“Yes, and why would I want to avoid having us in the same room?” Thornhollow asked sarcastically. “Clearly we should spend much more time together; it’s so beneficial.”

Adelaide’s chin shot up, her nostrils flaring. “One does not maintain family bonds because they are beneficial but because they are family.”

“Tell that to Grace,” Thornhollow fumed. “I’ve had to scar her permanently and drag her across three states to deliver her from the clutches of her father.”

Grace shot up from the couch, hat forgotten. “How dare you?” she shouted, her voice soaring.

“Is this true?” Adelaide asked, turning to Grace with a new softness in her eyes.

“Whether it is or not, it is not your place to announce it in front of a stranger,” she said, her voice cutting. Thornhollow paled, holding up one hand in apology and dropping into a chair.

“Hardly,” his sister agreed, lacing her arm with Grace’s to form a unified front against her brother. “This is a lovely dinner party you’ve put together. I should’ve known better than to even come. But as it stands, I am here, and I am hungry.”

The doctor had his head in his hands, eyes rooted to the floor between his feet. “I can hardly go to dinner now. I’ve ruined my ascot and Grace crushed my hat.”

“Only the beginning of all sorts of punishment she could rightly bring down on you,” Adelaide said, patting Grace’s hand. “I’ll see to dinner. Surely there’s some decent place around that will feed us in your apartments.”

Thornhollow raised his head. “They’ll do that?”

“If you pay them enough, they’ll do anything,” his sister answered, gathering her wrap. “I shall return,” she said, “and try to put right all the wrongs you’ve already piled onto our evening, Melancthon.” The door slammed behind her as she left.

“I’m sorry, Grace,” Thornhollow said, the misery in his eyes bringing instant forgiveness from her. “Adelaide’s assumptions about you along with her derision of my career made me lose my temper and say things that weren’t mine to say. I apologize.”

Grace stood over him, one hand on her hip. “Melancthon?”

“Don’t start.”

THIRTY

“So then the National Woman Suffrage Association and the American Woman Suffrage Association merged to create the National American Woman Suffrage Association, which personally I think is rather a mouthful,” Adelaide said as she set down her wineglass.

“I’m sure others have much shorter terms,” the doctor said, sawing into his steak with more vigor than necessary.

“Such as?” Grace asked.

“There are plenty who just call us bitches, dear,” Adelaide explained, and Grace’s eyes went wide. She smiled and touched Grace’s wrist.

“I’m sorry for my language. When you’re at the front of the movement like I am you hear all manner of things and a certain coarseness creeps into your speech.”

“A beautiful way of saying you’ve lost your manners,” Thornhollow said into his half-empty wineglass.

“That’s a nice criticism coming from a man who drags young women to murder sites.”

“I only drag the one.”

“Regardless,” Grace interjected. “It’s good to know that something is being done for women, and I thank you for doing it. You’re free to use any language you like around me.”

Adelaide shot Thornhollow a look before nodding toward Grace. “I imagine you’ve seen all kinds of things, as a patient.”

“Yes,” Grace said, her mind turning back to Boston only when she forced it to. “I couldn’t quite get my mind around the fact of where I was, even a few days in. That something so horrible could happen easily, that’s the true insanity.”

“Well said,” Adelaide agreed. “The signature of one judge and the word of a male family member and that’s that.” She snapped her fingers. “You’re insane.”

“I probably seemed it,” Grace said, fingers toying with her glass stem. “I was screaming and kicking the entire way. I remember I pulled a chunk of hair right out of one orderly’s scalp.”

“Good for you,” Adelaide said, touching her glass to Grace’s.

“And I’d add, it stands as only further proof of your sanity,” Thornhollow said, leaning back from the table. “You knew where you were going and what awaited you. Any mentally sound person would fight tooth and nail to prevent it.”

“However, to the average person your fit only solidifies the claim,” his sister said. “Believe me, dear, I work side by side with women who have been in lunatic asylums, and their stories make my toes curl. And not in a good way,” she added, making Thornhollow rap the table sharply.

“I’m lucky to have your brother,” Grace said quickly to avoid another family argument. “Without his intervention I doubt I would’ve made it another week.”

“You would have,” he said.

“Yes, and about that . . .” Adelaide pushed her wineglass away from her, eyeing Thornhollow over the table. “How goes this catching of criminals by studying their brains?”

Thornhollow’s brow turned cloudy again, but he spoke amicably enough. “The theory behind it is sound, I truly believe that.”

“I do as well,” Grace added. “At the first murder we worked together your brother had the offender figured before we left the scene.”

“And since then?”

Thornhollow wadded up his dinner napkin. “We’ve had a repeat killer we haven’t had much luck with.”

“Really?”

Adelaide soaked up the details as Thornhollow and Grace filled her in on the three dolls, her mind working as quickly as her brother’s.

“I don’t think he’s showing any particular hatred toward women,” she said when they’d finished. “I’ve seen plenty of that, and it’s a bloody business.”

“I agree,” Thornhollow said. “Their faces are unharmed and no particular violence done to their female anatomy.”

“Were they raped?” Adelaide asked.

“Anka was not,” Grace said, her memory ticking off the facts. “Mellie Jacobs was in the ground before we knew she was a victim of the same killer, and the third girl had been outside for so long that we simply don’t know.” Grace’s eyes clouded as she realized something. “I never asked you her name.”

“Janet. Jenny. Something like that. I don’t know,” Thornhollow said.

“A prince of the people,” Adelaide huffed. “Although I’m not surprised. He’s never been good with names. I didn’t even have to run off the last girl who had attached herself to him. He managed that all by himself by calling her by her predecessor’s name at dinner.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Thornhollow objected, glancing at the clock. “I couldn’t recall her name at all, so I chose one.”

Adelaide shrugged. “Whatever the case, my job was done without a finger lifted.”

“And why is it your job, exactly?” Thornhollow asked, irritation slipping back into his voice.

“Because, little brother, you’re the last of the Thornhollows,” Adelaide said, her eyes thinning to slits over a well-worn argument. “My last name is no good to anybody since I have to give it up or bear a bastard, which carries its own stain. Mother would die if you got a baby on a girl she didn’t deem worthy, and she’ll die if you don’t manage to get one on anybody at all.” She nodded to the clock herself. “Ticktock.”

Grace’s knife struck her plate with a teeth-chattering clash, her eyes wide and face pale.

“I hardly think that’s the comment to lose your head over,” Adelaide said, but Grace ignored her.

“Doctor,” she said, her voice a barely contained whisper. “Doctor, I think I’ve got it.”

“By God, Grace,” Thornhollow said as his eyes roved over the chalkboard. “You could be right.”

They were safely tucked back in his office after leaving Adelaide in a rush, anxious to get back to the asylum. Thornhollow’s sister had scribbled down her Boston address quickly and placed it in Grace’s hands before they left. She rubbed her fingers over the thick stationery idly, her thoughts preoccupied by the board.