk,” I said. “He told me he wanted my help, or some such thing.”

“Did he now?”

I nodded. “He said he had lent Justice Harrington his plans for his new motorcar. He said Justice was excited about them. And now the plans have disappeared, and Ned hadn’t made a copy. No one found any papers with the body?”

“No.” Kevin stretched out the word. “If Parry killed Harrington, he could have absconded with the plans thinking it would help rescue his company.”

“That would be a tenuous plan, at best. Surely it would require capital to make such a vehicle, not to mention much wooing of customers to win them over to the idea of a carriage driving under its own power.”

“Yes, but Parry might be feeling desperate about his prospects.”

“Or Luthera could have been angry Justice was taking the company on a path she didn’t approve of,” I mused. “She might have killed her husband and tossed the plans in the river.”

“Do you think Bailey was dissembling with the entire story, trying to hide what he’d done?”

“I wondered the same, but I truly don’t know.”

“Perhaps we’re both on the wrong track,” Kevin said. “It could have been the work of some lunatic unrelated to any of this carriage business.”

I tilted my head. “How often do crazy people commit murder?”

Kevin grunted. “Not very often. We fortunately have a low population of lunatics in Amesbury at present. Perhaps our culprit is another one of these foreigners swarming our town this week. You