The Heir of Thornfield Manor

by Ellie Thornton

  He turned her hand so the back was up, then lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. A bolt of energy shot through her. It was not unlike the sensation of being tasered, an experience she knew well thanks to the police academy. They made all the new cops get tasered during training. Only, this was infinitely less painful and loads more confusing. Especially when her stomach twisted in knots.

  She straightened her spine and tried to step back, but his grip on her hand prevented her. “Just doing my job.”

  His breathing came heavier and his gaze dropped to her lips. A heady silence came over them.

  She sucked in a gasp, and he made eye contact once more. As quickly as the moment had come, it left. He dropped her hand and turned his back to her as he fled the room. And fled is exactly what he did.

  “Good night, Elizabeth,” he called behind him. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  She shut the door and locked it while trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Why had his saying they’d talk in the morning sound like a threat? And why did it excite her?

  Chapter Eight

  Daley was gone when Elizabeth went down for breakfast that morning. She’d been surprised by his absence. She’d thought for sure that he’d want to pounce on her the moment she came down. Well, not pounce on her, not like that. She’d just thought he would’ve wanted to find out what her decision was. But apparently, he didn’t care all that much. Not that his opinion mattered. She’d already made up her mind.

  At around three-thirty, she headed out, locking the case files in the trunk of her car. She didn’t think whoever had opened her window had seen anything—she was pretty sure the wind had blown the papers around—but she decided better safe than sorry.

  The entire main street of town was shut down to anything other than foot traffic, and vendors had set up several booths with food. Even Debbie had rolled her ice cream counter outside, and a hefty line of people were lined up to get a scoop. And for good reason. The temperature was over a hundred.

  She parked a couple blocks away and ran back. Now, she waded through a large crowd at the back of City Hall, gathered around thirty or more vintage cars. Seventies music played over the parking lot from big speakers placed at each corner. She hadn’t been entirely sure she’d like this event, but the cars were fantastic, and the atmosphere fun. It seemed like the whole town was there. They’d even managed to get a Ferris wheel. Elizabeth loved Ferris wheels.

  Helen was on the ride with a handsome man, and she waved at her as they went by, yelling out a hello. Elizabeth smiled and waved back.

  Elizabeth had always been a city girl, but being here, she could definitely see the perks of a small-town community. It was so welcoming.

  She stopped in front of a 1968 Mustang in mint condition and smiled.

  “Hey,” Finley called. “Elizabeth!”

  She turned to see the man pushing his way through the crowd, holding a pink cotton candy in one hand and a purple in the other. His choice of snack made her chuckle.

  “There you are. I’ve been looking all over.”

  She was a little surprised he hadn’t spotted her right off; he was so tall. Then again, she was short.

  “I should’ve known you’d find your way here.” He smiled and his hazel eyes sparkled with mirth. “Which cotton candy would you like?”

  “Pink, please.”

  He handed it to her. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He pulled off a big chunk of the fluffy purple and stuffed it in his mouth. “So, what makes this particular car so special?”

  She pulled off a small piece of cotton candy and pointed to the car with it. “Aside from the fact that Steve McQueen drove one in Bullitt?”

  He chuckled. “That’s right, he did. Aside from that.”

  She ate the piece she’d pulled off. “This car went on a major overhaul from the 1967. You see the gills back here by the door? In ’67, they were the same color as the car, but in ’68, they changed it to the chrome unit you see here. They also removed the horizontal bar from the front of the grill, which I think gives it a sleeker look.” She went to the side of the car and pointed to the Mustang lettering with her cotton candy. “They added this lettering to the sides here and changed it from block letters to the cursive you see.”

  “Wow,” he said. “You really know a lot about this.”

  She grinned and peered in the window. “And as a merely cosmetic option, they included a bench seat for the front with a luxury drop-down armrest.” She stood back to let him look.

  He bent down to peer inside, covering his eyes from the sun’s glare to get a better look.

  “Do you see the chrome in the door panels and the ornaments in the seat backs?”

  “Yep.”

  “Not all ’68 Mustangs have those features. What you’re looking at here is a rare beauty.”

  “Dang,” Finley said. “That was sexy.”

  She gave a nervous chuckle and glanced to the side. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. She was kind of flattered and kind of not.

  “Yes, it was.” Daley came through the crowd with the same blonde bombshell from the other day. And like the other day, his gaze was planted firmly on Elizabeth. The woman held his arm, and in his hand were the keys to the Mustang.

  She pointed to the vehicle—a smile spreading despite herself. “This is yours?”

  “I knew you’d like it,” he said.

  Finley put the hand not holding his cotton candy in his pocket. “Daley.”

  “Finley,” Daley said without taking his gaze off her. To say their greeting was cold would be putting it lightly.

  Elizabeth clenched her jaw and looked at the ground. His stare was often too much even without an audience. It didn’t help that her boss had more or less just called her sexy. She didn’t think this moment could get any more awkward. She was wrong.

  “Here to fleece some women and children?” Finley asked.

  Daley tore his gaze away. “My clientele never involved children, Agent, but you know that. You’re not still mad that I outed you as an undercover agent, are you?”

  Elizabeth’s gaze whipped between the two men. Finley’s jaw clenched. Well, that would’ve been nice to know.

  “For the last time, I wasn’t undercover,” Finley said.

  Daley grinned.

  Daley’s friend cleared her throat, her stare locked on Finley in a way that was hard to tell if it was flirtatious or predatory. “Care to introduce us?”

  Finley looked away.

  “Of course,” Daley said, then signaled with his hand around the group as he made introductions. “Bridgette, this is James Finley and Elizabeth Shea—Bridgette Stevens.”

  She wore a red skirt and a long-sleeved white-and-black-striped shirt—Elizabeth wondered if she was hot, but not a drop of sweat could be seen anywhere. She was very put together compared to Elizabeth’s loose locks, ripped jeans, and oversized T-shirt. “Elizabeth … as in your gardener?”

  “One of them, yes,” Daley said.

  “What a quaint little job,” Bridgette said; at the same time, her tone said that being a gardener was beneath her.

  Elizabeth lifted her chin. “It’s good work. Pays the bills, and I get to spend my days working with flowers—it doesn’t get much better than that.”

  Bridgette laughed. “You also get to spend your days in the dirt, sweating, and doing physical labor better fit for a man.” She looked Elizabeth up and down. “Though you do seem to have the build for it. A little too muscular for such a tiny body.”

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and dragged her gaze over to Daley for a split second. “Thank you,” she said, and handed her cotton candy to Finley. “Daley, can I have a word?”

  He nodded and offered her his hand as she came around the car. Without thinking, she took it and led him away.

  She stopped back by the building and faced him, his hand still firmly clasped in hers. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” He was smiling now, and she
kind of wanted to smack him.

  “Between you and Finley?”

  “Shouldn’t you be asking him that?” He glanced toward where Finley and Miss Too-Good-for-Physical-Labor stood, then lifted their conjoined hands and waved with two fingers. “Considering your professional relationship.”

  She ripped her hand from his, surprised with herself she’d taken his at all, especially in front of Finley. “Stop that.”

  Someone pushed past behind Daley, and he stepped closer to her. “Stop what?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. He smelled good. Really, really good. She cleared her throat. “Reading people. It’s annoying. Finley and I work together and that’s it, so whatever you’re thinking, knock it off.” She barely knew Finley.

  “Who’s reading people now?” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “He likes you.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  “What have you decided?” Daley asked. “Are you staying?”

  Someone bumped into her from behind, making her take a step closer to him. She craned her neck back to look at him. “What do you think?” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “I’d guess, but you just told me not to.”

  She blinked up at him. “I’m telling Finley that you know about me. If he wants me to stay after that, then I will.” She turned to leave, slightly worried she might go up on her toes and kiss him if she stayed any longer. And since she was trying to be mad at him, she doubted that’d help her point.

  He grabbed her arm before she got a step away. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Daley asked, the muscles in his jaw working.

  “Yeah, I do,” she said. “It’s my job to report to him—especially when my cover’s been blown.”

  She made her way back to Finley. Daley’s lady friend stared at her with open contempt—eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

  “Everything all right?” Finley handed her back her cotton candy.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  Neither of them said goodbye to Bridgette, and for some reason Elizabeth was pleased that Finley seemed as put off by the woman as she was. They left the crowded car show and walked down Main Street.

  Finley pointed over his shoulder once they were out of earshot of everyone. “What do you know about that woman?”

  “I know about as much as you do. I think she’s been here since Monday, but I suppose she could just as easily have driven back in today.”

  They passed a motel at the end of the block. It was a nice two-story building with planter boxes in front of their windows filled with colorful draping flowers. He pointed to the building. “She’s staying in town. Checked in Monday.”

  Fantastic.

  “She’s had little contact with anyone—just Daley.”

  Elizabeth frowned. Daley had stayed close to the house all week, except for a couple of days early in the morning when he’d left for an hour or two. Elizabeth hardly noticed because she had always been working in the yard while he’d been gone. She might not have noticed at all if his Porsche hadn’t been gone.

  “If she comes to the manor, let me know.”

  “About that …”

  He turned on her and frowned. “What?”

  “Daley knows I’m a cop. He figured it out.”

  Finley cursed under his breath. “I hoped that wouldn’t happen—”

  “But you knew it would,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me he knew about you?”

  His hand tightened around his cotton candy, scrunching the paper holder. “I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

  It made sense, really. She might have said the same thing. When you worried, it made you act that way, and acting that way in front of Daley was a surefire way to get him to start guessing things he shouldn’t be guessing. She wondered if the man had an off switch for that. “Now what?”

  “I’ll inform my bosses and we’ll go from there,” he said.

  She nodded. “Understood. But you should know that Daley has no intention of letting any other agents in his home. He told me as much last night. He likes me and will work with me. If you send anyone else, he won’t let them anywhere near him.”

  “He said that last night?”

  “More like early morning, after someone tried to kill him by opening the gas main in the fireplace in his room,” she said.

  “What?” Finley stepped closer. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to call you from the house. Whoever did it had access, and I logged into the video surveillance of the house from my computer; there was nothing. I thought it would be safer to wait and tell you in person.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No, thankfully.” She stopped and faced him. “I know it doesn’t look good for the missing homeless man, but no one has seen hide nor hair of him since the night Katelyn died. And with a second victim with the same precision shots to the chest, I can’t help but think that neither of them knew their killer. I don’t think Katelyn let anyone in, and I don’t think Newlin did either. If someone could get in the manor last night, they could’ve then, couldn’t they? And whoever killed Newlin could have cornered him outside his condo and walked him inside at gunpoint. His place wasn’t that difficult to access.”

  “But the manor is locked up pretty tight.”

  “There’s a tree at the edge of the property with a limb that dangles over the opposing side of the wall. If all the five key holders of that gate have solid alibis, then maybe someone climbed over? Maybe they put a ladder on the outside of the wall, or parked next to it and used their car to get to the branch and climb over that way?”

  He pinched his brow together. “It doesn’t sound likely.”

  She shrugged. “No, but it’s worth looking into.”

  “All right,” Finley said. “Check it out when you can. But if the gas leak was started by someone with access to the property, we also need to consider Alice and Helen.”

  She nodded. She liked Alice and Helen a lot, but there was no way around it, despite how genuinely fond of Daley they seemed. They could be in on it.

  When she got back, she’d load a ladder onto the back of a four-wheeler and see if her theory that someone could climb over was plausible. Either way, she needed to know. If it ended up not working, then she’d look at the women, or more likely see if either of them had recently misplaced their keys.

  “There’s just one more thing I need to know,” Finley said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is there something going on between you and Daley?”

  “No. Not like you think. He trusts me,” she said, and did her very best to ignore the sinking in her stomach when she did. To herself, she could admit that she liked him. But she was a cop, and she was pretty sure he was taken by Bridgette. Maybe in a different time and place, but not here. Not now.

  Chapter Nine

  By design, Elizabeth got back to the manor late. She didn’t want to talk to Daley. As she made her way inside, a soft feminine humming came from the kitchen. She peeked in.

  Alice sat at the kitchen table, reading a home magazine with a Mag light sitting to her right. She was rubbing a cream from an unlabeled bottle on her hands. The belladonna mixture, probably. She glanced up at Elizabeth’s appearance in the door. “How was the car show?”

  “It was good. Those cars were fantastic,” Elizabeth said.

  Alice pushed her chair back and headed to the fridge. “Did you see the Mustang? Patrick was so excited about taking it. He was up at the crack of dawn polishing the thing in the driveway.”

  She guessed he hadn’t been able to sleep after the gas leak either.

  “That car hasn’t seen the light of day in years—I was surprised when Patrick said he was taking it to the show.”

  Had he decided to take it after finding out she was going? Was he with Bridgette? What did Daley see in her? “Alice, do you know who Bridgette Stevens is?”

  Alice fro
wned, her hand resting on the handle of the fridge. “She’s a friend of Patrick’s. Though I’d use the term ‘friend’ loosely.”

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth leaned against the doorjamb.

  “That woman’s had her sights set on Patrick for years now. What with him being so handsome, wealthy, and the heir of this property.” Alice slid her hand up the handle. “Patrick would never have looked at her while Katelyn was alive, and it’s only been recently that he’s started to come out of his shell. I’ll tell you this much: if that woman has her way, they’ll be married by the end of the year. She has no sense of propriety. She even showed up the day after Katelyn was killed, claiming she wanted to be sure he was okay, but it was obvious she was laying claim.”

  A sharp pang thudded inside Elizabeth’s chest. Yeah, that was tacky, but Patrick didn’t seem all that bothered. “Oh.”

  Alice smiled at her. “I take it you didn’t like her either?”

  Elizabeth forced a grin. “She wasn’t my favorite.”

  “You mean condescending and rude aren’t your favorite?”

  She chuckled. “No, not really.”

  “It’s a bit of a mystery why Patrick has anything to do with her. Sure, he has his moments, but he’s a kind person and likes to be around people who are good too.”

  Connotation being that Bridgette wasn’t?

  “Bridgette is quick-witted and smart, and with a mind like Patrick’s I could see how that might appeal to him.” Alice opened the fridge. “Are you hungry? I have shepherd’s pie.”

  “I ate before I came home.” She cleared her throat. “Hey, Alice, who all has a key to the gate in the orchard?”

  “Patrick, of course, me, Helen, and you. The fifth, Patrick keeps in the drawer by the fridge.” Helen pointed to the drawer in question.

  “So, we’re the only ones who could get through that gate?”

  Alice leaned against the counter next to the fridge. “I suppose. Why?”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “I was just wondering about the night Mrs. Daley died—if someone besides the key holders could’ve gotten in.”