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the corner of her mouth and studied the blood on his fingers, rubbing it between them. “The blood has a purple tinge.” After a moment he stood and removed a square of linen from a pocket, taking care to thoroughly wipe his fingers. “The appearance is that of poisoning.”
    Bianca had considered as much, but to hear him say it still came as a shock. She had dismissed the notion, refusing to believe Jolyn was a victim of ill intentions, preferring instead that her friend had died from a natural cause. The words sounded with such authority that she dreaded where this might lead, and from the look on his face, so did John.
    Patch wasn’t so dim that he, too, couldn’t see where this logic was going and immediately spoke up. “So’s this vacation of yours . . . did the deceased come to you for one of your balms?”
    Bianca stood to fix the constable with a hard stare. “No, she did not.”
    “Well, why ’id she come here? What for?”
    “Jolyn is my friend,” said Bianca. “She came to visit.”
    “We’ve been friends with Jolyn for a while,” said John. “She’s been doing well as late, and she wanted to talk about her suitor.”
    Patch squinted at John. “I says we need to find this suitor, ” he said, drawing out the word to give it emphasis. “So was there any jealousy between ye’s? She had a suitor, after all.”
    “Of course not,” answered Bianca. “I was glad for her.”
    “Did she ’ave somethin’ maybe ye wanted?” Patch ticked his head toward Jolyn. “Like maybe that necklace?”
    Bianca grew indignant. “She was my friend. I don’t care a spot about jewelry. Search my room if you want.”
    Patch considered, but continued to question her. “Well, maybe it was made of gold. Maybe ye could have poisoned her, then took the necklace, needin’ the gold for your . . . alchemy.”
    Bianca was riled. The unwitting constable had no idea the dragons he unleashed insinuating she would poison her friend and referring to her work as alchemy.
    “Sir,” said Bianca, seething, “what I do is not alchemy. I would thank you not to refer to it as such.”
    Unperturbed, Patch pressed on. “Aws, wasn’t ye father an alchemist? Albern Goddard? Why, I remember that he was accused of tryin’ to poison the king.” His mouth twitched. “Maybe it’s just what ye do. Maybe it’s just what ye know.”
    “That was a false charge, sir. My father has been absolved of that crime.”
    “Constable Patch,” said John, “Bianca only makes salves and tinctures to help the sick. The unfortunate business of her father has no bearing on Jolyn. Bianca has severed ties with him. It is a completely separate matter.”
    “A separate matter, but worth bearing in mind,” added Patch, looking to the coroner for agreement.
    The coroner snorted, enjoying the drama that was playing out between Patch and this alchemist’s daughter. He studied Bianca a moment before speaking. “It is probably of no import,” he said. “However, did you give Jolyn anything to drink or eat?”
    Bianca hesitated. Should she admit she had concocted a drink to soothe Jolyn’s flux? A sinking feeling settled in her gut. She knew where this question was leading. Ultimately, the onus would be on her to prove her innocence.
    She would have to discover why Jolyn had died. She didn’t trust that these two men could (or would) figure it out. Constable Patch looked ready to lock her away, and the coroner seemed as though he’d lose interest as soon as he walked out the door. She opted to lie, if only to give herself more time. “No, I did not,” she said.
    The coroner glanced at John, but John was practiced in deceit and knew when to keep his own counsel. He liked to think Bianca had learned her guile from him.
    “So did your friend seem well?” asked the coroner.
    “Generally, sir, she did. I thought she looked happier every time she visited. She no longer had to scrounge through the mudflats to survive.” She took a breath to speak of