“Ms. Peabody, you inherited a rather large some of money, a vast empire of art and culture related endeavours as well as sole proprietership of The Peabody Foundation, not to mention billions of dollars worth of real estate,” Officer Bryant stated.

“What are you saying?” Helena asked. Officer Bryant studied Helena. Had she honestly have no clue what he was talking about. He took a deep breath and shuffled over the papers strewn out before him.

“What I’m saying, Ms. Peabody, is that you are our leading suspect in the murder of Peggy Peabody and that you will have to remian under house arrest while we investigate,” Officer Bryant explained.

Kit locked the door to her car and made her way toward the hospital. She gripped a bag closely as she walked past the two sliding emergeny doors leading her straight into the foyer of the building. She smiled at the nurse behind the cold bronze sign named “Admitting” and waited for the nurse to respond.

“Name,” she asked as a number of keys clicked behind the desk on an unseen keyboard.

“Kit Porter,” she said looking down at the desk trying to see the nurse type in the letters to her identity.

“Yes, Ms. Porter we’re expecting you. Wait one moment and I’ll have an orderly show you to your room,” the nurse said reaching for a red handled phone. A booming voice came over a PA system requesting an orderly to report to Admitting when then she hung up.

“Um, my friends might be coming to visit,” Kit chimed in. The nurse nodded her head.

“Yes, Ms. Porter, when they arrive we’ll notify them where you are,” she reassured as a young man in a blue gown showed up pushing a wheel chair. Kit sat down relunctantly and was wheeled off down the hall.

Bette’s jaw dropped as she walked into the CAC. A few artists spotted her and shook their heads as they started walking out the door mumbling under their breath. She watched as crates labeled fragile were being carted out the door behind her into an awaiting truck. Franklin, she noticed, was grinning broadly as he approached her in the entrance way.

“Bette,” he started raising his hands to her shoulder and turning her around. “I’m sorry to inform you, do to the present investigation, Mr. Carvington’s restoration project had been put on hold,” he explained gently guiding her toward the door.