Violet pressed her face against his chest, hoping somehow that it would help comfort him. She had no idea what to say. Just the image of what he’d seen that morning, the idea of it, would give Violet nightmares. She was grateful, beyond grateful, that she hadn’t decided to dress and go with him that morning. It had crossed her mind for the shred of a moment. If she had left the house, she could escape the funereal air and the painful mourning that was as constant as breathing, but only to walk into a charnel house.
Vi pulled back from Jack. “I assume Scotland Yard knows now?”
Jack nodded. “Mrs. Meyers wants me to find who killed her grandson.”
“Surely it was her,” Violet said, shivering at the idea of a young, handsome man lying dead surrounded by a chorus of cuckoo clocks. She swallowed bile, feeling a bit faint and knew she should have eaten earlier in the day.
“I don’t know,” Jack muttered. “Everyone we met in connection with this case has a reason to hate Jason Meyers. I hate him a fair amount, and I didn’t even meet him.”
Vi paused and then said, “I’d like to pretend to care, Jack, but I don’t. I don’t care who killed him, and I have no desire to help find his murderer.”
“Usually justice itself reaches out and refuses to let you rest.”
“Except,” Violet countered, “what justice? Where is the justice that Rita and Ham’s baby died without living and that…that…beast Jason Meyers got a quarter of a century, and he used that whole time to torment the people who loved him. I don’t care if Mrs. Meyers is grieving her grandchild. I don’t care. I just…I don’t have it in me right now, Jack.”
He pressed his lips against her forehead. The simple, “All right,” was all that Vi needed to hear to breathe a little easier.
She headed down the stairs, saw the closed bedroom door, and choked back an unholy shriek. She’d have let it out if it wouldn’t have added to Rita’s pain. Instead, Vi pressed her own hand over her mouth and growled low.
Jack followed Vi into their bedroom. She crossed to the bed, slamming her fists into it over and over again, and then—exhausted too quickly—curled up on the end of it.
“I wish she wouldn’t try to be brave.” Vi closed her eyes against the building headache. The lights of the bedroom were burning through her lids, and she wished they’d lose power again. She’d much rather have the softer light of a candle in moments like this.
“Have you had any coffee today?”
Vi shrugged and yawned. Had she? Hargreaves had sent food up to the nursery, always thinking of her, but Vi didn’t remember eating. She had rocked Agatha and sung her to sleep for a nap and then dealt with the tantrum Vivi had thrown with every bit of her incredible will.
Then, later, Vi had rocked baby Lily while Lila watched silently. Lila was a good enough friend that she didn’t tell Vi that she would be a good mother. Though, now that Vi thought about it, she didn’t think that either of them would have said such a thing today.
Violet had gone for a walk with the twins after they had woken and both Lila and Denny had come along while Kate took an afternoon nap. Vi cried in the garden and again in the park across the street. She’d cried over the cup of coffee that Hargreaves had sent up…Vi suddenly remembered. She had cried into the cup and then set it aside without drinking any.
“No,” Vi finally answered, “no, I don’t think so.”
Jack nodded and sent for coffee before handing her aspirin and water and then nudged her down to the dining room. Vi hadn’t dressed for dinner, so she sat in a rumpled day dress, but she was in good company. Most of them staggered into the room with similar degrees of dishevelment and faced each other quietly.
To Vi’s gasping joy, Rita and Ham arrived last. They took seats quietly. Unlike the rest of the group, Rita and Ham had dressed for dinner. Rita wore a long, black evening gown that felt like mourning garb even though she’d bought it for a party. Ham wore his usual evening suit, black with a black tie. Both of them wore exhaustion like cloaks.
“Rita—” Kate started, her voice gentle.
“Don’t,” Rita snapped. She sniffed, her gaze focused on her plate. The dark circles under her eyes were glaringly obvious against her too pale skin, and her eyes were bloodshot if you could catch a glimpse of them. She had the splotchy skin of a person who had wept the day away.
“All right,” Kate said carefully. She turned to Vi, eyes wide and panicked as she asked, “How was your day?”
Vi started to answer, but she stumbled over herself.
“I,” Denny started, “read long selections of Varney the Vampire. That book, whatever it is, it’s horrible.”
Victor laughed too loudly and then added—still too loud, “Makes Vi and I seem like geniuses, doesn’t it?”
Rita seemed to relax and when she reached for the wine glass that Hargreaves had silently filled, it seemed as though the entire room sighed in relief.
Chapter 12
“Tell me something,” Rita said when the dining room became too quiet once again, “anything.”
Vi met Rita’s gaze and the two of them stared at each other before Vi said, “Jack’s case turned to murder.”
Rita slowly turned to Jack. “Murder?”
“Murder,” Denny said with forced hilarity, attempting to channel his usual good humor and failing.
“I knew that woman’s case was odd,” Smith said smoothly. His even, cool tone was as oddly melodic as ever. The normality of it felt strange, but Rita looked up gratefully with so much desperate earnestness that he added, “That woman. Can’t say I cared for her in the least. Did the grandson kill her?”
Jack stared for a moment and then he shook his
