Iris nearly collapsed against him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.
He tried to think, but he could barely get his head around the one fact he already knew. He couldn’t even start thinking about the ones he didn’t.
Nothing like this ever happened here. This was the village where no one locked their doors.
And Lady Marianne was—had been—the most respected person in town, someone who could command authority as effortlessly as she could quell disagreements, someone who could defuse a problem just by arching one elegant eyebrow at it.
No matter what else she’d done, she had introduced him to Iris. And Iris had clearly cared about her.
“What’s going on?”
Of course some of the looky-loos had picked now to get involved. They were on the sidelines of something that they could tell had just gotten a lot more interesting.
Keith recognized the man who’d interrupted them. It was Sinclair Hubbard, who had been on the Council for so many years that he had been there whenKeithwas a kid.
Sinclair wasn’t looking at him with any real recognition or fondness now, though, just curiosity and impatience. Keith didn’t think that was because time had eaten away at the man’s memory, either. Sinclair had always been honorable and responsible, but he wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type.
He didn’t know the woman at Sinclair’s side, but she had the officious, self-assured demeanor of another Councilor.
“Step back, please,” Keith said evenly. “We have a situation on our hands.”
“Yes, we can see that,” the woman snapped. “Why are you letting your visitors into the Council House unescorted?”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Sinclair said.
He tried to get around Keith, but Keith flung out an arm to stop him.
“You can’t go in there, sir.”
“I certainly can. I’m still a member of the Council, young man—”
“Keith,” Iris said against Keith’s chest.
Keith thought she was talking to him. “What is it?”
She pulled back, leaving behind a damp spot on his shirt. She was still a little gray-faced and shaky, but when she spoke up again, her voice was strong and matter-of-fact. And she was talking to Sinclair, not to him.
“His name is Keith. Or Deputy Marshal Ridley. You should know that, Lord Sinclair. If my math is right, you helped raise him.”
“I know who he is,” Sinclair snapped. “What I don’t know is why he won’t get out of my way.”
Keith had never been the first responder at a crime scene before. Routine Marshal work rarely went in that direction, not unless they were chasing a fugitive who left a new bloody mess behind, and they were usually only handed their shifter-related cases after someone had figured out theywereshifter-related. That usually took at least an hour or two, if not longer. He had never been the guy who had to break the bad news to someone.
He was uneasy about having to do it now. Like he’d told Iris, he wasn’t much of a people person. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing.
But someone had to do it, and the rest of his team was inside.
He steeled himself.
“We believe Lady Marianne is dead.”
The woman breathed in sharply, like the news was a physical wound.
Sinclair just stared at him, openmouthed. His buff face, reddened from anger, went pale.
“You’re not serious,” he said slowly.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I am.”
