She caught Gray’s gaze and nodded at Mary’s article. “How’s that?”
“Excellent.” Gray glanced at Mary. “You have a flair for describing places in a way that brings them to life.”
Mary all but glowed at the praise.
Izzy smiled at Mary and, taking the pages from him, offered them to the younger woman. “Done! You can take those to your father for typesetting for the proofs.”
“Thank you.” Mary beamed. “Both of you.” She rose and took the pages and, with a spring in her step, left the office.
Izzy watched her go, an almost-maternal smile on her face. “She’s coming along nicely. And yes, I agree. She does have a gift for depicting places.”
Which, Gray thought, was one of the reasons you suggested the Foundling Hospital for Mary’s piece. Sitting back, he waved at the pages beneath Izzy’s hands. “Let me take a look at the obituary.”
She handed the pages across. She watched him as he started to read, then said, “I’m still not sure I have the tone right. I don’t want to sound too distant. I want it to be clear that there’s a connection to the paper, that Quimby was one of the team that put together what the readers have been enjoying over the past years.”
He nodded. “You want the emotional connection to show.”
“Yes, and of course, we usually write in quite the opposite way—as impartial commentators.”
He read through to the end of the piece, then made several suggestions. Izzy took the sheets, made various changes, then handed them back. “Does that work better?”
After reading the piece through again, he said, “I think it’s better, but it’s really in the way it sounds, so…” He started to read the piece aloud.
Nodding, she sat back and listened.
He’d reached the final paragraph when the bell over the door tinkled. He looked across and saw Baines and Littlejohn come in.
The pair nodded at Mary, back at her station behind the counter, then headed for the office.
Gray stopped reading and lowered the sheets. “It’s our friends from Scotland Yard.”
Izzy sighed.
Baines tapped on the door frame and came in. He halted before the desk and nodded to Gray and to Izzy. “Your lordship. Mrs. Molyneaux.”
“Inspector.” Izzy conjured a bright smile and aimed it at Baines and Littlejohn, who had slipped into the room in his superior’s wake. “Is there anything we can help you with?”
Baines sighed somewhat wearily, then said, “I don’t suppose you’ve had a change of heart and would like to confess to killing Quimby?”
Izzy’s features hardened, and her gaze turned stony. “No.”
Baines’s lips tightened, then as if forced to say the words, he stated, “I’m here to warn you, ma’am, that as of this moment, you remain the sole suspect in the murder of Mr. Horace Quimby.”
Gray inwardly sighed. “Inspector, what evidence do the police have that implicates Mrs. Molyneaux in Quimby’s death?”
Baines looked pained. “At this moment, none. But as others have been quick to tell me, such evidence will surely be found if I look hard enough.”
His tone made it clear that he was being pressured by others and didn’t like it one bit.
“I see.” Gray’s lips curved, but the gesture held more warning than humor. “I continue to hope that you and your superiors at the Yard will not be so unwise as to attempt to inconvenience, much less detain Mrs. Molyneaux, nor spread any rumors that might damage her reputation and that of her business, unless and until you have incontrovertible evidence of her supposed misdeeds sufficient to lay formal charges before a magistrate.”
“Not if I can help it,” Baines muttered. He shot a plainly apologetic glance at Izzy, then straightened and said, “We’ve just come from Quimby’s rooms. We searched, trying to find some hint of his next of kin, but as far as we can tell, he didn’t have any.” Baines focused on Izzy. “We came to ask if anyone here had ever heard him mention anyone.”
“No,” Izzy said. “I’ve already asked—I would normally mention that in an obituary.” She glanced at Gray, then pointed at the pages he held. “Perhaps, Inspector, you would read through what we’re intending to print, to ensure our facts are correct.”
Gray handed Baines the pages. He took them, sat in the other armchair, and carefully read through the piece.
When he reached the end and paused, Izzy calmly inquired, “Is there anything you would like us to add to the obituary, Inspector?”
