“How is the search going?” He leaned back in his chair, reminiscent of his brother but with a younger, cockier air.
She needed to figure out how to hide the journal now that Jeremy appeared to be in for a long visit. It lay perilously close to his position. “We found a man who seems suspicious.”
“Really? Who?”
She examined the papers around him. Perhaps if she moved that one…
“A servant. From the Dentry estate.”
His chair whacked against the floor, also reminiscent of his brother. “What?”
She looked up at the bang. “Why, are you familiar with the servants there? Oh, that’s right. You are from that area, yes?”
Jeremy’s mouth pulled up, but the grin was strained. “Yes.”
She frowned. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I thought Gabriel discussed the case with you.”
He waved a hand. “I’ve been out and about the last week. Why don’t you catch me up? How did a Dentry servant get involved?”
A faint hint of uncertainty spread through her. She liked Jeremy. But he was acting oddly. But then so too was Gabriel. The whole case was making her think strange thoughts.
“He was stalking the last victim.”
His leg started bumping up and down. “You know who the last victim was? They haven’t said a thing in the papers.”
“Gabriel found out through a fence. Something about the woman’s—” Marietta could hardly call her a lady. “—necklace.”
“Her necklace?” He swallowed. “Interesting. How like Gabriel to put the pieces together so quickly.”
She frowned. “Are you well, Jeremy?”
“I’m feeling a bit under the weather, now that you mention it. Do you know the victim’s name?”
She chewed her lip, her uncertainty turning into flat discomfort. “I’m not sure I should be discussing it with you, if Gabriel hasn’t said anything.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes round and earnest, desperation lining his face. He reminded her so much of Kenny, though a slightly wiser and more handsome version. “Please, Marietta. Gabriel tries to protect me, and he needs to stop. He doesn’t—”
One of his elbows slipped on a bulge in the papers. He looked down, pushing them to the side and unearthing the journal. “What’s this?”
“Oh, nothing.” She nervously tried to take it from him.
He opened the cover before she could. She watched his face darken. “Who was the servant you were chasing and why?”
“Jeremy—”
“Marietta, please.”
“Jacob Worley.”
He stared at her. “And you think him responsible?”
She fiddled with the paper under her fingers. “I think someone is responsible, and it’s neither of my brothers. This Jacob Worley had constructed an altar to the murdered victims.”
“A what?”
“Some sort of shrine with pictures and notes. Like a madman who has fallen in love with the people he kills.”
Disgust curled his face. “A shrine? To them? That is disgusting.”
