Page 20 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)

Finn glanced out the broad kitchen window, observing the dark silhouette of police cars parked near the edge of Brynmor Hall's gravel drive.

Their headlights were off, and the interior lights had been extinguished.

It was late—well past the usual hour for household bustle.

If not for the glow of lights in the kitchen, the estate might have seemed deserted.

But inside, tension gripped everyone in the aftermath of Catherine Penrose's death.

He turned back to the large farm-style table at the kitchen’s center, where Marianne, Richard, and Jenna sat in subdued silence.

Donald the cook bustled at the stove, heating milk and whisking cocoa powder.

Despite the dire atmosphere, the aroma of rich chocolate rolled through the air, offering a small comfort in an otherwise grim evening.

Amelia sat beside Finn, pen and notebook at the ready on the tabletop. She studied the trio with concern. “I know it’s a horrible time,” she said softly, “but we need to ask some questions about Catherine. Is that all right?”

Richard sat hunched forward, face buried in his hands. His shoulders trembled, betraying quiet sobs. Jenna rested a hand on his back in a gesture of solace, though her own eyes were red-rimmed. Marianne perched across from them, wringing her hands in her lap, eyes distant and haunted.

Donald turned, ladle in hand, and cast a glance at Finn. “Would hot chocolate help them relax, do you think?”

Finn managed a wan smile. “It couldn’t hurt.

Thank you for making it.” He found it surreal that only hours before, they had discovered Catherine’s body, and now they sat like a group of weary travelers around a kitchen table at midnight.

The presence of the cocoa’s homey scent felt jarringly at odds with the tragedy that had befallen the household.

“Where is Judd?” Richard asked.

“He’s been sick with a migraine,” Marianne answered. “I just checked on him and he’s out like a light with the painkillers he’s on. He’ll wake up in the morning to all… To all this.”

Richard sniffled, wiping his nose on a handkerchief. He spoke in a raw, low voice, “I—I can’t believe she’s gone. My sister… it feels unreal.” Jenna leaned her head against his shoulder, offering silent support.

Amelia’s gaze softened. “We’re very sorry for your loss, Richard. Catherine seemed— from what little we saw—kind, thoughtful. It’s devastating to lose someone so suddenly.”

Marianne lowered her gaze. “She was a good friend. We might have had disagreements, but never over anything that should end like…like this.” Her eyes dampened, but she held herself resolutely, likely for the children’s sake—though they were now sleeping (or attempting to) in another room.

“She was always the voice of reason in this family, more than you’d expect from someone with so many burdens. ”

Finn gently cleared his throat, leaning forward in the chair. “We need a timeline of the evening, if you can manage it, Richard. Where were you when… things happened?”

Richard sat back slightly, the question seeming to jolt him from his grief.

“I was in my bedroom reading an old novel, The Count of Monte Cristo. I—I do that sometimes when I can’t sleep.

I must have been there from about nine o’clock onward.

Jenna had gone to bed earlier, or so I thought.

I only found out about Catherine when people started shouting.

” His voice trembled, and he looked at Jenna.

“I… I still can’t believe we’re talking about her in the past tense. ”

Jenna squeezed his arm gently, eyes glistening. “Shh. We’ll get through this, Richard.”

Amelia scribbled notes. “When did you last see Catherine alive?”

He frowned, brow creasing in thought. “We had a meal together—just a light supper—in the upper sitting room around seven. Then we parted ways. She said she had something to do, some personal matter, but didn’t elaborate.

I went to my room after that.” A wave of anguish crossed his face.

“I never realized that would be the last time I… spoke to her.”

Finn’s gaze flicked to Jenna. “And you, Mrs. Penrose? You discovered Catherine’s body, correct?”

Jenna nodded, tears threatening again. “Yes. She seemed… upset at dinner. Catherine and Richard had words, and I—I couldn’t sleep thinking about it.

So I got up and decided to see if she was all right.

” She gave Richard a sideways look, but he simply bowed his head in silent regret.

“When I reached her door, it was slightly ajar. She didn’t answer when I knocked, so I stepped in…

and that’s when—when I saw her under that curtain. ”

Her voice trembled, recalling the grisly sight. Amelia reached out, placing a comforting hand over Jenna’s. “You said she’d seemed upset. Was that just from an argument with Richard, or something else?”

Jenna glanced at Richard, but he stared down at his hands. She swallowed. “It… it wasn’t anything catastrophic. Catherine and Richard disagreed about the… the potential sale of Brynmor Hall. Catherine and Marianne were apparently considering it—”

Richard jerked upright. "Considering? They were practically in agreement, from what Catherine told me. Talking about how the estate's upkeep was too great a financial burden that it made sense to sell."

Marianne, seated a short distance away, stiffened, shooting him a sharp glare. “I was only discussing options,” she insisted. “I never promised anything to Catherine. You can’t blame me for exploring possibilities.”

Richard’s eyes flared with anger. “But you had no right to do that behind my back. This is my ancestral home, the place I grew up—where James grew up, Catherine, Wilkie— all of us. It’s Penrose property.

” He inhaled shakily. “Just because my parents decided to leave me nothing in the will doesn’t mean you can brush me aside. ”

“Calm down,” Jenna whispered, rubbing his arm soothingly. “We don’t need more drama. Right now, Catherine’s gone… that’s enough heartbreak.”

Amelia’s pencil hovered over her notebook. “So, you argued over the idea of selling Brynmor Hall?”

Richard pressed his lips together. "Yes. I couldn't stand the thought of strangers owning it. Catherine insisted it was best for the family to clear debts. And apparently, Marianne was open to that."

Marianne turned, eyes brimming with resentment.

“James left me half the house upon his death in his will. Catherine had the other half. We were discussing options, that’s all.

I wasn’t about to finalize anything without consulting you and the rest. But I can’t ignore the monstrous upkeep costs. This place is a fortress.”

Finn spoke up, trying to maintain calm in the face of Richard’s rising temper. “So Catherine and Marianne jointly owned the estate after James passed. Richard, you inherited nothing from your parents’ wills?”

Richard stood abruptly, voice choked with frustration.

“Yes, nothing! They all thought I was irresponsible with money, James included. He and Catherine locked me out. And now—Catherine’s death changes everything.

” He paused, glancing at Marianne as though wanting to fight on, but Jenna tugged at his sleeve, urging him to sit.

He dropped back into the chair, seething.

Fin tapped a pen against the tabletop. “In a practical sense, who inherits Catherine’s share now?”

Richard paled, color draining from his cheeks. He slumped, shoulders sagging. “She told me once, long ago, that she had changed her will. Should anything happen to her… her share would pass to me. She said she felt guilty that I got nothing from our parents.”

A charged silence filled the kitchen. Finn cast a sidelong glance at Amelia, noting how her lips pressed in a thin line, the same conclusion forming: Richard stood to gain from Catherine’s death. Whether or not he was responsible, it presented a motive as glaring as a searchlight.

Donald, returning from the stove with a tray of steaming mugs, paused awkwardly. He set the cocoa-laden tray on the counter, making no move to pour. “Here we are,” he said. “Sorry.” Then he retreated a few steps, looking discomfited.

Richard swallowed, tears glinting anew. “I would never… She was my sister,” he murmured defensively. “This house or no house, I— I’d never want her gone.” Then, as though the emotional toll broke him, he pressed his palms to his eyes, suppressing sobs.

Jenna wrapped an arm around him. “We know,” she whispered, voice tight. “We know.”

Finn was about to speak when a figure appeared in the doorway—Inspector Thomas Lloyd.

He wore the same tweed jacket as before, shoulders tense.

“Finn, Amelia.” He gave them a curt nod, then focused on the others in the room.

“We’ve taken Catherine’s body away,” he announced gently, though his words resonated with finality.

Richard crumpled, burying his face into Jenna’s shoulder as heartbreak poured out. Marianne turned away, gripping the edge of the counter top for support, eyes shut in despair. Silence fell, broken only by Richard’s muffled sobs.

Amelia rose, guiding Thomas away from the table toward the corridor.

Finn followed, glancing back once to see Marianne kneading her brow as she stared at her half-full mug of cocoa with unseeing eyes.

For a few moments, the trio—Finn, Amelia, and Lloyd—stood in the hallway, close enough to hear the quiet weeping but giving the Penroses space.

Lloyd sighed, crossing his arms. “This is worse than I feared. First James, now Catherine. The entire family is under siege. But by who?”

Amelia nodded, her brow furrowed. “Are you done with the initial scene examination?”

He gave a sharp bob of his head. “For now, yes. My officers will remain on site, but we can’t do much else until we get more forensic results. I’m recommending the family vacate the premises. It’s not safe here.”

Finn let out a sigh. “I doubt Marianne or Richard will agree to that. They keep insisting Brynmor Hall is their home, that they won’t be driven off. The children, at least, will go away for a bit, but I don’t see Marianne leaving. Not with the ghost rumors, not with the legacy.”

Inspector Lloyd rubbed his temples as if staving off a headache. “Well, it’s their risk, I suppose. I hope they realize caution might save their lives.” Then he lowered his voice. “What about Catherine’s body? The forensics team gave me a few preliminary remarks.”

Amelia’s eyes sharpened. “Anything we should know?”

Lloyd’s expression darkened. “They said there’s no obvious wound, no bruising consistent with strangulation or a blow.

She was found with that letter opener clutched in her hand, but there’s no sign of actual stab wounds.

It’s eerily reminiscent of James—dying, seemingly, from shock or fear.

Another Penrose apparently succumbing to ‘fright’ in the dark corners of this house. ”

Finn grimaced, memory flashing to Catherine’s rigid posture, wide-eyed and cold. “So, basically, no direct cause besides a plausible ‘heart stopping’? Another difficult-to-prove homicide if it is one.”

“It’s possible she had the same heart condition as James,” Amelia offered. “If it’s congenital.”

Lloyd shrugged, frustration evident in the tense lines around his mouth. “We’ll keep investigating. But it looks more and more like this could be the same pattern James exhibited—fear-induced cardiac arrest, or something that left no physical trace.”

Amelia tapped the side of her notebook. “Which means we’ve got to figure out who or what is terrifying them to death, if that’s indeed the method.”

Finn let out a slow breath, recalling Hobbs’s stories of Wilkie Penrose’s odd demise in the cellar years back.

Another Penrose found with no outward injury, only an expression of frozen horror.

If a pattern truly existed, it spanned nearly a decade or more of uncanny tragedies.

“We’ll do everything we can, Inspector.”

“Good,” Lloyd replied. “My men are outside, but we’ll keep a perimeter watch. Meanwhile, I strongly advise you to push them to leave or, at least, keep everyone in locked rooms for the night. If a murderer’s prowling, or if some intangible phenomenon is at play, nobody should wander about alone.”

Finn felt a pang of weary determination.

“We’ll talk to them. Thank you. The day’s been…

quite a shock for all.” He rubbed the tension in his neck, hearing Richard’s muffled sobs from the kitchen behind them.

He pictured Marianne’s pale face, Jenna’s tears, and the stoic hush from Mrs Hughes.

The entire household quivered under fear and heartbreak.

Amelia mustered a tight nod. “We appreciate your help, Inspector. Let’s keep each other updated, yeah?”

Lloyd inclined his head, the overhead corridor lamp casting sharp lines across his features. “Of course. I’ll be here a while longer, then I’ll leave a couple of uniforms. If anything else happens, you call me immediately.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, footsteps fading toward the foyer.

Finn exhaled, shoulders heavy from the day’s emotional toll.

The corridor felt eerily silent again, the hush broken only by faint voices from the kitchen and a distant shuffle of movement from the direction of the house’s side wings.

Amelia touched his arm softly. “Two siblings dead, a possible masked intruder, and a swirling rumor about ghosts. I’d say Brynmor Hall’s being unsafe is an understatement,” she said bleakly.

Finn swallowed, recalling Catherine’s lifeless eyes. “All we can do is keep watch and keep asking questions. The family are frightened, perhaps by the old myths surrounding their ancestors. Someone is deliberately stoking that fear.”

She gave him a solemn look, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Then we need to shine a light on it.”

He nodded, turning them back toward the kitchen.

The overhead lights flickered slightly, adding an ominous note to the hush.

Within the next few hours, or days at most, they needed to pry open the Penrose secrets, unearth the truth behind these bizarre deaths, and stop a cunning killer—if indeed that’s what haunted these halls.

Because if they failed, there was no telling who might be next in line to meet a tragic, fear-laced end.