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case.”
    â€œI don’t know who your sources are,” Francesca said flatly, “but I would not rely too heavily on them. And no one has pointed a finger my way.”
    â€œYeah, well, I can’t imagine Bragg allowing that,” Kurland said with heavy significance. “But I bet he wouldn’t mind pointing the finger at your fiancé.” He grinned.
    Unfortunately, Kurland had caught her and Bragg in a somewhat compromising situation, well before Leigh Anne had returned from Europe to reconcile with him. “I am not involved,” Francesca said. “You may think what you want, but in the end, the truth will out.”
    â€œYes, in the end, I will learn the truth—every grisly aspect of it.” Kurland slipped his notepad into his jacket. “I do appreciate your candor, Miss Cahill.” He tipped his fedora at her.
    Francesca turned to walk him to the door. In the hall, he paused, and Francesca tensed.
    â€œOf course, I have only just begun to dig,” he said. “And there is one more possible theory.”
    â€œI’m sure there are many theories,” Francesca said.
    â€œPerhaps you and Hart conspired to murder Miss Jones together?” he asked pleasantly.
    â€œHart has conspired to murder no one, Mr. Kurland, but if you wish to cast stones at me, so be it. I am not afraid of your slander,” Francesca said. She did not wait for the doorman, but jerked the heavy front door open herself. “Good day.”
    â€œI hardly mean to upset you, Miss Cahill, but you and Hart had the most to gain from the death of his mistress.”
    â€œGood day, Mr. Kurland.” She finally lost her compo sureand slammed the door closed in his face. Then she stood there, staring at the beautiful grain of chestnut-hued wood, her heart hammering hard and fast. Kurland would probably learn the real facts of the case by the end of the day. He might be scum, but he was a tenacious and skilled reporter. That did not give her much time to unearth a valid suspect. Francesca had little doubt that if she did not find someone other than Hart with motive and means, to morrow’s headlines would be very distasteful, indeed.
    â€œFrancesca!”
    Francesca stiffened in disbelief. Her mother could not be standing behind her now. Although Julia was an early riser, she never left her rooms before eleven, preferring to take care of all of her correspondence in the mornings.
    â€œFrancesca!” Julia clasped her shoulder from behind.
    Francesca turned, aghast, to face her stricken mother. “What—what are you doing up and about at this hour?”
    â€œI wanted to speak with your father before he left the house,” Julia cried. “Hart’s mistress is dead? Murdered?”
    Francesca’s mind raced. Her mother knew everything that happened in society. Of course, she would know about Hart’s relationship with Daisy. Yet she had been Hart’s biggest supporter and was so favorably disposed toward their marriage that Francesca had some how assumed that she hadn’t known about Daisy. She managed, “She was his ex-mistress, Mama. And yes, she was murdered last night.”
    Julia moaned. “And you and Hart are suspects?”
    â€œMama!” Francesca put her arm around her. “We are not suspects! Hart discovered the body, but Daisy’s friend, Rose Cooper, actually found her first. Mama, I am investigating the case. So far, there are no suspects. We don’t even have an autopsy report.”
    But Julia was shaking her head. “How could you allow that man into the house! His articles are scurrilous!”
    â€œI know. I wanted to make certain he did not jump to the wrong conclusions.”
    Francesca knew what her mother was thinking—that Francesca wanted to make certain he did not suspect Hart. “Mama, please don’t worry. I am going to find Daisy’s killer.”
    â€œDon’t worry. Of course I am