Page 11 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)

Finn rose early, spurred by restless curiosity as much as by habit.

The morning light filtering through his bedroom curtains had grown bright and welcoming—an invitation to begin the day’s inquiries.

After dressing quickly in a crisp shirt and slacks, he decided to look in on Amelia.

His footsteps echoed along the manor’s corridor, the floorboards creaking in protest. Despite Brynmor Hall’s looming presence and the undercurrent of tension from the previous day, the early sun lent the estate a peaceful hush.

Stopping before Amelia’s door, he rapped his knuckles softly.

“Amelia?” he called. No response came from within.

He tried again, only to be met by continued silence.

Worry prickled at him—Amelia rarely left without a quick word.

Still, he reminded himself she was an investigator through and through; perhaps she’d simply gotten a jump on the day.

Finn tested the door handle. It turned easily, and the door swung inward, revealing the room lit by the cheerful glow of morning.

However, Amelia was nowhere to be seen. The bed was made with neat corners, her overnight bag resting on a chair.

A fleeting frown pulled at Finn’s mouth.

If she’d left, she hadn’t taken her belongings, so presumably she was still around somewhere.

He stepped back into the corridor, gently shutting the door.

A waft of warm air from a nearby vent teased the back of his neck.

He started down the stairs, the sunlight spilling through high windows onto the wide steps.

In the foyer, a quiet hush prevailed—he glimpsed no staff scurrying about, no housekeeper waiting.

Rounding a corner, he nearly collided with Evan, the young servant. Evan recoiled with wide eyes, then relaxed when he recognized Finn.

“Morning, sir,” Evan said, blinking. “You almost made me drop these linens.”

Finn nodded an apology at the stack of folded sheets in the boy’s arms. “Sorry about that. Have you seen—Inspector Winters? I looked for her in her room, but she’s not there.”

Evan shifted his grip on the sheets. “I believe she’s outside, sir. Talking to someone, looked like a gentleman. She went out not long after dawn, I think.”

“Thanks,” Finn replied, pausing a moment. “Any idea who the gentleman was?”

Evan just shook his head. “Didn’t get a good look. Sorry.”

“No problem.” Finn offered the lad a quick smile, then headed toward the front doors. If Amelia was outside, he might catch up to her easily enough.

Pushing open the large oak door, he stepped onto the manor’s wide stone steps.

A flood of brilliant morning sun bathed the front drive.

The Welsh countryside sparkled under a sky of pale blue, a refreshing change from the gloom of the night before.

The gravel crunched underfoot as he descended, scanning the expansive lawn.

No sign of Amelia. The breeze carried the scent of dew-laden grass, and faint birdsong chimed from the distant woods.

He noticed footprints leading away from the gravel path—two sets, by the look of it—though one might be from earlier staff.

Still, they looked fresh. He took a chance and followed them, the soles of his shoes trailing lightly in the disturbed gravel.

The footprints curved behind a row of ornamental bushes, where he spotted two figures standing near a trimmed hedgerow.

They weren't Amelia and her unknown companion, however.

Instead, he found a man and a woman, both in their early thirties.

The man, dressed in a casual blazer and jeans, had short, dark hair and an angular jaw that tightened when he saw Finn approach.

The woman wore a stylish spring coat, her blonde hair swept into a loose updo.

Both had the slight air of travelers who arrived in a hurry.

The man glared at Finn, brow furrowed. “Who the devil are you? This is private property.”

Finn halted, raising both palms in a peaceable gesture. “I’m Finn Wright, with the Home Office. Are you by chance members of the Penrose family?”

“Home Office?” The man’s suspicious gaze flicked to Finn’s ID badge. Then he softened, nodding once. “I’m Richard Penrose, James’s younger brother. This is my wife, Jenna.”

Jenna offered a polite, if reserved, smile. “Pleasure,” she said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

Finn pocketed his badge. “Apologies for startling you. We’ve been asked to investigate the circumstances of James’s death.”

At the mention of James’s death, Richard’s frown deepened. “Yes... It’s…we’re all in shock. Catherine and Marianne called us to return and help with arrangements.”

“So you weren’t here when it happened?” Finn asked gently.

Richard exhaled. “No, we only just arrived last night. We’d been living away for some time, partly to avoid the family’s… ongoing drama.” He stiffened slightly. “But with James gone, we felt obliged to come back to Brynmor Hall.”

Jenna cast him a glance, then turned to Finn. “We wanted to support Marianne and Catherine, you see. In a time like this, the family should be together.”

Finn nodded understandingly. “I see. Do you have any thoughts on what caused James’s sudden death?”

Jenna pursed her lips, sadness in her eyes. “He…overworked himself. Always worrying about the estate finances, trying to keep the family afloat.” She paused, casting a sidelong look at her husband. “He never took a break.”

Richard released a disapproving grunt. “James never recognized boundaries, is more accurate. He didn’t know when enough was enough. Always meddling, always deciding for us.”

Finn sensed tension crackling between them. “Meddling how?” he asked softly, curious about the undercurrent of resentment.

Before Richard could answer, Jenna gave a small sigh. “Let’s just say James was the one who secured funds for everything around here. And he often expected the rest of the family to toe his line. We…disagreed on methods.”

Richard’s jaw set. “He used his money as leverage. If it weren’t for him, we’d be just fine,” he said, but his tone faltered unconvincingly.

Jenna flashed him an exasperated look. “Oh, don’t pretend.

We needed his help more often than not. You know that.

He bailed us out time and again. That’s the only reason we had a place to live after your last business fiasco.

The only kindness we could do in return, was put in our wills that James and Marianne’s children should inherit our wealth. .. If we ever have any.”

Anger flared in Richard’s eyes, and he took a sharp step away, hand curling into a fist. “That’s enough, Jenna.” She folded her arms, looking equally frustrated, and a heavy silence fell.

Awkwardness weighed on Finn’s shoulders. He cleared his throat, aiming to diffuse the moment. “It sounds like finances were a stress for James, as well as the rest of the family. If he was supporting you all, that might have taken its toll.”

Richard's temper flashed. "We didn't ask for the man to meddle in every aspect of our finances or to lord it over us every chance he got.

" He pointed a finger at Finn. "You want to know if he was killed?

Let me say this: James was perfectly capable of bringing about his own downfall with his controlling ways. "

With that, he spun on his heel, striding angrily back toward the manor. Jenna watched him go, a mixture of embarrassment and regret on her face.

She forced a small shrug as an apology to Finn. “He’s just upset,” she said quietly. “All the Penroses are quick to anger—James was no different. If Richard doesn’t watch his blood pressure, he might end up just like his brother.”

Finn frowned slightly, uncertain how to respond. He settled on, “Thank you for your time under the circumstances,” which he meant sincerely. “We appreciate any help you can give us.”

Jenna nodded, exhaling. “I should go inside and calm him down. Good day, Mr. Wright.” She offered a slight wave and followed her husband’s path up the gravel, heading back into the house.

Finn stood there for a moment, processing the encounter.

A flurry of tension indeed simmered within the Penrose clan.

If finances had caused friction, it might explain James’s stress—and maybe the impetus for someone to want him out of the picture, though none of that was certain.

Could someone in the family have murdered him over such tensions?

Remembering Amelia, he turned in a slow circle.

The estate grounds stretched out under a pleasant morning sun, but he saw no sign of her.

Eventually, he noticed an arched opening in a tall stone wall just beyond some hedges—a path leading to what looked like a walled garden.

He ventured toward it, following a faint murmur of voices carried on the breeze.

Through the arched entrance, he stepped into a private garden enclosed by old stone walls draped in climbing roses.

Within, neat paths wound among flowerbeds bursting with early-season blossoms, and a small fountain trickled at the center.

The sun’s rays slanted over the wall, giving the space a tranquil warmth.

It was in stark contrast to the tension swirling around the estate.

Ahead, Amelia stood talking to a man in his early sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a genial expression. The man wore a rumpled tweed jacket, a notepad tucked under one arm, and carried a certain air of officialdom. At Finn’s approach, Amelia glanced over, relief softening her features.

“There you are,” she called. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”

Finn raised a hand in greeting. “I might ask you the same question. I knocked on your door, thought you’d vanished.”

Amelia offered a half-smile. “I woke up early and went for a walk. Then I bumped into DI Lloyd here.” She nodded to the older man. “Detective Inspector Thomas Lloyd from the local station. Thomas, this is Finn Wright, my partner in this case.”