“Well, then, who did this Lizzie think it was?” she asked, her fine eyes lighting with interest.

Frank chose not to notice. “She didn’t even know about… about the girl’s secret. The groom didn’t seem to, either.”

He took a renewed interest in his supper, feeling suddenly awkward to be once again discussing such a delicate subject, this time over dinner, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which it wasn’t, not to Frank.

She must not have shared his discomfort, however. “Did you find out how she got away from the house without being caught?”

“The groom helped her. Hired a fishing boat. He sold her jewelry for her and found her the room at the Higgins’s house.”

Her lips pursed as she considered this information. “Mr. VanDamm certainly doesn’t know all this or the groom wouldn’t still be there.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

He wasn’t sure if she disapproved or not, but he didn’t really care. “Not unless it serves my purpose.” It was the only answer he could give, and he was oddly gratified by her apparent approval.

“So we still don’t know who the father of her child was,” she mused, and Frank felt his hackles rising again.

“Mrs. Brandt, there is no we in this investigation. I’m the detective. You’re, not.” He’d almost said she was nothing, but he’d thought better of it just in time. He figured Sarah Brandt would take offense, and besides, she wasn’t really nothing, no matter how much he might wish it.

“I did find out who Hamilton Fisher is,” she reminded him.

He had to give her that. “You’d just better hope he doesn’t come looking for you some dark night.”

She seemed amused at the thought. “So if the groom isn’t the father of her child-and I think we can be rather certain of that-then who was?”

Frank thought he had already reminded her this wasn’t her business, but obviously, she didn’t care. She just kept right on, not even waiting for Frank to respond.

“Mina-her sister-insisted that Alicia didn’t have any gentlemen friends. She hadn’t even entered society yet, so that would eliminate possible suitors.”

Frank merely grunted as he continued to devour his stew.

“What is it?” she demanded.

He looked up in surprise and swallowed a mouthful of meat and potatoes. “What is what?”

“What you aren’t telling me. I said Alicia didn’t have any suitors, and you disagreed.”

“I did not!”

She gave him a pitying look. “You know something you haven’t told me. Don’t try to deny it.”

“You shouldn’t be too surprised at that,” he warned her. “There’s no reason for me to tell you anything at all.”

She obviously couldn’t be insulted. “Alicia did have a suitor, didn’t she? Who was he?”

Frank was beginning to wonder if Sarah Brandt might be a witch. Very deliberately, he took another piece of bread from the plate, tore off a bite and popped it in his mouth. Chewing slowly, he regarded her, marveling at the way she met his stare levelly, not even blinking, when hardened criminals usually flinched. Well, what the hell, maybe she could help him make sense of this.

“Harvey, that’s the groom, he said she ran away because her father wanted her to marry somebody she hated.”

“Good heavens! She was barely sixteen!”

“And six months gone with child,” he reminded her. “Naturally, he’d want to marry her off to somebody.”

“But that man wasn’t necessarily the father, was he?”

Frank shrugged. “There’s only a couple people can tell us that, and the one most likely to is dead.”

“And the rest will probably lie.”

Frank stared at her again. Really, she had missed her calling. Of course, the police didn’t employ female detectives, but if they did, Sarah Brandt would have been pretty good. He saw she was thinking, and he knew that could be dangerous.

“It’s still none of your business, Mrs. Brandt,” he reminded her. “No matter how much you want to see the killer caught, it’s my job to catch him, not yours.”

“But I could-”

“No.” He gave her the glare that stopped felons in their tracks, but she merely frowned.

“Do you think Cornelius VanDamm is going to tell you anything? Or that Mina will? Or Mrs. VanDamm?”

“Do you think they’ll tell you either?” he countered.

“I could find out,” she insisted.

“No,” he said again. “Stay out of it.” He sighed wearily. “I thought you said if I told you what I know, you’d promise not to interfere anymore.”

“I said I’d promise not to bother you anymore. I don’t think it would be a bother if I found out who Alicia’s father wanted her to marry.”

“It will bother me if you don’t stop meddling in my investigation.”

“I found out who Hamilton Fisher is,” she reminded him again. “I told you to question the servants to find out more about her.”

“And you might’ve put yourself in danger in the meantime. You’ve done enough. Let the police do their job now, Mrs. Brandt.”

Her face hardened with a bitterness that shocked him, and anger flared in her blue-gray eyes. “I’m fully aware of how the police do their job, Detective Sergeant Malloy, so you’ll forgive me if I’m less than confident in your ability to solve this case.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, angry himself.

“I’m talking about a murder that happened three years ago and still isn’t solved.”

“Was this someone you knew?” he asked skeptically.

“My husband.”

For a full minute, Frank could only stare. He’d known she was a widow, of course, but he’d never troubled himself to wonder what had become of the late Mr. Brandt. “How did it happen?”

“Tom was coming home late one night from a case. I didn’t think it odd when I woke up the next morning and he wasn’t here. He was frequently gone all night. Then the police came and told me he’d been found dead in an alley. His money was gone, and his skull was…” her voice caught, but she swallowed down whatever emotions threatened to choke her and forced herself to go on. “His skull was fractured.”

“It’s almost impossible to solve a case like that,” Frank said, feeling oddly defensive. “A robbery at night, with no witnesses. No connection between the killer and the victim. No clues or evidence.”

“They could have tried,” she countered, plainly not interested in reason or logic. “People like that don’t keep secrets. They brag to their friends. Someone knew who killed Tom. A few well-placed bribes, and someone would have-”

“Why didn’t you offer a bribe, then? You offered one to me quick enough,” he recalled with bitterness of his own.

“I didn’t know the rules back then, and I was too grief-stricken to learn them at the time. I thought the police would find the killer because it was the right thing to do. I know better now, and I intend to see that this killer doesn’t get away.”

“Even if it means using yourself as bait?” he asked baldly, but if he’d hoped to shock her, he failed.

“If that’s what it takes, Mr. Malloy. If that’s what it takes.”