Page 40 of One Last Smile

He notices the step and smiles at me. There’s some mirth in that smile, but mostly anguish laced liberally with affront. “I didn’t kill her, Mary,” he says softly. “I was gone home the day before she disappeared. You can check my plane ticket if you like. I still have it somewhere in my luggage. I went to her and told her that she needed to stop coming around and inciting the family. She made her mistake, and she needed to accept it.”

“How did she respond?”

“She asked me if I knew what my cousin was doing.”

“Which one?”

“She didn’t say. I assume Veronica, though, because she called her an unrepentant whore.”

I stiffen a little. “That’s a rather unkind thing to say about Veronica.”

“Unkind, yes. Unfortunately, also accurate. You know that she fled to South Africa with some man, and that’s how we have Lucas. Who I love, by the way, and who I hope is better than any of us. He has a real chance if the aforementioned unrepentant whore ever releases him from her clutches. But that’s not all Veronica’s done. Sebastian, for all his cunning in business, is a fool in love. She has cheated with numerous men, including, it seems, the father of Minnie’s child.”

“Goodness!” I exclaim.

I want to tell him that’s not possible, but the pieces of the puzzle are beginning to fit. The fighting that occurred right before Minnie’s disappearance, Sebastian’s refusal to acknowledge the event, everyone’s dismissal of Minnie’s very existence, Dr. Chalmers’s decision to cover up the pregnancy and likely decision not to report his suspicions.

Suspicions of Alistair. But he has an alibi. I suppose I could insist on confirming it, but why would Alistair mention an alibi if he wasn’t certain it could be proven?

I still don’t have all the answers, but once more, I’m closer. I just need the answer to one more question. That answer should give me the final answer to the final question: Who killed Minerva Montclair?

“Who was the father?”

Alistair meets my eyes. He’s still smiling, but his gaze is hard. “It’s in my best interests not to say exactly who I think it was. But I can tell you that Veronica keeps her correspondence in her dresser drawer upstairs. If you can stomach digging through the disorganized pile of lace panties she keeps in that particular drawer, you might find some interesting information. You may even find an answer to your question.”

He offers his arm, and this time, I take it willingly. As we walk back to the house, he says, “I would appreciate it if you kept what I’ve said to yourself. Say that you were cleaning and came across the letters if you should feel a need to go to the police. I am a worthless waste of a man for saying this, but it would be nice to obtain at least a small sum before the Carltons are ruined. Just enough for me to have one last go at being worth something before I sink to despair and die in a third-rate bar somewhere far from home.”

We reach the house, and before I can think of a response, he pulls his arm away and bows. “Thank you for a lovely walk, Miss Mary. If it means anything at all coming from me, I hope you find your purpose.”

He walks away, leaving me alone on the porch. I wait until he disappears around the corner, this time heading toward the west garden. Then I whisper, “I believe I have, Mr. Finchley.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I head immediately to Veronica and Sebastian’s room. I have no idea if Lucas is still working on his homework or prowling the grounds, or if he’s run off to parts unknown. I have to admit I’ve been a poor governess to him. He’s older, yes, but prior to Alistair’s arrival, I got the distinct impression that I was the only good influence in his life.

And I’ve thrown it away for a dead girl. The poor lad. He deserves better than me, and if I find what I need to put Minnie’s killer behind bars, I will at least do what I can to ensure he finds it.

But I’m so close now! If I can find the evidence Alistair refers to, then I could have what I need to bring Minnie’s killer to justice tonight!

So as soon as I arrive at the bedroom, I enter and head straight for the dresser to the left of the bed. I venture a guess that it’s Veronica’s, but that guess proves to be wrong, so I cross to the other side. As I do, I’m struck by the relative plainness of the furniture. It’s not cheap by any means, but it’s certainly not the grand arrangement I expected, considering the rest of the house. The furniture is plain gray wood, and the mattress, while comfortable, is adorned only with plain blue sheets and white pillows. The vanity mirror on top of the chest of drawers is a run-of-the-mill rectangular unit, and there’s limited scrollwork on the dressers, bedposts, and armoire. I suppose since no one will be here to see the room but the married couple, there’s no need to display their wealth.

I open the other dresser and check the drawers. The top one is full of blouses and shirts. The second contains various pants and leggings. The middle contains an astonishing amount of socks, pantyhose, and bras.

It’s the fourth drawer that finally reveals the panties Alistair is referring to. I blush a little when I realize he wasn’t kidding about the lace. Whether it’s for Sebastian or the mystery men Veronica cheats on him with, they’re lucky.

I dig underneath the panties but find nothing but the hard bottom of the drawer. Perhaps Alistair was wrong. I certainly hope not, because if anyone walks in on me doing this, I’ll certainly be fired.

I laugh at that. I’m stalking a murderer, and I’m worried about my job. Hell, if I find proof of the murder, I’ll probably lose it anyway. The silly reasons my mind comes up with to avoid danger.

On the third go-around, my finger comes across something cool to the touch. I pull it out to see a key. It seems Veronica has done a better job of hiding this secret correspondence. But what does the key open?

I look around the room and see nothing with a lock on it. There’s a wall safe, but it requires a code, not a key. I check the walk-in closet, but while I find what one would expect—dresses, suits, an obscene amount of shoes—I don’t find anything that this key might fit.

She couldn’t be keeping it hidden under the bed, could she? I check there and am surprised to see that it does, in fact, appear as though she’s hidden her letters under the bed. Presumably Sebastian never checks there. Or perhaps he doesn’t check at all, and she simply ran out of space to keep them in her underwear drawer.

I pull the small wooden chest out and insert the key. I chuckle a bit at the odd fixation this family has with hiding things in boxes: Lucas’s photographs, Oliver’s letters, and now Veronica’s letters.

I spread them out on the bed, heart pounding. God, I don’t know where to begin. There are dozens, no, hundreds of letters and cards. How can I tell which one is the father of Minnie’s unborn child?

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