Who killed Daisy Jones? The list of candidates seems very short. Francesca Cahill working with the police department as a sort of consulting sleuth is faced with dread over the fact that her fiancé Calder Hart is at the top of that short list. Daisy it seems was Calder's mistress until he met, fell in love with and became engaged to Francesca. Putting the obvious conflict of interest aside the idea of investigating the murder of her fiancés ex-mistress is also becoming dangerous. The only other person on this short list is Rose who is Daisy's ex-lover. And the investigation becomes more and more convoluted with each new fact Francesca uncovers. Problem is suspicions keep bouncing right back to Calder until you are hard pressed to believe his innocence. But then you are faced with the big why. What motive did Calder have to commit this crime of brutality? Francesca, working side by side with Calder's brother Rick in trying to discover who the real murderer was, is frustrated by the fact that even his brother has doubts. One of the biggest challenges facing Francesca is Calder himself. He has a rather dubious reputation and so far he is definitely living up to it. As more information about Daisy Jones comes to light the more bizarre the entire case becomes.
DEADLY KISSES is the latest Brenda Joyce story of Francesca Cahill's investigative exploits. The reader is reintroduced to the Cahill, Hart and Bragg families from earlier books. During the course of the book Joyce updates their lives and stories and reminds us why they are such an interesting and diverse group of characters. The interpersonal relationships of all these people remind you of real life families and family friends. Joyce is careful not to make her people perfect in fact it is their flaws that add dimension to the story. The plot line has an amazing amount of twists and turns along the way to solving the who and why of the murder. Don't worry if this is your first book of the series you'll catch on quickly. I've read several Brenda Joyce books and this was my first one of the Francesca Cahill series. It won't be my last.
Called to the home of her fiancé Calder Hart's former
mistress late one night, amateur sleuth Francesca Cahill's
curiosity is piqued. But upon arrival, she is shocked to
find Daisy Jones's bloodied body — and even more
devastated when the evidence points to one suspect: Calder.
Francesca cannot — will not — believe
that Calder is capable of such an act. Still, she is unable
to shake her instinctive sense that Calder is lying about
something. The police are far less inclined to
believe his innocence, and Calder is arrested for Daisy's
murder. But Francesca's heart is not easily swayed... until
a life-altering secret is exposed that could destroy their
future together.
Excerpt
Monday, June 2, 1902, New York City — Before Midnight
"Francesca, I think it's wonderful that you have
volunteered to chair the Ladies Citizen Union Funds
Committee," Julia Van Wyck Cahill remarked, handing off
her ruby-red velvet mantle to the doorman. Slim, beautiful
and elegant, and wearing a very famous ruby pendant that
had belonged to a Hapsburg princess, she stood with her
daughter in the front hall of their Fifth Avenue home,
beaming with pleasure.
Francesca, however, was preoccupied. She handed off her
own light wrap, a turquoise satin to match her evening
gown. "Mama, I did not quite volunteer. I do believe you
and Mrs. Astor decided among yourselves to make me co-
chair."
Julia's blue eyes widened as she feigned innocent
ignorance. "Darling! Whatever makes you say that? My dear,
you are the youngest lady to ever chair the committee, and
I know you will be superb, Francesca — you always are."
In truth, Francesca did not really mind being named the
chair, as her current investigation was so routine. A
neighbor had realized that certain items in her attics
were missing, including several valuable family heir-
looms, and having read all about Francesca's last case in
the city's numerous newspapers, she had requested
Francesca's sleuthing services. Francesca was almost
certain that Mrs. Canning's son-in-law was the thief.
"It is a good cause and someone has to raise funds for the
party." Francesca sighed. "I simply wish you had asked me
first if I had the time to give the position all of the
effort and attention it deserves."
Julia took her arm. "I'm sorry, dear. Of course, I should
have asked."
Francesca knew very well what her mother was about. Julia
was a great society hostess, and she had been aghast by
Francesca's new profession. Even with Francesca's success,
she remained opposed to her daughter's involvement in any
investigation, although she seemed relieved that Francesca
finally had a case that was neither life threatening nor
scandalous in nature. Francesca knew her mother wanted her
so preoccupied with fund-raising for the Citizens Union
that she would have time for nothing else other than her
fiancé.
At the thought of Calder Hart, her heart skipped
uncontrollably. But then, Hart had that effect on her,
from the time they had first met, when she had refused to
admit her attraction to and fascination with such a
notorious man. He was one of the city's wealthiest
millionaires, yet he had come from humble beginnings, born
out of wedlock on the city's poverty-stricken Lower East
Side. Until recently, in spite of his reputation as a
womanizer, he had been considered the greatest catch in
town, with almost every socialite vying for his attention
for their debutante daughters. Hart, however, preferred to
attach himself to infamous courtesans and divorcées,
shying away from any serious involvement. Francesca still
had to pinch herself from time to time, in order to
realize that it was real — she, Francesca Cahill, who
owned an equally notorious reputation as an eccentric, a
bluestocking and a sleuth, had somehow snagged Calder
Hart. These days, when she walked into a supper party or a
ball, knives were sharpened and daggers were drawn behind
her back. Once, the whispers and gossip had hurt her
feelings; now she rather enjoyed the attention. But then,
usually Hart was at her side, whispering in her ear,
reminding her to revel in the limelight.
All was not perfect, however. Her father was dead set
against Hart. An entire month had gone by since Andrew
Cahill had broken off their engagement and he did not seem
any closer to coming around, never mind that Francesca's
mother was so angry she refused to speak to him unless it
was absolutely necessary. In fact, Julia continued to
gloat about the engagement to her society friends, as if
it had not been terminated.
Francesca had come to realize she could not imagine a
future without Hart in it, and she was determined to win
Andrew over to their cause. Her father was one of the
great progressive thinkers and leaders in the city. He was
also a great humanitarian, and Francesca admired him
immensely. She could not imagine eloping behind his back,
although she and Hart had discussed it. This was the first
time in her life that she had not been able to gain her
way with her father.
Hart had suggested they not push Andrew Cahill just now.
Calder was out of town right now, and Francesca missed him
terribly.
As if reading her daughter's mind, Julia said
softly, "When will Calder return to the city, Francesca?"
"In a day or two, Mama. He is in Boston, tending to his
business affairs." Hart's fortune had been amassed through
shipping, insurance and the railroads. He was also a world-
renowned art collector, with one of the most extensive and
valuable privately owned collections in America.
Several months ago, Hart had commissioned her portrait and
Francesca had been hugely flattered. The portrait had been
a nude, and she had been daring enough to pose for it.
Last month, the painting had been completed — and it had
also been stolen. With Francesca too upset to think
clearly enough to investigate the theft, Hart had put
private investigators on the case. But there had been no
leads; it was as if the portrait had vanished into thin
air. If it ever surfaced publicly, Francesca knew she was
finished. She had quite a few enemies, although many of
them were now in prison.
Francesca did not want to worry about the missing portrait
now. Instead, she thought about her reunion with Hart. She
could barely wait to be in his arms, being soundly and
thoroughly kissed. "Mama, I am going to bed. It was a
pleasant evening," she said, kissing her cheek.
"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" Julia seemed pleased. Andrew
Cahill stepped into the spacious front hall, having been
outside giving instructions to the coachman for the next
morning. Francesca smiled at her father as he handed off
his top hat, white gloves and scarf. Dressed in his
tuxedo, he was a short man with a rotund build and
excessive side whiskers. "Papa? Did you enjoy the affair
tonight?" Her sister, every bit as successful a society
hostess as Julia, had held a charity supper to raise funds
for the vast new public library, soon to be erected on
Fifth Avenue and Forty-Second street. There had been a
hundred guests, with champagne, caviar, dinner, dessert
and dancing, all in the ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria
Hotel.
"Of course I did," Andrew said, his expression somber. "It
is a fine cause and I look forward to the day the library
opens. Francesca, I should like to talk to you in the
study before you retire for the night."
Francesca tensed. "Papa, can't it wait?" she began. She
had the dreadful feeling he was going to talk to her about
Hart, a subject they had carefully avoided for an entire
month. Unless he had changed his mind about them,
Francesca did not want to hear whatever her father had to
say.
"I think we have gone on at great odds for long enough,"
he said firmly.
Francesca knew that tone. She waited while he kissed
Julia's cheek, bidding her good-night. Then Francesca and
Andrew started through the front hall, arm in arm. All of
the servants had discreetly vanished, and their heels
clicked on the black-and-white marble floors.
"I believe Hart is back in town."
Francesca was dismayed. "No, Papa, he is not due back for
at least another day, and probably he will not be back
until Wednesday."
"Ben Garret saw him this afternoon crossing the street,"
Andrew said curtly. And finally he softened.
"Or he thought he did. We had lunch and he mentioned your
engagement."
There was no mistaking her father's intended subject now.
They paused on the threshold of his study, a large library
with wood-paneled walls; high, pale green ceilings;
hundreds of books, most political or philosophical in
nature; electric lights; and the family's single
telephone. Beneath the emerald-green marble mantel a small
fire crackled in the fireplace.
"Papa, you broke off our engagement," Francesca said
softly. But she twisted the huge diamond engagement ring
which she still wore, refusing to take it off.
Andrew regarded her unhappily. "I intended to break it
off, but your mother has openly defied me, gleefully
telling everyone we meet about your engagement. In
private, she won't even speak to me!" he exclaimed. "And
do you think I am blind? I see the ring you continue to
wear!"
Francesca flushed. "Calder gave me the ring, Papa, and it
is a token of his admiration and respect. I simply cannot
part with it."
He sighed heavily and walked over to the fireplace,
staring down at the flames. "I could tell you stories
until I was blue in the face about gullible young women
falling for handsome rakes. But like each and every one of
those young, naive women, you would not listen to me. You
would think you are different, that you are the one to
finally capture the cad's heart."
Francesca went and stood besides him nervously. "Unlike
all those other cads, Hart has never suggested that I have
captured his heart. But he has told me how much he admires
and respects me, how dearly he needs my friendship, and
how well he thinks we suit."
"So you are not marrying for love?" Andrew asked
skeptically. "You are marrying for respect, for
friendship?"
Francesca gave him a look. "I love Calder. I have never
been so in love. He has a good side, Papa, one that quite
contradicts his selfish reputation. And while he says he
does not believe in love, he is very fond of me. I wish
you could believe that! I think we suit."
"I never said he was not fond of you. I believe he cares
for you. Why else would he want to marry you? He hardly
needs your money — he is as rich as Hades! But I cannot
approve when I know with all of my being that he will hurt
you terribly one day. A man like that will eventually
stray."
Francesca turned away, trembling. Hart had promised her
undying loyalty and fidelity. He claimed he was tired of
the life he had thus far led, and while Francesca believed
him, she could not help but be afraid that the day might
come when his head would be turned by a woman far more
beautiful than she was. In fact, such a possibility was
her single greatest fear. "Papa, I hate being at odds with
you. I know all of your arguments. We both know he has
been a cad when it comes to women — just as you know I am
the first woman he has ever asked to marry. Why can't you
give him the benefit of the doubt? If I am making a
mistake, isn't it mine to make?"
He faced her fully and clasped both of her hands. "I am so
proud of you. You are so beautiful, so caring and so
committed to humanity, Francesca. While I do wish your new
profession was not so dangerous, you have saved many lives
and brought justice to those who desperately needed it.
You and Hart have nothing in common!" he exclaimed. "I
understand that he has turned your head, but what about a
dozen years from now? You have dedicated your life to
easing the pain and the burdens of others less fortunate
that yourself. Hart is the most selfish man I know.
Passion will not ensure a successful marriage, Francesca,
not for the long term."
She pulled away. "That is unfair! You are judging Hart
based solely on his reputation. You do not even know him,
Papa. He has been nothing but noble to me. If you cast
stones at him, Papa, then you cast them at me, too.
Please, please trust me now."
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