“Detective Inspector Aaron?” the voice inquired.

  “Yes,” Joseph said.

  “We’ve had a murder here, and the two ladies who found the body believe it’s connected to one you have there.”

  Joseph closed his eyes and started counting to ten.

  “Sir?”

  He had to clear his throat before he could reply. “This wouldn’t be Georgette Aaron and Marian Parker?”

  The constable on the other end of the call laughed. “I see you know them.”

  A part of him wanted to reply ‘unfortunately,’ but instead he said, “I do. Who is dead?”

  “A Joan Morry.”

  Joseph paused. Oh, he was stupid. He should have found her the second he’d learned of her. This was his fault. He’d made a mistake and now a woman was dead. “How did she die?”

  “It was strangulation. We thought for a bit that it might be one of your troublemakers, but the doc here thinks she’s been gone a bit longer than they’ve been in Ely and Joan Morry was not—I think—an easy woman to kill. Knowing she’s dead, do you think this case is connected to yours?”

  “Oh, I’m certain of it.”

  “Then I guess we better discuss details of what you’re doing and what we’ve found. What do you want me to do with these two?”

  “We’ll come get them,” Joseph sighed.

  “Eh,” the fellow said almost merrily, “I’ll bring them. We’ve been looking for a bit of a lead here. I’ll have my boys gather up what we’ve found and bring both it and the ladies to you.”

  Joseph hung up the telephone and admitted to himself he was stupefied and felt even more stupid for feeling so poleaxed.

  “Everything all right, sir?” Higgins asked.

  “Joan Morry is dead.”

  Higgins cursed.

  “My fiancé and Mrs. Aaron realized we needed to talk her and took it upon themselves to hunt her down. They found the body and were taken in for questioning.”

  Now Higgins was just staring.

  Joseph shook his head and then glanced to where he’d left his uncle. A moment later his gaze met Higgins’s and the fellow said, “She seems to be a bit trouble-prone.”

  Joseph’s shout of laughter surprised Higgins, but Joseph only said, “You have no idea, but I am very much afraid you’ll learn.”

  Chapter 18

  GEORGETTE DOROTHY AARON

  There was something very educational, Georgette told herself, about being motored home by a constable who had questioned her about murder. She determined that the only reasonable thing to do was to learn from this experience and put it into a book.

  “Joseph is going to wring my neck,” Marian muttered. “He’ll be right to, but what is worse is when my parents discover what happened—”

  “Why should they?”

  “My mother has a preternatural ability to look at me and get me to confess, even when I don't wish to reveal all.”

  “Do you think she’d teach me?” Georgette asked with a sly look.

  Marian giggled. “I knew you were expecting before you even told me. I told Joseph so, but he told me I was wishfully dreaming.”

  “Expecting, Mrs. Aaron? If so,” the constable said, “I’d very much prefer that you not be guilty of this crime.”

  “We aren’t,” Georgette told him with a gentle tone. “You’ll see. Didn’t your man say that several neighbors saw a man running away from the house?”

  He scoffed. “Yes, they saw a tall-ish, blonde-ish, strong-ish man running down the street. The hat was pulled low and features weren’t distinguishable. Perhaps, maybe, they’d be able to identify the fellow again. All that can be said is that perhaps he was scratched by Morry and perhaps he was wearing a suit rather than coveralls.”

  Georgette snorted and asked, “You don’t think that’s enough?”

  “I think we’ll be lucky to find anyone other than you as the killer and no one thinks either of you were strong enough to take on ol’ Morry. Her brother said it was laughable that either one of you or both together could have out-muscled his sister. Said, she could have picked you both up with one hand.”

  “Also, we don’t have a motive to have killed Morry. But whoever helped kill and hide Polly Siegel sure had a reason to do so.”

  The constable glanced at Georgette and Marian and then grumbled under his breath.

  “A baby,” Marian sighed as soon as the constable looked away. “I want to hold her already.”

  “It could be a boy,” Georgette said, watching the world go by.

  “But you’re training Charles so well to have modern daughters. I feel certain that the universe would be better served by him fathering girls rather than boys.”

  Georgette placed her hand quite unconsciously over where the baby lay. “He’ll be a good father regardless of what we have.”

  The constable muttered again and Georgette gave him a cheeky grin. She’d caught that statement about modern, interfering women raising a generation of female vipers. He caught her quite unhidden grin and his scowl deepened, drawing a wink from her as well.

  “You are not the same in Harper’s Hollow as you were in Bard’s Crook,” Marian told Georgette.

  “You two are from Bard’s Crook?” He groaned. “I bet you were involved in those murders there, weren’t you?”

  “The killers were all found,” Georgette said mildly. “Clearly, we aren’t currently imprisoned, so it wasn’t us.”

  “Mistakes could have been made.”

  “This is what comes from interfering,” Marian told Georgette. “Suddenly it’s hard to believe we weren’t involved with those crimes.”

  Georgette’s mild reply irritated both Marian and the constable further. “Any fool could see we had nothing to do with Polly Siegel. She’s been dead for years, and I only stepped foot in Harper’s Hollow this year. Can you blame me for wanting to see justice done to someone who could kill a harmless girl?”

  They arrived in Harper’s Hollow before teatime and Georgette probably shouldn’t have said that they were back in time just as she promised. Even Marian’s tolerance for the trouble Georgette attracted seemed to have evaporated.

  Georgette waited long enough for Constable Higgins to send her on her way before she meddled more, and then she started walking towards the house.

  Marian tucked her arm through Georgette’s as they walked. “Are you examining every passing man for a tall-ish, blonde-ish fellow?”

  “Of course,” Georgette admitted. She nodded towards the tall-ish, blonde-ish man loading a truck in front of the hardware store. “Too young.”

  “No hat,” Marian added. “Not that it couldn’t be removed, but why would they?”

  Georgette shook her head. There was a tall-ish, blonde-ish man entering the pub. She couldn’t help but follow.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just watching,” Georgette said, taking a seat at the table and ordering a bowl of stew she didn’t want. She watched the gents come in and out. There were rather a lot of tall-ish, blonde-ish men when you got right down to it. There was the fellow who was working behind the bar. He worked efficiently, pulling a pint of beer, handing it over, joking with the blonde-ish man who’d ordered a basket of chips. He was a large man in the rotund kind of way and Georgette bet that someone would have mentioned him being fat if they also mentioned him being strongish. There was the blonde-ish man with spectacles sitting down to quite a large steak sandwich. He poured vinegar over his chips and added salt to his sandwich before taking a large bite. For such a slender man, he put the mound of food away rather briskly. There was another fellow at the bar, hunched over a drink. He wasn’t, however, sipping slowly. He drank the whole glass of whisky in several gulps and then ordered another.

  Georgette shook her head, wondering who the town drunk was when she caught his profile. Why that was Dr. Fowler! She shook her head. Perhaps one of those children he’d misdiagnosed had passed away. Scarlet fever was no easy illness and children died all too often from it.

  He ordered another whiskey by lifting his hand, and the sleeve of his shirt pulled back. There were deep scratches on his arm. Why would— An idea occurred to Georgette, a sudden weaving together of ideas really. What if…what if…Georgette shoved back her stew and said, “Come, Marian. I must attend my notes.”

  Slowly, Dr. Fowler turned and met Georgette’s gaze. Had he felt her staring at him? Did he know what she suspected? His gaze narrowed on her, and she wanted to flee. No, Georgette thought, she did not want to flee. She wanted to beat him within an inch of his life, stopping just short of murder because Georgette was not a killer.

  Georgette slowly stood, nodded to the doctor, and hurried out of the pub. She strode briskly with Marian having to run to catch up. Tall-ish, blonde-ish, hat pulled low. Georgette shook her head, wondering if she’d gone mad.

  Marian followed, demanding an explanation, but Georgette was so busy putting pieces together, she didn’t really hear Marian’s questions.

  Georgette hurried towards the house, feeling a distinct horror that chased her. She rushed inside, seeing Charles rise. He had a worried look on his face, but she couldn’t explain her thoughts. She wasn’t even sure she could explain her thoughts sensibly. Not when it was the doctor!

  “Charles! I need your help.” She rushed into his office and began digging through the boxes where they’d set aside paperwork.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Is everything well? Is it—”

  Joseph had followed them both, but Georgette ignored him and met Charles’s gaze, shaking her head. No, it wasn’t the baby.

  “I think—I think—oh my goodness, I don’t want to say it, but it all adds up. Charles! The doctor! He had regular appointments with Yelena Essent. Oh! Where are those bills I found? I found a whole box of household records.”

  Charles started looking as well, not even eyeing her as if she’d gone mad. This, she thought, was why she loved him. He just helped Georgette dig through the paperwork as Joseph demanded, “The doctor?”

  “Joseph! Joseph! Liam said that Yelena had regular times with one lover. The constable knew Polly had been murdered with one look, but the doctor tried to say it was an accident.”

  “He also misdiagnosed those children. Georgette, he could just be very bad at his work.”

  “Here it is,” Charles said. He flipped frantically through the pages and then shoved a bill towards Joseph. “If she’s right, Mr. Essent paid his wife’s lover.”

  Joseph shook his head. “Where is an old calendar?”

  They dug until the found one and then found the date that Polly Siegel disappeared. March 17. Tuesday, March 17. A day wherein Dr. Fowler had sent Mr. Essent a bill for assistance and therapy with Yelena’s megrims and hysteria. A Tuesday and Thursday lover. Bills from the doctor for Tuesdays and Thursday. A little girl missing after a Tuesday morning with her friends next door. What had Polly Siegel seen that day? It must have been something or why else would she be dead.

  Georgette shook her head and then rushed out of the house and down towards the Mustlys’ house. She saw Barnaby Mustly sitting on a bench and only waved as she invaded his garden. Georgette was climbing the old ladder to the treehouse.

  “What’s this?” Mr. Mustly asked Charles, Joseph, and Marian who had followed Georgette.

  She didn’t answer. She reached the opening in the bottom of the tree house and she slowly crawled inside. It had been cleaned out, but there was still a square box sitting near the window of the treehouse. Georgette took a seat on it and looked towards her house. The view into the master bedroom was as clear as day.

  Georgette groaned as Charles crawled through the window. “Take a look.”

  She didn’t want to stay up there any longer. The feel of Polly Siegel in Georgette’s house had been…faint. Like a sweet visitor. The feel of Polly Siegel in the treehouse was…it was too strong even if it was just Georgette’s imagination. She crawled back down the ladder and before she’d gone halfway, Joseph lifted her down.

  “You can see right into the master bedroom.”

  Mr. Mustly looked between them and then slowly said, “We found a butterfly chrysalis after Anna went inside the house. Polly and I did, and Polly wanted to put it in her treasure box. She crawled up there and puttered around for a good quarter hour before I told her she needed to head home to her mama.”

  Georgette pressed her fingers to her temples and took in a slow, deep breath. Her hands were shaking and she was certain she was going to sick-up.

  “If our timing is right, on a Tuesday in March, Polly Siegel saw Yelena Essent and her lover.”

  “It seems possible,” Joseph said. “And we have the fingerprint on the locket. If it’s his fingerprint, we have him! But…it could easily be Yelena Essent’s.”

  Georgette had the soul of a liar, she thought, wondering why they needed to mention the locket. Why be honest with him? She was convinced he was the killer of Polly Siegel. Or, if not the killer, then certainly he conspired to hide her body and knew the truth.

  “You need a confession.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Joseph said. “I can’t see us getting it.”

  “So lie to him.”

  Joseph frowned and Mr. Mustly surprised them all with a laugh.

  “I like her,” Mr. Mustly declared as Charles tugged Georgette under the safety of his arm.

  “He doesn’t need to know where the fingerprint came from, only that you have one and believe it is his. He doesn’t need to know that no one could identify him from today in Ely—only that he was seen. In fact, he has to know he billed Mr. Essent. Tell him you found the bills, took a sketch of him to Ely, and that you know it was him.”

  “You lie all too easily,” Charles told Georgette. He didn’t, however, sound bothered.

  “You know that, darling. You do pay me to do it.”

  Chapter 19

  GEORGETTE DOROTHY AARON

  In the morning, Charles said, “Have you considered that we could leave this all to Joseph and escape to Brussels?”

  Georgette was sitting her with tea, eyes closed, realizing that her stomach did not want her tea. It was possible that her heart was breaking. Was the baby doing this to her? She’d noticed changes to the feelings of her chest as she dressed. She had been, she thought, rather more emotional than usual.

  But…but her tea? Georgette couldn’t abide the thought. She cracked her eyelids and asked, almost waspishly, “Have you considered that we bought a house that needs expensive renovations, and you own a business that you’ve neglected?”

  Charles reached out and trailed a finger down her arm. “So we aren’t being imaginative today?”

  Georgette groaned, jerked her arm away from him, and said, “I might sick up. The smell of my tea is making me want to sick up.” She had to admit that her confession had ended on a wail. She had gone full-mad, she thought. “I can’t survive without tea.”

  Charles carefully examined her as she gave him her dourest look through her lashes.

  “Your child is a demon.”

  He bit back a laugh and she might have growled. She wasn’t quite sure, but she was almost certain she growled at him. At which point, he was no longer able to hold back his laugh.

  “What if I were to get you some ginger tea? I believe that ginger tea, mint, and chamomile might see you through.”

  “I need it,” Georgette whined. “I can’t just drink chamomile and mint. I wonder if I could mix black tea and ginger tea.”

  “You could try,” Charles said gently. “You’ll stay in the house while I go?”

  “I swear,” Georgette told him, crossing her finger over her heart, “I will not leave this house. Surely, Joseph is rounding up the doctor the moment he leaves?”

  Charles pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It seems likely.”

  “Wonderful,” Georgette said, trying not to cry over tea. “I’ll just work on my book and not think of tea or food or any sort of anything.”

  He paused and then nodded. “See that you do.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead again and then whispered, “We’ll find a tea for you. It will be all right. I promise our baby is not a demon and as the years pass, will even join you for a cuppa often.”

  Georgette pressed a kiss to his chin. “You turn an excellent phrase and promise a bright future, as I’ve already discovered.”

  Joseph stuck his head into the breakfast room and said, “Higgins is here to help me take everything back to the police office. We’ll be going after Dr. Fowler before luncheon, I hope.”

  Marian had not arrived in the breakfast room, and it seemed that Joseph was bypassing breakfast. Georgette wondered if she might curl up in her bed once again. The idea was appealing even though she’d slept far too long. Was this what growing a baby was like? Georgette found herself wishing desperately for her mother. She yawned and pushed her tea back.

  Then again, Georgette thought, her tea did provide her that first necessary burst of energy. If she wasn’t able to choke it down, would she be lethargic and useless without it? Georgette had a deep frown on her face when she made her way to the library to write.

  She was not going to be a victim of no tea. She was not going to lose more days to honeymooning or bodies or investigations. She was going to dive into her book and it wouldn’t be as black as her mood.

  Georgette settled back in the most comfortable chair she could find and sipped her water as she returned to her story. She had to read it through again, having completely lost the thread of the tale.

  Once feeling in her spine had disappeared, Georgette took her dogs to the garden, pacing until she’d recovered all feeling in her limbs. When she returned to the library, she found Janey lying on the floor near the desk where Georgette was working with a copy of Little Women. Georgette noted the fresh cool water and the plate of biscuits, and told Janey she was an angel.

  To Georgette’s surprise, hunger had returned. What if she were able to eat a biscuit and not feel sick? Could she dare a pot of tea then? Georgette broke off a piece of the biscuit, popped it in her mouth and noticed the dogs were gone.