Brenna smarted slightly at the rebukful tone, than shrugged it off. She accepted his arm and they began to detour to the lounge "I think that's a grand idea Mr.Grut"

She began to think, who could have committed this ghastly murder? Was that person in this house silently gloating at their stupidity? She felt suddenly as if she were being watched. Seeing Quincey she steered Grut in thats direction, it was time they all had a good chat, and a good drink.

Letting himself almost be pulled along by Brenna, Grut and the lady approached where they saw Quincy already seated. Stepping forward with his cane, he showed Brenna to a comfortable two-seater couch beside the entrepreneur. Before taking a seat himself, he tipped his hat at Quincy.

"Mr. Shackleford, enjoying your drink?" he asked mildly before getting to his point. "May I ask where you got it from?"

Grut looked back at Brenna. "What may I get this fine lady to satisfy her thirst?" Remembering that she had stayed at the murder scene for longer, he continued in typical Grut style. "And what were you doing upstairs after everyone journeyed downstairs?" He found himself laying off a touch. "Find anything?"

"No, Ms McKnight, I didn't find anything," Grut responded in turn, almost mimicking the lady herself. "I was trying to collect verbal information before having a browse through this tortured house." As he said this, Grut lifted both of his arms as if to embrace the whole room that they were in. His cane finished its swing by pointing directly towards the ceiling.

Pausing for a moment, Grut's mind changed tracks. His body was still, the front of his unbuttoned suit open while he held his arms up high, as his new train of thoughts ran down a different line. "Tortured..." he murmured the word again softly. But Jimmy had died swiftly and quickly. Grut shook his head after a second, and brought his arms back down as if nothing had happened.

He tapped the cane twice on the ground when he turned back to Quincy. He soured. "Or an inquisitive mind could get you killed, Mr. Shackleford. Perhaps Jimmy's mind led him to the wrong place and caused him to have the wrong knowledge."

Looking behind him and towards the bar, Grut could see that still, there was no one present. He didn't even know where Harold was.

"I would prefer to wait before I get you that sherry, my lady," he said facing Brenna. "Manners, you see." Grut tipped his hat and one corner of his lips went up in a... smile. He found, astonishingly, that he was enjoying himself and his company.

Brenna scowled a bit at Mr. Grut's refusal to get her the drink. She began to ponder "you know I don't believe my question was ever answered by the butler. Did the victim have any mistresses? I may have been having er...difficulties when he did reply" She was rather embarrassed that she had behaved in typical female action and had gotten ill frm all the blood.

She glanced around the room looking for the butler, it was time they had more of a discussion with him. And maybe get a look at the coroners report if there was one. In typical fashion she had mused aloud and looked to see if anyone had heard her talking to herself, sometimes it embarrassed her when people heard.

His face became impassive again when he saw the slight disapproval from Brenna. Perhaps not everyone remembers the thing called manners, he thought with a sigh.

"I think Harold purposely answered your question by a side route," Grut started to say. Realising that time was playing one of its many tricks, he took a step forward and carefully sat down on the couch beside Brenna. He leaned back with ease, making sure he could still take in Quincy on the redhead's side of the couch as he plopped his cane between his legs.

"When asked whom this mansion and Jimmy's possessions would go to, Harold mentioned that there was no one left in the lad's bloodline," Grut continued after he was comfortable. "I took that at face value indicating that he didn't have a missy."

Grut shook his head sadly. "Although now that you mention it, these days anything is possible. There was probably some delusional concubine." He snorted.

Brenna thought about Mr. Grut's last comment, she had learned to develope selective hearing when it came to him and his oh so proper ways. Yes these days many had lovers and mistresses and lately there had been a trend for lovers to kill their meal ticket in a rage. Quite a switch from the old days when the wife did the killing. She gazed at Mr. Grut " Well I for one would like to speak with the damndable butler again" she craned her neck looking for him,only to result in a sore neck. Damn it all she was here to solve a fecking murder not lounge around speculating.