“But how could you sell something as recognizable as Sarah Huffington’s ring? And what did you take from the Bradleys? The family never reported anything missing, but your letter indicated you took something,” she asked.
He smiled cynically at her. “There’s a buyer for anything in this town, Genevieve. Anything. You simply have to know who to ask. As for … Elmira, I took her ring as well. Big as a bird’s egg, that thing.”
“And you managed to find a buyer?” she asked skeptically.
Rupert shook his head. “Not for that, no. That I gave back.”
Genevieve felt her eyes widen, suddenly feeling awake again. “Esmie.”
The smile was softer now, less cynical. “Yes, Esmie. She figured out I was the thief and confronted me. Said she’d cancel the engagement and expose me unless I gave back her mother’s ring and the Maple diamonds. She’s clever, that girl. Far more clever than she lets on.”
Genevieve’s mind instantly flashed back to the night of Esmie’s engagement ball. “The benefits of being a wallflower,” Esmie had said. “You see everything. I know all kinds of secrets.” Genevieve made a mental note: what else did Esmie know?
“I had hoped being engaged would help,” Rupert said dolefully. “Knowing I had money coming. I’ve read some books that described my … behavior, and some of these doctors, at least, seem to think a person like myself might get better in time. Maybe a fool’s hope.”
“But why steal from the Bradleys after your engagement was announced?” Genevieve asked, confused. “That seems a bit self-destructive.”
Rupert sighed. “I don’t know. It was … one final act of rebellion, I suppose. God rest her, but I never did care for Elmira. She spent the whole of the ball smirking, so pleased with herself to be aligned with our family.” He barked a short, bitter laugh. “If only she knew what a mess poor Esmie will marry into.”
“And then Elmira was killed, and the wedding was delayed,” Genevieve guessed. “Another year with little funds.”
“Yes,” Rupert sighed. “Hence my taking these.” He pulled the Maple diamonds out of his coat pocket, where they glistened and sparkled in the gaslight. All three were silent as he gently placed the jewels on a side table.
“It’s done now,” he said. “I’ve promised Esmie. I can’t risk that marriage. Unbelievably, she seems willing to marry me regardless of what I’ve stolen, but she did make me promise to stop.”
“Will you be able to?” It was Daniel, now leaning against the credenza with his hands shoved into his pockets, who asked the question.
Rupert looked at them both helplessly. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
Daniel met her eyes from across the room. “Well, Genevieve? Are you going to turn him in?”
She waited a few moments, considering. Turning over all the various angles in her head. “I don’t know either,” she said finally. “Not that I condone stealing. But I think you need help, and I’m not sure you’d get that in the Tombs.” Rupert’s faced blanched further at the mention of the notorious prison. “Let us put the matter of Rupert’s crimes aside for now. If Robin Hood isn’t a murderer, who killed Reginald Cotswold and Elmira Bradley? Who tried to kill me? And how do we keep them from killing again?”
CHAPTER 21
Daniel pushed himself away from the furniture he’d been leaning on and, after an inquiring look toward Genevieve—she still had that gun on her lap and obviously had an anxious trigger finger he did not care to startle—finally sat. His entire body, which he’d been holding tense for the past thirty minutes, seemed to sigh in relief.
“I have ideas about how to stop them. As to who they are, I think you have the answers to that, Genevieve.”
He could tell that surprised her. “In one of your notes to me, you said you’d uncovered who was behind Lexington Industries,” he continued.
Genevieve’s eyes narrowed at him. “So pleased you finally read my missives, Daniel.”
He hoped his expression betrayed exactly how sheepish he felt.
“Just this afternoon, yes. They were waiting for me.”
“Where have you been?” she inquired with a curious expression. “Did you retreat to that brothel again?”
A half smile involuntarily tugged at the corner of his mouth. “For a time. It’s owned by my cousin, you see.”
“Ah,” was her only reply. She didn’t seem quite satisfied with that answer.
“He was drinking away his sorrows in the most rotten pit imaginable, Genevieve,” Rupert chimed in, sounding more like himself again. “Whiskey like rotgut. He was three sheets to the wind by the time I found him, possibly even drunker than he was the day we graduated Harvard; do you remember that, Daniel? You said you wanted to give Boston a proper send-off, but by three in the morning …” He trailed off, seeming to notice for the first time that they were both giving him singularly incredulous looks. “Well, he’s come to his senses now,” Rupert muttered, shrinking a bit in his chair.
Daniel turned his attention back to Genevieve and leaned toward her, resting his forearms on his knees. Gratifyingly, she didn’t flinch back or tighten her grip on her weapon. “Tell me,” he said simply.
He could see excitement replacing the anger in her eyes. “Recall ‘Syndicated American Hospitality’?”
He sucked in a breath. “Sarah Alston Huffington.”
Genevieve smiled triumphantly. “The very same. Syndicated American Hospitality Co. is the major investor and part owner of Sampson Affiliated Habitats, Incorporated.”
“And their purpose?” He was sure he knew, but he needed the confirmation. All trace of tiredness was gone now, every sense on full alert.
Genevieve leaned forward, matching his pose. “Construction,” she breathed. “And building management.”
“And their profits?”
“Sky-high.”
He smacked a fist into his open palm as the puzzle pieces dropped neatly into place. A huge weight he’d barely been aware of was suddenly lifted, and he stood, energized.
“Stupid of me not to see it. Of course, they were in on this together.” He began to pace the width of the room, his mind working furiously.
Genevieve
