Deadlier Than the Pen (15 page)

"I sent in my story about an hour after Toddy left, and told Foxe that a bigger story will follow after I trick the killer into confessing."
"Damnation, Diana!"
"We could lock him in the crypt till he talks," Maggie suggested. "The moon will be at the full two days from now. That should help."
They both ignored her. Frustrated, Ben read Diana's determination in her eyes. She meant to go on as she'd begun. "What mad plan have you concocted?"
"It is perfectly logical," she assured him. "I've asked Horatio Foxe to print a piece advising readers that I am close to tracking down a murderer. I've told him exactly what to say. He'll follow my instructions, if only because he knows some other newspaper will pick up the story off the Associated Press wire if he doesn't. As soon as a copy of the _Intelligencer_ reaches Bangor -- Wednesday by my reckoning -- I'll make sure it is delivered to the hotel where the company is staying. They'll all read it, and the killer will conclude that I'm staying on in Bangor in order to accuse him. He'll think I know he is a member of Todd's company."
The flaw in her logic seemed glaring to Ben. "And why, precisely, does he think you've delayed going to the authorities? What kind of fool uncovers a killer's identity and doesn't go straight to the police?"
Diana huffed at him. "He'll think I'm waiting for Foxe, or some other editor, to agree to my price for the story." She sent him a brilliant smile. "Trust me, Ben. Our killer already has a low opinion of women who review plays for a living. He'll have no difficulty believing I'm motivated by greed."
"Damnation, Diana! I _should_ have kept you locked up."
"How else can he be caught?" Ben's mother asked in what, for her, was a reasonable tone. "And how else can we prevent a scandal?"
"You thrive on scandal, Mother."
"Yes, but you would not."
"So you expect me to let Diana offer herself as bait?"
"Family loyalty demands it, Ben," his mother said, and swept out of the room.
"Diana, think!" Ben pleaded.
"I have. This will work. I'll be in no danger. Come and have supper, Ben. You'll feel better when you've eaten something." In a fair imitation of Maggie Northcote at her most flamboyant, Diana followed after the older woman.
Food, however, did not improve Ben's mood. No matter how he argued against Diana's plan, she would not change her mind. She informed him it was too late to stop it now, then abruptly changed the subject. "I had a visit from Aaron last night."
_That_ succeeded in distracting him. Her casual announcement nearly had him bolting from his chair to confront his brother. The red haze before his eyes cleared only when Diana and his mother both grabbed hold of him.
Speaking quickly, lest he break away, Diana recounted everything that had passed between herself and Aaron.
"Joseph is next to useless," Ben muttered.
"Say rather that Aaron is clever." Diana loosened her grip, then smoothed her fingers over the back of his hand.
_How clever?_ Ben wondered. _Clever enough to have killed three women without getting caught?_ As much as he wanted to believe Diana's theory, in spite of the danger she'd be in if she were right, he thought it just as likely that Aaron was guilty. Clarissa would not hesitate to lie for him.
And if his brother _had_ murdered those women? What then?
Family loyalty, as his mother had reminded him, made demands. In this case the demand seemed to be that he choose between his brother's welfare and that of the woman he loved.

*Chapter Sixteen*
Shortly after Ben left the house with Maggie on Monday to take her to the depot to catch the Maine Central's morning train to Boston, Diana received a note from Jerusha Fildale.
This was exactly what she needed, Diana decided, and called for Annie. "Is there a pair of ice skates in the house?" she asked when the maid appeared. "This is an invitation to go skating on the river." She paused to glance out the window. The weather appeared to be warmer than it had been. It looked quite pleasant. "The _Whig and Courier_ says the river is open below Orrington, but I don't know where Orrington is."
"To the south, mum. Some places downriver, the tidewaters keep the channel open all winter. But the ice should hold solid enough here. They wager on it, you see, and most folks are sayin' how it'll be weeks yet till ice out."
"And skates?" Jerusha had her own. She brought them with her on winter tours.
"Mrs. Northcote has a pair. Very fine they are, too, with ankle supports and shiny buckles and nickel-plated steel runners. I'll fetch them."
While she waited for Annie to return, Diana tapped the note against her chin. This outing would give her the chance to take Jerusha into her confidence. The actress might have noticed something useful about her colleagues' behavior. More than that, she might be able to see Diana's situation more clearly. Jerusha had never hesitated to offer romantic advice before. Diana doubted that she would this time. And if Jerusha thought Diana should get away from the Northcotes, she would help her do so.
When Diana set out a short time later she was not surprised to find the gates locked. Using the extra key Old Ernest had given her, she let herself through and set off at a brisk pace towards downtown Bangor. Before meeting Jerusha, she made one stop, at the new Western Union Telegraph Company office, located directly below the old one. By now the employees knew her on sight.
"Fine place, is it not, Mrs. Spaulding?" one of them greeted her from behind a gleaming walnut counter. It divided the business room, where completed telegram blanks were received from customers, from the operating room. In the latter, banks of instrument tables were loaded down with quadruplex repeaters, typewriters, and other equipment.
"Indeed it is, Henry."
Spacious and well lit, the office had sufficient staff to keep it humming twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Each telegrapher worked in his or her own cubicle among the tables, separated by a foot-high, sound-deadening glass and wood partition. At the moment, only a few were busy. One woman who was not, worked at her knitting while she waited to send or receive Morse Code. George, the press operator, played solitaire.
"Any new messages for me?"
"Nothing yet today, Mrs. Spaulding. If something comes in we can send it out to Dr. Northcote's house. Save you coming into town."
Diana hesitated, but only for a moment. "An excellent idea, George. Thank you."
With a lighter heart, Diana continued on her way to the section of the river that citizens of Bangor used for skating. She had no difficulty locating it. Several wooden chairs had been set up on shore so ladies could sit comfortably while they clamped blades to boots. Convenient logs served the same purpose for gentlemen.
A cheerful fire burned on the bank to warm those who came as spectators as well as those who'd ventured out onto the ice. Diana noticed at once that most of the skaters wore ear protectors. The bright circles of cloth were held together by a metal band that slipped over the head and underneath a regular hat, a clever invention that went a long way towards preventing frostbitten ears.
Since it appeared she'd arrived ahead of Jerusha, Diana debated waiting to skate until her friend arrived, but the ice looked much too tempting. A few minutes later, she was wobbling her way around the circle, part of a large and congenial group of women and young children. Their older brothers and sisters were back in school after a two-weeks holiday.
It had been more than a year since Diana had put on a pair of ice skates, but once she got her balance back, she began to enjoy herself. When she'd first settled in New York she'd skated once or twice on the lake in Central Park, in the area at the north end that was reserved for ladies in order to spare them having to endure the more boisterous activities of men and boys. A red ball, she recalled, was hoisted at the bell tower on Vista Rock to signal when the ice was thick enough to be safe. She did not see any such indicator here.
Although Diana thoroughly enjoyed the skating, by the time half an hour passed she began to feel uneasy about Jerusha's absence. For what seemed the hundredth time, she looked around for her friend. At first no one looked familiar. Then she thought she recognized Ben's dark mane above the caps and hats. Wishful thinking, she decided when the man came no nearer. After all, Ben's intention had been to go directly to his office after seeing Maggie off. Diana suppressed a sigh. She imagined that skating with Ben Northcote would be as romantic as dancing with him. She wondered if she would ever be privileged to do either.
She made one more circle of the skating area. This time, when she approached the gathering place on shore, Jerusha was there. So were half of Toddy's company -- Lavinia, Toddy himself, Patsy, Billy Sims, and Charles Underly. Jerusha and Toddy appeared to be arguing. Lavinia waved gaily at Diana, then headed for the chairs. Diana continued on towards the bonfire. She was warming her hands when Lavinia came up beside her.
"I read this morning's _Whig and Courier,_" Lavinia said. "I am so glad Toddy could persuade you to see the error of your ways." She preened a bit.
Diana was not sure what to say to the woman. It hardly flattered Lavinia if the only way she could get a good review was to have her lover intervene with the critic.
"A week ago I was ready to spit in your face if I ever saw you again," Lavinia continued, "but Toddy says you've been here all along."
"I came to Bangor directly from New Haven," Diana assured her. "I had nothing to do with the columns printed in the _Intelligencer_ in my absence. Blame them on the same man who blackened your name in print the last time. My editor likes scandal, Lavinia. I do not."
"Hmmm."
Several local residents, who were sharing the warmth of the fire with Lavinia and Diana, seemed to be taking an interest in their discussion. By mutual agreement the two women took to the ice before they continued the conversation.
"Toddy told us how grateful we must be to you. After all, you led him to Damon Bathory. I am quite looking forward to starring in an adaptation of one of those stories. I'm told they are very popular."
"What role has Toddy assigned to you?"
"The greatest part since Lady Macbeth -- Hannah Sussep."
Diana bit back a groan. That explained why Toddy and Jerusha were at odds. At best, Lavinia would play Maggie's Indian witch as melodramatic and stagy. "I am sure you will be unforgettable in the role."
"A half-mad heroine out to take revenge on her enemies." Lavinia's eyes glittered. "I relish the challenge."
In other hands, Diana thought, Jerusha's perhaps, the part might become a character of heroic proportions. Lavinia would never reach that level. She'd equate shrieking and thrashing about with madness. Or incoherent babbling.
Just then Charles Underly skated past, calling out to Lavinia to come and be his partner. He sent Diana a fulminating look.
"Go," Diana urged, reminded that she wanted to ask Jerusha about Underly and Sims.
Jerusha was still with Toddy and neither of them was paying the least bit of attention to anyone else. Diana looked for Billy Sims but found no sign of him. Patsy was just putting on her skates.
Keeping one eye on Jerusha, so she'd know when the other woman was free to talk to her, Diana made a wide circle on the ice, grateful that her ankle had healed so quickly and so well. She kept her distance from Underly and, when she finally caught sight of him, Billy Sims as well.
Another ten minutes passed and Diana had just begun another loop when she heard a cry of panic behind her. She turned in time to see Lavinia land ignominiously on her backside. Charles Underly reached her first and attempted to assist her to her feet, but her skates kept slipping out from under her and threatened to bring both of them down in a heap.
"Lend us a hand, Diana," Underly called.
Obligingly, Diana skated towards them, taking the most direct route. She had gone no more than a few feet when she heard an ominous cracking sound. Before she had time to react, the surface beneath her feet shifted, throwing her off balance. She landed hard on her right side and, horrified, felt herself slide out of control. Sheer momentum carried her farther from shore and directly towards a steadily widening crevice at mid-river. One foot, then the other, plunged into the frigid waters of the Penobscot.
Diana screamed, scrabbling at breaking ice in a futile attempt to halt her descent. She found a handhold in time to prevent total submersion, but it was not sufficient to save her from a thorough dunking. Cold water splashed into her nose and mouth, choking her, while the strong river current tugged at her nether limbs.
Frantic, Diana tried to tread water. More by luck than design, the full skirt of the gray traveling suit she'd worn as a skating costume aided her efforts to keep afloat. The ballooning fabric held trapped air beneath it, but Diana knew the garment would soon become waterlogged. Once that happened, the weight would be one more force dragging her down. Her limbs were already almost too numb to control.
Her only hope of survival was to crawl back out onto ice that was still solid, but every time she clutched at the edge of the fissure with any force, in an attempt to pull herself up and out, more bits broke away and more cold water sloshed over her, freezing on her face and drenching her hair.
"Grab hold!" someone shouted. A rope snaked across the surface of the river and slapped against her cheek.
Nearly too weak to obey the command, Diana reached for it, wrapping her frozen fingers around the lifeline. An instant later, she was jerked forward, until the upper half of her body flopped onto the ice like a landed fish. Strong hands grasped her wrists, drawing her the rest of the way out of the water.
Someone turned her over. She supposed she was lying flat on her back on the ice but she couldn't feel it beneath her. A terrible numbness had overtaken every part of her body. It took tremendous effort for Diana to open her eyes and stare up at a very blue sky. She thought it was the prettiest sight she'd ever seen.
"Bring her close to the fire."
Obeying Jerusha's order, someone lifted her and carried her at a run. Then more hands seized her and she was propped up next to the crackling blaze. She knew it must be hot, since other people were sweating, but she felt nothing but an icy cold. Then, slowly, warmth started to penetrate her soaked clothing, making it steam. The smell of wet wool rose with the vapor and Diana began to shiver uncontrollably.
Men and women alike milled around her, talking, maybe even shouting at her, but she could not understand a single thing they said through the buzzing in her head. Languid, her eyes drifted closed and she gave in to an overwhelming desire to go to sleep.
* * * *
Charles Underly was holding Diana's limp body in his lap when Ben arrived on the scene. Ben shoved him aside and bent over the still, pale form. At least someone had shown the good sense to wrap a blanket around her.
Devastating fear had clawed at Ben from the moment a runner brought word to his office that Diana had fallen into the river. It eased slightly when he saw her chest rise and fall. Her breathing was shallow, but at least she did breathe.
"Was she unconscious when she was pulled out?"
"No," Jerusha told him. "She's not drowned, just cold. And this time she does not seem to have sprained or strained anything."
Ben shot her a quick, censorious glance, but the misplaced levity did not come from a lack of caring. She was as shaken as he by Diana's condition. "She'll be all right, Jerusha. She just needs warming up."
"Someone moved the warning sign," one of the local men said.
"The one that said THIN ICE?"
"Ayuh. My boy found it in the bushes on the far shore."
"Dangerous prank," another man opined.
"Or deliberate maliciousness," Ben said. He looked for Charles Underly, but the actor had already left the riverbank. Billy Sims, he noted, was still there, along with Nathan Todd, Patsy Jenkins, and Jerusha.
For the moment, getting Diana warm again was uppermost in his mind. He sent word ahead for Annie to heat water for a bath and carried Diana, well wrapped, to a waiting wagon. By the time they reached the Northcote house, a tub steamed in front of a blazing hearth in Diana's bedroom.
"Help me get her out of these wet clothes," he barked at Annie. Diana, now half awake, was too drowsy to undress herself but she was easier for him to manage than when she'd been unconscious and a dead weight.
The dull thud of something heavy hitting the carpet distracted Ben as he stripped off Diana's skirt. A key gleamed in the light streaming in through the bedroom window.
"Unlocks the front gate, sir," Annie said, glancing at it. "Old Ernest gave it to her." Then she gasped, for they were down to Diana's undergarments. Soaked, they clung to her like a second skin. "Ain't proper for you to be here, sir, you bein' a man and all."

"I'm a doctor, Annie." And at first looking after Diana's health kept his focus on that. But when she was in the water, its warmth turning her icy skin pink once more, he could no longer ignore the fact that he was also "a man and all."
He'd almost lost her. Ben's hands trembled as he balanced her while Annie quickly washed her hair, then bundled it into a thick towel to dry. The realization that she'd come close to death today left him feeling empty inside. When he'd contemplated sending her away, he'd consoled himself by thinking that he'd always know where she was, that he could visualize her, happy and content, even if it was somewhere else. Now he understood just how meaningless his own life would be if she was not part of it. He was no longer certain he could give her up, not even if doing so was best for her.
When she was warmed and dried and dressed in a clean nightgown, he tucked her into bed and sent Annie away. At first he sat on the bed, holding her hand in his, watching over her. But when she started to shiver again, he hesitated only a moment before throwing off his outer clothing and climbing under the covers with her. Body heat was the best thing for hypothermia, he told himself. He tucked her in close to his own warmth and wrapped his arms around her.
* * * *
A long time later, Diana stirred. Her hand caressed the forearm crossed beneath her breasts. "Am I dreaming?" she murmured.
Gently, Ben disentangled himself. It was not fair to tempt them both when he still did not see how he could offer her a future. "A nightmare, perhaps," he said as he went to stir the embers.
He thought she'd fallen asleep again. Then her soft voice reached him over the crackle of the fire in the hearth. "Ben?"
"Here, Diana." He returned to her bedside and lit a candle. She was still pale, but her eyes were clear.
"What happened?" Almost as soon as the question was out, she gasped, remembering on her own. "I was skating. I fell through the ice."
"You were pulled out quickly, but it was a near thing." He tried to suppress the emotion in his voice but didn't think he succeeded.
"I should have been more careful. It was a foolish accident." She forced a smile. "Why, it could as easily have been Lavinia who fell through. She was headed towards the thin ice when she took a tumble."
_Let her believe that_, Ben decided. It might even be true. He intended to find out at his first opportunity.
"You need rest," he said aloud. And he needed to think. "Can you sleep some more?"
Diana considered his question for a moment. "I think I need food first."
"I'll fix you a tray."
In the kitchen, as he warmed leftover soup and sliced bread and ham, Ben attempted to think logically about the THIN ICE sign. It could be that some child, playing, had tipped it over and failed to put it upright again. Deliberately removing it seemed an unreliable way to kill someone. There had been a great many people around. Any one of them could have broken through that thin patch. Maybe what happened to Diana had been an accident after all.
Diana had propped herself up against the pillows by the time Ben brought her the tray. "Did you rescue me?" she asked.
"I arrived on the scene after you were already out of the water."
Diana blinked at him in confusion. "But I was sure I saw you in the crowd earlier. Few dark-haired men are so tall or tend to go about without a hat."
"Only one other I can think of." But why would Aaron harm Diana? And how could he have left the estate without Joseph or Old Ernest knowing?
Spoon poised over her soup, Diana studied his face. She had no difficulty guessing his thoughts. "It _might_ have been Aaron, I suppose. There is a strong resemblance between you. It hardly matters."
Unless Aaron had moved that sign. Ben hid his concern from Diana, distracting her with anecdotes about his patients, but he could not stop his racing thoughts. Aaron might have moved it if his voices had told him to.
When Diana had polished off every item on the tray and drifted back into healing sleep, Ben woke Annie to sit with her. Then he made his way to the carriage house. His questions would not wait until morning.
One was answered at once. Joseph was deeply asleep. On the table by his bed was a glass. Ben sniffed the dregs and grimaced as he recognized a sleeping potion he'd concocted in his own laboratory. It was the draught he'd intended Aaron to take, harmless enough but powerful. Ben had no way of telling how long ago Joseph had been drugged, nor could he guess how much longer the fellow would sleep.
He found his brother in the studio with all the lights blazing. Aaron scowled when he caught sight of Ben. "I am working, Brother. Go away."
"Where were you earlier?"
"Where else should I be? Here. Working. Go away, I tell you." When Ben made a move to look at the work in progress, Aaron turned the easel away from him and hunched protectively over the canvas.
"Don't give any more of your medicine to Joseph," Ben warned him.
"Then don't try to foist that horrible tasting stuff off on me. I prefer brandy." Aaron resumed his painting. After a moment, he no longer seemed aware that Ben was still in the studio.
When Ben left, he locked the door behind him. He was about to pocket the key when he realized that it was a duplicate of the one for the padlock on the front gate ... and likely every other lock on the property.
He tested it on his laboratory and was not surprised to hear a click. No wonder Aaron got in and out of the gate at will. Ben pushed the door open and entered the long, narrow room, his thoughts still circling the central problem. Could Aaron have hurt Diana?
Even if Ben consigned what had happened on the river today to sheer bad luck, he knew he had no right to keep Diana here, no right to dream of a future for them. And yet she was everywhere he looked, even among the glass beakers and bottles and distilling equipment.
* * * *
By the time Maggie returned, early on Tuesday afternoon, with the news that her publisher had reluctantly agreed to continue to publish Damon Bathory even though "his" identity would no longer be a secret, Diana felt fully recovered from her ordeal in the cold water. She'd gotten dressed as soon as Ben had left for his office that morning.
"So, one matter settled," Maggie declared as she wrapped up her account.
"Now on to the second," Diana said. "The newspaper story on my discovery of a killer's identity."
"I've had an idea about that," Maggie said. "I want to invite the entire theatrical troupe to supper here after Wednesday night's show. If you're right, one of them will be looking for an opportunity to act. What better place to catch him?"
"I may be wrong." Diana glanced at the flowers Charles Underly had sent. There were other bouquets, from Toddy, from Jerusha, but Underly's was the largest and most fragrant.
"So much the better," Maggie said. "If there is no killer among them, then I'll have had the chance to meet the actors who will be playing characters I created."
What she said made sense, and Diana still wanted an opportunity to talk to Jerusha. "Very well. I'll issue the invitation in person. The company is staying at the Windsor Hotel."
* * * *
A short time later, she rapped on the door of the room Jerusha shared with Patsy. They'd scarcely had time to say hello before there was another knock.
"Toddy," Jerusha predicted. "He's worried about you."
"Because of that fall through the ice? I am completely recovered."
"_Not_ because of that," Toddy said when they let him in.
Diana wondered if he was about to bring up the murders, though she could not conceive of his knowing anything about them unless he'd been involved.
"It's that man you're living with," Toddy said instead. "What do you really know about him?"
"He's a respected physician." Defensive, she gave him a narrow-eyed look. "You were willing to leave me at his mercy in New Haven when you thought he was a writer of horror stories. Why are you so concerned about him now?"
"Didn't leave you at his mercy." Toddy looked offended. "Had a little talk with him before I left. And Jerusha gave you money so you didn't have to be kept by him."
"So he told me." Diana rewarded Toddy with a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm able to look out for myself, you know."
"Are you, Diana? You made a bad choice when you married Evan. There's no denying that."
"Toddy," Jerusha warned.
"No, it's time she knew. He wasn't much of a husband to her, or much of a man, either." He sent a sheepish look in Jerusha's direction. "I know I'm not one who should throw stones, but Evan Spaulding was a bounder, Diana. He -- "
"I know most of what he did, Toddy. And I know how he died. I was there, remember?"
Clearing his throat, Toddy looked as ill-at-ease as Diana had ever seen him. "Should have done something sooner," he said. "Should have looked out for you, not let him go off on his own with you."
"You couldn't have stopped him, Toddy. Or me, either. I pledged myself to him, no matter that he took his wedding vows lightly. But that's over and done now. And Ben is nothing like Evan."
"I'm very much afraid he's something worse. I've heard stories since I've been in this town. Wild tales about what goes on in that house. Nice remote setting. A brother no one ever sees, kept in the carriage house. A secret laboratory in the basement. Shades of Dr. Frankenstein! Or Dr. Jekyll. And that mother of his! Do you know, just before you came home, she was regaling me with a lurid account of a witches' sabbat she claims she attended."
"Toddy, she has an active imagination. That's all."
"How do you explain her eyes? Color of a new penny, they are," he said to Jerusha, who had not met Maggie."
"And Dr. Northcote's, as I recall, are a deep, soulful brown with amber flakes." Jerusha grinned at Diana, further infuriating Toddy.
"You've not met her."
"She will," Diana interrupted, and extended the invitation Maggie had sent.
"I'm not sure I want to get any closer to someone who indulges in that sort of thing," Toddy muttered. "More dangerous than directing the scene of the three witches in that cursed Scottish play."
"Yet you want to adapt her stories," Diana reminded him.
"That's just good business, but the woman herself ... well, she's strange, Diana. Confounded me two or three times just in the short while I was with her."
"She excels at that," Diana admitted, and was surprised to hear herself add, "There's no real harm in her."
"I for one am dying to meet the woman," Jerusha said. "And what actor ever turns down a free meal?"
Toddy ignored her to take Diana's hands in his. "Is it possible he's used animal magnetism to make you obey his will? That's what Lavinia thinks, and she was once a magician's assistant, you know."
Diana jerked her hands free. "Nonsense."
Toddy huffed. "Well one hears of such things, you know. And him a doctor, with such a mother, and madness in the family. Well!"
His concern touched her, even as it made her want to defend Ben and his family. "Come to supper tomorrow night. You'll see for yourself that all is well, and that any danger I may be in has nothing to do with Ben."
His gaze sharpened. "What's going on, Diana? It hasn't escaped my notice that since you met this man you've been uncommonly accident prone."
"That has nothing to do with Ben." She patted his cheek. "Read tomorrow's papers, and then come to supper. Will you do that for me, Toddy? And bring all the company with you?"
"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Jerusha asked when Toddy finally left her hotel room.
Diana thought about it, then shook her head and changed her mind about questioning Jerusha. Her friend might let something slip to the others. And if, by chance, Diana was right about Charles Underly, then too much knowledge could put Jerusha in danger. "Come to supper tomorrow night. You can decide for yourself who is and isn't fit for bedlam."
"Be careful, Diana."
"You, too? I thought you liked Ben?"
"I wouldn't kick him out of my bed, but that doesn't mean I'd turn my back on him, either. Unless you're very sure of him, don't be too quick to trust again."
Unspoken, the words _remember Evan_ hung between them.
* * * *
Diana returned to the Northcote house in a thoughtful mood. She'd wondered about Ben's laboratory herself. When Annie informed her that he was down there again, she gathered her courage and rapped on the door.
"It's open!" He looked up from a microscope when she entered. "I thought it might be you." He glowered at her, but the look softened as she came closer. "Mother had to muster a powerful argument to keep me from rushing after you to the hotel. How could you take such a risk?"
"If Charles Underly is the sort of man who kills women in dark alleys, he's not likely to attack one in broad daylight."
"He could be the sort who _arranges_ accidents."
She did not want to think about that. Not now. Instead she surveyed her surroundings. There was scientific equipment everywhere -- mortars and pestles, alembics, bottles full of medicine, and jars containing specimens she wasn't sure she wanted to identify. "No cadavers?" she asked.
"Not today."
"Maggie told me you're a city coroner."
"I also make some of my own medicines. Any good physician knows how to roll pills."
The width of a counter separated them, but she felt the sensual tug of his presence. He'd slept in her bed last night. She wanted him there again, this time when they were both awake.
"You must know a great deal about cures," she said with studied casualness. "And preventives."
Misunderstanding, he began to talk about herbal remedies for madness. "I've done a good deal of research on the subject just recently. Most of it is foolishness, of course. One old recipe instructs the physician to wrap a frog's liver in colewort leaves and burn it, then give the patient the ashes to drink in wine."