Chapter Thirteen #2
“You seem like there’s something on your mind,” Earnest said.
Grace chewed her lip. “It’s just…” she said. “I’ve been racking my brain to remember that night. And I came up with something I just can’t understand.”
Earnest nodded his encouragement. “What’s that?”
“I remember the bartender pouring a drink. But the thing I’ve just remembered is… well, that it was in your glass, Earnest. You’re the one who handed it to Oliver.”
Earnest’s face looked surprised.
He stopped short, chortling in incredulity. The rest of the dance floor continued moving around them.
“Wait. Are you saying—you think I’m the one who poisoned Harriet?” he asked. He looked at her in disbelief, a confused smile dawning on his face as if he hoped she was kidding.
“I’m not saying that, exactly,” she said, trying not to lose her nerve. “I’m just trying to follow the truth. Weren’t you the one who handed Oliver the glass? And do the police know that?”
As people continued to swirl around them, the look in his eyes darkened to anger.
“Is—I’m sorry, but—is this because of Lillie?” he sputtered.
“What?” Grace asked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“Are you making this ridiculous accusation because—” His gaze darted over to where Lillie stood. “Are you jealous?”
Now it was her turn to be offended.
She took a step back, her face flushing. “I can assure you that all I want is my cousins’ happiness. Both of them. I don’t generally go around accusing people of murder just because I want to keep them for myself,” she said.
He snapped, “Well, I certainly didn’t do it.
What reason would I have for wanting Harriet dead?
” He gestured toward his fingers. “Besides, I could barely do anything that night, I had clumsy bandages on my hands. You think I’d be able to subtly add poison to a drink when I could barely tie my own shoes? ”
He chuffed, as though she were small and ridiculous, and perhaps she was. She had found his confident assurance charming before but now it grated on her.
“Well. This was certainly an illuminating turn on the dance floor. Enjoy the rest of the party, Miss Covington,” he said curtly, letting the unsaid between them—the ball you wouldn’t even be at without me. He bowed to her and walked away.
She took a deep inhale, her face flushing hot.
Just then Theodore Parker appeared, parting his way through the crowd like a shark fin cutting through water.
He had a distinct aura of power and wealth that surrounded him, turning the heads of the men and women he passed.
Even despite his resting face of disdain, Grace’s heart rose unbidden in her chest.
She pretended not to watch as Theodore came to a stop in front of Lillie. He bowed slightly, then offered her his arm. Lillie smiled genuinely, a look of relief crossing her face. In response, Grace felt something blooming within her that she’d barely thought possible.
Intense gratitude for Theodore Parker, as he led Lillie to the dance floor.
Only—she realized—it wasn’t the first time she’d felt that. She’d felt it many times over the last few days, which was incredibly inconvenient, given that he’d accused her of being a shallow gold digger a mere few minutes after they’d met.
Grace stood alone, miserably sipping her drink. Looking around at the couples twirling on the dance floor. Mentally tallying who else was there the night of Harriet’s murder. If only she could go back in time and see it play out again. But it was hazy, her memories flickering like a light.
Oliver thought that Earnest had handed him the glass.
She tried to remember, but she couldn’t.
Earnest, with his bandaged hands.
Who else had been there?
Frannie and Copper.
Mr. Gatewood and his wife.
Ethel.
The talent manager.
Lillie.
Theodore Parker.
And then, suddenly, there he was, standing in front of her.
“You look…” he said, a slight frown crossing his brow.
“Beautiful?” she supplied wryly.
“Like you’re plotting something.”
She huffed. “Can’t I be both?”
“Indeed.” He offered her his gloved hand, and, with a spark of surprise, she took it.
“May I offer you my condolences, Mr. Parker,” she told him as he led her to the dance floor. “You’re dancing with the pariah of the Ball. I’m afraid your social standing is dropping by the moment.”
“You seem to mistake that I care.”
She flushed, her eyes catching on the way Earnest was taking Lillie by the hand and leading her to the dance floor.
He seemed to be purposefully ignoring Grace.
“Did you find anything out?” Theo asked, following her gaze.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I might have mended one bridge, but I burned another.”
Her mind was reaching for something.
But she could feel the whispers, the murmurs of the crowd, closing in like shadows in her periphery. He read it on her face and dipped her.
“Are you trying to make me ill?” she asked.
“Don’t go soft on me now, Covington,” he whispered roughly. His mouth was at her throat.
“I wouldn’t even know how,” she breathed.
When he brought her upright again, his lips barely grazed her neck. She was trembling, her breath hitching. His hand tightened across her bodice.
No one had ever done this to her mind, her body before.
She was turning to melted gold. There were explosions of fireworks in her head as though she had stared too long at the sun.
Champagne bubbles tingled just beneath her ribs, and the glow of euphoria was an undertow, pulling her in the longer she looked into his eyes and felt the grip of his hand on her waist.
He would never believe you wanted him for anything other than his money, she told herself. Even if it wasn’t true. And that, her pride could not bear.
That was the dash of ice water that cut through the haze.
She returned to herself.
Theodore Parker was not why she was there.
She forced her breathing to slow. Coaxed her mind back to the task at hand.
“I just keep going over who was there that night,” she said.
“That woman who followed us isn’t here,” Theodore said, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ve been keeping my eye out for her all night.”
Grace’s disappointment deepened. She was hoping the mysterious woman would appear and they could question her together—at the very least to determine her identity, if not uncover what she wanted.
Why had she followed them when Harriet was with them, and then stopped as soon as she was murdered? That woman was rising to the top of Grace’s suspect list.
Situating her right next to Earnest.
But suddenly, the thought she had been searching for earlier dropped like a lazy feather, just within her reach.
“There is someone else who is conspicuously absent tonight,” Grace murmured. “Someone who was there for the night of the murder but isn’t here now.”
“Someone other than Oliver, you mean?” Theodore asked.
She smiled. “Someone who had a camera.”
Theodore arched an eyebrow at her in understanding. “That gossip columnist for the Fair’s Fare.”
She nodded. “Sam Whitcomb.”
She felt a warmth rise within her as another lead unfurled itself, beckoning her to follow it like a road paved with gold.