The highland heist, p.5
The Highland Heist, page 5
While the interrogation continued, Frederick and Officer Todd inspected the house at the detective’s suggestion, returning to report that the cook and errand boy were out running errands, presumably leaving the home empty that morning except for Tony.
After having lived with a handful of servants in her father’s home and then a dozen or more at Havensbrooke, Grace was struck by the dawning reality of the reduced state of Lillias’ household with fresh clarity. Since their roles had reversed—Grace marrying an earl and Lillias settling with a banker—their lives had diverged in ways Grace hadn’t fully appreciated until now. She held the esteem, title, and position Lillias had always craved. Without Father’s financial assistance, Lillias had been forced to rely solely on Tony’s income to sustain them.
Grace’s mind worked as she glanced at Lillias. Her sister’s reduced circumstances were glaringly apparent in the sparsely furnished room. What would that have done to her sister’s heart? Her emotions?
“Do you know where your maid might have gone after leaving here?” Detective Johnson’s voice cut through Grace’s thoughts, the man evidently unfazed by the domestic contrast.
“Louisa?” Lillias blinked, her brow furrowing. “She mentioned family in Westwood.”
“Excellent. And her full name?”
“Louisa Steen.” Lillias rubbed at her forehead and Grace looked up at the detective.
“I’m sure my sister can provide more details tomorrow, Detective. She’s clearly exhausted.”
“Of course,” Johnson said smoothly, though his expression tightened. “I’ll return tomorrow after you’ve rested. In the meantime, I’ll be questioning Miss Steen.”
“Why would you need to visit her?” Lillias rose abruptly, tears welling in her eyes. “And—and I can tell you now that she wasn’t happy in her job. We—well, we docked her pay recently, and she threatened to leave before this morning. No doubt she’ll concoct some slander to make me and my poor husband seem villainous in your sight.”
“Every testimony has its biases, Lillias.” Grace interjected. “It’s human nature.” She sent the detective a pointed look. “Isn’t that right?”
“Indeed, Lady Astley.” His eyes narrowed, but he nodded curtly. “And we must strike while memories are fresh and evidence is within reach.”
“Exactly,” Grace agreed with a smile. “One never knows what clues might vanish after a day. Misdirection, accidental disposal—sometimes the very witnesses themselves disappear. Frederick and I have seen it all before in our mysteries, haven’t we? Curses, ghosts, secret passageways.”
Oh, what wonderful memories!
“Curses? Ghosts? Mysteries?” Lillias looked between them, bewildered. “How do you even know such things?”
“Books, mostly,” Grace replied with a light shrug. “Though I did mention in my letters to you that Frederick and I have solved a few cases. Detective Jack Miracle himself asked for our assistance on his last one.”
“Miracle?” Detective Johnson shot to alert. “The English detective who wrote a popular book about solving crimes?”
Grace’s attention flashed to Detective Johnson. “The very same.”
“I read his work. That last case of his was splashed all over the papers.” Johnson’s gaze sharpened, darting between Grace and Frederick. “How … convenient that you arrive just as a murder unfolds here.”
A chill prickled Grace’s skin at his sudden shift in tone. What was he insinuating?
“Are you suggesting we had some hand in it, Detective?” Frederick folded his arms across his chest in challenge.
“Everyone is a suspect.” Johnson’s smile was a crooked, humorless thing. “But I can rule out you and your entourage fairly quickly. A question or two with your driver or a look at your arrival tickets should suffice.”
He reached for his hat and fixed it firmly on his head before gesturing toward Todd with his chin as a cue to exit. “However,” he added, voice clipped and gaze settling on Frederick, “I don’t intend to consult with you on this case. I’m more than capable of solving it without interference. Unlike Miracle,”—he spat the name as though it left a bad taste—”I don’t need an audience.”
Grace’s brows shot high at the clear insult. Who would ever insult dear Jack?
“We would never impose, sir.” Frederick remained unruffled by the accusation, his tone steady. “But should you require assistance, we would gladly help bring the killer to justice—for everyone’s peace of mind.”
Johnson dipped his chin in what might have been reluctant thanks before addressing Lillias. “Mrs. Dixon, expect me tomorrow afternoon.”
He cast the room one last glance, then strode out, Officer Todd trailing after him.
Little Thomas took the silence that followed as permission to announce his discontent with an earsplitting wail.
“He’s likely hungry.” Lillias’ voice sounded tired, and no wonder. With a deep sigh, she shifted toward Zahra and opened her arms. “I’ll see to him and then, if your servant will keep watch over him”—she nodded toward Zahra—”I should like to rest in my room, undisturbed.”
“Our servant?” Grace looked from Zahra to Lillias. “Oh Lillias, this is our adopted daughter, Zahra.”
Lillias mouth dropped open and for half a second no sound emerged. “Your—your daughter?”
“Yes. I wrote about her in the last letter.”
Lillias’ brow creased as she took Thomas into her arms, studying Zahra. “But—but she’s … Egyptian.”
“She is.” Grace took Zahra’s hand, pulling her close for a hug. “And ours. Between me, Zahra, and Miss Cox, I’m sure we can manage little Thomas just fine, can’t we, ladies?”
Zahra nodded solemnly. Miss Cox looked significantly less confident.
“I’m sorry to ask this, Mrs. Dixon.” Frederick stepped forward. “Should we find a hotel or would you like us to stay with you?”
Lillias glanced up, her expression dull. “We have two extra rooms, if Miss Cox and”—her gaze dipped briefly to Zahra—”the little girl don’t mind sharing.”
Grace gave Zahra and Miss Cox a quick look. When neither objected, she thanked her sister.
“I’ll alert Mrs. James, the housekeeper, to ready the rooms for you once she arrives in an hour or so. She takes her half day on Tuesdays.” Lillias took a few more steps toward the hallway, Thomas’ discontent growing in volume. “And I do have a favor to ask of you, Grace.”
Grace stepped forward instinctively. “Of course.”
“Since you know the town better than Lord Astley, I’d like you to deliver a letter to Louisa’s house this afternoon.”
“Louisa?” Grace frowned and cast a quick look at Frederick before turning back to her sister. “Your maid?”
“Former maid.” Lillias corrected, opening the door to a hallway just off the room. “I want to make sure she’s prepared for Detective Johnson’s visit tomorrow. It’s a kindness I can show her that she doesn’t deserve.”
With that, Lillias slipped through the doorway and up a slender stairway.
Deliver a letter to her former maid?
Why did that seem … odd? Grace shook off the unsettled thought. Too many odd things had happened since they had first arrived at her father’s house not even three hours ago. Why not this as well? After all, poor Lillias had been hit with one wound after another.
“Detective Johnson was not too keen on Miracle, was he?” Frederick stepped nearer the settee, his attention on the closed door behind Lillias.
Oh, what must he think of her family now? After all her teasing about haunted manors and terrifying mothers-in-law, she’d brought him into a drama as tangled as his own. And this was only the beginning. The potential for further disaster was staggering.
“What do you suppose that was about?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know.” The words came slowly as he turned his attention back to Grace. “But it certainly changed the man’s disposition toward us, and we could use as many allies at the moment as possible.”
“Perhaps he’ll warm up to us after a little while. We certainly aren’t in competition with him. And why would that bother the man, anyway? Where murders were concerned, wouldn’t the more help be the better?”
Frederick’s expression darkened the slightest bit.
“What is it?” Grace asked.
He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Zahra and Miss Cox.
Zahra had been part of their adventures long enough to handle whatever they discussed, and Miss Cox’s history certainly made her no stranger to darker subjects. Apparently, Frederick reached the same conclusion.
“One question Lillias never answered,” he said.
Grace’s mind whirred with her own list of unanswered questions: her father’s bankruptcy, the elusive Scottish inheritance, Lillias’ jittery demeanor about Miss Steen’s interview. “Which one?”
“She never said whether her husband had enemies.”
Grace blinked, her mind snapping to attention. That hadn’t even occurred to her. “You think the killer had a grudge against Tony? Perhaps that impostor—Officer Clark?”
“He wore fake sharib.“
All eyes turned to Zahra. She sat cross-legged on the edge of the settee, her solemn face framed by her dark hair.
Frederick crouched beside her. “What did you say, Zahra?
“The false police.” Zahra continued. “I saw him from the car before he came inside. He put on a”—she gestured to her upper lip—”Sharib?”
“A mustache?” Frederick touched the clean-shaven area above his own mouth. “Here?”
Zahra nodded earnestly. “And glasses.”
Grace leaned forward, her pulse quickening. “So not only did he lie about being an officer, but he came in disguise. No wonder he looked so poorly put together. And that accent—honestly, it was dreadful.”
Then she wondered for a moment if Edward Rochester’s accent sounded anything like Fake Officer Clark’s when he’d dressed up as a gypsy to trick the truth out of poor Jane Eyre.
“We’ll need to mention this to Johnson tomorrow.” Frederick nodded grimly. “Whether he likes our help or not.”
Miss Cox, who had been hovering by the window, broke into the conversation. “Does this”—she hesitated, waving vaguely at the room, her face still pale—”happen to you often?”
“This?” Frederick asked, his lips twitching as though holding back a smile.
She gestured more emphatically. “Murder.”
“Well, not very often.” Grace smoothed a hand over Zahra’s hair. “Sometimes, it’s only theft. Or mannapping.”
“Mannapping?” Miss Cox’s voice shot up an octave.
“Kidnapping,” Frederick corrected dryly.
Grace waved her hand dismissively. “But we’ve been fortunate—no children have ever been taken. Only adults. Frederick was kidnapped right off the front steps of our home in England. I was napped …” She paused on the word. Napped didn’t fit kidnapped at all. “Taken during an antiquities heist in Egypt, which is where we found Zahra. Our dear friend, Detective Miracle, was nap—abducted from a boat in Venice, but thankfully, no children.”
“I am good at hiding.” Zahra sat up straighter, offering a rare smile. “And I can climb and run very fast.”
“But we hope you won’t have to hide, little one.” Frederick took a seat beside Grace, his arm sliding in behind her to offer the slightest support. “You’ve already been through enough danger for a lifetime.”
“I am not afraid,” Zahra said, lifting her chin with a bravery that tugged at Grace’s heart. “I am the right daughter for you, Sayid, because I am brave and I run fast.”
Grace gave the little girl another hug. “You are very brave, and if we do stumble into trouble, Zahra, I’m glad you are fast.”
“Indeed, and clever,” Frederick added, tapping Zahra lightly under the chin. “Because it seems our quiet visit to America has taken a darker turn than I’d hoped.” His gaze locked on Grace, his tone growing serious. “Whoever planned this didn’t do so on a whim. They came here with purpose when everyone was out of the house—and it seems that purpose was to kill Tony Dixon.”
A chill, equal parts fear and intrigue, threaded through Grace. She tightened her arms protectively around Zahra. “And if they’re willing to make such a meticulous plan to kill Tony, who else might they wish to harm?”
Chapter 5
Frederick didn’t like leaving Zahra behind, but he refused to let Grace travel to Louisa Steen’s house alone—not with a murderer on the loose. At least with an officer stationed outside Lillias’ house, he felt marginally better about Zahra’s safety.
Marginally.
As Grace maneuvered the car through Harrington’s streets, however, he began to wonder if Zahra, Lillias, and Miss Cox were actually safer than he was.
After securing their own car, Grace had insisted she drive to Miss Steen’s, citing her greater familiarity with Harrington. It was true, of course—but familiarity hardly compensated for experience. She’d taken a grand total of three driving lessons before their honeymoon, and the results were … Well, they were currently testing his faith. After nearly mowing down a man on a bicycle, taking a corner at what felt like breakneck speed, and clipping a tree so closely the leaves brushed the side mirror, Frederick began to think he’d have had better odds fending off the counterfeit Officer Clark.
“I’m certain Miss Steen’s neighborhood is just down this street.” Grace grinned as she took another turn with alarming gusto. Frederick’s fingers dug into the doorframe. “We used to visit a church member here when I was younger. She had the most glorious pink dogwoods—truly, they looked like something out of The Secret Garden.“
He smiled. Despite it all.
How could he help it?
In the span of a single day, his wife had faced her father’s deception, the loss of her childhood home, and her brother-in-law’s violent death. And still her smile cut through the murky weight of it all, just as it had since the first day they’d met. He prayed that, even with tragedy closer to her heart this time, she’d cling to that inner sunshine. Over the months of their marriage, he’d come to realize he couldn’t keep her safe—not entirely. So he’d learned to trust God for both their hearts.
Or at least, he’d gotten better at trusting God.
The houses on either side of the street formed two neat rows, each small and unassuming but tidy. Quaint, yes—and proving Miss Louisa Steen came from a working-class family.
Grace stopped the car on the street near a house with the number matching the address on the envelope Lillias had given her, but his bride didn’t immediately exit the car. Instead, she looked over at him, brow creased.
“What’s wrong?” Frederick asked.
Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line before she leaned toward him. “Do you think we should open the envelope first?”
Air burst from Frederick’s throat. “What?”
“No, of course not. We shouldn’t.” She shook her head and reached for the door handle, then turned back to him. “But—”
“But?”
“But why would Lillias want us to deliver this letter to her former maid before the police interviewed her? That seems … odd, doesn’t it?”
He couldn’t deny it. The same thought had been nagging him since Lillias made the request, but between their brief conversations and Grace’s rather spirited driving, there hadn’t been an opportunity to bring it up.
“Grace.”
“The letter isn’t sealed, Frederick.” Her wide eyes implored as her voice dropped to a whisper. “What if reading it could stop something worse from happening? Isn’t it better to be prepared?”
Frederick exhaled a short laugh. “Darling, I admire the heart behind your reasoning, but I also know your keen sense of justice. You’d regret tampering with it later.”
She studied him for a long moment, and then her shoulders drooped. “You’re right. I would.” She sighed, lips twitching faintly. “Mostly.”
“Perhaps if we deliver it directly into Miss Steen’s hands, we can observe her reaction and gather information without compromising Lillias’ trust.”
“You’re right, as usual. My mystery-loving spirit got the better of me. I needed your good sense to rein me in.”
He exited and rounded to her door to assist her. “I don’t think it was the mystery-loving spirit as much as your protective heart,” he said, offering her his arm and starting toward the front door of the house. “This is different from all our other … adventures. It’s your family, Grace. But I hope it will be much more short-lived than our previous cases.”
“Cases!” Her eyes flashed wide with her smile. “Oh, you called them cases. I love it when you refer to us as proper sleuths, Frederick. It’s so exciting.”
Her smile wavered—just the faintest flicker so subtle no one else would have noticed. But Frederick did. He knew those tiny shifts, those rare flakes of vulnerability in her bright optimism. The current situation hit her much more deeply than she let on.
“And,” she added quietly, “with all the factual difficulties surrounding this particular situation, it helps to add a little fictional delight. Just enough to soften the ache of reality, don’t you think?”
“One of the many benefits of fiction, darling.” He placed a hand over hers on his arm, his voice dropping as he met her gaze. “But we’re in this together, as we have been. Fiction or no.” A playful wink accompanied his words. “But let’s keep our detective minds sharp until we figure out what your sister has dragged us into, shall we?”
“Yes,” she agreed, squeezing his arm with a conspiratorial smile. “Something feels more unsettled in that house than just the death of my brother-in-law.”
Indeed.
Frederick reached the door first, keeping Grace just a step behind him in preparation for whatever they may find on the other side. His first knock brought no answer, but the second stirred movement. The door creaked open to reveal a much more composed Miss Steen.
