“I was in my room, asleep. You can ask the servants if you don’t believe me. I usually sleep until mid-morning.”
Denton didn’t believe her. She’d used the wordusually, which led him to believe that she just might have been awake that morning. Yet, even if she was awake, would she have the strength to life the bust of George Washington? He might have to test her.
“Did you not plan on attending your father’s wedding ceremony?”
She rolled her eyes. “Why would I? Father knew I didn’t approve of his fiancée. None of his children approved of her.”
“So, none of you were going to attend the ceremony?”
“Not one of us.” She shrugged. “And Father knew that.”
Denton slowly walked toward her and pointed to the bust of Marie Antoinette on a pedestal. “I’ve always wondered about these in your father’s home. Why does he have so many?”
“That was my mother’s pride and joy while she was alive. She made them. Her signature is on all of them.”
He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? How amazing. Where is her signature?”
She lifted the bust of Marie Antoinette and showed him the bottom. Although he pretended to look for the dead woman’s signature, he mainly studied how Louise held the bust. She didn’t seem to struggle with it, yet he could see it was heavy by the way she cradled it in her arms.
Disappointment crept over him. He really wanted Louise to be guilty so that he could arrest her right now.
“I must admit,” he said, straightening, “that I’ve never seen anything like it. Your mother had a great talent.”
“Yes, she did.” Louise placed the bust back, turned toward Denton, and took a deep breath. “I wish my mother were still alive. Then none of this would have happened.”
“Indeed.” He blew out a heavy breath. “Have you seen Clive? Tibbs was supposed to have found him for me.”
She shrugged. “I’m not my brother’s keeper, which is a good thing, or I’d be at the saloons and gaming tables most of the time, and if you must know, I have better things to do with my days.”
“I’m right here,” Clive snapped as he swaggered into the room.
The man’s eyes were bloodshot, and Denton could smell the stench of alcohol – and a painted lady’s cheap perfume – from across the room. Hopefully, the man was in his right mind to answer some of Denton’s questions.
“Oh, heavens to Betsy, Clive.” Louise fanned her hand in front of her face. “I’m guessing you were locked away in a bottle of whiskey all night and morning?”
Clive threw his sister a scowl. “Leave me alone. We each grieve in different ways.”
Louise huffed and turned to Denton. “Are you done asking me questions?”
“Yes. You may leave.”
“Finally. Now, I suggest you go do the job Terrance hired you to do, or I’ll tell him to find someone else.” She spun around and hurried out of the door. Her booted heels clicked on the wooden floor in the hallway.
Denton counted to ten under his breath. He wanted to put the woman in her place, but perhaps he’d do it at a later date. He turned his focus on Terrance’s brother and motioned to the nearest sofa. “Do you need to sit, Clive? You don’t look too steady.”
Clive brushed his hand in the air as he made his way to the piece of furniture and plopped down. Denton was surprised that the man landed on the seat cushions. Would he get the answers he sought? It was harder to read a man suffering from a hangover, but he hoped this would be the time Denton would know if the man was guilty or not.
