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shirt,” he said.
    Hart had tossed his charcoal-gray jacket aside. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his dark tie loose and askew. He rarely wore a vest, and dried blood stained the finely woven white cotton material of his shirt. Now he glanced down at his own chest.
    â€œYou held her?” Bragg asked.
    Francesca tensed.
    An interminable moment passed and Francesca thought Hart was recalling the moment he had first seen Daisy dead on the study floor. She touched his arm; he did not notice. “I saw her the moment I reached the study door. It was ajar. There was so much blood. I knew instantly that she had been murdered.” Hart finally looked at his half brother. “But I checked to see if she was breathing. She wasn’t. I was on my knees.” He stopped. He had spoken as if reciting notes for a university class. Now he looked down. “Yes, I held her.”
    Francesca turned away. Her heart beat so hard it hurt her there, inside of her chest.
    â€œGo on,” Bragg said to Hart, as if he had not just revealed his feelings, when they all knew he had.
    Hart shrugged. “I instantly wondered if the killer remained in the house. I was about to begin a search when I saw Rosecoming inside, without any kind of wrap. Clearly she had only just stepped out. I was suspicious and I made certain she did not see me. She went directly to the study. She was not surprised to find Daisy dead there, but she was very distraught.”
    â€œShe still did not see you?” Bragg asked.
    Hart shook his head. “We all know that Rose was very fond of Daisy. Although her behavior seemed suspicious, I left to search the house, on the chance I might find either the killer or a clue. I had just finished speaking with the butler and a housemaid when I ran into Francesca.”
    â€œAnd that would have been at midnight,” Bragg confirmed.
    â€œI guess so,” Hart said, suddenly sounding tired. “Are we through?”
    Francesca would have been consumed with guilt for her deception, but there was too much worry and hurt. She could not get past the fact that Hart had admitted to holding Daisy in his arms, obviously grieving for her. She reminded herself that he had every right. After all, she still cared for Bragg. She would grieve until the day she died if anything ever happened to him. Why couldn’t she accept that Hart had continued to care for Daisy, too?
    Because she had always been jealous of the fact that Hart had once wanted Daisy enough to keep her as a mistress.
    Francesca did not want to think about how insecure Daisy had always made her feel. She took a breath and plunged into the fray. “Rick, I arrived just a few moments before I bumped into Hart. When I arrived, the front door was ajar. I found Rose with Daisy, in grief. There was no sign of a murder weapon. I covered up the body and I also thought to look for the killer, as I heard a noise in the hall. That is when I ran into Calder on the stairs.”
    â€œAnd you went to Daisy, for what reason?”
    Francesca reached into her beaded velvet evening bag andhanded him the note. He read it and gave it to Newman. “Tag it,” he said. He faced Hart. “And the note Daisy sent you?”
    Hart was rubbing his jaw. “It’s probably on my desk, where I left it.”
    â€œI’m afraid I will need it, Calder.”
    â€œI’ll send it to you,” Hart said. He walked away from Bragg and Francesca, as if deep in thought. Francesca watched him, aware of Bragg watching her. This was one case that she was not going to be enthusiastic about working on. She turned to Bragg. “Rose has admitted to finding Daisy murdered, Rick. I think we need to pursue her as a suspect, as distasteful as that is.”
    Bragg spoke, not to Francesca but to Hart. “You have a houseful of witnesses, do you not, who will testify that you were at your home from the time you arrived there, at approximately 8:00 p.m., until