Page 34

Frederick stood by the window, his waistcoat half-buttoned as he gazed at the darkening sky outside.

The air seemed to press in, thick with the promise of a storm, and he couldn’t help but feel that the weather’s temper mirrored his own.

The time was slipping by far too quickly, what with packing for Scotland, helping Lillias with the last of the estate matters in Harrington, and finishing up whatever investigation they could with Detective Johnson.

The small inconveniences of having to order breakfast out and Lillias’ penchant for sleeping late into the morning didn’t help with efficiency, but at least the police officer had remained on watch the whole night and alerted Frederick that morning that Mrs. Lindsay had begun to make some murmurings toward wakefulness.

A good sign for the investigation, especially if she could identify her assailant and the person with whom Mr. Clark had been in conversation—perhaps the same person.

And an officer had stopped in to share that Mr. Barclay had awakened during the night. Not for long and somewhat confused, but he had stayed awake long enough to take a few drinks of water. The nurse reported it as a good sign that he would heal.

So perhaps they could truly leave for Scotland within the week.

Frederick would feel much better with Elliott or Blake at hand.

In fact, he planned to contact Jack Miracle too, just to see if he could gain any counsel in the matter.

There was a good chance that Detective Johnson’s jurisdiction didn’t include Scotland.

“Did Detective Johnson take the dagger?”

Frederick turned toward his wife, who’d been sitting at the desk for a good half hour writing in her notebook. Zahra, curled up on the settee with her own pages, barely looked up from her scribbling.

“The dagger?”

“Yes, the one Lillias found in Tony’s chest,” she said matter-of-factly, her eyes not leaving her notes.

Grace’s directness always caught him off guard, just as it did now. He hesitated, glancing at Zahra, who gave him a slight shrug before returning to her work.

Frederick then answered, “Yes, as I recall.”

“Well, that’s one less loose thread in all this.” She tapped her pen against the notebook and looked up at him, her teeth biting into her bottom lip. He could practically see the gears turning in her mind. “So far, I have these clues:

1. Lillias and Tony were in debt and unhappily married. Lillias was selling family heirlooms for money, and Tony was gambling badly, in a vain hope of resurrecting the romance they had seemed to lose in their near-poverty.

Frederick stepped from the window, his lips crooking at her mixture of facts and creative narrative.

2. Fake Officer Clark is a gentleman with a network of spies—or at least one who’s managed to insinuate herself into the house to gather information for Mr. Clark’s dastardly deeds.

Grace raised her pen toward him. “My bet’s on Mrs. James, but her continued presence here, long after the will’s been destroyed, leaves me … uncertain.”

“She has an angry face, and she does not like the baby,” Zahra said, not looking up from her page.

“That alone raises enough red flags,” Grace muttered, tapping the pen again. “What kind of person doesn’t like babies?” She raised an eyebrow at Frederick. “What do you think?”

Before he could answer, Grace moved on:

3. Whoever hit you on the head, presumably Mr. Clark, has ties to Scotland. And I’m afraid his disguise—specifically the fake mustache—was as poor as his American accent.

Frederick couldn’t help chuckling. “Indeed. A man who fails both at facial hair and accents is hardly a criminal mastermind.”

His comment paused her response for a moment, just long enough for her to reward him with a grin.

“4. Mr. Barclay wasn’t attacked until yesterday, so our murderer didn’t know about the will—or who the solicitor handling it was—until then.

They must have come to Virginia to stop us from getting to Scotland, and when they found out about the will, they decided to destroy it, hoping to end the matter once and for all. ”

Frederick stepped closer, a thought forming. “Unless,” he interjected, “they—or their spy—overheard something that suggested there was another copy of the will hidden at Mosslea.”

“Which should then send him directly across the pond, shouldn’t it?”

“Unless they feel there is other information to clarify where the will is or—” He stopped, a sudden and unwelcome thought coming to mind.

“What?” Grace lowered her pen.

“They plan to eliminate any chance of you or Lillias getting to Scotland at all.” He held her gaze, hoping his vague explanation would convey the gravity of the threat.

Grace was quiet for a moment before she leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen thoughtfully. “That’s curious, Frederick. Detective Johnson mentioned Tony’s wound wasn’t made by a skilled hand. But it doesn’t take a great deal of practice to come up behind someone and clonk them on the head.”

“Do you have experience on that score?”

Her lips tipped at his teasing. “No, but I’ve imagined it, and I feel with the proper incentive, my aim could prove very accurate.” She frowned. “Though I’d hate the idea of hearing someone’s skull crack.”

“It is not a loud sound,” Zahra added. “Like a melon getting hit by a stick.”

Grace’s eyes widened as she glanced at Frederick. The casualness with which Zahra described that sound hit him with a pang. The very idea she even knew what it sounded like …

“Thank you for the clarification, Zahra.” Frederick offered a tight smile, and the little girl looked up at him with a whisper of a smile on her face.

“So we need to make sure the murderer—Clark, or whoever it is—doesn’t find out about the other will,” Grace continued, writing a few more notes before standing.

“I should speak to Lillias. I don’t think she fully grasps the danger we’re in, and I need her to be on guard, especially around Mrs. James. ”

“I’ll go and see about Mrs. Lindsay.” Frederick said, gesturing toward Zahra. “Would you like to come along, lamb?”

Without hesitation, Zahra placed her paper and crayons aside and skipped to Frederick’s side, taking his outstretched hand.

He drew in a deep breath, embracing the moment.

It was a sweet feeling. One he’d known with his daughter, Elizabeth, but he’d not allowed himself to embrace until now. Until Grace.

As they walked from the room, he cast a glance over at Grace, his heart swelling with a strange mixture of hope and determination. Once they were back in Havensbrooke, things would change.

And hopefully, he’d have a chance to make it right.

Grace’s mind swirled with questions about the entire case.

Too many things.

Why did Clark seek out Tony instead of Lillias if he truly wanted to stop them from claiming the inheritance? Why incapacitate Mr. Barclay but not kill him outright? Did he have another motive—or was he simply bad at murder?

She rapped on Miss Cox’s door first, assuming Lillias may very well be in there since she’d chosen to sleep there for the night.

When no one answered, Grace pushed the door open.

With the darkness of the sky, only the faintest afternoon light shone through the lace curtains to reveal an empty room.

Grace turned the switch on the wall and illuminated the room with electric lights.

The beds had been made already.

By whom? Mrs. James?

Come to think of it, Grace hadn’t seen Mrs. James all morning. Her pulse shifted up a little. The crib stood in the corner, as usual. The dressers waited on each side of the two beds in the room, so why did her scalp tingle with warning.

She hadn’t seen Miss Cox at breakfast and had assumed she was taking care of Thomas. With a quick turn, Grace left the room and continued down the hallway to Lillias’ room. After a few unanswered knocks, she entered—and found the room just as empty as the first.

Bed made. As if not slept in.

Her pulse took an upswing. As if not slept in.

Grace rushed to the wardrobe, pulled open the door, and sucked in a breath. Empty.

No, no, no.

Lillias hadn’t done what Grace had feared.

Certainly not.

But as Grace took in the room, a single slip of paper waited on the desk by the farthest window. An envelope with Grace’s name on the front.

Grace didn’t need to open it. Her heart already knew.

But the lines penned in her sister’s hand confirmed her fears:

I left money with Mr. Broom at the funeral home yesterday to cover anything needed for Tony’s burial. I’ve given Mr. Arbor notice to end the lease we have on the house by the end of the month with significant payment and detailed directions to box up and ship all my belongings to me at Mosslea.

I loved Tony and, God help him, he loved me.

Don’t you see? It’s all my fault. His gambling, our estrangement, his death.

And with whatever I have left in me, I’m determined not to have Thomas grow up in a place where the only thing anyone will remember about their father is the shadows surrounding his death. We both need to start over, and this inheritance is my lifeline.

I will find the will if I have to tear the castle apart stone by stone.

I mean to take what’s been offered to us, a rescue Mother provided, even if I must frustrate you, Frederick, and Detective Johnson to do so.

My life in Harrington is over.

Forgive me, but I didn’t see any other way.

Lillias

PS Miss Cox is with me, and we mean to take the first ship out of port in the morning.

Anger proved an unfamiliar feeling for Grace.

She knew it, of course. Had experienced it, yes—but not often.

Right now, though?

All she wanted to do was tear this letter into a thousand pieces and scream into a pillow.

How selfish! How childish!

Did her sister have any consideration for anyone else in the world besides herself?

Could grief and desperation lead someone to complete and utter lunacy?