The Minstrel & The Beagle

by Lila K Bell

My stomach settled, and I dropped from the second storey to the first.

  Then there was the purchase agreement. Was Roger the person who had written THIEF in those big red letters? Considering the total of those repairs, I wouldn’t blame him. But surely he’d known what he was getting into when he’d traded his book? If it hadn’t been him, who else would have had enough stake in the boat to feel that kind of rage?

  I suppose Coleman could have written it himself.

  Maybe Roger had sent him the invoice for the repairs, expecting Coleman to pay it, and maybe Coleman had been prepared to send the invoice back with his friendly message written across the top.

  Either way, if my best friend ever treated me like that, I wouldn’t be quick to trust them with any favours in future.

  From the first storey balcony, it took no effort at all to drop to the ground floor as I thanked whoever might be listening that no one else on this side of the building seemed to be working late.

  As soon as my feet hit the grass, I dropped into a crouch to distribute my weight and catch my breath. My heart felt as though it was about to burst out of my chest, but I was sure it would slow down. Almost certain it wouldn’t creep up the back of my throat and spew out onto the ground. Maybe. Hopefully.

  While I breathed through the nausea, I looked over my shoulder to watch Ryan as he made it the last few feet.

  I had to admit, I was impressed. Not only had he climbed down a wall like Spider-Man, but he’d done it barely breaking a sweat.

  Unlikely my own self, which could definitely use a shower.

  I waited for my legs to stop shaking before I stood up and moved toward him to get out of view of any windows, but when he hopped the last foot, he tripped on a rock at the base of the drainpipe and stumbled into me. My ankle turned at the sudden weight, and we both fell backward into the grass in a flail of limbs and backpack. My head missed a garden gnome by half a foot, and a spiny rose bush by a few mere inches, but I was only vaguely aware of the danger.

  In the moment, all I could think about was the weight of Ryan’s body splayed over mine. His face hovered above me by less than a foot, and in the soft glow of the street light brushing over the side of his face he’d never looked so handsome. So… not badass.

  It was like in that moment, I could see through the veneer he wore around himself. His motorcycle no longer defined him — it was just a grown-up toy he thought was cool. His leather coat was just a clothing item instead of a fashion statement.

  And his lips were incredibly smooth.

  I blame the lack of air that made me see all these things, that made me want to run my fingers through his hair and bring my lips to his so I could find out if they tasted as good as they looked. I blame the rush of our escape for the heat that flowed through me, leaving my skin tingling with the sensation of his thighs against mine.

  I blame everything except my own interest, because a moment later, it evaporated under his teasing grin. “Should have known offering to help you would get me into trouble.”

  “Hey,” I said, “you volunteered. It’s not my fault you were staring over my shoulder instead of standing guard.”

  His eyebrows rose and his grin widened. “At least I can say for certain now — a night out with you is far from boring.”

  Tingles exploded in my belly. He’d thought about having a night out with me?

  “So what’s next?” he asked.

  With his body still braced over me, my mind only went in one direction, but he soon corrected me with a soft chuckle. “I mean with what you learned tonight.”

  My face flushed at the smugness in his smile and I cleared my throat. “Take it back to Fraser. He obviously knows more than he told me, and now I have something to use as leverage.”

  “Hmm,” Ryan said, and he shifted his weight, causing a whole new variety of sensations to flow through me. By the glint in his eyes, he knew what he was doing, and I shoved on his shoulders to push him off. He rolled onto his back with a quiet laugh and rubbed his ribs where I’d applied pressure. His amusement faded, though his smile remained. “Did you want me to come with you?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “I’d hate to get you into any more trouble.”

  “Good,” he said, and a moment later, he’d jumped to his feet. “Then I’m getting out of here. If I’m not mistaken, those are police sirens and they’re coming this way. Have a good night, my lady.”

  My mouth fell open at the speed with which he took off into the quiet night, and he was gone before I had a chance to remember he’d been my ride here.

  I cursed and stood up, then cursed again when I realized he was right. The sirens were coming closer, flashing lights turning onto the street.

  Sending a few angry thoughts after Ryan, I turned on my heel and took off on foot.

  13

  By the time I got home, I had worked off most of the adrenaline that had surged through my system from the moment the alarm sounded in Fraser’s office.

  Who was I kidding? More like from the moment Ryan had revved the engine of his Ducati.

  My shirt was soaked and my hair clung to the back of my neck like limp spaghetti, and I spent the next thirty minutes in the shower scrubbing off all traces of my night out.

  When I fell into bed, I was sure sleep would come for me right away, but in that I was mistaken.

  I tossed and turned for hours. Every time the weight of fatigue tugged on my limbs, the memory of that purchase agreement popped into my head.

  Why did Fraser have it?

  Ryan might have been right that it was something he had planned to use over Coleman, but how? Blackmail the man with whom you already had a signed agreement? As far as I could see, it wouldn’t have pushed Coleman to pay his debt faster than anything else had. And why resort to blackmail when you were already sending threatening phone calls and letters?

  None of it fit with the type of person Fraser projected himself to be, and until I knew for sure, it would bother me like a splinter.

  The big question, of course, was how Fraser had gotten his hands on the document. That paper had been sitting on Coleman’s desk the night he was murdered. If I’d interpreted Sam’s hedging correctly, the police had looked for those papers and hadn’t found them. It didn’t take a genius to put Fraser together with the masked man who’d bumped into me. And if he was the masked man, then that put him right back into focus for the murder.

  I rolled onto my side and stared out the window.

  When the office opened, I would go back to Ed Fraser and demand a few answers. I wouldn’t leave until I got them.

  ***

  My confidence stayed with me until I reached the stamped glass door. Memories of breaking in here last night held me back. Could Fraser have figured out who had been here? Had the police shown up, searched the place, and noticed the disarray in the Coleman file? Even if they had, it didn’t mean Fraser would have put it together with me. There were a lot of people going after Coleman’s money from what Jeremy said. Any one of the people Barnaby had conned might have wanted to find out what he’d done with their cash. Jeremy himself might have hoped to get some of it back.

  Considering I hadn’t done anything more illegal than a little B&E, I knew I was being silly for worrying more over this than I’d ever been over one of my thefts. But then, I was a meticulous planner when it came to my snatch and grabs. This had been spontaneous.

  What was I thinking?

  Oh right. I hadn’t been. I’d been too distracted by the bad-boy sparkle in Ryan’s grey eyes.

  I hoped it didn’t come and kick me in the patootie today.

  Sucking in a breath, I opened the door and stepped into the reception area. Daniel wasn’t at his desk, but the door to the office beyond was open. I approached with a courage I didn’t feel and found Fraser sitting at his desk, a file open in front of him.

  I rapped on the door jamb and pasted a friendly smile on my face as he looked up from his papers. His surprise was quickly followed by a blank neutr
ality I could only interpret as irritated.

  “Miss Gates, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “You have a good memory,” I said.

  “It pays to remember the people who push me,” he said. “What can I help you with?”

  I took that as an invitation to come in and sit down. I crossed one leg over the other and rested my hands on my knee. I never let my smile falter. Every move was considered and deliberate, designed to make it look as though I knew exactly what I was doing. Inside, I was screaming.

  “I’m here to speak with you about Barnaby Coleman.”

  “Again?” Fraser dropped his gaze back to his papers, a clear sign of dismissal. “I thought we covered that already.”

  “We did,” I said, not about to be pushed aside by a show of disinterest. “That was until I learned how much Coleman owed you. I’d first been led to believe his debt lay somewhere in the range of a hundred grand, but recent news has revealed that it could be as much as four times that amount. That’s a lot of money to be out now that he’s dead.”

  “It is indeed. Which, as we discussed last time, is why it would be ridiculous to suspect I had anything to do with his murder.” He was still focused on his papers, showing no sign of caring what my opinion might be, but there was a hint of frustration in his voice. A crack in his armour I could manipulate?

  “You’re absolutely right. It makes no sense. But I do wonder what the police would think about the threats you sent to Coleman’s house.”

  This caught Fraser’s attention, though not the kind I expected. He looked up with such scorn on his face I thought the plant on his desk might wither. “What threats? I don’t dabble in threats, Miss Gates. They’re beneath me. I do whatever I can to help my clients find the money to pay me back. End of story. If I put any pressure on them, it’s on the possibility of bankruptcy.”

  “You can say what you like, Mr. Fraser, but I have proof.”

  “Of what?” he asked, laughing. “What kind of proof?”

  “Letters,” I said. “Phone messages. Coleman’s son kept them just in case, and I understand from him that some of the messages were quite…visceral.”

  Was I imagining the sudden pallour of Fraser’s skin? Was the way he set down his pen and folded his hands across his stomach his way of covering a sudden tremor?

  “You’re making up stories,” he said, but I heard his doubt.

  “I assure you, I’m not. Jeremy was going to deliver the tapes to the police today. I’m surprised they haven’t swung by to have a chat with you about it already.”

  He stared at me for a moment, his blue eyes searching mine, as though trying to figure out where the truth rested. Then a faint red flush crept into his cheeks. Without taking his eyes off me, he called out, “Daniel?”

  I was about to tell him his receptionist had stepped out when the front door opened and closed. Fraser called for his assistant again, and Daniel stepped into the room, holding a cardboard tray with two coffees. He gave one to his boss and took the other for himself, dropping the tray into the recycling bin. At least he was environmentally conscientious.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you had a client this morning or I wouldn’t have taken so long. Or I would have least offered you—”

  He cut his pleasantries short when he recognized me, and his mouth flattened into a straight line.

  “You remember Miss Gates,” said Fraser.

  “I do, sir. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I wouldn’t have let her in.”

  Fraser rested his clasped hands on his desk, and his chair creaked under his shifting weight. “Miss Gates has been telling me some interesting stories about threats that Barnaby Coleman received prior to his death. Threats to his physical health, is that right?”

  I nodded. “And to his property.”

  Daniel swallowed and his features paled. “That’s horrible.”

  Fraser’s eyebrow quirked, barely perceptible. “Phone calls that claimed to be from me.”

  “That’s impossible. You don’t practice business that way. You never have. Are you sure we can trust the source?”

  I couldn’t say I was impressed with the way he spoke over my head as though I weren’t there, and by the way Fraser’s eyes narrowed, he seemed to feel the same way.

  “I would say the source is unimpeachable. It came from Mr. Coleman’s son.”

  Daniel blanched.

  Fraser leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you made those phone calls and sent the letters, did you, Daniel?”

  Daniel licked his lips and twisted his coffee cup as though trying to prevent his fingers from burning. “O-of course not. I—” He fell silent, and in a breath his whole demeanor changed. His shoulders straightened and the tremble in his hands subsided. “I suppose there’s no point in lying about it. I did it. I knew you were having trouble with Coleman, and I wanted to show some initiative. I thought I was making progress. Coleman was beginning to sound desperate, and I figured in a few more days I would have the first cheque on your desk.”

  I stared at him in a new light and imagined him on the phone late at night, leaving messages or scribbling letters he later slid under Coleman’s door. On this new scan, I took in the height and shape of his frame. I wished I had an excuse to stand up and put myself beside him, but as it was, I put him at about the same size as the masked man who’d bumped into me. There was no way to call him out on it, of course. To do so would be to admit I had been the other person in the room, which wouldn’t benefit anyone.

  But maybe…

  “Were you the person I saw running out of the house that night?” I asked, figuring it was a safe position to take. After all, that was supposed to be part of my official statement.

  Daniel went even paler.

  “One of the officers asked me if I’d taken anything from the house,” I said. “I got the impression they were looking for something that wasn’t there. What were you doing there?”

  “I—I didn’t kill him.” He raised his hands so quickly in defense that coffee spilled over the edge of his cup. “I swear I didn’t. I went there to… to mess with him a little. Scare him. But he was already dead. So I ran. There were—there were documents on his desk that were proof of the debt he owed us. I took them so the cops wouldn’t have any reason to look this way. Ed, I promise, I did what I could to protect you. I knew it might look bad.” His eyes widened. “There was someone else in the house. I bumped into someone on my way out. They must have done it. I’m telling you the truth, sir, I had nothing to do with this.”

  There was a heartbeat of silence, and then Fraser said, “You’re fired.”

  I blinked. He spoke without any heat or even raising his voice. He might have been asking Daniel to get him a napkin for the spilled coffee on his desk for all the anger he showed. Despite the veneer, however, the signs were there. The flared nostrils, the white line around his lips. The stained muscles in his neck.

  This man could not have killed Barnaby Coleman with a pair of scissors. He was too restrained and in control. He was also incredibly impressive, and I realized I could learn a thing or two from him about keeping a cool head under pressure.

  “F-fired?” Daniel repeated. “But I didn’t kill him.”

  Fraser dipped his head in a nod. “And I believe you. I believe every single word you’ve told me, because not once in our many years together have you lied to me.”

  “Then what—why?”

  Fraser sat back in his chair. “On your first day here, what was the one value I told you I prized before all else?”

  “Integrity, sir.”

  His boss nodded. “We might deal with money, and money might be an ugly matter that sometimes requires ugly dealings, but I’m not a cheat. By leaving those messages on behalf of this company, you besmirched my name, and I cannot let that stand. So pack your bags and go. By the time I finish with Miss Gates, I want you out of this office.”

  He shifted in his chair and turned to me. The movement was subtle — he barely mo
ved an inch — but the gesture was as effective as if he’d turned his full back to his assistant. To the point that Daniel didn’t even bother to argue his case further. He simply turned around and walked out, closing the office door behind him.

  Though not before shooting me such a look that would have dropped dead in my chair if he’d had the power to do it.

  As soon as the latch clicked, a certain amount of tension left the room, and Fraser’s shoulders sagged. “Shame,” he said. “He had a lot of potential.” He dropped his hands to the desk and raised his gaze to mine. “Now that we’ve got that solved, do you have any other matters you’d like to clear up?”

  I licked my lips, surprised that he was asking. After everything I’d just witnessed, I didn’t think he would have wanted anything more to do with me.

  But while the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t pass it up. “Did you really threaten to go after Coleman’s house?”

  He eyed me for a moment, and then dropped his chin to his chest. “Perhaps at this point it would be best if I explained everything. Especially with Daniel’s confessions, I would hate to have you walk out with any… misunderstandings of me or my business. I never threatened bodily harm, but yes, I did threaten to go after his house. The value of the place in its current condition is about on par with what he owed me, and I felt it was a fair exchange. I’m not a bank, but collateral is still a part of this business. Until the other day, Barnaby had refused. The house was to go to his son and he didn’t want anyone to touch it. I pointed out the direness of his situation, and he seemed to hint that he had a way of getting some of the money. I believed I was getting close to what I wanted — a conclusion to this mess.”

  “Was Coleman’s contract with you the only thing Daniel took from the house that night?” I asked, then took a breath and added, “What about a purchase agreement?”

  I knew it was a gamble. There was no way I could reasonably know he had it, but I needed to understand why he’d kept it. Daniel’s reason for taking the contract made… a sort of irrational kind of sense, but what would have motivated Fraser to hold on to documents that had nothing to do with him?