Its glassy eyes shone red with the blood that trickled down from the open wound on its feathered chest, and dripped steadily off its beak. The small pool gathering on the kitchen floor made Francesca’s stomach lurch and she stared in horror at the harbinger of death. She was so shaken by the sight that she didn’t notice the comforting arm Simon slid around her waist. “When was the last time you went out?” Simon’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but the hint of steel beneath the cold tones was clear to both women. “I haven’t opened the door since you arrived,” Madeline gasped around the hand covering her mouth. “You haven’t seen anyone outside?” Madeline shook her head jerkily. “No, but then I haven’t been looking. I have been preparing dinner, as you know.” Simon knew she had, because she had been in full view of him at the time. Although it had been a companion’s thoughtful actions designed to protect the virtue of her charge, it had also confirmed her innocence of the macabre joke.
