Oliver. It was Oliver whose trial date had been scheduled roughly a month from now.
Her eyes fell to the line beneath it, and she felt the bile rise in her throat.
PROSECUTION TO SEEK EXECUTION BY HANGING
CHAPTER TWENTY
MAY 11, 1904
Eight Days After the Murder
GRACE WAS SO TIRED.
She trudged out of Sam Whitcomb’s office, away from the fairgrounds and through the quiet, tree-lined streets to the Carter mansion.
She felt the breeze on her face.
How could she go up against an entire society that had already determined Oliver would take the blame? A society that had never given her a second look in the first place?
Had she done the wrong thing by writing the articles?
No. The only way Oliver had a shot was to place a seed of doubt into the minds of the public, rather than let him hang before there was even a fair trial.
She turned her head toward the fairgrounds, its silhouette of palaces, Tyrolean Alps, and roller coasters stark outlines against the sky. It was a slice to the gut to remember the way that she and Lillie had watched the grounds steadily rise, their hopes and dreams and fantasies building along with it. They had never been able to even imagine that the fair would bring such horror within its gates.
She turned down Westmoreland Place and knocked on the Carters’ massive front door.
“I need to speak with my aunt,” she told Waters when he answered. “It’s urgent.”
He brought her into the sitting room. She looked at the heavy green curtains, the imperial urns, the ticking brass clock on the mantel. Remembering the way she and Oliver had played in the massive fireplace when it was swept clean each spring.
She was startled when Aunt Clove appeared in the room behind her.
“For someone who was explicitly uninvited to this house, you certainly make frequent appearances,” Aunt Clove said.
She was wearing a tea gown trimmed in ribbons and black satin. There was a slight scent of laudanum. Her face looked haggard.
“They’re seeking thedeath penaltyfor Oliver,” Grace said. She choked on the words.
Aunt Clove didn’t flinch. She was a mask.
She played with the heavy rings on her fingers, leveling Grace with an even stare.
Grace stared back.
“You may not believe me, but I’m doing whatever I can to help him,” Grace said. “Doyouwant to help him?”
The look Aunt Clove gave her in return could wither fruit on the vine. “Don’t act simple,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
Grace took a step toward her.
“You hired someone to follow him.”
“I hired someone to follow thatactress.”
“And you must understand how that looks now, given everything that’s happened. Perhaps you had more motive than anyone to make sure Harriet was gone.”
Aunt Clove gestured toward the fringed sofa.
