“So you—”
“I didn’t want to die,” Liam stated plainly. “I’m a coward. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Maybe you’re a murderer,” Finn said softly.
“No!”
Finn took a step closer. “You did know better than most, didn’t you? Enough to take out an insurance policy on theGarrard.”
Liam looked around. “Shall we go inside?” he asked again.
“I’m done here. You go into your comfortable home bought and paid for with blood money.”
Liam paled, and Finn added, “As for me, I wouldn’t be able to spend another moment under your roof.”
Finn started to turn away, then he asked, “With all that money, why do you still work at the yard?”
The color leached from Liam’s face. “It’s my job.”
“Strange answer for a wealthy man. Here’s another question, are you behind the threats telling me to keep my mouth closed?”
“No,” he said, but Finn could tell by his demeanor that Liam was hiding something.
Whoever threw the brick knew about Rose. Liam hadn’t known about her before Finn’s last visit, though he could have found out somehow. After all, Finn himself had told Liam where he was staying, then all he had to do was watch the restaurant.
“Just so you know, I’ve been to the police department.”
Could Liam have possibly gone a shade whiter?Finn hoped his statement would cause Liam, or someone else involved, to leave Rose alone at the very least.
“That makes no difference to me,” Liam said. Turning on his heel, he rushed up his own front steps and disappeared quickly inside.
***
Franklin had set things up perfectly. Or so it seemed. Except Claire was not cooperating, and Rose was beside herself with frustration. All her friend had to do was show up at the Boston Theatre, not far from the Bijou where Rose had met with him. Franklin had chosen the right venue. It would hold 3,000 of Boston’s finest patrons, and the theatre itself was rather magical, declared more than once to be “the finest theatre in the world.”
Rose was certain she could fit her entire home into the lobby, which was all graceful arches and colonnades. However, the interior mattered not a whit, nor the people inside the theatre, not if Claire wasn’t one of them.
Franklin’s grandfather had helped with the building of this second Boston Theatre and thus, the owner had seen his way clear to grant Franklin a favor of epic proportion — front row seats for a sold out show of Bulwer-Lytton’sThe Lady of Lyons. More importantly, an advert in the evening’s playbill would be the crowning glory of his plan.
If only Claire was not sitting in her room moping.
If only she would put on the gorgeous dress that Rose had helped her choose for the splendid night.
If only time was not trickling away at an alarming rate.
“I simply do not feel like going out tonight,” Claire stated. “Particularly to such a public place, and more importantly, as a horse’s third leg. Unnecessary and awkward for you and William.”
Rose thought she had already overcome all these objections.
“This is a special occasion. These tickets were procured as a gift, and it would be an insult to the giver if we were not to go. You and I are the ones going, and William has kindly agreed to escort us. If anyone is the third leg, it is him.”
Claire merely flounced across the room, though doing it better than anyone had every flounced before, and Rose was ready to throttle her.
“Please, dear friend, let me help you into the gown. We don’t want to miss the opening. I believe it’s a ventriloquist. Also, besides the play, there will be lovely music.”
“And everyone who was at the dragon’s party will no doubt be there as well.”
Rose ignored the remark and began to undress and dress Claire.
