Page 6 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)

Finn sat in the warm glow of a table lamp inside a sitting room on the ground floor of Brynmor Hall, the late afternoon sun slanting through tall windows.

The room felt comfortable yet dignified, with an ornate fireplace at one end—a small fire crackling within—while thick drapes of a deep burgundy bordered each window.

A few well-stuffed armchairs and a floral sofa encircled a low wooden table.

On that table lay a pot of steaming tea, mismatched cups, and Finn’s open case file.

He leaned forward in one of the armchairs, flipping through typed pages and crime scene photos of James Penrose’s final moments.

He frowned at a line about “possible signs of a struggle,” lightly drumming his fingers on the paper.

A hush filled the room except for the soft crackle of fire and occasional rustle of Amelia’s teacup.

Opposite him, Amelia perched on the sofa near the window.

One leg tucked under her, she sipped from a porcelain cup.

A patch of bandage still showed on her right hand, a physical reminder of her recent misadventure with Wendell Reed’s decoy.

She hadn’t spoken much for the last few minutes, simply gazing outside where well-tended lawns rolled toward the distant tree line.

After a stretch of silence, Finn couldn’t resist nudging her thoughts. “Penny for them?” he asked, setting the file aside. “You’ve been quieter than normal.”

Amelia lowered her cup, letting out a thoughtful sigh.

“It’s just... how a person’s world, no matter how rich and influential, can come to an abrupt end without warning.

Places like this estate appear calm, wealthy, and untroubled.

But you peel back a layer, and there might be murder, conspiracy—who knows? ”

Finn tilted his head. “So you’re turning philosopher on me now?”

She gave a half-smile. “Not quite. Just can’t help noticing the difference between appearances and reality. Sometimes, I wonder if that’s true everywhere: calm on the surface, murky underneath.”

He nodded, swirling the last of the tea in his own cup.

“It’s like people. They put on a polished face, but get them under pressure, and suddenly cracks appear.

The best version of themselves is often just a mask.

” He paused, setting his cup on the table’s edge.

“Guess that’s why we do what we do—figuring out what’s real, even if it’s ugly.

I mean, on the face of it, this seems opulent this place, but I bet underneath it’s falling to pieces.

It’s already been mentioned a couple of times how expensive it is to run.

People cut corners but still try to keep up appearances. ”

She looked at him, eyes reflecting a mixture of agreement and fatigue. “I suppose that’s true. Finn, do you keep up appearances or wear a mask?”

A knock on the door interrupted their reflective moment. Finn straightened in the chair, sharing a questioning glance with Amelia before calling out, “Come in.”

Mrs Hughes entered, gently pushing the door open. Her right hand, Finn noticed again, trembled with that faint yet persistent tremor. Still, her posture remained poised. “Excuse me, Mr. Wright—Miss Winters,” she said with a small bow of her head. “The Penrose family have just arrived.”

Finn exchanged a quick look with Amelia. “Thank you. We’ll be right out.” He snapped the file shut, reorganizing the scattered pages. Amelia finished her tea in one last swallow, then placed the cup on the tray.

Mrs Hughes gave a polite nod. “They’re pulling up to the main entrance now.” She lingered briefly, as though pondering whether to say more, then stepped aside.

Finn gathered the file under his arm. “Let’s go easy,” he murmured to Amelia, who stood and smoothed a crease in her blouse.

They left the sitting room, passing through a short hallway and out onto the mansion’s front steps. Outside, the late-day sun tinted the sky with a faint rose hue. Gravel crunched under their feet as they moved toward the circular driveway, where a sleek black limousine glided to a halt.

A uniformed driver hopped out, opening the passenger door. Finn watched as a woman in her early forties emerged, clad entirely in black—dress, coat, gloves. She had an elegant, almost regal bearing, though her face was drawn with grief. A faint breeze stirred her dark hair.

Finn stepped forward, raising a hand in gentle greeting. “Good evening. I’m Finn Wright, and this is Inspector Amelia Winters. We’ve been sent to look into Mr. Penrose’s death on behalf of the home office.”

The woman drew a shaky breath. “Yes. I know. I’m glad. I am Marianne Penrose,” she said in a low voice touched by a French accent. Then, her lip quivered. “His widow,” she added, almost choking on the word.

Amelia offered a sympathetic smile, mindful of her own bruised face and bandaged hand. “Mrs. Penrose, we’re so sorry for your loss.”

Marianne swallowed, blinking back tears. She half-turned to address the driver, who stood by the limo. “Hobbs—please see the children inside.”

At the mention of children, Finn glanced at the back seat.

Two young faces peered out: a boy around nine and a girl perhaps twelve.

Their expressions mirrored the mourning clothes they wore—solemn, overwhelmed.

Finn felt a pang of empathy, remembering the swirl of confusion and pain he’d suffered when he lost his own mother young.

He crouched down to the boy’s level as the child stepped onto the driveway. “Hello there. I’m Finn.” He held out his hand gently.

The boy stared at him, then accepted the handshake with a small, polite grip. “My name is Charlie,” he replied quietly.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” Finn said, giving him a kind nod. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

Charlie nodded but didn’t speak further. He glanced at his older sister, who lingered at the limo door. Amelia approached, a soft greeting on her lips, but the girl leveled a heartbreaking glare at them both.

“I know why you’re here,” she said in a tight voice, then spun around and bolted toward the entrance. “Come on, Charlie,” she called over her shoulder.

Hobbs, the driver, signaled to Charlie. “We’ll get you settled in your rooms,” he said, gesturing for them to follow. Mrs Hughes, who had emerged discreetly, hurried forward to guide the children.

Finn and Amelia watched them go. The sorrow in those young eyes weighed on Finn’s heart, unearthing memories he’d rather keep buried. He let out a breath, straightening as Marianne turned back to face them.

She swallowed. “Bella—my daughter—she’s… taking this very hard. They both are. James doted on them, in his way.”

Amelia stepped closer, her voice gentle. “Children handle grief in different ways. Sometimes it’s anger, or they just shut down. It’s never easy.”

“Yes,” Marianne whispered. She paused, scanning the estate’s facade, then turned to Finn. “So. Are you certain my husband was murdered? That’s what rumors say—some homicide inquiry.”

Finn exchanged a subtle look with Amelia. “We aren’t certain, Mrs. Penrose. Some evidence suggests a possible struggle before his death, but the autopsy hasn’t been concluded yet.”

Marianne exhaled a short, bitter laugh. “I’ve seen you two on news reports—cases involving high-profile killings.” Her shoulders slumped. “Then I discover you’re here investigating James’s death. This must mean they truly suspect foul play. Otherwise, the local police would handle it.”

Amelia offered a slight nod. "Officially, the forensic team found a few puzzling details: signs of a scuffle, possible footprints outside.

But it could mean nothing, that's what we're here to find out.

And your husband, through his dealings with business and political figures, was an important man, influential enough that the Home Office wanted extra eyes on the investigation. "

“Important,” Marianne repeated, voice tinged with sarcasm. “He was a ‘person of notes,’ to coin a phrase. James thrived on money. If it wasn’t financial, it barely registered for him.”

Finn carefully kept his expression neutral. He wasn’t here to judge family dynamics, only to uncover the truth. “Did he mention any threats against him, or was there anyone he argued with frequently?”

She shook her head. “No direct threats. Just tension over the estate’s costs. He was obsessed with solutions to our financial issues, but no one threatened him that I know of.”

Amelia glanced at the house behind them. “When you left for Devon, was it James’s idea that you and the children go away?”

Marianne frowned slightly, recalling the memory. “Yes. He insisted. Said he needed time alone, no distractions. I assumed that meant staff would be kept to a minimum, but I had no idea he actually sent them all away, too. That’s… very unlike James. He relied on them constantly.”

Finn’s mind clicked through possibilities. “Might he have been expecting a private visitor or business partner that he didn’t want people knowing about?”

She folded her arms, clearly drained. “I wish I knew. But I’m sorry—this journey has been exhausting. Could we continue tomorrow? I need to rest and check on my children.”

Amelia placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Of course. We’re not in a rush. We just wanted to express our condolences and gather a few initial details.”

With an appreciative nod, Marianne turned and moved inside, footsteps echoing on the stone entry. The door closed gently behind her, leaving Finn and Amelia in the late-day hush.

Finn turned to Amelia, noticing how the setting sun cast long shadows across the gravel driveway.

“So. We have conflicting clues: James was apparently tense about money, but did that lead to someone wanting to harm him, or did it push him to do something reckless that put him in jeopardy? Plus, there’s the question of who might’ve come to see him that night, or if he was meeting anyone at all. ”

Amelia folded her arms. “We should talk to the staff individually—people who come and go around the property. There could be ex-servants, relatives, business partners. Anyone he’d have a reason to meet privately.”

He tilted his head in agreement. “And maybe go through visitor logs, if they keep them.” He paused, scanning the old manor’s facade.

A subtle movement near the upper eaves caught his attention—some small dome or lens nestled among the stonework.

“Look at that camera,” he pointed out, eyebrows lifting.

“Could give us a vantage of who arrived or left.”

Amelia followed his gaze, eyes narrowing. “If it actually works.”

Finn exhaled, picturing the swirl of leads they already had. “So far, we have staff interviews, possible camera footage, and at some point we’ll want to search James’s study or personal office. We can’t assume it was just a heart attack.”

A faint smile touched Amelia’s lips. “Well, I guess we’ve found our next steps.”

He gave a mild shrug, flipping the top folder in his hand closed. “My next step is straight into a kitchen to find something to eat.”

Amelia laughed softly. “Focus, Finn. Not everything’s about your stomach.”

“It’s about my brain power,” he teased. “Feeding it is crucial for a thorough investigation. Besides, we might be able to question the cook about what’s going on around here.”

She smirked and gestured toward the door. “C’mon then, detective.” As they crossed the threshold, the shadows of dusk began to make themselves known, stretching out across the lawn until they soon swept over the house itself like a black tide.