“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said, frustration rising. “I found a bouquet in her bedroom. A bouquet with a threat concealed in it. In floriography.”
“I see. What sort of message did you see in this bouquet?”
She bristled. Why did she feel so small? “I did notseea message. Someone sent my sister a message. A warning,” she said. She pushed her notes toward him, tapping the page. “See? Rhododendron. It meansBeware, I am dangerous.”
The inspector looked at her hastily scrawled note. “Of course. So do you know who sent these rhododendrons?”
“No, I do not.”
“Was there an accompanying note? A calling card?”
“No, but—”
“And do you have these flowers with you?” Inspector Reed asked.
She clenched her jaw. “It is at home. I came today unexpectedly.”
“So, you have no incriminating letter. And even if you did, you do not know who sent it. What you have is a bouquet of dead flowers, received months ago, by one of the social season’s most popular debutantes. Is that correct?”
“I am not insane, Inspector Reed,” Elswyth said. Even as she did, she felt tears prick at her eyes.
“No, Miss Elderwood, you are grieving. I deal with this sort of thing all the time—denial can lead us to believe that there is some hope our loved one yet lives, no matter how improbable.”
Elswyth clenched the folds of her gown. “Improbabilitydoes not necessitateimpossibility,” she said. “There was no need for you to declare her dead. It could hinder the investigation—make people less inclined to come forward with information.”
The inspector gave her a sympathetic look. “That was done as a kindness for your family. So that you could put her to rest. And, Miss Elderwood… in cases of the nobility, often these things are better forgotten. If she was taken, as you say, would you want your sister’s name in every penny newspaper, making all kinds of terrible speculations about her fate?”
“If it meant seeing her alive again, then I would notcarewhat anyone said,” Elswyth said, raising her voice.
The man gave her that sympathetic look again, and it made her want to scream. “I know how difficult this must be, for one so young as you, and for a member of your sex—how emotional you must be.”
“I am notangrybecause I am a woman! I amangrybecause you refuse to find my sister!”
Before Elswyth realized it, she was standing, and her voice echoed into the hall. Outside the office, passing people stopped to stare. The outburst had been waiting inside her, she realized. Biding its time for months, until she could meet this man, this man who insisted her sister was dead.She can’t be,she thought.She can’t be. Not Persephone.
Inspector Reed seemed surprised at her outburst—likely, hedid not expect such volume from such adelicateyoung lady, however wracked with feminine emotions she might be.
The door opened. Lt. Woods stepped inside, saluted Detective Inspector Reed, and said, “Sir, is everything all right?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, standing. “Miss Elderwood was just leaving.”
Lt. Woods looked between them, then said, “Yes sir. The employer of the latest victim is here to identify the body.”
“Right. Tell him I’ll be there in a moment,” he said. He stood, gathering the papers from his desk.
“I must apologize, Miss Elderwood, but I’m afraid duty takes me away. I must again share my deepest condolences on the death of your sister.”
He moved to the door, but Elswyth stopped him, speaking. “Inspector Reed—I have one last question.”
He turned, clearly irritated, but forced his best diplomatic smile. “Yes, Miss Elderwood?”
She inclined her head toward the corkboard, where the photographs of the dead women stared blankly back at her. “You are the inspector in charge of the Reaper investigation.”
He looked to the board, then back to her. “I am.”
Elswyth weighed her words carefully. “That must be quite the honor. I thank you for your service. And I understand that you must be a very busy man.”
He nodded curtly, although she could sense a certain pride in his movements. “Thank you, Miss Elderwood. It is not an honor, but a duty.”
