Legacy Of Terror

pause, she asked, “Is Celia still alive?”
    “She's comatose,” Rand said. “She lost a great deal of blood and suffered severe shock. The lining of her stomach has been twice punctured, though no other organs received the blade. A vein in her thigh was severed. They've already begun work on that and on the abdominal wounds. She's still in surgery and will be, I'd say, for some time yet.”
    In the easy chair next to the desk, Lee Matherly leaned forward and cupped his face in his hands. He did not say anything.
    “Did you see a knife anywhere near the body, Miss Sherred?” Captain Rand asked.
    “Not that I remember.”
    “Anything like a knife-a letter opener, a gardening tool?”
    “No.”
    “I believe you were the one who elevated the girl's legs and tried to staunch the blood flow from her abdomen.”
    “I'm a nurse.”
    He nodded, aware of that. “Did she, while you were attending her, ever regain consciousness?”
    “She was too weak,” Elaine said.
    “She did not speak even a word?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You would have noticed if she had opened her eyes? You were not too distraught to fail to notice a moment of sensibility in her?”
    “I'm a nurse,” she said. “I do not become distraught over illness or injury or death.” She was beginning to dislike the way Captain Rand was questioning her, forcing each point again and again, as if she were a child who could not be expected to remember properly, except with prodding. She supposed that it was necessary for him to be this way and that he was only doing his job, but she didn't like it and wanted to tell him so.
    Fortunately, her reference to her professionalism seemed to appeal to him, and he nodded what she took for apology and respect. He said, “I am sorry that I forgot to consider that, Miss Sherred.”
    She smiled her acceptance of his apology.
    Then, abruptly, she discovered that her hand was enclosed by Gordon's hand. His warm, dry fingers enfolded her own and held them with a gentle pressure. She was surprised, because she could not remember having reached for him-or feeling him reach for her. But, sometime during the questioning, they had sought comfort and had found it together.
    Elaine blushed, but she did not withdraw her hand. It was nice having her hand held, being accepted by Gordon as something more than the family's latest domestic servant.
    “Well,” Rand said, “let's look into some other aspects of this thing.” He withdrew a notebook from his hip pocket and thumbed it open. Pages rustled abnormally loud in that silent room. “Celia Tamlin was an interior decorator looking over your house prior to making suggestions for renovation. Is that correct, Mr. Matherly?”
    Lee lifted his face from his hands and looked down at his palms, as if he felt he had left his soul in them. “Yes,” he said. “She was such an enthusiastic girl, so pretty and quick…”
    Rand turned away from Lee Matherly and faced Dennis. “And you, I believe, were the only member of the family to know Celia Tamlin before tonight. Is this correct.”
    “Yes,” Dennis said.
    “How did you meet the young lady?”
    Dennis said, “I am a painter. Originally, I met Celia at an art show at Kauffman's. She had come to scout for paintings that she might want to purchase for her company's gallery. For use in interior decoration.”
    “Did she purchase any of your work.”
    “As a matter of fact, yes. That's how we became friends.”
    “Did you date Celia Tamlin?”
    Dennis looked worried, for he could see where the questioning might lead if the detective wished to take it that route. “I did,” he said. “Half a dozen times, perhaps.”
    “What kind of girl was she?”
    Dennis licked his lips and looked around the room for support. Elaine looked away from him, suddenly frightened. Of what? Did she suspect he had some hand in the night's events? She gripped Gordon's hand more tightly.
    Dennis said, “She was a fine girl. Always interested in things, very bright, a good conversationalist, sensitive. I can't think of an enemy for Celia. She was friends with everyone!”
    “Not everyone.”
    Dennis looked suddenly stricken. Elaine thought he was about to burst into tears. She disliked such emotions in men, except for old men like Jacob who had earned the right to cry. She distrusted emotional men.
    “And you were upstairs, in the attic, painting at the time of the stabbing?” Rand was perched on the edge of the desk now, tapping the open notebook against his knee.
    “I had been, earlier,” Dennis said. “But