Page 47 of Convict’s Game (Skeleton Crew #1)

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Cassie’s apartment was a floor down from Genevieve’s but almost identical in the red-brick walls, oak floors, and arched windows overlooking the sunset city. Near the entrance, a shelving unit held motorbike helmets, one with cat ears, and a bookshelf thick with romance novels.

Cassie breezed into the kitchen and searched the cupboards, pulling out packets and raiding the fridge. “Gen is studying today, so we won’t see her for a while, and Everly had a rough night, so ditto. It’ll just be us three.”

I settled on a stool the other side of the kitchen counter. “Mind if I check my email while we wait for Lovelyn?”

Scowling at a box of eggs, she flapped a hand for me to continue.

I opened the app and sighed at the sheer number of messages that flooded in, several familiar names scrolling by. But the message at the very top pulled me up short.

Anonymous: Shame his shiny gold coffin wasn’t on that ship. Would’ve been a fitting sendoff.

A chill slid down my spine, something not adding up.

A rap sounded at the door, and Cassie opened it to Lovelyn, escorted by a member of the skeleton crew.

“I’m attempting pancakes,” Cassie informed her. “If they turn out edible, I’m claiming witchcraft. Otherwise, it’s just violence with eggs.”

“I’m sure they’ll be wonderful.” Lovelyn joined me at the counter and set down a huge handbag, the handle boasting the floral print I’d started associating with her.

I greeted her but struggled to keep my smile.

Lovelyn eyed me. “Are you okay?”

“Not really. Can I talk to you both about something? I haven’t shared this with anyone else but I could use your detective agency thoughts.”

The women gave me their full attention, and I read out the message.

Then told them what was bothering me most about it.

“My grandfather’s funeral was closed to all but the family, and there are a lot of us.

But no press. No photographers inside the building.

The pictures that were shared online of the funeral procession and of me at the graveside didn’t show the gold referenced in that message. ”

Cassie caught my drift. Pouring batter into her hot pan, she said, “Suggesting someone who’d been at the funeral sent this hate mail?”

I cringed at the description, even though it was correct. “And several more since he died.”

I showed them the email folder.

Lovelyn scanned the list. “Explain to me the significance of the gold?”

“He had an open casket. The gold was inside. Gold satin, gold studs. The outside of his casket was plain wood which reflected the kind of straightforward man he was, but my grandmother wanted to bury him with a little luxury.”

Her gaze returned to me. “Has anyone from the family been obviously hostile to you or your grandfather? At any point, not just at the funeral.”

I swallowed. “They’re all frustrated at the money not coming in, but that doesn’t lend itself to taunting me or spitting venom about my grandfather. He was beloved.”

“So that’s a no? I ask because in cases such as these, nine times out of ten, the answer is the most obvious one. It’s in plain sight. Do any of the messages make demands or threaten you directly?”

“No. It’s just jabs at my grandfather. He really was the best of men. He built up Marchant Haulage from nothing to an international behemoth of a company. All the money he made from it, he split between the family, expanding out his reach as he went.”

“He put his relatives on the payroll?”

“Not even that. He gave them monthly dividend payouts. Like a salary, I suppose, but with no work required. Just support for those who needed it.”

As I said the words, I doubted the last part. Like Convict had pointed out, not everybody had a real need. A generation had grown up used to having that money with no effort or even a recognition of the privilege on their part.

Lovelyn’s tone was careful. “What did he ask in return?”

I opened and closed my mouth. I’d never considered that. “Nothing as far as I know. Why do you ask?”

“Purely from an outsider perspective, and with no shade thrown at your frankly wonderful-sounding grandfather, all of those people were put into a position of obligation to him. He made them dependant, whether purposefully or not. It meant he could ask them for favours and they would jump to give them. I’m not saying he did, but we are looking at messages from someone who hated him, despite all the great things he did.

I’d try to understand why they need you to know this so badly. ”

My shoulders rose. “You don’t think it’s jealousy?”

“If they were just making snide remarks about him, then sure. But making the effort to create an anonymous account and repeatedly send messages from it suggests something more pressing.”

Cassie pointed a whisk at her, the pile of pancakes growing. “Reckon they’d escalate to blowing up a boat?”

Lovelyn blinked.

I filled her in on what happened to the Eden . Then I drew my eyebrows in and opened a previous message from the hate mail stack, showing it to Lovelyn.

She read aloud. “‘All those boats sitting in the dock.’ They said that right before the boat blew up?”

“They did. Just a couple of hours.”

My phone rang with the number for the Marchant legal team. I excused myself and answered it. I’d left them a message when driving back from the clinic, not expecting a reply until morning as it was after hours now.

Cochran, the lawyer handling my grandfather’s affairs, spoke down the line. “Miss Marchant. Thank you for your message. How can I help you?”

“What can you tell me about the Eden’s destruction?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. The police have not yet commented, and the caretaker company has not reported their immediate next steps.”

I grimaced. That wouldn’t help me update the relatives. “Do we know if there was any loss of life? Any cargo that’s been destroyed?”

“We have no information to share at all. May I recommend speaking with your uncle?”

“My uncle? Why would Wallace know anything?”

As far as I knew, my playboy uncle was sunning himself somewhere tropical. He’d never attended a business meeting or showed any interest in the company, nor had my grandfather trusted him to make a single decision. After the funeral, he’d hopped straight back on a plane.

“Then you haven’t heard. Mr Wallace Marchant returned to these shores a few days ago, I believe to prepare for next week’s meeting and to support your grandmother. She told me herself.”

“When did you speak to her?” I squeaked.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “I’m not at liberty to discuss individual client’s activities.”

Meaning she’d told him not to. Yet she was fine and still in contact with others, just not me. I didn’t get it. Wallace was the last person she would turn to for support.

At the funeral, he’d worn his sunglasses and a bored expression. But now I thought of it, he had been at his mother’s side once or twice. Presumably poisoned by the same venom that was hurting her.

A problem I still had no solution for.

“About that meeting, would there be any possibility of extending the date?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, but no. Mr Wallace already requested it be brought forward and was refused as there is no justification. Assuming all voting parties will be in attendance, it will go ahead as planned next Friday.”

Thanking Cochran, I hung up and dialled Wallace. The call rang out, and his answerphone kicked in. I killed the call and stared at my phone.

“Food’s ready,” Cassie said.

I returned to the counter and accepted a plate of pancakes with lemon and sugar plus strawberries.

Next to me, Lovelyn touched my arm. “I’m sorry if I was mercenary in my questions. I should’ve been gentler. I didn’t think about how much you must be suffering.”

“It’s okay. I asked for your help.”

“Are you sure? I have big emotional reactions sometimes, and it hit me when I saw your face fall on the phone. Did I cause that?”

“No! Not at all.” I squeezed her shoulder.

She exhaled shakily. “Right. I need to chill and stop being ridiculous. I get all up in my feels, and it’s like a tap I can’t turn off. I try to ignore it for as long as I can. A set-and-forget timer, until it explodes. I just don’t want you to think I was being careless.”

“You weren’t. I was broken up when my grandfather died, but it’s settled into a background sadness now. It doesn’t keep me awake at night anymore, if you know what I mean.”

She gave me a wobbly smile that somehow told me she did.

We ate, and I sorted through my thoughts.

Lovelyn’s tap she couldn’t turn off sounded like how I felt for Convict.

Except he was a torrent falling all around me and sweeping me away.

Being with him hadn’t pushed aside my feverish energy for protecting my family, but he used it up in better ways that gave me a clearer head.

I devoured the sweet breakfast food and the coffee Cassie poured, working out what I needed to do next.

“Lovelyn, I don’t suppose you have access to the Scottish police as well as the English?”

“I do. My father’s role spans both. Why?”

“The lawyers can’t give me any intelligence on the explosion. Would you be able to access the investigation? If that won’t get you into trouble.”

“I’d love to help. I can take a look without it causing any problems.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage.”

“Consider it a debt my father owes your boyfriend. Besides, Arran pays me well if he needs me to do some data digging. It’s nice to do it for a different purpose.”

She reached for a tablet from her bag and started typing. As she worked, she darted a glance between me and Cassie. “I like feeling useful in our club. I haven’t had Esther’s post-mortem results yet, by the way, but that’s coming. I’ll pull my weight.”

“Detective agency,” Cassie corrected. “And I didn’t just ask ye to join for what I can get. I’m not from Deadwater so I need more friends. I chose ye both because I like ye.”

The three of us shot each other grins.

“Does that mean we get shirts, too?” I asked.