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sorry.”
    “Are you?” he said.
    “Be calm, dear.” She turned to me. “Very clever, Constable. Were you hoping my brother would confess to killing poor Lily if you angered him sufficiently?”
    “It was a thought,” I said.
    She had changed her dress since I saw her at the lending library and she had freed her long auburn hair from its chignon. I knew she was a spiteful creature, and a librarian to boot, but my heart beat a little faster and I realized that a part of me still wanted to see Veronica Cream smile.
    “You told me you were a detective,” she said.
    “I hoped to impress you. I always hope to impress beautiful women. But it was a useful lie because you ran straight to your brother and warned him that I might visit. Do you think he would have let me in the door if he knew I was a constable?”
    “I doubt it very much. So you knew I was here the entire time?”
    “I suspected you were.”
    “You seem to suspect a great deal. Did you follow me here from the library?”
    “No. Your brother called me ‘Inspector’ before I’d even introduced myself. My calling card says no such thing.”
    “How clever of you. Perhaps you should be a detective after all.”
    “Did you murder poor Lily George?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Perhaps you both killed her.”
    “Not at all. If she’s dead, I’m sure she did it to herself. She was a timid thing, never strong.”
    “Lily drowned in the canal four streets over. But she was choked first. There were marks on her throat.”
    “She must have met with an unfortunate accident,” Veronica said. “My brother and I are devastated, of course.”
    “An accident?”
    “I can only assume. Perhaps she went for a walk last night and was surprised by a ruffian. Some man, some criminal, strangled Lily for whatever she had in her pocketbook and then threw her in the canal. It seems clear enough to me. Perhaps if you were out there doing your job such things wouldn’t happen.”
    “It works as a story,” I said. “But you like stories, don’t you? I prefer the truth.”
    “I suppose the truth is whatever you choose to believe, ‘Inspector.’”
    “Enough, Veronica.” Geoffrey’s voice was quiet and he didn’t look at me as he spoke. I couldn’t see his face. “I did try to help poor Lily, you know.”
    “You tried to help her?” I said.
    “Oh, do be quiet, Geoffrey,” Veronica said.
    He ignored her. “She really was an emotional girl. I thought she might brighten up a bit upon marriage, but she went to her room directly after the wedding and wouldn’t come out for hours.”
    “She was unhappy?”
    Geoffrey nodded. “I don’t know why. I really don’t. I became . . . concerned. When I finally had my man open her door, she was sitting at her vanity, staring into the mirror and she had the most horrible bruises on her neck. She didn’t say anything. She simply stood and left her room, walked right past me as if I didn’t exist, and walked out of the house.”
    “Her throat was already bruised?”
    “She must have done it to herself.”
    “You didn’t follow her?”
    “I thought she’d come home. I thought we’d talk.”
    “Did your sister follow her?”
    “I did not,” Veronica said.
    “No,” Geoffrey said. “She was here with me. She never left.”
    Veronica smiled and I was disappointed to find I’d been wrong: a smile failed to improve her. “Let’s have enough of this foolishness,” she said. “No crime’s been committed here. Join us for tea, Mr Pringle.”
    She moved around the desk and approached me. One sleeve of her dress had slipped from her smooth white shoulder. She laid her fingers on my chest and I breathed her hair. Lilacs and vanilla. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror across the room and saw that wolf grin and was ashamed. Lamplight flickered across the surface of a diamond. I caught Veronica’s hand and twisted the ring from her finger. I pushed her away.
    “Why are you wearing a wedding