Chapter Twelve
Jocelyn slammed her bedroom door shut and leaned against it, breathing heavily with tears streaking down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe she’d let herself get so comfortable with that man, actually leaned against him and cried in his arms. Let him touch her and kiss her. When all along, he’d only wanted to ask her those disgusting questions about Evelyn.
Whore.
The word reverberated in her mind, making her feel sick. Had the killer really left that note at Evelyn’s feet? Had he used her in an unspeakable way before killing her?
The mere thought made the bile at the back of her throat rise up, and she barely made it to the bathroom before casting up her accounts once again. Sobbing, she leaned over the water closet, her heart breaking for what her poor sister had gone through.
Wonderful, sweet Evelyn. How could someone have done this to her, let alone someone she’d known and trusted?
Her mind raced over the list she’d made. She couldn’t imagine a single person on that list who could have done such a thing. Was it possible the inspector had things all wrong and it had been someone else, a stranger, who’d lured Evelyn to the park and killed her?
But why would a stranger choose Evelyn, of all people? Did it have something to do with her work with the women’s suffrage movement? With the secret that she’d kept for the last few years?
Either of those things might have stirred the ire of a psychotic misogynist.
She moved slowly to the sink, rinsing her mouth out and then staring at herself in the mirror for several long minutes, hardly recognizing the wan, crazed-looking woman she’d become.
You’re angry because you like him. Because you were starting to trust him.
Shaking her head, she left the bathroom and flopped down on her bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. As the minutes ticked by, her anger drained away, replaced by grief and desolation once again.
Oh, Evelyn. I don’t know how I’m going to make it without you.
A soft knock on her door sent her scrambling to sit up. “Come in,” she called hoarsely.
Abbie opened the door a crack and peeked in at her. “I saw that the inspector just left. I was just wondering if he had any news?”
The poor girl looked just as bad as Jocelyn did. Her face was red and patchy, her eyes swollen and bloodshot.
Jocelyn gestured for her to come inside, and Abbie did so, shutting the door behind her.
She knew that what had happened would hurt Abbie as much as it had herself, but she needed to know. Perhaps she might know something that even Jocelyn didn’t.
“He wanted to ask me questions. They think...” Jocelyn cleared her throat, still unable to believe what he’d asked. “He thinks that Evelyn had a lover and that he was the one who lured her to the park and killed her. He said that the killer left the word whore on a piece of paper at her feet.”
Abbie gasped, her dark eyes widening. “But she didn’t... She wasn’t... We know that isn’t possible.”
“Yes,” Jocelyn agreed. “But we can’t tell him how we know that. Besides, it has nothing to do with what happened, and it’s none of his business.”
“Thank you for trying to protect her. To protect us.” Abbie smiled wanly through her tears and shook her head. “But you need to tell him, my lady. As long as he is stuck on this theory, he won’t be able to see anything else.”
“But I don’t want to risk—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Abbie cut her off. “None of it matters anymore. But I understand if you don’t want to bring more shame upon your family.”
Jocelyn shook her head fiercely. “I’m not ashamed of anything Evelyn did. She was the best person I knew, and I supported every decision she made.”
Flushing even darker, Abbie gave her a grateful look. “Then tell him. He needs to know so he can find out who did this to her.”
“If you’re certain,” Jocelyn said doubtfully. “I still don’t think it’s necessary.”
“If you don’t, I will,” Abbie said, squaring her shoulders. “I want whoever did this to pay.”
“I’ll tell him,” Jocelyn relented with a sigh. “I want The Viper caught and punished as well.”
Abbie nodded and left, and Jocelyn went about her ablutions without ringing for her maid. She still felt jittery with emotion, and she didn’t want to have to put on a brave face because she wasn’t feeling at all brave.