Page 26 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)

Edwin half-shrugged. “I believe in many unexplained phenomena. And I do know that after Wilkie died, James was convinced that the curse, and the stories of the curse, had something to do with it. He insisted I peddled ghost stories to Wilkie, twisted his mind. That’s part of why James wanted me gone from the estate—he blamed me for fueling Wilkie’s fears.

It just took him years to finally do it because Catherine always pushed back.

But once it was a question of money, I was a goner. ”

Finn tapped a finger on the chair’s worn armrest. “Do you believe it’s a real curse? That these ghosts are killing the Penroses who shame the family?”

A strange light filled Edwin’s eyes, a blend of conviction and sorrow.

“I’ve roamed these woods at night. Heard knocks, seen strange lights that move among the trees.

Could be illusions. Could be something else.

All I know is Wilkie’s face was locked in a terror I’ve never seen before—like something unnatural got him.

And James was sure next, or so he feared.

Now look: James is gone, Catherine’s gone. The curse seems alive, doesn’t it?”

Finn inhaled slowly, forcing rational thought.

“It could also be a human culprit exploiting these superstitions. James was terrified enough to build a panic room. And indeed, he died alone, apparently frightened. Now Catherine’s also dead.

If you didn’t do it, do you suspect someone else is leaning into the ghost story to kill them discreetly? ”

Edwin snorted, a humorless sound. "Haven't you considered that the Penrose themselves brought misfortune by their actions?

James especially. He ran the family fortune into the ground, took up with…

questionable company—escorts, rumor said—disreputing the name.

If that's true, maybe the old ghosts had the last laugh. "

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Escorts? That’s new info to me. You’re certain?”

Edwin scratched his gray stubble. “Heard rumors from staff. James was partial to unsavory amusements. Enough to stain the family name, especially if word got out.” A wry shrug. “Maybe that was enough to seal his fate, if you believe in curses.”

A short hush followed as the man’s words sank in.

Finn had suspected James had financial secrets, but a hidden vice with escorts might tie into blackmail or other shady dealings.

Perhaps that was one motive for murder. It also made sense as to why James would have wanted the house to himself the night he died.

“That’s a serious allegation,” he said quietly. “We’ll see if the estate’s financial records show anything like that. Another question: how did you remain here after James fired you? He never forced you off the property grounds?”

Edwin's mouth twisted in a half-grin. "James dreaded these woods.

He never ventured past the edges. So I lived out here.

Catherine knew, kept my presence secret.

She'd occasionally drop supplies near the walled garden.

It was no picnic, but better than driftin' off to some city. No one ever bothered me from the Hall."

Finn nodded, absorbing the man’s honesty. “And where were you the night James died? If we’re thorough, we must ask.”

A flicker of defensiveness crossed Edwin’s face. “Here, in my cabin, alone. No alibi, if that’s what you’re after. I rarely leave these woods.”

Finn pursed his lips. “Did you want James harmed in any way? A personal grudge?”

Edwin lifted a brow. “I hold no illusions about him. He scorned me for the ghost stories, blamed me for Wilkie’s breakdown. But I’m a peaceful man. I let nature and fate take their course. If something haunted that Hall, it was bound to end him eventually.”

Finn pressed. “How do you mean, you knew it would end him?”

Edwin sighed, looking older and more weary.

“He brought disrepute on the Penrose name— squandered fortunes, disrespected his obligations, and if he truly took up with… questionable company, that’d tarnish them further.

The ‘curse’ or fate or what have you was going to claim him.

Even Mrs Hughes thought so, though she’d never say it aloud. She’s a loyal soul.”

“Speaking of Mrs Hughes, I saw you at the walled garden…”

Edwin looked uncomfortable. “Some people have no manners, sneaking about.”

“I heard you mention a plan that you both had,” Finn pushed.

Wilkie let out a loud laugh, deadened by the cabin walls. "It's nobody's business. But Mrs Hughes has a private pension that comes into effect in a few months. All she wants is that she get what's hers, and we leave here… Together…"

“I see,” Finn said, not sure whether to believe him. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere green,” he smiled, as if basking in an imaginary sunset. “Away from all this.”

Finn felt a knot tighten in his stomach. “All right, thanks for telling me. Let’s keep this cordial, but I do want to confirm some of what you’re saying. And I’d like you to stay here until I’ve done that, to rule your involvement out.”

Edwin's eyes flashed. “I had no reason to kill Catherine. She was kind to me. And James… well, maybe I disliked him, but I’m not a killer. I told you— I think something else lurks around that place, older and more dangerous than me.”

A final wave of tension bristled. Finn believed Edwin’s sincerity for the most part— but the man’s convictions about curses and ghosts raised the possibility of psychosis or delusions.

It was not improbable that Edwin might commit murder under that impetus.

Still, no direct evidence pointed that way.

Finn stood, pushing the rickety chair back. “We’ll see. Either way, we might need you for further questioning. If you recall anything else about Wilkie or the Penrose history, let me know. And, uh, thanks for the drink.”

Edwin nodded, not quite smiling. “Sure. I don’t plan on running. These woods are home until Mrs Hughes comes with me. If the law wants me, they know where to find me now.”

Finn cast one more glance around the cramped cabin— the unmade bed, the homemade moonshine jug, the hunting paraphernalia—then turned to the door.

Stepping out onto the porch, he was struck by how much gloomier the sky had become, clouds blotting out the sun.

The forest crackled with a faint breeze, leaves shaking in rustling waves.

He descended the two steps, noticing the short barrel of Edwin’s shotgun leaning near the threshold. The older man stood behind him, arms folded, watching Finn’s every move. “Don’t get lost,” Edwin said softly. “These woods go deeper than you think.”

Finn gave a curt nod and strode off into the undergrowth, retracing his path.

He had to keep a close watch on the subtle footprints he’d made earlier, ensuring he didn’t wander off track.

The hush of the trees felt heavier now, as though the woodland was aware of his conversation.

If any watchers lingered, he saw no sign.

His mind churned with new revelations. So Catherine had kept secret the presence of this old groundskeeper living out here, presumably because she sympathized with him.

James had scorned him, associating him with Wilkie’s deadly terror.

The curse story, the ghost rumors, the alleged prostitutes James hired— a tapestry of threads to pull at.

If the soon-to-arrive financial records indeed revealed payments to escorts, that might add an entire new dimension to James’s downfall.

After about ten minutes of careful navigation, the forest thinned, letting in more light.

He glimpsed a clearing ahead and recognized the path that led back toward Brynmor Hall’s rear grounds.

Exiting the dense woods, he caught the scent of damp grass and saw the estate’s tall chimneys rising in the distance.

The sky overhead churned with dark clouds, threatening rain.

He paused to gather his thoughts. The day had started with him rummaging through files with Amelia, then discovering Mrs Hughes’s secret meeting with Edwin Pierce.

Now he had a partial story from the ex-groundskeeper, including revelations about James’s probable adultery.

In any normal murder case, that alone might be motive enough for someone—Marianne?

Catherine? Another family member?— to lash out.

He trudged across the lawn, keeping an eye on the walled garden to see if Mrs Hughes had returned there.

No sign of her. Likely, she'd gone back inside.

A pair of uniformed officers patrolled the estate perimeter, nodding in greeting to him from afar.

He lifted a hand in acknowledgment, relieved they were still on alert, especially with Wendell's threats looming.

As he neared the manor’s back door, drizzle began to fall, pattering lightly on the stone walkway.

He quickened his steps, slipping inside to the estate’s mudroom.

The sudden warmth made him exhale in relief.

Not that safety was guaranteed in these corridors, but at least the gloom of the forest was behind him for now.

Heading through a smaller passage, he made for the main hall.

On the way, his mind kept turning over Edwin’s last remark: that James’s alleged misdeeds had guaranteed some cosmic or ghostly comeuppance.

Even if it was all folklore nonsense, it might have shaped James’s decisions or mental state, and possibly given others the impetus to exploit his fear.

He sighed, wiping drizzle from his jacket sleeves.

He’d update Amelia about Edwin’s claims. She’d want to keep an eye out for references to escort payments or hush money in James’s financials.

That sort of revelation might spark deep resentments or be fodder for blackmail. Another thread in the labyrinth.

Rounding a corner, he spotted a dim corridor leading to the sitting room.

Flickers of lamplight spilled out, indicating Amelia might already be inside.

The overhead lights flickered from an electrical quirk.

His footfalls echoed on the polished floor.

Even though it was midday, the gloom thickened around Brynmor Hall as if dusk approached early, a harbinger of something unseen.

Before stepping into the sitting room, he paused, scanning the corridor behind him, half expecting the masked figure or Mrs Hughes to appear. Nothing. He inhaled, steadying himself.

He pushed open the door, crossing into the light, eager to share his discoveries with Amelia. He only hoped they had enough time to put it all together before the darkness— or the murderer—claimed another life.