The images were grainy and silent, but they showed the doors opening to the Palace, the guests climbing the staircase. The glassy floor, the gleaming contrasts of the crystal, and the ruby flash glass being made. The film panned over the dancing, and Grace hurriedly took out her notebook and wrote down every person she could recognize.
She saw Theodore in the corner, talking with his godfather. Thomas Squire was respected for his endeavors in philanthropy, feared for his ruthlessness in all manners of business.
The kind of person who might vouch for his godson if it pleased him, and whose word would not be questioned.
She didn’t know where the thought had come from.
After all, why would Theodore Parker want Harriet dead?
“That’s Donald Ogle and Doris Pote,” Theodore said as Grace scribbled furiously. “They are from Chicago. There’s Prince Pu Lun. Adolphus Busch. William H. Danforth. And—there—look. That’s her, isn’t it?”
The woman who had been following Harriet managed to skirt just around the camera. She always had her face turned the other way.
“Darn,” Grace said.
The camera panned past the musicians and the bar, and in thebackground, Grace could just make out Earnest accepting the glass. To the left, Ethel was dancing. Earnest appeared to set the glass down and then speak with someone just off-camera. The quality of the film wasn’t clear, and Earnest himself was quite blurry in the background.
“Look!” Theodore said.
Someone was approaching. A shadow, too difficult to make out in the grainy footage. A shadow that passed by Earnest, when his back was turned, and paused ever so briefly over the drink.
Just long enough to possibly put something inside of it.
Exactly like Earnest had guessed.
“Damn. That’s not enough to prove the poisoner isn’t Oliver,” Theodore said.
“That’s what the police said, too,” Sam Whitcomb said.
“But who is it?” Grace whispered. She drew closer to the screen.
It couldn’t have been Oliver, could it?she wondered. She hated that the thought could even occur to her. And yet, she had seen people she loved become someone else entirely in the right circumstances. Oliver had loved Harriet to the point of infatuation, and he wasn’t used to being told no. What if he had found out that she was using him for some reason or another? That his love for her was real but hers was merely expedient, a stepping stone to something else?
One thing was clear. The murderer was definitely not Earnest.
She could cross Ethel off the list, too. The singer was plainly visible in the foreground.
Grace’s face flushed.
“The police have seen the footage. It wasn’t enough to exonerate Oliver. As far as they were concerned, it very well could have been him,” Sam Whitcomb said. “Trying to put the blame on Earnest.”
“Thank you,” Grace said, stepping back.
“You won’t forget our little agreement?” Sam asked.
“I’m good for my word,” Grace said. Theodore’s hand brushed the small of her back as he escorted her to the door. “I’ll have the article to you soon.”
They walked briskly in the direction of the fairgrounds Grace’s thoughts were racing. If it wasn’t Earnest, then who had poisoned Harriet?
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Theodore asked. “If the murderer is still out there, he won’t be pleased by that article. And it could lead him straight to you.”
“This again,” she said airily.
His face darkened. “I understand you are quite capable of defending yourself to the death with wits,” he said. “But even the sharpest words are no match for an actual sword.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Thanks to a certain gentleman, I am also in possession of a very dangerous spoon.”
He rolled his eyes, then followed her into the shaded ivory columns of the Manufacturing Palace. They walked through the bustling corridors, past exhibits of hats and typewriters, crystals and window dressings, until they reached the massive display of textiles. There was a small shop decorated with felt and paper flowers. She looked through its beautifully bound journals and ink pens, fingering the coins in her hand. The small notebook she owned was really only appropriate for scrawling lists and snippets of thoughts.
