Rebecca blinked at her. “You don’t believe in eternal life, Miss Donovan?”
Kendra thought about the question. In truth, she’d never spent any time on what she’d considered to be a theological debate. Her entire focus had been on becoming an FBI agent and, afterward, on proving herself capable of handling whatever task was thrown her way. Show no weakness. That had become her own personal motto as she climbed the ranks, accomplished her goals. And in the field, when she’d dealt with death and its aftermath, there’d simply been no time to waste wondering if the victims were now in a better place. It had always been a race to capture the unsub before there were more victims.
Aware that Rebecca was staring at her, she shrugged. “I guess it always seemed pointless to speculate about something you can’t prove or disprove.”
“I disagree. I find such speculation fascinating,” Rebecca began. She looked as though she wanted to continue the discussion, but broke off with a smile when Simon Dalton skirted several tombstones to approach them.
“Ladies.” He had his hat in his hands, and the wind teased his ash blond hair around his head as he smiled. “I’m delighted to see you, of course, although I would ask for a less solemn occasion.”
“Graciously said, Mr. Dalton. I had wondered if our company had begun to pall, as you were not at dinner last evening.” Rebecca gave him an arched look as they began walking again.
“Not at all, Lady Rebecca. The countess invited me, but I had a bit of trouble in the stables. A mare was foaling, and it was breech.”
“Oh, no. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Both are doing well, thank you. You must come and see for yourself. Already he promises to be a champion Arabian like his sire. Strong legs, great hindquarters.”
“Is your plan to race him, sir?”
Kendra listened with half an ear as the two traded horse information. Horses weren’t her thing. What she knew of racing came from meeting Sid the Greek, one of her informants, who spent most of his time at the racetrack—it seemed like a lifetime ago. Or a lifetime from now. God, time travel really screwed with one’s syntax.
“I think we’re boring Miss Donovan,” Dalton said suddenly, smiling at Kendra.
“Oh. Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
His expression turned somber. “Have you heard any news from the Runner?”
She met his gaze. Simple curiosity? Or something more? “We’re following a couple of leads.”
“I see. Well, I pray that the thief-taker uncovers the identity of the madman. If I can assist in any way, you must let me know.”
That, Kendra decided, was as good an opening as any. “Actually, you can. We’re questioning men in the area. Where were you on Sunday night and early Monday morning?”
He stopped walking and stared at her. If she’d stripped naked and sang “Yankee Doodle,” she doubted if she could’ve surprised him more. “Me? Are you . . . are you, perchance, asking me if I killed that girl, Miss Donovan?”
“Please don’t take offense, Mr. Dalton,” Rebecca said hurriedly. “As Miss Donovan stated, ’tis a question we’ll be asking everyone.”
He blinked, then shook his head. “I am not certain that lessens the insult, my Lady.” He was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the hat in his hands. “I attended Lady Atwood’s dinner party, if you recall. It was the first evening of the house party.”
“What time did you leave the castle?” Kendra asked.
“I don’t know whether to be amused or insulted by this line of inquiry, Miss Donovan.”
“Try to be understanding. We just buried that girl over there. Questions need to be asked.”
His eyes darkened. “I saw what was done to that girl, Miss Donovan. I conducted the postmortem. I don’t know if I can be so indulgent when you clearly think I am capable of that atrocity.”
“That’s one way to look at it. Or you might try looking at it from a different angle—we’re trying to eliminate you from being suspected of that atrocity. It would help matters if you had an alibi for the time in question.”
He frowned. “I cannot accommodate you. I returned home and retired for the evening to my bedchamber. I was asleep when the wh . . . that Unfortunate Woman was being viciously murdered.”
“You don’t have anyone to verify your whereabouts?”
“No.”
“What about your valet?” asked Rebecca. “He must have assisted you before you retired.”
He flicked her a glance. “As I was uncertain when I’d return, I told Roberts not to wait for me. I spent many years in the army, your Ladyship. Unlike the gentlemen of the Ton, I am not as reliant on the services of a valet. Now, I must take my leave. Lady Rebecca, Miss Donovan.” He gave a slight bow, before walking quickly away.