The Detective and the Woman by Amy Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

far West. I was born in New Jersey, and I have spent all my time in the United States on the East Coast. I must ask if the stories of street shootouts and wild Indians are as common as we’re told.’ I wiped my lips daintily on my napkin, priding myself that my inane question was exactly the sort of thing Lavinia James could be expected to wonder.
    Murphy smiled broadly and began speaking in a tone of voice that would have worked marvellously if he’d been addressing a ten-year-old child. ‘Now, Mrs James, you fine ladies with your novels mustn’t assume we’re all uncivilised. Most of my business is done in banks and offices, and I have employees just like the offices back East do.’ He leaned closer to me. ‘Of course, if there’s the occasional bit of trouble, we know what to do.’ His eyes twinkled, but I wondered exactly what sort of trouble he might actually have encountered and whether or not it extended to south Florida. He seemed a laid-back man, but there was a feeling of steel behind his good humour that I wouldn’t have wanted to test. I saw that Holmes, while he was engaged in charming Marion, had also been listening, and I wondered what he had gleaned from the interaction that I might have missed.
    Dinner was uneventful after that, finishing with brownies, an American dessert that resembled a chocolate cake with the consistency of a plum pudding. I thought it the best part of the meal. Drawing people out over food was more difficult than I’d expected, especially without alcoholic beverages to lower the barriers of the diners. I determined to try harder as the evening progressed. Holmes smiled at me, his face angular in the electric lights against the shadows of falling dusk.
    ‘We should wait for sunset to see the Kinetoscope,’ said Mina as we took the last sips of our coffee. ‘It’s marvellous in the dark.’
    ‘Let’s have music until then,’ Tootie put in loudly, grinning with chocolate-stained teeth. ‘I can’t wait to hear Lavinia. If she’s half as good as Bernard claimed last time, we’ll all be in tears.’ I looked over at Holmes, who was staring innocently at the floral wallpaper. He hadn’t ever heard me sing before the last time he’d dined with the Edisons and their guests, at least as far as I knew. Impossible man.
    Mina seamlessly moved her guests back into the piano room, where the ambiance was pensive in the half light. She gently motioned to the instrument as the others sat down on the sofa and chairs. Nelson Burroughs took the chair closest to the instrument and seemed to be excited at the prospect of the music, the most emotion he’d shown all evening. I wondered if he was a musician himself.
    I sat down and began to play, opening with a medium-tempo dance tune. I watched my audience and, as usual, they began to relax as the music soothed them. My second song was a light comic number, a favourite from my time in England before my wedding. Finally, when I had their attention, I went to the popular love song that was the climax of each of my concerts.
    I studied them all as I sang. Holmes, in the guise of Bernard, looked enchanted. Mina was surprised and pleased, I believe, having doubted the glowing praise of a husband. Marion seemed slightly bewildered, as if the music pleased her and invaded her at the same time. I felt a pang of sorrow for the inventor until I realised that his hand on the edge of the piano allowed him to experience its vibrations. Burroughs was as into the music as I’d expected, keeping slow time on his knee. The Montanan was quiet and, I thought, the least under the spell. Tootie was wide-eyed and vocal, making unintelligible delighted noises, while her husband smiled kindly and looked as if his mind was far away. I looked back to Holmes at last, wondering if his admiration belonged to Bernard after all, or if any part of it belonged to Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective.
    After I finished playing, everyone sat quietly for a moment, even