“I don’t believe so. As I said, he was liked by everyone. All the guests seemed to enjoy his company. I know I did.”
Nate’s jaw tightened. The comment irked him. He’d been wary of Bridget’s friendship with Otis. He hadn’t entirely trusted the man. He had been, in Nate’s opinion, a rake disguised as a poet. Otis had taken advantage of Bridget’s good nature, and he’d often supped for free at the villa as though he were a paying guest. Bridget had reasoned that the guests adored the poet and that he’d kept them entertained. Nate knew that was only partially true. Some of the guests loved him. Others were irritated by him. But none, as far as he knew, had a motive to murder him.
“Was that what you observed too, Mr. Squires?” the magistrate asked as if reading Nate’s thoughts.
“If you ask me, he flattered the ladies, and they enjoyed the attention,” Nate said, unable to hold back any longer.
“Was there any lady in particular he favored?”
Bridget’s forehead creased. “Well, I don’t quite know. He spent a lot of time with Lady Matheson. She’s a widow, and I think he made her feel a little less lonely.”
Nate scoffed. Lady Matheson might be a widow of middle age, but he doubted she’d ever wanted for attention. She was, to put it mildly, a beautiful woman. Tall and lean with a swan-like neck, high cheekbones, almond-shaped amber eyes, and a head of light-brown curls. She never failed to capture the attention of men.
“Did this Lady Matheson have any other admirers?” Magistrate Hunt asked. “A wealthy widow is quite a prize.”
“Wealthy and beautiful,” Nate said before he could stop himself.
“Interesting.” Magistrate Hunt drummed his fingers on the back of his hand. “Did you notice any tension or rivalry between your gentlemen guests and Mr. Otis?”
“No,” Bridget said. “As I’ve already stated, Mr. Otis was well-liked. Everyone enjoyed his company. That’s why he was a frequent guest. I—we—would not have allowed a troublemaker to infiltrate our villa and mingle with our guests.”
“What about the ladies? Perhaps, one of them thought he was giving too much attention to Lady Matheson.”
“I doubt that. Mr. Otis was generous with his time. He spent time talking to all of us, including me. Even Miss Jennings seemed to open up to him,” Bridget said.
“Miss Jennings?” Magistrate Hunt lifted his brows in question.
“She’s Lady Armstrong’s companion,” Bridget said.
“A spinster, in her late twenties, I’d say,” Nate added. “She’s a shy, quiet woman—petite, too. I doubt she would kill a fly, let alone a man.”
“Hmm, yes. A young lady certainly would not have the strength or the stomach to remove a human heart. As I said before, a jealous husband or lover is far more likely our killer. Did he spend time with any other women in the house?”
“Only Mrs. Harley. You remember her from the summer. She and Mr. Harley decided to stay on as long-term guests.”
“Was she close with Mr. Otis?”
“I believe they were friends,” Bridget said.
“And Mr. Harley did not object to this friendship?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Harley’s not the jealous sort,” Nate agreed. Though he was kind to his wife, Harley’s marriage had not been a love match. It wasn’t the sort of marriage Nate envisioned for himself.
“So, no enemies for Mr. Otis, then?”
“None that I know of. He was well-liked.” Bridget continued to defend the poet. “I’ve said it many times because it’s the truth.”
“And this is your opinion too, Mr. Squires?”
“I am unaware of anyone in particular who disliked him,” Nate said casually.Aside from myself, of course.
“Well, clearly someone disliked him.” Magistrate Hunt glanced at the body. “Now, we just have to find out who and why.”
Chapter Two
Two men passedthrough the front gates of Villa De Lacey on foot and walked toward them. From their lanky, slim frames, Nate could tell they were Otis’s poet companions, who’d shared a cottage with him.
