DRAGON
DRAGON
HETTY STOOD OVER ALAIN BROWNE, unsure of where to look first. Sy’s last words had distracted her. The blow to Alain’s head certainly looked like the work of a hammer. But that wasn’t as important as why. Why here? Why now? Why him?
She could almost see an answer to that last question. Alain had found Charlie, and brought them to the alley, and set them on the trail. He was close enough to the case that Hetty kept him in her sights as a suspect. It seems she was right, but not in the way she expected.
If only she had gone to talk to him, she might have noticed the danger swirling around him.
And his wife.
Hetty had no love for Geraldine Browne, but this was such a terrible thing to have happened.
And there was still one more question to ask.
Who did this?
The whispered conversation gave her one answer.
As Hetty studied the body, the cousins argued in the background. While there was an attempt to keep voices low, it didn’t last for long.
Penelope stomped her foot. “How can you even suggest Benjy’s involved?”
“I’m not saying he did it,” Sy protested. “It just looks like it. None of this makes sense. Why do you think I went looking for Hetty? She’ll figure out what happened.”
Hetty looked between them, seeing the doubts grow in their eyes the longer she stayed quiet. She knew what the cousins wanted her to say, but she couldn’t without further proof.
“There will be time for that later,” Hetty said. “First we need to move the body.”
Since it was broad daylight and Hetty didn’t trust her spells to stay in place, they used bricks to cover the body in the bed of the wagon. Hetty laid them herself, the act dredging memories of times when she had been the one carefully hidden under a pile. This time, however, there was no need for breathing holes.
A block away from Oliver’s home, Hetty signaled for Sy to stop.
“Wait here.” She jumped off. “I need to give Oliver a bit of warning.”
But whatever warning she’d planned to give slipped right out of her mind as she came around the corner and found her husband swinging a hammer down on the front steps. His bag of tools sat next to him, and pieces of wood were stacked on the steps of the empty house next door.
He swung decisively, the sound of metal ringing in the air as he hit the nails dead-on. He did it a few times before Hetty couldn’t watch anymore.
“Benjy,” she forced herself to say, and the hammer paused in the air. “What are you doing here?”
“Keeping myself busy,” he answered. “Amos fired me this morning!”
“Fired?” Hetty echoed.
“Because that wagon went missing.” The hammer slammed harder this time, and the collision rang in the air. “Preston Stevens complained to Amos. Amos said the money would come out of my wages, and I said no because it was Nathaniel who signed off on it. He asked if I had any proof. I may have lost my temper at that point. I don’t remember what I said, but I won’t be getting the job back.”
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Nothing bad. I didn’t hit him or anything.” Benjy looked over at her and his smile vanished at the sight of her face. “What happened?”
“Several things,” Hetty said. “Is Oliver home?”
Benjy nodded.
“Has he been here all day with you?”
“He has.” Benjy lowered the hammer. “And he’ll tell you so if you ask him.”
“I only ask,” she said, responding to his unspoken question, “because I found Alain Browne in the spare tools closet at the forge. His head was bashed open. I brought him with me—he’s in a wagon around the corner.”
Benjy absorbed this information without even a flinch. “Is that all?”
“Well, Sy found Alain first, and then he panicked.”
“I imagine he would,” Benjy said. “He’s not one for surprises. Which side of Alain’s head was struck?”
“The left.”
At this, he snorted. “By the stars, what sloppy work! If someone was trying to paint me as a murderer, they should have at least remembered I’m left-handed. The angle of the wound would be different if I’d been the culprit. I’m surprised you didn’t notice since you favor your left hand as well.”
Hetty sucked in her breath, unsure if she was relieved or not at this statement. “I never said anything about you being a suspect.”
“Your tone did it for you. Hetty,” he added quite soberly, “please tell me you didn’t think that I could have killed him? I didn’t like the man, but he had valuable information.”
“There was quite a bit of evidence pointing at you.”
Benjy scoffed. “Would I be foolish enough to kill a man and leave the body in a place I’m known to frequent?”
“Someone certainly wanted me to consider it.”
“I should hope you didn’t!” Benjy continued. “You should know that if I were to kill somebody, I’d at least be a bit more subtle about it.”
“Don’t make light of this,” Hetty protested. “A man is dead!”
“And before he could tell me anything of value! This is so inconvenient.”
“Benjamin!” she snapped as every feeling she pushed down and ignored all week bubbled up to the surface. She turned on him, snarling: “This isn’t a puzzle! We’re talking about lives! Human lives that are more than pieces on your chessboard!”
Benjy went rigid at her words. He didn’t look startled, just scared—and that only made things worse.
A hiccup nearly escaped from her lips. She pressed her hands against her face, embarrassed and ashamed.
“Do you want me to warn Oliver?” Benjy asked gently. “Or would you rather stay here while I—”
“I’ll warn him,” Hetty said, lowering her hands. “He won’t yell as much if I tell him.”
Oliver didn’t yell at Hetty about body number three crossing the threshold of his home.
He threw his papers into the air and let out a groan that almost shook the rafters.
“Which alley did you find this one?” he said when he finished his theatrics.
“At the forge. His skull was caved in, by a hammer it seems.”
“Does he have that mark on him?”
“I didn’t see, but I didn’t get a chance to check thoroughly. Sy and Penelope were with me, and they were too concerned that Benjy had something to do with it.”
“What do you think?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Hetty began, only to stop as the cellar door slammed shut.
Hetty turned at the sound, but she barely got a glance of who strode out.
“Looks like Benjy’s not happy,” Oliver observed. His face was creased with concern that didn’t lessen as he rubbed his neck. “Although he’s been in a foul mood all morning. I put him to work on various small projects to keep him busy, you know how he gets when he’s upset.”
“Yes,” Hetty echoed, not fully listening. “I do.”