Read An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) for Free Online Page B

Dressed this way, I mean.”
    Jane appeared even more puzzled. She shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
    Alexandra took a deep breath and let it out slowly, unsure about whether or not she should continue. “What I’m asking,” she said, deciding to go ahead, “is if the admiral might have been associated with others—other men, that is—who may have dressed this way, or who enjoyed seeing him dress this way…” She stopped when she saw the look on Jane’s face. She was completely bewildered. It was clear she had no idea of such deviations in human behavior. It seemed cruel to confuse her more; it was best to get to the heart of the matter. “Jane, I just want to know if you believe anyone had any reason to murder your husband.”
    Jane’s face grew white and she seemed to shudder. “I thought we were done with that,” she said. “I thought that was what all of the questioning from Constable Snow was about.” She glanced away for a moment, and then turned her gaze back to Jane. “Why would anyone want to kill my husband?”
    “He had no enemies?”
    “Of course he had enemies. He was an admiral in Her Majesty’s Navy. Men do not rise to such a position without making a few enemies along the way. But certainly no one who would have wanted to kill him. Besides, he was retired. All of that was in the past for him.” Her gaze, hot with a passion Alexandra didn’t understand, burned into Alexandra’s eyes. “Why do you think he was murdered?”
    “I don’t know, except…”
    “Except what?” Jane said after a long pause.
    “Except that, as I said, what he was wearing made the circumstances unusual, even suspect.”
    Jane grew pale again, and she shook her head as if to deny it all. “His unusual attire? That’s your reason for wanting an autopsy?”
    “That’s only part of the reason. You see—”
    “Is it not certain that he drowned?”
    “It does look likely, but one can never be certain. Drowning can never be proven even with a postmortem examination.”
    “Then what would you be looking for?”
    “Another means of death. Poisoning, perhaps, or evidence of apoplexy or heart disease.”
    Jane turned away again, considering it. She sat, still on the edge of the sofa, perfectly straight, with her hands folded in her lap. “I see,” she said finally. Her voice was low, quiet. She turned back to Alexandra. “Then perhaps it is best that you proceed. But you must do it quickly and quietly. My husband has a brother in Suffolk, his only living relative, who, I am certain, would not consent to what I am sure he considers the indignity of the examination.”
    “Of course.”
    “And there is William. This must not be discussed in his presence.”
    “Certainly not,” Alexandra said. “I shall notify the constable and proceed as quickly as possible. I assure you, nothing need be made public unless there is evidence of foul play.”
    “I’m sure you’ll be discreet.” Jane stood as she spoke, a signal, perhaps, that Alexandra should leave. Alexandra didn’t hesitate to comply. Not only was she eager to begin the examination, but she was certain her presence was distressing to her hostess. She left, however, with something less than satisfaction. She had achieved her goal by getting permission for the examination but at great cost to Jane. Beyond that, she sensed that Jane, although she was naïve about certain aspects of deviant human behavior, still had not been truthful concerning what she knew about her husband’s unconventional attire. But if she was hiding something, some shameful truth, was it simply to protect her son?
     
    Nicholas Forsythe brushed at the dust that had accumulated on the cuff of his elegant black coat, then pulled at the velvet lapels. Finally, he used the tip of his cane to adjust his top hat, which was made of the finest, most luxurious beaver skin. He had just arrived by coach from London, along with a personal servant. He had