Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,65

suggested, “It’s possible he left town because he killed Dr. Gammon. And if that’s true, we might never find him. I can send out more searchers, but this will take time.”

Why was he staring at her when he said that, as if he hoped for her approval? She gave him a hesitant nod, unable to meet his gaze. Last night, in her drawing room…

She was tired. Surely, he hadn’t been about to kiss her. She was fabricating that encounter, along with the last. Or perhaps in some deep recess of her mind, she wanted him to, and that was what she was seeing—inclinations that did not exist. She pressed her lips together, turning her face away and stilling her foot.

Lyle cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “There is one other possibility to consider.”

“What is that?” She leaned forward, eager to glean what Lyle had to say. She’d known she must have been missing something, some subtle clue that would lead her directly to the murderer.

Solemnly, her friend answered, “That Dr. Gammon truly did kill himself.”

The words rang in Katherine’s ears. She shook her head, rejecting it. “No. I’ve already told you that he was very much looking forward to living when I spoke to him that night.”

Gently, Lyle said, “People often say that and then take their own lives anyway. You forget, I see this sort of thing all the time.” He checked off evidence on his fingers. “We found no signs of a struggle, no signs of forced entry. Dr. Gammon was worried about something, and now we know that he might have caused Lord Westing’s death.” He lifted his hand as proof. “Perhaps his guilty conscious gnawed on him all night so much that he could not bear to live any longer.”

The silence in the wake of his evidence was stifling. Katherine struggled to keep her breathing even.

In a low voice, almost a whisper, Wayland added, “And that might explain why he did the dishes. One last act of cleaning up before he died.”

Katherine narrowed her eyes at him. Not him, too. He’d been her only ally in this! What happened to his avowal of her investigative instincts? Apparently, he had tossed those aside the moment it was no longer convenient for him.

Pru added, “He was a physician. He would have known about poisons and medicines, and that cherry-laurel water would have been the least unpleasant way to end his life.”

Lord Annandale patted her hand. “And did ye nae tell me he was seated in his favorite chair with a snifter o’ brandy? One last drink before he went. He likely wanted it to look like natural causes, so his son would nae be upset and tongues would nae wag.”

Katherine swallowed hard. She shook her head.

And that was when she inadvertently met Harriet’s gaze. The rings around her maid’s eyes were even more pronounced as she whispered, “Emma didn’t bark that night. She always barks if a stranger walks past the house.”

Katherine swallowed hard. “The notes,” she croaked. “Who took the notes?”

Lyle shrugged, unconcerned. “If it so weighed on him, he might have burned his notes himself so they would not be found and his son’s reputation marred.”

Everything they said made sense. Perhaps that was what made Katherine wholly resolute to reject the evidence. They had all wanted to give up this investigation from the beginning. They were only looking for a way out. Mr. Gammon had handed them one on a silver platter. But Katherine had a keen investigator’s instinct, and she knew that Dr. Gammon’s death was no suicide.

“So you want to give up the investigation?” she asked.

“Not at all, lass. I’ll look into the Picked Plum.”

Wayland cleared his throat. “I will send out more runners to search for Dr. Sumner’s whereabouts. We aren’t giving up. We’re contemplating all the options.”

For all his excuses, it felt like giving up to Katherine.

In a falsely cheerful voice, Pru asked, “Shall we reconvene tomorrow afternoon? That ought to give us enough time to search.”

Heads bobbed all around the room in nods before looking at Katherine. Reluctantly, she, too, nodded, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. “If we have nothing more to discuss, I should go back to bed. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

The tension in the room thickened, but no one argued with her. It hurt every bit as much as the throbbing ankle preventing her from pursuing this investigation with her whole heart. Her injury ached, weighing down her body and spirit. What if