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asked in a neutral tone.
    â€œYes, we are discussing the murder of your fiancé’s mistress,” Kurland said, regarding her closely.
    Francesca’s smile felt so brittle she did not know how long she could maintain it. “Mr. Kurland, everyone knows that Hart ended his affair three months ago, when we became engaged.”
    He rolled his eyes. “For such a smart investigator, you are awfully naive.”
    She tried to control her slowly rising temper. “I do believe I know Mr. Hart a bit better than you do. I would hardly agree to marry him if he were the cad society thinks him to be.”
    â€œIndeed, I’ll bet a month’s wages that you know him better than me!” He laughed, the implication clear.
    Francesca fought to contain her temper. “If you wish to think Hart so immoral as to keep a mistress while engaged, so be it. But I find it hard to believe you have come all this way uptown to discuss Hart’s private affairs.”
    â€œBut that is exactly why I have come, Miss Cahill,” Kurland exclaimed. He was eager now. “Good lord, the man’s mistress—all right, his ex-mistress!—has been murdered. This smacks of being a true crime of passion. Hart wouldn’t be the first man to rid himself of an un wanted mistress.”
    Francesca trembled, her fists clenched. “Did you come here to accuse my fiancé of murder?”
    He sobered. “Nope. I came here to ask you how you feel about it—the murder, I mean, of such a rival.”
    She inhaled. “Daisy was my friend, ” she lied. “We were friends before I ever became engaged to Hart, and I am going to find her killer.” She still could not decide just how muchKurland knew. “But I do agree with you on one point. I saw the body. It was a vicious and brutal crime of passion.”
    â€œYou saw the body?” Kurland repeated eagerly.
    Francesca was relieved. He obviously had no details of the murder. Of course, eventually he would uncover every detail, she had no doubt, but she would take all of the time that he could give her. “I found the body,” she said, then she corrected herself. “Actually, we found the body.”
    Kurland whipped out a notepad and pencil. “We?” he echoed. “Surely you do not mean you and Hart?”
    â€œI do,” Francesca said smoothly, although her cheeks felt hot. “Hart and I had been out to supper. He had some papers to drop off at Daisy’s. You surely know that she was living in a house he provided. In spite of the end of their affair, he had agreed she could stay on until July.”
    â€œSo I’ve heard,” Kurland said. “And at what time did you find Miss Jones?”
    â€œIt was about midnight.” Francesca described how she had found Daisy, but did not mention Rose’s presence. “We left the body and split up to look for the killer, but he or she was long since gone. When we returned, Rose was with Daisy.”
    Kurland stared. “This is very interesting, indeed! And where did you say you had dinner?”
    Francesca smiled. “It was a private affair.” She had no friends who lived downtown who would fabricate for her, but a maître d’ could be paid off. “We took a private room at Louis’,” she said, using the correct French pronunciation of the formal downtown restaurant.
    Kurland suddenly smiled and shook his head. “So you are Hart’s alibi, and he is yours.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œMiss Cahill. Surely you must realize, with all of your vast experience, that you are as much a suspect as Hart?”
    Francesca stared, her heart accelerating. “Just what are you trying to say?”
    â€œI heard the rumor that Daisy’s body was discovered independently by Hart and by Rose Cooper. I have heard no whispers that you were with Hart, although I had been told you were at HQ last night, looking into the