Cloche and Dagger (16 page)

“What?!” I cried. Harrison muttered something even less kind beneath his breath.

“We’ll need your fingerprints to differentiate them from your assailant’s, assuming they left any behind,” he said.

“Surely that can wait until after the sun is up,” Harrison said.

Franks opened his mouth to answer but Simms interrupted. “It was the back door that they entered through?”

I nodded.

“I’ll start back there,” Simms said and he disappeared into the workroom.

“Have you checked to see if anything is missing?” Franks asked.

“No,” I said. “I was afraid to touch anything.”

Franks nodded his approval; then he turned and studied Harrison.

“When did you get here?” he asked.

There was no innuendo in his voice, but I heard the unstated speculation about the relationship between Harrison and myself. I felt my face get hot and cursed my fair skin.

Thankfully, neither of them looked at me and I was able to wrestle my composure back unobserved.

“Not long after Scarlett called me,” Harrison said. “Since I live over in Pembridge Mews, I got here pretty quickly. Besides, she doesn’t know anyone else, do you?”

He looked at me for confirmation.

“No one who is in my phone,” I said. I made a mental note to get Andre’s, Nick’s and Fee’s numbers tomorrow. Not that I would call them in case of an emergency, but it might prove less awkward than calling Harrison if another situation came up. Heaven forbid.

“Well, there’s no sign of anything being disturbed in the back other than the lock on the door,” Inspector Simms said as he joined us. “I’m going to check the upstairs.”

“All right,” Franks said, approving, and Simms disappeared upstairs.

I wasn’t really sure how I felt about everyone going into my room, but I didn’t suppose I could really prevent it, given it was the place I was attacked; besides, they’d already seen it all. I realized I needed to repaint it as soon as possible.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Inspector Franks asked. His voice wasn’t unkind and I wondered fleetingly how bad I looked.

There were plenty of mirrors around the shop, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know. It was bad enough I was wearing my pink pajamas with the plaid bottoms and matching Hubba Bubba bubble gum top. It just screamed maturity and mental stability.

I started with the dream that I had been stabbed. Then my slow realization that I was not dreaming, which led to kicking the person who was holding a pillow over my face away as quickly as possible. Neither Franks nor Harrison said anything, but I could see them looking at my scrawny arms, trying to see how I could have overpowered anyone.

They wisely said nothing, however, because I’d have been happy to give a demo and burn off the last of the adrenaline that still surged through me, looking for an outlet.

I explained that I couldn’t remember the emergency number for the police and that I hadn’t been sure it was an emergency. They both looked surprised, and I admitted I was still catching my breath. They gave me a look that said they thought I had suffered oxygen deprivation. I wanted to say, “No duh,” but I refrained.

I then said that I called Harrison because he was the only local contact I had in my phone.

“And here I thought I was special,” he said.

Inspector Franks snorted and I cracked a smile.

“That probably came out wrong,” I said.

Harrison smiled at me in return, and I was grateful for the break in the tension.

“Well, there’s no sign of anything being disturbed upstairs other than the bedclothes,” Inspector Simms said as he joined us.

All three men were looking at me as if I had an explanation. Did they think I was supposed to make the bed before I called? I shrugged and they all glanced away.

“Do you keep any money in the shop?” Franks asked me after a moment’s pause.

“Yes, in a safe in the cupboard in the back,” I said.

“I’d like to get it dusted first,” Inspector Franks said. “Then we’ll check the contents, but I’m going to be honest, if they were here for your money, they likely never would have gone upstairs.”

“The crime-scene techs are here,” Simms said.

He strode over to the door to let them in. I watched as they came in and noted they were an unusual crew made up of one older, balding gentleman with two skinny, geeky-looking assistants.

Franks joined them and they had a brief conversation before one of the assistants went into the back room and the other assistant and the older man were led upstairs to my room. I was so not sleeping there tonight.

Harrison and I sat in one of the small seating areas and watched. While we waited I glanced around the shop. Nothing seemed out of order. The hats sat on their stands, the accessories were all neatly in their places. I noticed Ferd the bird watching the comings and goings as if amused by the human beings scurrying around him. I glowered at his beaky head.

Yes, on an intellectual level, I was aware that he was just a wooden carving, but he had an air about him that made me think he was more than a piece of knotty mahogany. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he actually saw things and knew what was happening.

“Why are you glaring at the wardrobe?” Harrison asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re glaring at the raven,” he said. “Did it do something to offend you?”

“Not today,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows in question but I didn’t elaborate. I knew he had mixed feelings about me already; I didn’t see any need to fan the flames of his suspicion that I was crazy.

“Do you suppose they’ll have a service for Lady Ellis?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly. She was a countess and a fashion model before that,” Harrison answered. He gave me a shrewd look. “Why?”

I glanced around the room. I wanted to make sure the inspectors and the crime-scene techs were out of earshot.

“I can’t help thinking that it’s odd that she was wearing that hat,” I said.

“Do you think it’s a message?” Harrison frowned. “And if so, what does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Oh, I wish Viv were here.”

“Have you heard from her?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “But Aunt Grace got another e-mail, telling her she was fine. Very annoying.”

Harrison blew out a breath in exasperation. I wondered if maybe he was a little tired of her shenanigans as well.

“When do you suppose they’ll have the viewing for Lady Ellis?” I asked.

“Eager to see her again, are you?” he asked.

“No,” I said as a shudder rippled through me. “But I feel like I have to go, as one of the people who found her.”

“I heard that it might be held in the beginning of the week,” Harrison said. He paused and then seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll take you if you want.”

“Would we be allowed in?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. His tone didn’t invite questions, but I wondered at the how. Surely a countess would merit some sort of invite-only situation.

I glanced at Harrison, thinking I should question him, but he met my glance with one of complete self-assuredness. And then I got it. He was connected. I don’t know how or why, but obviously, he had connections that would get him into the viewing. Excellent.

There was no way I could explain why it was important. It was a feeling, a compulsion really, that made me think that I needed to be at the wake.

“I’ll call you with the details as soon as I have them,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a grim smile. “It’s the least I can do. You’ve had a hell of week here, haven’t you?”

Sympathy from Harrison Wentworth was so unexpected that I felt my eyes sting with hot tears. Afraid he’d rethink his kindness if I blubbered all over him, I glanced up at the ceiling, willing the dampness to roll back into my tear ducts while trying to look contemplative. I probably just looked stupid, but better that than pathetic.

“It’s been a rough stretch,” I agreed. “But I expect it will turn around.”

With my tears safely tamped back down, I glanced back at him. He was studying me as if he found me to be a particularly perplexing problem. I gave him a small smile and he glanced hastily away as if embarrassed to have been caught staring.

“Not to squash your optimism, but I don’t really expect it to get better until they’ve caught whoever it was who tried to kill you,” he said.

It was like a blast of arctic air on my skin and I shivered.

“Do you really think they were trying to kill me?” I asked. “Maybe they just wanted me to black out so I didn’t interrupt their robbery.”

“Ginger, look around us.” His voice was soft and kind as he called me by my old nickname. “If they were here to rob the shop, why didn’t they take anything?”

I did not want to hear this. “Because I kicked them. Hard.”

He sighed. “Deny, deny, deny.”

“What?” I asked. “You want me to believe that someone broke in here to kill me? That’s mental. Who would want to kill me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. His cheeks had gotten red and he looked irked. “Wild guess here, but maybe it was your ex-lover’s wife.”

“Ah!” I gasped. “Why that’s just . . . it’s . . . hardly . . .”

“Problem over here?” Inspector Franks asked as he joined us.

I glowered at Harrison. So much for his sympathy. I might have known it wouldn’t last.

“No, no problem,” I said.

He glanced between us and Harrison gave him a blank stare.

“None that I can think of,” he said.

Franks continued to study us, obviously unconvinced.

“We’re ready for you to check the safe now,” he said to me.

“Fine,” I said. I rose stiffly from my seat and stomped past Harrison, desperately wanting to step on his toes as I went by. I refrained and felt quite smug and mature about it.

I was nearing the door to the back when I paused by one of the built-in shelving units. I had been straightening it when Lady Ellis had come in that evening. It held a display of gloves, from black for funerals to pristine white for weddings. My favorite had been a pair of vintage Lilly Daché gray gloves with embroidered cuffs. I had been so intrigued by them, I had tried them on. But now, they weren’t there.

“Ms. Parker?” Inspector Franks called me from the door. “Is everything all right?”

“No,” I said. “You’re not going to find any fingerprints.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. No doubt at the surety of my voice.

“Why not?”

“Because the person was wearing gloves, my gloves,” I said.

I described the missing items, the only things that had gone missing in the shop, and Inspector Franks took notes.

“Would you happen to have a picture of them?” he asked.

“I doubt it,” I said. “Mim always carried accessory items, and she was partial to the vintage ones, but we’ve never kept a photo record of them like we do with the hats. The only possibility would be if Fee is offering the items for sale in our online store.”

“Can you look into it and get back to me?” he asked.

“I’ll ask her,” I said.

“I’m going to have the place examined anyway,” he said. “If they took the gloves after they broke in then they might have left some prints behind, at least on the door.”

I nodded. Having a pillow held over my face to the point of suffocation was terrifying, hugely terrifying. But somehow having the gloves taken felt like more of a violation, or maybe it just meant that the killer was creepy enough to have broken in and then used the shop’s own gloves against me. I didn’t know; either way, it left me feeling more rattled than ever.

I checked the safe. It was fine. At least, as far as I knew, nothing had been touched. Honestly, I hadn’t looked in the safe since I’d arrived so I could only judge by the neatness of the contents, which seemed as tidy as one would expect.

“If you hear from your cousin and she can verify the contents of the safe, that would be greatly appreciated,” Inspector Franks said.

I nodded. Two hours later the police took their leave. Harrison had brewed a pot of non-caffeinated tea and we sat at the workroom table in the back while we drank.

The adrenaline that had kept me going finally departed, leaving me a soupy mess. My exhaustion must have shown because Harrison took my cup and put it aside.

“Come on,” he said as he helped me up by the elbow. “Up you go.”

We had propped a chair under the door handle to the back door. Not the greatest lock, but it would have to do until a locksmith could come.

I had thought Harrison would see me to the door that led upstairs and then take his leave, but instead, he walked me up to Viv’s new room.

“Sleep here,” he said. “I’ll bunk on the couch in the sitting room and watch over you while you sleep.”

That did it. The sobs I’d been holding at bay took me out at the knees, and before I could even attempt to hold them back, my shoulders were shaking, I was hiccupping and tears were running down my face as if I’d been uncorked.

Harrison didn’t say a word. He just pulled me into his solid warmth and wrapped his arms around me while I cried. A couple of times I thought I’d cried it out, but no. There was always just one more puddle to wring out of my middle. Finally, I ran dry.

“You don’t have to stay,” I mumbled into the soft cotton of his shirt. “But it was really nice of you to offer.”

His hand was running absently up and down my back. I was tucked in against him with my head nestled under his chin, a perfect fit.

“I’m not offering,” he said. “I’m telling you I’m staying. How could I live with myself if something happened to you?”

I looked up then to see his face. His green eyes crinkled in the corners as he gave me a small smile.

“Viv would kill me if anything happened to you,” he said. He was joking, but it hit me like a splash of cold water.

What was I doing snuggled up against him when he and my cousin were obviously close? How close I didn’t know, but obviously much closer than he and I were. I felt my face get hot.

“Viv would do you an injury, a severe one,” I said, trying to joke my way through the awkwardness that suddenly felt as thick as a London fog.

He tucked a strand of hair back behind my ear. “Go get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning, I promise.”

I gave him a brisk nod and fled to the big bedroom, Viv’s bedroom. I paused only to fetch a spare pillow and quilt from the linen closet and hurriedly thrust them into Harrison’s arms before I disappeared into Mim’s old room.

I curled up on the bed, feeling like a perfect idiot. I had just cried all over a man who couldn’t stand me, who had some sort of relationship with my cousin, although I wasn’t exactly sure what it entailed, and whom I didn’t completely trust. It was just mortifying.

Why didn’t I trust him? I wondered. I didn’t really believe that he had anything to do with Viv’s disappearance. In fact, I was getting the feeling that he was feeling as irked as I was with Viv.

No, it was because I felt like he wasn’t telling me everything. That was it. When I thought about how I felt around him, it was this feeling that he knew things and he wasn’t sharing them with me. I had no proof of it, but it was a feeling I couldn’t shake.

I supposed I couldn’t really blame him for not telling me everything. Here I was, this scandal-ridden American who had arrived to claim my half of an inheritance I had all but ignored until my life fell apart and I had no place else to go.

I rolled onto my back. There was a faint scent in the room of Lily of the Valley. It was the scent I always associated with Mim. Abruptly, I was spiked with a sharp spear of grief, right in my chest, and I missed her with a longing that left me bereft.

In my mind, I could see her hands, spotted with age, twisting ribbons into delicate braids of color to adorn one of her spring garden hats. She had the ability to make even the simplest hat look elegant and charming.

I wondered what she would make of this situation we found ourselves in now. Despite her own scattered artistic temperament, Mim had been very practical in her outlook on the world. She tended to see it for exactly what it was and didn’t take it too seriously.

She had a silly sense of humor that frequently made itself known in her more whimsical designs. But mostly, what I missed about her was that whenever I was with Mim, there was nothing that couldn’t be managed with a hot cup of tea and a hug.

Maybe that was just because I was so much younger and my problems smaller then. I knew deep down that part of the reason I had cried all over Harrison’s shirtfront was because being here made me miss Mim and his had been the only warm body present to fill the void. I tried not to dwell on what a nice warm body he had, instead remembering that tomorrow I would have to go to the police station and be fingerprinted. I was dreading it.

If the reporters got wind of this, well, I couldn’t even imagine what sort of sordid tales they would weave about me, because I certainly hadn’t had enough of that.

A soft snore sounded from the other room. It was followed by a grunt and another snore. I wasn’t sure why this made me smile, but it did. Harrison snored. I liked knowing this about him. I was still smiling when I fell asleep.

• • •

The lovely smell of coffee brewing roused me from my sleep. For a moment, I thought I was back in my apartment in Florida with my coffeepot on the timer, brewing a perfect two cups that I would then put in my travel mug before I headed out the door to the hotel I helped to manage.

The low rumble of voices busted through my happy daydream like an elephant stampede, and I snapped to a sitting position. This was a bad plan, as my head felt like someone had used it for an ax holder. The pain was deep in my skull, throbbing from my sinus cavity up through my hair follicles. It was the crying. A good crying jag, and last night’s had been a doozy, always left me with a scorching headache.

Knuckles wrapped on my door.

“Scarlett, you’d better come out here,” Harrison said.

“Be right there,” I said. I sighed. No good-morning greeting made me suspect bad news awaited my arrival. Bleh. I was so over the bad news.

Harrison was in Mim’s kitchen. Her tiny TV on the counter was on and programmed to the local news. It took me a minute to realize that the reporter speaking live was standing in front of the shop, which meant she was out front right now.

“What?”

“Shh,” Harrison hushed me as he turned up the volume.

“This is the hat shop owned by Vivian Tremont, the former girlfriend of Earl Ellis of Waltham,” the brunette was saying. “While it can’t be confirmed, word has it that Ms. Tremont has fled the country in the wake of Lady Ellis’s grisly murder and neighbors along the street here on Portobello Road have confirmed that Ms. Tremont has not been seen in days. No arrests have been made in the murder of Lady Ellis as yet, but the police were called here late last night. There is no word as to whether Ms. Tremont has returned and been brought into custody or not.”