Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [198]
His eyes met Francie’s frozen gaze as he stood up and said quietly, “I’m afraid, ma’am, it is my duty to arrest you on suspicion of the murder of your brother, Harmon Lloyd Harrison, Jr.”
Francie looked numbly at him and then she said, “It’s not true. I didn’t kill Harry. I only lied to you because I knew if I told you I was home alone you would think I could have done it. This is all a mistake.”
“If you’d like to put on your coat, miss, we’ll take you down to the precinct and talk about it there.” He nodded to the uniformed police officer. “Escort Miss Harrison upstairs to get her things, Stieglitz,” he said, and Francie knew she was their prisoner.
She walked slowly upstairs to her room, too numb to think straight. She put on a dark-plum coat and a matching hat, pulling the little spotted veil over her eyes as she walked back to the door. Stieglitz followed her back down the stairs, past the frightened cook and the wailing Chinese maids and Ah Fong, who said with tears in his eyes, “I get Miss Aysgarth, Miss Francie. I call her for you right now. She always knows what to do.”
Detective Mulloy opened the door and Francie stepped out into a barrage of flashbulbs. She stared at them, startled, and then the detectives gripped her arms and hurried her into the waiting police car and drove her away.
CHAPTER 42
Friday, October 6th
Buck had left the hotel early on Thursday morning. He was at Stanford University, where he had just given a talk, when he heard the news about the fire, and in Sacramento when he heard that Harry was dead. Later he was shocked by the report that said Harry had been murdered.
It was late Friday evening when he returned to San Francisco. He had planned on returning to Washington first thing in the morning. There was no reason to stay, his work was done. He’d had a hard day with stops at more than a dozen large and small towns. He’d shaken hands with local dignitaries as well as with “real people.” He’d barely had time to snatch a bite and when he walked into his suite at Aysgarth’s all he wanted was a shower and bed.
“Is that you, darling?” Maryanne called from her room and he wondered wearily for the thousandth time who she thought it was. She emerged looking immaculate in a dark-green dress, her blond hair waved sleekly across her well-shaped head, and she was smiling at him.
“Poor darling,” she said soothingly, “I know you must be exhausted. Let me fix you a drink.” She went to the table and poured him a whiskey with one ice cube, the way he liked it. He sank tiredly into the chair and she sat opposite him on the sofa, swinging her foot gently, still smiling.
“I thought we might have supper up here,” she said. “Just something light. I know you’re too tired to cope with much.”
“If you like,” he said, uncaring, absently watching her foot swing to and fro. “What’s happened to your shoe?” he said suddenly. “It looks worn at the toe.”
Maryanne glanced down at her black suede pumps and her face turned pink. She had just thrown the shoes into the closet after she had come back from Harry’s and she’d slipped them on now without even looking. “Damn,” she said standing up and hurrying to her room to change them, “they are dusty, aren’t they? I’ll have the valet clean them tonight.”
“What happened to Harry?” Buck asked suddenly.
“Harry? Oh, isn’t it shocking? The poor man got burned up in his own house and now they think it’s murder.” She hesitated; she realized he didn’t know Francie had been arrested and she wondered whether to tell him, but decided against it. They were leaving first thing in the morning. She knew he was too tired to turn on the radio and if she kept the newspapers away from him with luck he wouldn’t find out about it until they were safely back in Washington.
“I suppose,” Buck said, staring reflectively into his