Page 9 of When You’re Forgotten (Finn Wright #10)

Finn felt a mild draft follow him and Amelia into the sitting room, as though the corridor behind them exhaled cold air that seeped in around the edges of the heavy double doors.

The clock on the mantel indicated it was late—closer to ten than nine—and Brynmor Hall had a hush about it, a quiet thick with shadows.

He shut the door behind them, casting a quick glance at the carved wooden panels, as if half expecting another mysterious knock or creaking footstep to chase them.

The sitting room, which during the day had been filled with soft natural light, now glowed under the warm radiance of several lamps and a candelabra on a side table.

Mrs Hughes had prepared a small dining setup near the hearth: a round table with a crisp white cloth, two place settings, and an arrangement of silverware that looked almost formal.

A subtle aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and warm bread hung in the air, making Finn’s stomach rumble.

“I could get used to service like this,” he murmured, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Amelia.

She gave a small laugh, but her mind seemed partially elsewhere, eyes flicking across the room’s plush chairs and the flicker of flames in the fireplace. “True. At least we don’t have to do dishes tonight.”

Before they could approach the table, Mrs Hughes glided in, her right hand still trembling lightly at her side while she left clutched a folded piece of paper.

She offered a polite bow of the head. “Mr. Wright, Miss Winters—your dinner is ready. And here…” She extended the paper.

“This is the staff list. Everyone I know who’s employed here regularly or stays on the estate. ”

Amelia accepted the paper with a polite nod. “Thank you, Mrs Hughes. We appreciate it.”

As Finn watched Mrs Hughes, he noticed a thread of apprehension in her expression. Not fear exactly, but a sort of tension. He took the opportunity to inquire about something that had been needling him. “Mrs Hughes, can I ask—why isn’t there a security camera on the east side of the house?”

She seemed briefly flustered, blinking and straightening her back. “I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. That business was arranged by Mr. Penrose, and I wasn’t consulted. It’s been that way for years, as far as I recall.”

“Right,” Finn said, letting it go for now. “Thank you.”

She offered a tiny dip of her head, turned to Amelia, and spoke softly, “You’ll find a few more staff names on that list than you might expect. Some are part-timers who come and go on a monthly basis. But that’s everyone I’m aware of.”

Amelia glanced at the paper. “We’ll look it over. Thanks again.”

Mrs Hughes’s eyes flickered to the table. “I’ll leave you to your meal. If there’s anything else you need, please ring.” She managed a small, polite smile before retreating.

Finn took a seat at the small table, gesturing for Amelia to join him.

The moment they settled in, the aromas of the food hit him full force: a savory roast with herbs, roasted vegetables glistening with butter, and fresh bread so warm it still emitted gentle steam.

A small dish of creamy sauce sat to the side, next to a bowl of crisp salad topped with toasted seeds.

“This might be the highlight of the day,” Finn said, draping a napkin over his lap. He’d had no idea if they’d even manage dinner tonight, considering the swirl of investigating they’d done.

Amelia helped herself to a slice of the roast, eyes widening in pleasant surprise. “Donald might be nervous, but he sure can cook.”

Finn cut a piece and savored it. “Not sure I want to go back to my own cooking after being treated like nobility.”

She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, how am I going to survive off your questionable spaghetti again?”

“Questionable? I’ll have you know I’ve perfected my tomato sauce,” Finn teased, savoring another bite. “But fine, maybe it’s a rung or two below this.”

They spent a few minutes enjoying the meal, the tension of the day easing under the comfort of good food. Occasionally, the logs in the fireplace crackled or a distant floorboard groaned, a reminder they weren’t in some cozy inn but in a sprawling estate with secrets behind every door.

Eventually, Finn’s phone rang, buzzing against the edge of the table. He glanced at the caller ID and grinned. “It’s Rob,” he announced, picking it up. “Wonder what he’s up to at this hour.”

He tapped the screen. “Hey, Rob. How’re things?”

A brief burst of static came through, followed by Rob’s familiar tone. “Finn, you busy?”

Finn cast a playful look at Amelia, who rolled her eyes. “We’re just having a gourmet meal, thanks to the local cook. Why, you want to join?”

Rob gave a soft chuckle. “I’d love that, mate, but I’m a bit far away, you know? By the way, there’s someone here who wants to say hi.” A muffled exchange sounded through the phone, then Finn heard a distinct female voice—Eleanor’s—call something in the background about “popcorn.”

Finn shot a grin at Amelia and returned to the phone. “Eleanor’s with you, huh? She doing better?”

Rob cleared his throat. “She’s fine now that she doesn’t have to put up with your big-headed jokes, apparently.”

Feigning wounded pride, Finn huffed. “Oh, come on. We had fun working together, and she knows it. How many times did I save her from boredom?”

“That’s your definition of fun?” Rob teased, his voice faintly muffled as if he was speaking from behind his hand. “I recall it more as a series of near-catastrophes. Doesn’t your brand of fun usually involve some explosion?”

Amelia, hearing that, chuckled quietly while slicing another piece of roast.

“Anyway,” Rob continued, “I just got some news that might help you. Wednesday, our pathologist, she got the official autopsy results for James Penrose’s body. I’ll email them, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

Finn sobered, leaning forward. “Go on. Did she find anything unusual?”

Rob’s tone shifted to a more professional one.

“He had a heart condition, quite severe. Wednesday says it was basically a ticking clock for him. A big shock or confrontation might have been enough to push him into arrest. So, obviously, that doesn’t confirm murder or no murder, but…

it means the cause of death was definitely a heart attack. ”

Finn glanced at Amelia, who met his gaze in silent question. “So that’s official? The actual blow to the system was his failing heart, not a poison?”

“Exactly. Preliminary toxicology is negative for known toxins—though Wednesday’s still waiting on a couple of specialized screens. For now, it’s consistent with a fear-induced or stress-induced cardiac event. He was going to pass sooner or later, apparently. We don’t know if he knew about this.”

“Hmm,” Finn murmured. “So we’re not sure if someone physically attacked him or if he just freaked out, then collapsed.”

“Bingo,” Rob said. “But the Home Office wants you to spend a couple more days confirming there’s no foul play. Word is James Penrose was connected in higher circles, so they want to be absolutely sure there’s no scandal or homicide cover-up.”

Finn nodded, swirling a last mouthful of water. “Understood. So we’ll keep investigating, see if anything suggests a killer lurking around. Or if it was just… natural but unfortunate timing.”

“That’s the plan,” Rob affirmed. “Anyway, I’ll send those files. Gotta run—Eleanor’s calling me to watch a film. She’s apparently made popcorn.”

Finn broke into a grin. “Enjoy your night in. Tell her she can’t fully escape me, we’ll cross paths again sometime. The four of us should have dinner soon.”

“Will do. Good luck, mate.”

With a tap, Finn ended the call. He placed the phone beside his plate and leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to Amelia. She’d slowed her eating, evidently listening closely to the conversation.

“What’s the verdict?” she asked, pushing aside her vegetables.

"Penrose had a bad heart. The autopsy says he died of a massive heart attack. They found no direct sign of foul play or obvious toxin." Finn rapped a knuckle on the table. "So… might be natural causes."

Amelia set down her fork, crossing her arms. “But it might also be that someone knew about his condition and exploited it.”

“Exploited it how?” Finn raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “If you scare someone with a cardiac problem enough, if you chase them, threaten them… they might collapse. It wouldn’t necessarily constitute homicide, but morally, it’s still murder.”

Finn grimaced, picturing that grainy figure crawling across the lawn. “You’re suggesting he literally died of fright?”

Amelia sipped water thoughtfully. “It’s possible. If that figure in the footage confronted him in some horrifying or menacing way, that alone could trigger a fatal shock.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So, if that’s true, it’s still a homicide in a sense—someone intentionally caused that shock. But we have no proof, just the presence of some prowler. And we don’t even know if James saw them.”

A pause settled in. Then a soft, distinct rap sounded at the door—three short knocks.

Finn shared a look with Amelia, a prickle of caution along his spine.

He rose, crossing the sitting room to open it, but found only empty hallway.

The corridor lamp flickered and cast shifting shadows, revealing no one.

“Hello?” Finn called softly. No answer. He leaned out, scanning left and right. Silence. The floor creaked under his weight. After a final check, he pulled the door shut again, returning to the table.

“No one?” Amelia asked, eyebrows raised.

He shook his head. “Not a soul. This place can be downright creepy, I swear.”

She let out a half-smile that danced between amusement and concern. “We can rule out Brynmor’s ghosts as suspects… right?”