Free Deadly Kisses by Brenda Joyce Page A

arriving.”
    â€œAnd then what, Alfred? Did you bring him supper? Did you help him hail a cab when he left?”
    â€œHe told me he did not wish to be disturbed.”
    Francesca did not like the sound of that. “Do you know what time he left the house last night?”
    Alfred shook his head. “I did not see Mr. Hart again until this morning, Miss Cahill. When he gives an order to be left alone, it is my responsibility to ensure that no one—not even family—intrudes upon his privacy.”
    Francesca almost moaned. Her heart raced. “You are telling me that no one in this house saw him after he arrived at eight?”
    â€œI am the only one who saw him come in, Miss Cahill, and yes, he secluded himself in the library for the evening. Frankly, I had no idea that he even went out.”
    Francesca felt despair.
    â€œMiss Cahill?” Alfred was clearly bewildered and worried now.
    She stared at him, wondering if she dared ask him to lie for Hart. “Alfred, the police may wish to speak with you. They may ask you the same questions I have.”
    His gaze widened. It was a moment before he spoke. “I see. And what should I say to them?”
    Was she really going to do this? She believed in the truth and the law! But Hart was innocent, and until the real killer was found, he was in jeopardy. “Perhaps you might suggest that you waited on Hart that evening,” she heard herself say. “Onceor twice. He did go out that evening—he went out at half past eleven.”
    â€œVery well,” Alfred said with resolve.
    â€œThank you,” Francesca whispered.
    Almost unable to believe what she was doing to protect her fiancé, Francesca went down the hall. She had to find the real killer immediately, so these lies could stop. Hart’s library was a huge, dark but pleasant room. Books lined three of the walls, but a number of windows and glass doors opened out onto the back gardens, showing a view of the tennis courts. His desk was at the far end. Francesca turned on a lamp and went to it.
    The jacket he had worn the night before was on the back of his chair. Francesca hesitated, her gaze drawn to the stain on the right side of it. It was obviously dried blood.
    Last night, he had gone into this room before going upstairs to bed. Francesca could imagine him removing his jacket, rolling up his sleeves and pouring himself a Scotch, the drink he preferred. Her eyes now found an empty crystal glass. Had he sat there, hunched over his drink, brooding about Daisy’s death?
    She shook her head. Of course he had. She wondered if he had thought about her, too. Had he regretted their argument? Had her doubt been on his mind? Or had he been too preoccupied with Daisy’s murder?
    Francesca told herself not to return to that place of doubt and insecurity. Instead, she briskly went behind the desk, reaching for a piece of paper. She scribbled a quick note, telling Hart that a reporter had been to see her that morning and that they should meet that evening to discuss the case. She added that she was on her way to interview Rose, and that the first thing she had to do was establish a timeline for the murder.
    â€œFrancesca?”
    She started and looked up, only to meet Rourke Bragg’s warm gaze and equally affectionate smile.
    He seemed mildly bemused. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,”he said, coming into the room. He was Hart’s stepbrother but Rick Bragg’s half brother, and like his half brother and father, he had dark blond hair, amber eyes and a golden coloring. He was a medical student in Philadelphia and Francesca genuinely liked him.
    Francesca straightened. “Rourke, I’m sorry! You didn’t frighten me. I was so absorbed I did not realize you were there.” She quickly came around the desk and he clasped her hands and kissed her cheek. “Are you on break from medical school?”
    â€œThe semester is over, actually, and