Free No Pity For the Dead by Nancy Herriman

how to embroider was a better use of a young lady’s time.” In fact, he’d paid her very little attention at all.
    â€œWhat would he think of your interfering with police business?”
    â€œHis opinion would be the same as yours—he would not approve. But Jane is my friend, as is Frank, and my uncle would comprehend my desire to defend my friends,” she said.
    â€œJust as loyal as Mrs. Hutchinson.”
    â€œI suppose I am,” said Celia. “I must ask you something, Mr. Greaves. You believe the man Owen saw fighting with Frank was Virgil Nash, don’t you? If the dead body turns out to be Mr. Nash, that is.”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œA fight does not mean Frank killed him.”
    â€œIt’s a good place to start.”
    â€œYou
will
speak to Mr. Russell, though, won’t you?” asked Celia. “And—although I hate to suggest this—Dan Matthews as well. His comment to Owen suggested he knew the dead man. He might have good information.”
    â€œI know what I’m doing, Mrs. Davies,” he said curtly.
    â€œMy apologies for making you think I believed otherwise.”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t know why I put up with you, ma’am.”
    â€œNeither do I, Mr. Greaves,” she said, and was quite certain he chuckled.
    â€œYou might be glad to know that Martin isn’t going to press charges against either Matthews or Owen. But Matthews has been sacked, and I expect Owen will be next.”
    â€œOh dear.” Now where would she find Owen employment? Frank had been reluctant to hire a boy most people considered a street urchin, and had only done so as a favor to her. Owen had let them both down. “He feared that would happen.”
    â€œMaybe next time he gets a job, he won’t go digging for gold in his boss’ cellar.”
    *   *   *
    â€œI  already told that other officer that I don’t have anything to say about that dead fellow,” insisted Dan Matthews, glowering from where he sat in Nick’s office.
    He had a broad face, small eyes, and was heavily muscled from carrying hods and working with his hands. There was a scar along his chin, and he favored his right arm as though his shoulder hurt him. If Nick had run into him in an alleyway, he’d have been nervous; Dan Matthews didn’t look like the sort of fellow who’d shy away from a fight if given the slightest reason to brawl.
    â€œCassidy and I was workin’ in the cellar like Mr. Martin wanted, and we found that body. That’s all we was doin’.”
    â€œLet me correct that statement,” said Nick, not amused by the man’s insistence on repeating himself. “You convinced Cassidy to help you dig for gold, which you thought was buried there. Sounds to me like you were committing burglary.”
    â€œHe’s lyin’.”
    â€œOwen Cassidy happens to be somebody I trust.”
    â€œThat kid? Heck, it was his idea all along. Yep, it was. His idea to dig down there,” said Matthews, looking pleased that he’d come up with the notion to finger Owen. “Nope. Weren’t my idea at all. You should be questioning him, not me.”
    â€œLet’s try this. Let’s say I believe it was all innocent, what you two were doing in that basement,” said Nick. “And your story is simply that you were down in the cellar digging around to level it before laying bricks and then happened to uncover a decaying body. Here’s something I find interesting, Mr. Matthews. When that happened, you cried out, ‘Why won’t he leave me be?’ according to Cassidy. What did you mean?”
    â€œCassidy’s lyin’ about that, too.” Matthews rolled his right shoulder, the movement familiar to Nick. Was there a wound from an old battle on that shoulder? Did it throb when the fog rolled in like it had last night?
    â€œRotten kid,” Matthews added,