A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Mayhem - Manda Collins Page 0,23
might respond in other passionate situations.
Which was an entirely inappropriate line of thought, he reminded himself ruthlessly. Even if he could recall with an embarrassing degree of detail just how magnificent she’d been with her eyes flashing and bosom heaving.
Needing to wrest control of the conversation, he said, “Now that we’ve settled our previous disagreement, let me ask you some questions about what happened when you found Mr. Jones. Why don’t you tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened?”
Her expression turned somber. “Should I begin from the moment I spied him or before that?”
“Wherever you wish.”
Slowly, carefully, she told the tale of how she’d become stuck with the Bartons and had effected her escape by wandering up the secondary path.
“Had you known about this other path before you came upon it?” Eversham asked.
“No, Mr. Thompson had a guidebook to Lewiston, but it contained descriptions of walks closer to the village itself. Val did tell us that there were any number of trails leading from his property around the lake and up into the hills, but he was never specific. This has been a rather relaxed house party, aside from the murder obviously.”
She spoke with a straight face, but it took only a moment for the absurdity of her words to sink in, and Lady Bascomb gave a little gasp of laughter. “I do beg your pardon. I know it’s not funny, but my goodness, what an odd few days this has been.”
It was not uncommon in Eversham’s experience for those affected by sudden death or bereavement to respond with unexpected mirth. Death was an odd business, and everyone dealt with it differently.
He rose, came around the desk, and lowered to his haunches in front of her. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, my lady. Now, why don’t you tell me about finding the body.”
She seemed comforted by his nearness—or at least that was what he hoped—and in a remarkably steady voice told him about hiking up the hill and seeing the horror there. When it came to details about Mr. Jones’s body, she was remarkably thorough, even going so far as to note that he was slumped to the left. And that the note pinned to his shirt was secured with a ladies’ hat pin.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” she asked when he didn’t speak up right away after she’d finished. “It’s the Commandments Killer.”
But while he might have somewhat forgiven her, Eversham wasn’t about to trade details of this investigation with her. If Jones’s death was the work of the Commandments Killer, then it wouldn’t do to go spreading details of it in public. This was his chance to regain his position, and he wasn’t going to jeopardize that. Even if it meant he’d have to work his hardest to ensure the only other person in Cumbria who knew as much as he did about the Commandments Killer was kept in the dark.
“I don’t know yet,” he said truthfully. “But I must request that you let me do my job.”
Then, unbidden, a quote from Machiavelli flitted into his brain about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. “If you’d be interested, I might request your assistance in some parts of the investigation.”
She pursed her lips and looked as if she were about to give him a ringing scold. But after a moment’s silence, she offered her hand. “I’ll consider it. But I have a condition.”
He’d already taken her delicate hand in his when she added that last bit. His curiosity overcoming his good sense, Eversham mentally shrugged. “What’s the condition?”
“Why, that you let me do my job.”
“And what’s that? You know I can’t allow you to write about this while the investigation is still ongoing. I can’t have you jeopardizing it.”
“Nothing like that,” she said firmly. “I’d like to learn as much about your methods as I can while you’re investigating this case so that I can ensure that I don’t endanger innocent lives with my ignorance again.”
Before he could respond, she continued, “I’d also like, for A Lady’s Guide to Mischief and Mayhem, to interview you for suggestions as to how the fairer sex might keep themselves safe from harm in their daily lives.”
“Is that all?” he asked with a scowl. However, he grudgingly admitted to himself that she was more willing to take responsibility for her mistakes than most men he knew.
“That’s all,” she responded primly.
He didn’t normally give interviews. And the profiles that had been written about him thus far were either overly