Chapter 22 #2
Francesca held on to Hart’s arm, her stomach rather ill, watching as Daisy and Rose walked past them and up the front steps of the church.
Both women were striking in contrasting ways.
Daisy was so slender and pale, clad in a dark rose and gray dress, a half veil on her hat, while Rose was tall, lush, olive-skinned and black-haired.
She was as finely dressed in a dark navy blue ensemble and small, jaunty hat.
She had not a doubt that they both knew they were the center of attention wherever they chose to go.
Heads held high, they floated as they walked, as if unwaveringly proud of who they were and how they chose to live, as if acutely aware of the fact that most eyes were now trained upon them.
Daisy held Rose’s arm as if she were her beau.
Francesca told herself that she must not hate Daisy Jones. Once, they had been friends. But as Daisy smiled at her in passing, she did hate her. And worse, she was afraid of her, too.
Hart looked as if he was about to commit murder himself.
Bragg walked up to them, having finally double-parked so as to not congest the street. “It is an interesting turnout,” he said. “Are you all right?” he asked Francesca as if Hart were not present.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Come sit with us,” she added. And his presence provided her with no small amount of comfort.
Father Culhane was very slim and very fair, with pale brownish hair.
As he leaned on the podium, his expression suitably somber, Francesca decided he was in his late twenties but no more.
He had a large, hookish nose and his temples were graying.
Francesca had meant to interview him after Margaret Cooper’s murder, but had never gotten to it.
Now, she made a mental note to find out what he knew about the Slasher’s victims. After all, two of the women had been in his parish.
“Kate Sullivan was a blessing to everyone who knew her, even in passing,” he began, apparently giving the eulogy himself.
“The woman I knew worked hard and honestly every single day of her life, giving to others when others were in need. She led an exemplary life, a godly life, a good life. She first came to me six years ago, a young newlywed. I’ll never forget the day we met, when she had just moved into this ward.
She was so full of life, so full of happiness, and so genuinely hopeful. ” He smiled at everyone, pausing.
Francesca was barely listening, as she was much more interested in the crowd that had come to pay Kate their last respects than in the sermon.
Gwen sat several pews ahead and she was clearly trying not to cry, her arm around her daughter.
Her husband sat across the aisle and he kept staring at her.
She did not seem to notice, or perhaps she did not care.
Randolph sat two rows ahead of Francesca and just to her right. He had been staring at Gwen from the moment he had taken his seat. His gaze was frighteningly intense and terribly morose.
He remained high on her list of suspects.
“Her passing was a terrible tragedy, and I am sure that many of you are thinking, as I am thinking, why? Why such a good, honest, godly woman? Where is the justice in that?” Culhane was saying, his tone filled with passion.
Francesca spotted Francis and Sam Wilson, seated behind her. Francis was ashen, her nose red, clearly unable to control her tears. Wilson had his arm around her. He seemed saddened, too.
His gaze met hers.
Francesca quickly faced forward. Had she seen a cool light in his eyes? An expression absolutely uncharacteristic for the man she thus far knew?
She shifted to look directly to her right, across Hart, and met Farr’s cold gray gaze. This time he did not smile at her, he merely stared, and a chill went down her spine. He was up to something, she thought. And hiding evidence on this case was just the tip of that iceberg.
As she turned away, she saw Daisy whispering to Rose and then Daisy got up and made her way out of the pew and down the aisle, clearly leaving the church.
Her heart slammed as she faced forward, for this was her chance, indeed.
“How can I answer you?” Culhane was asking sadly. “We all know God works in mysterious ways.”
Francesca whispered in Hart’s ear. “I will be right back.” And before he could respond, she leaped to her feet and slipped past him. Once in the aisle, she hurried out of the church.
Daisy stood on the top step, waiting for her. Francesca was breathless as she closed the church doors behind her. “Did you know Kate Sullivan?”
“No,” Daisy said with a small shrug. “How would I know her? We hardly walked in the same salons,” she said with some superiority.
Francesca took a deep breath. There was no small amount of dread as she faced the other woman now. “Then why are you here?”
“To pay my respects.” Her expression was truly remarkable—absolutely impassive, with no hint of what she might be feeling, but there was a glint in her eyes, and it was, perhaps, smug.
Francesca knew that there was no reason for Daisy to be present at Kate’s funeral. Then she corrected herself. There was a reason: Hart. But would she have guessed that Hart was attending?
Maybe Daisy was present because she, Francesca, was there. “Why are you really here?”
Daisy shrugged. “It’s terrible, the Slasher murdering such good, honest, godly women, as Father Culhane said.”
She did not care. Francesca wondered why she had ever, even briefly, liked this woman. “Why did you go to Hart’s office?”
Daisy smiled at her and said softly, “He’s my benefactor. We had matters to discuss.”
They were enemies, Francesca thought, deadly enemies.
She didn’t see it in the other woman’s expression, but she somehow knew it in her heart.
She knew it the way she knew that she loved Calder Hart with all of her heart and that she would not let this woman come between them.
Francesca stared and said slowly, “Why don’t you tell me what you want?
Clearly, you came outside to speak with me.
Clearly, you came to this funeral to see me. ”
“No,” Daisy said softly. “It is Calder I came to see. It is Calder I want.”
The gauntlet had been thrown. “Did you go to his office to beg him to take you back?” Francesca demanded.
“I have never begged any man for anything,” Daisy said with vast superiority. “I have never had to beg any man for anything. I always get what I want, Francesca.”
She was as rigid as a board, uncomfortably so. “And you want Hart back?”
Daisy smiled at her. “When he tires of you, I expect him back,” she said simply.
Francesca wet her lips. “So you failed to seduce him. You did try to seduce him in his office, didn’t you?”
“I am hardly that naive,” she laughed.
“Then what happened?” Francesca cried, shaking.
Daisy’s eyes turned ugly. “Hart is no different from me, Francesca. He thinks to reform. He is smitten with you, for some reason, and he thinks to become a gentleman like all the others. Well, he can’t!
This man has an appetite for very unusual fare.
Feed him a constant diet of beef and chicken and he will die for lack of variety!
Your bed will soon bore him, Francesca. How much clearer do I need to be? ”
Francesca hugged herself. “Maybe he was once that way. But he is tired of that life.” She heard how hesitant and uncertain she sounded, because in truth, she believed Daisy.
It was not that she thought that Hart was depraved, but that he would soon come to find her boring.
With such a man, it simply seemed inevitable.
“I don’t think so. A leopard cannot change his spots.
” Daisy said, and she was far too sure of herself.
And then she laughed, shaking her head. “You are so innocent! Hart is jaded, terribly jaded, and he cannot reform, not for you, not for anyone. Give him time and you shall see the real Hart return. You have created a mere impostor and you clearly know it as much as I do.”
Her heart beat with sickening force and she turned away. She could not find her voice to insist that the Hart she knew was good, even kind and noble. In fact, she could not think of a single reply.
Daisy laughed. “Enjoy him while you can, my dear. Enjoy his bed while you can, as he is so magnificent. And continue to lie to yourself. I am sure you will do so for a long time.”
She almost clapped her hands over her ears. “You’re wrong,” she managed to say knowing how pitiful her response was. “I know you are wrong.” But even her tone seemed weak.
Daisy seized her wrist. “That night will come that he does not return home when you expect him. And he will have a perfect excuse. And you will accept it, of course you will, but deep in your heart you will know he was with someone else.” And she smiled tightly at her.
Francesca jerked away. “How can you be so cruel? Once, we were friends!” She reached for the door of the church, only too late realizing that the last place she wished to go was inside. She did not want Hart to even guess at the conversation that had just taken place.
Daisy pressed on the door before she could pull it open.
And she leaned so close Francesca felt her arm against her and her breath on her ear.
“You are so upset,” she whispered maliciously.
“So distraught! Why? Because your little fairy tale is over? Because you must now hold on to Hart with your fingertips as he slips slowly but surely away?”
“What do you want?” Francesca cried furiously, twisting to face her. But now they were face-to-face and far too close for comfort.
Daisy never stopped smiling. “I told you.”
“No, I don’t believe it. If you really wanted Calder, you would simply wait this out.” She sucked down air. She was shaking. “This is about revenge, isn’t it?”
Daisy stared, no longer smiling. Then she leaned close, her lips almost on her cheek. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”