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245 pages, Hardcover
First published August 2, 2016
Before I can answer, Grace sails in, attired for visiting. A belted salmon dress makes the most of her narrow waist, and under the wide brim of a matching hat, her face looks nearly pretty-but, as always, a bit too thin.
"I hope you slept well, cousin," she says.
"Surely we can trust Elsie, Aunt Grace. She's been here since she was just old enough to work, has she not?"
"This is my brother's blood, on his paintbrush. I found the place where he was painting just before he died, and this was buried in the snow. Stella found it, really. And the old poacher, Mr. McAllister, came upon me there-what are the chances the he would be at the very spot? He knows something, Henry-something he doesn't want to say."
I cradle the cool little body in my arms. She's even smaller than death-a true runt. "Henry," I say, "McAllister did this. He threatened her, and now he's made good on it. That man killed my dog."
"Mr. Dowling, I'm a poor companion today," I say apologetically. 'But as we have a moment to speak, I must ask you again about your thoughts on Mr. McAllister. and McAllister such a menace-we know him to be a thief, and to have great knowledge of the woods about Waltingham-"