He nodded.
“I shall spend more time with Antonia,” Inez added. The future was already looking brighter for her ward, with a new friend at school and her renewed interest in her studies.
Inez continued, “I shall continue to explore investment opportunities, once I have more time. Offer piano lessons, perhaps teaching less fortunate students for free as I am doing for Patrick May. I still have hopes for him. Music frees the soul, you know.”
“Speaking of Mr. May, has he come out of hiding?” de Bruijn inquired.
Inez nodded. In her concluding conversation with Harry, she had made it clear she wanted no “payment” for her part in solving the murder, other than for him to clear Patrick’s name. “With Mr. Donato dead, there is no proof as to who committed the murder,” she explained. “Only Antonia and I heard what he said. All the evidence is circumstantial, and there’s not much of it. We have the collar from Mr. Donato’s cloak, but cannot prove that it was found on the scene. So, although we know who killed your son, we are the only ones. We need your influence with the police to free Patrick May. He is innocent.”
Harry, with a black band of mourning encircling his sleeve and looking more tired and worn than she had ever seen him, had just nodded. However, he had been true to his unspoken promise, and Inez had received a joyous visit from Bessie and Molly May, relieved that Patrick was freed and no longer a suspect. Inez had been surprised that Harry wasn’t more surprised when she had given her short report on Nico. She finally surmised he had already heard as much from de Bruijn. But still.
“Patrick May? Who’s he? And what’s this about a black market? Is that for Chinese vases and whatnot?” Flo looked from one to the other, blank. “Goodness, you two were busy while I was otherwise occupied.” Her gaze traveled from de Bruijn’s wrapped head to Inez’s broken arm. “I’m glad I stayed out of whatever it was you two were up to.”
Inez set her bread down, untouched. “I cannot stop thinking that, despite everything we did and all we uncovered, we failed in the end. We know Nico killed Harry’s son. But who killed Nico?”
Flo lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “It doesn’t matter. You gave Harry what he wanted: the name of his son’s killer.”
Inez continued, “I know you think that’s enough, Mrs. Sweet, and nothing more is to be done. Mr. Gallagher seems likewise inclined. Perhaps he believes that, in a larger sense, justice has been served. But I do not. Surely, Mr. de Bruijn, you feel as I do. It seems to me our work is not yet done. Does Mr. Donato’s murder have anything to do with our investigation? Or could the perpetrator be, as his sister thinks, a jealous husband? Will we ever know?”
Through Inez and Flo’s exchange and Inez’s final comments, de Bruijn’s face had grown increasingly troubled. He finally removed his napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it beneath his plate. “Our investigation is ended, Mrs. Stannert. Mr. Donato’s business in stolen antiquities alone would have made him many dangerous enemies, men who are as invisible as they are violent. I doubt the perpetrator will ever be found.”
She met his straightforward gaze. His dark brown eyes were noncommittal, yet Inez could swear he was concealing something with his studied neutrality, just as his plate now concealed his napkin.
He knows something about this, but he will not tell.
If that was the case, Inez thought, perhaps it was for the best. For if she knew the whys and wherefores of Nico’s murder, would she have to keep that from Carmella as well, storing it away with all her other secrets?
Meanwhile, Flo’s attention had wandered off and away, roaming around the dining room. She brightened. “There is Mr. Poole! He promised to take me on a drive to the Cliff House before we leave San Francisco.” She rose, bestowing a brilliant smile on de Bruijn and Inez. “The bill for luncheon goes to Mr. Gallagher, correct? Tell him thank you. Well, no, tell him to go to hell, what with all he put me through. The three of us, we shall all meet again, I hope? Under better circumstances?” She retrieved her parasol and beaded bag. After fluttering her fingers at them with a “Toodle-oo,” she threaded her way to the dining room entrance where Inez espied the stocky figure of Poole, waiting.
De Bruijn, who had risen when Flo did, sat back down. “Well, Mrs. Stannert, now that we can count this particular episode as closed. I have one other matter I would like to discuss with you. If it is possible and not an intrusion, I hope you might consider allowing me to call on you and Antonia now and again. Informally.”
Inez hesitated. “I shall need to speak to Antonia before I can give you an answer.”
“Of course.”
Inez thought it was very likely that if de Bruijn hadn’t offered to keep in touch, Antonia would have insisted they visit him. She gathered her purse. “Will you be staying on in the hotel?”
“For now. They have any number of full-time residents. It seems like a reasonable location for me to set up my business.”
“Hmmm.” Inez inspected the detective, his somber dress, his somber mood. She reflected on how, once he had somehow managed to put it all together from his sickbed, he had dragged himself out to try and right a situation that he suspected was about to go terribly wrong. “You said you are taking on clients. Of all kinds?”
He settled his hat gingerly atop his head, picked up his cane—not as fine a one as was stolen, but fine
