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“How so?”
Russo snorted a laugh. “It’s obvious the toymaker’s son killed him.”
My thin smile turned wooden. “It’s only obvious if we base our verdict on assumptions, which I do not.”
He laughed, as though discussing a man’s innocence were a joke. “You don’t know Devere. You’ve been away.”
“Jacapo’s son always wanted him dead,” the man beside Russo said. I barely recalled his name, but he’d been a brute at school and had carried that weight into adulthood as muscle. Grant Lovelock. “He hated him,” Grant added. “You could see it in his eyes every time he looked at his father. And now Rochefort? He’s to be stopped.”
My thoughts tripped. “How is Rochefort connected with Devere exactly?”
“Not much of an investigator, are you?” Grant sneered.
“Valentine has a way of doing things that require a little more finesse than jumping to conclusions, Grant,” Russo offered as misguided support. “I believe what our friend is suggesting is that Devere and Rochefort had a significant history.”
“What is that history?” This was what I’d come for. Answers. Even if this conversation was uncomfortable, it would be worth it to finally learn the truth that everyone seemed to be dancing around.
Russo and his men shared knowing glances. “It is said that the lord was enthusiastic with his personal attentions.”
“How so?” I gulped my wine, fearing I knew where this was headed.
“Well, with Devere being queer. You remember, from school? He got found out.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry. I’m not following.” Although, regrettably, I was following all too well.
“The queer tried to seduce Rochefort.” Russo’s lips curled in disdain.
The group snarled and recoiled, as though such a thing as two men becoming involved was so abhorrent.
I locked my expression down and barred all emotion from my face. “Are you saying Devere and Thomas were in a relationship?”
“Devere’s queer in more ways than one. You know that, Valentine. He tried to have his way with you years ago before you left. You must remember?”
“Yes…” I said automatically, hating the word and every second I had to spend in the company of these bigots. Regardless of the content, this was information I needed, information Devere had kept from me. “What happened between Devere and Thomas?”
“Rumor is Thomas put him in his place,” Grant said.
More like Devere had rejected Thomas Rochefort. As I knew from experience, the lord did not take rejection well. Was that the real reason behind the eviction notice? I’d suspected there was more to it, and now that gut feeling began to make sense. Devere hadn’t told me because of our past, because I’d told our classmates he was queer, and the repercussions of what I’d done still resonated between us fifteen years later.
“It’s clear Devere killed his father, then killed Rochefort,” Grant said. “We don’t need a city investigator to tell us this.”
There was nothing clear about any of it, just small minds jumping to conclusions. “What evidence do you have to accuse a man of two murders?”
“Evidence?” Grant laughed. “He despised Thomas, and he’s wrong in the head. That is all the evidence we need for him to hang.”
I set my wine glass down on a convenient side table and braced against a nearby chair. “You’d condemn a man to death on gossip and hearsay?” I stared at Russo, expecting more from a man of the law.
Russo glared back. “Like I said, the law sometimes needs to be hastened along.”
They were more than ready to hang Devere. The only thing holding them back… was me. They wanted me to confirm it, the same as Rochefort had wanted me to point the finger at Devere out of spite because Devere had rejected his advances. Did this entire fucking town hate him so much, just because he was different?
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I said, flatly, “but you’ll have to look elsewhere for your killer. Devere did not kill Rochefort. I was with him.”
“All night?” Russo asked, recalling Devere’s convenient alibi for us both.
I was potentially condemning myself in their eyes, but I wasn’t about to stand by and watch mob justice prevail. “Yes, all night.”
“He said you slept in his bed while he slept downstairs,” Russo said. “Isn’t that right?”
