Brenda Joyce - Deadly Kisses

There was relief, but on its heels came fresh dismay. What affair had they been conducting? “You didn’t hear anything?”

“She sent me away. No. I didn’t hear anything.”

Francesca inhaled. Hart’s call had been the day before he had left on his business trip.

“Miss Cahill?” A woman whispered, her tone tentative.

Francesca saw a housemaid approaching, her dark eyes huge in her pale, freckled face. “Are you Annie?”

Annie nodded, appearing frightened and stricken. “I heard them,” she said hoarsely. “I heard them shouting—arguing—and I heard Miss Jones crying.”

Francesca froze. “What were they arguing about?”

“I don’t know. But Mr. Hart was furious when he left. He was so angry that he broke the door—I saw him do it. And Miss Jones? She collapsed on the sofa, weeping.”

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