Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,21
don’t think Lord Westing’s death was intentional if Dr. Gammon was involved.”
Slowly, Katherine shook her head. “You’re right. But I have wondered if the worries he expressed concerned this case in particular. Do you think Lord Westing’s daughter might have killed Dr. Gammon for revenge?”
Harriet shrugged. It was all the opinion she cared to give.
With a plaintive whine, Emma pawed at Harriet’s skirt once more. Harriet scowled and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Who taught you such abysmal manners? This is our breakfast. You won’t be having a bite of it.”
Katherine ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks. Emma had learned that particular bad habit since moving to their new home. Katherine had made a habit of slipping the dog food off her plate to make it seem as though she ate more of what Harriet served. Palming the burnt crust, she offered it under the table. Emma, far less discerning than Katherine, took the morsel with glee and ate it beneath the table. Katherine coughed loudly to cover the resultant crunching. Harriet seemed too absorbed in her own meal to notice—or so Katherine thought before Harriet suggested, “Do you think Dr. Sumner might have killed Lord Westing?”
Katherine opened her mouth then shut it again. She’d feared that Dr. Gammon’s partner might be another possible victim, but Harriet’s idea made her reconsider. “I don’t know. I’ve never met Dr. Sumner, so I can’t take his measure. I’d like to think that Dr. Gammon would not have worked with a man so vile as to do such a thing, but…”
Harriet gave a half-hearted shrug. “Dr. Sumner might simply have made a mistake in the treatment. One he’d prefer to keep quiet.”
“And Dr. Gammon puzzled it out.” But if it had been a genuine mistake, would it cause Dr. Sumner to kill his former partner? That seemed rather drastic. With a sigh, Katherine slumped in her chair and pushed her plate away. For once, she lamented the lack of decoration in the breakfast room, for it gave her nothing to look at to distract herself.
“Then those are two suspects at the moment. Let’s see if they fit the clues. Dr. Gammon was not stabbed, shot, or visibly strangled. So he must have been poisoned. Do you think someone came back that night and slipped some poison into a shared drink or meal?”
Harriet cocked one eyebrow. “Emma didn’t make a peep. You know how she likes to announce whenever we have visitors on the street.”
Katherine pulled a face. “You’re right. Although… Emma was ill that night. Perhaps she simply didn’t feel well enough to bark. You said no one else on the street happened to have seen anything out of place?”
Harriet looked down at her plate, defeated. “I’m afraid not.”
“Did you ask Mrs. Ramsey? She’s always at her window and might have seen something.”
Pressing her lips together, Harriet shook her head. “She didn’t answer the door when Lyle and I called.”
Katherine pushed herself to her feet. “Then I’ll call on her now. She knows everything that happens in this neighborhood.”
As Katherine turned away, Harriet heaved a small unhappy sigh. “I’m sorry. I should have waited longer.”
Katherine waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “Don’t worry over it. She might have been out last night, for all we know. I hope that she is at home now.”
Ten minutes later, Katherine knocked at Mrs. Ramsey’s door, Emma at her side. Since recovering from her ailments, Emma had taken every opportunity to exit the house. Katherine couldn’t blame her, considering there wasn’t much of interest inside it. However, with the cold, Katherine would have remained inside if she’d had her druthers.
The older woman, her hair arrayed in artful curls, opened the door with a bright smile. Today, she wore a muted taupe dress that would have looked at home in any season. She glanced at the dog then back at Katherine once more. “My lady, this is a surprise.”
Katherine waved her hand. “Call me Katherine, please. Are you busy? I hope you might have time for a cup of tea.”
“I just put on a pot. Come into the parlor.”
Katherine shut the door behind her, stamping her feet before entering the house proper. Like her, Mrs. Ramsey didn’t keep many servants, only a small slip of a girl Katherine saw so infrequently that she sometimes wondered if she’d imagined her. She followed Mrs. Ramsey through her modestly decorated house into the parlor. Katherine had been here once or twice before, and the muted blue of the