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She shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “The best kind. Trust me. Grace knows her teas and this one is excellent.”

Ford’s eyebrow arched skeptically. “Then why aren’t you drinking any?”

A flicker of something—amusement? concern?—passed across her face. “I will. Just let me tell the others that we have a guest. Do you wish to speak to me only?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Let’s just take this one step at a time.”

She nodded and left the room, her skirts swishing softly as she disappeared down the hallway. Ford turned his attention back to the mysterious brew before him. Cautiously, he lifted the cup to his nose and took a careful sniff. The aroma that met him was… appetizing. It smelled like boiled grass, with undertones of something earthy and familiar.

Though the greenish-yellow color did little to inspire confidence, Ford frowned, trying to recall what little he knew about tea. Wasn’t it supposed to be red? Or at least a darker brown? He’d never claimed to be a tea expert, but this concoction before him seemed to defy all his limited expectations.

The woman returned a few minutes later and immediately poured herself a cup of the green brew. As soon as she settled into the chair across from him, she took a sip, easing his earlier suspicions. He took a sip of his tea, which tasted quite pleasant to his surprise.

“What would you like to know?” the woman asked, placing her cup on the table.

“A name would be nice.”

“A name?” She seemed confused.

“Your name, Miss.”

Her expression softened. “I have a lot of names.” She let out a shuddering breath. Obviously, she wanted to seem nonchalant, but the involuntary tremble gave away her unease.

“What would you like me to call you?” Ford clarified.

She worried her lip between her teeth. “Colette will do.”

Colette. He’d heard that name. Triss had told him that she was supposed to service Erebus at least one of the times. Ford asked if she remembered the man by that name and she frowned.

“Erebus? No, I do not remember meeting such a man.” Raising the teacup with a trembling hand, she took a nervous sip, clearly trying to occupy her fidgeting fingers and calm her rampant thoughts. “But it is possible he didn’t disclose his name to me.”

“He asked to spend a moment in the room alone, and then bowed out without indulging in your… charms,” Ford reminded.

“Ah! That man.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Yes, I remember him. He said his wife had passed away recently, and he wasn’t ready to move on. A sad, sad situation.”

“Yes.” Ford leaned forward. “Do you remember what he looked like?”

She frowned in thought, her lips pursed in concentration. “He was tall.”

A flash of golden curls in his peripheral vision drew Ford’s gaze toward the partially open door. A young woman hovered in the corridor beyond, stealing furtive glances into the room before ducking back out of sight.

“He was wearing a white wig,” Colette continued. “One of them elaborate ones the aristocrats wear. A faux mustache covered half his face. He had deep-set eyes.” She shook her head as if exiting a reverie. “I don’t remember much else.”

That wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. “Please, think. It’s quite possible this man was the one who murdered the aristocrat. If I find him, you might be able to return to your brothel, return to work.”

“Arresting an aristocrat on the word of a harlot.” She scoffed. “That will be the day.”

“I will find more things to tie him to the murders, don’t you worry. I just need to figure out who he is first.”

Her nose twitched, and her gaze took on a concentrated look as she stared into space. Finally, she met Ford’s gaze once more. “He didn’t have a pouch.”

Ford blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Most of the aristos who come to our brothel have a pouch for a belly.” She drew a circle on the table with her finger. “They are unkempt, and by the time they get to the private chambers rather drunk.”

“And he wasn’t?”

“He didn’t smell of alcohol.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “And he had no pouch. He was fully dressed, so I cannot say for certain, but he seemed to be built like Zeus. Come to think of it, even his faux mustache resembled the Greek God.”