by Fiona Grace
“Carol’s,” he shouted back, and this time he sounded confused. “Lacey, what’s this all about? Why are you so concerned about Harry all of a sudden?”
“It’s nothing,” Lacey told him. “I’ll see you later.”
She ended the call, her ears ringing from how loud it had been on the other end.
Lacey wanted to confront Harry, but she was torn, because her wedding was so soon! But the thought of Harry getting away with it, and the abbey losing their precious scepter, was too much to bear. Lacey couldn’t let that happen. Wedding or none, she couldn’t let Harry get away with theft and murder.
With a surge of determination, Lacey knew exactly what her next steps should be. She was going to catch a killer.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Lacey hitched her wedding dress up as she raced into Carol’s bright pink B&B and up to the counter.
“Is Harry here?” she asked, panting.
Carol looked her up and down with a frown of distaste. She’d always disliked Lacey, for absolutely no real reason, and now that Lacey was talking to her in a less than personable manner she seemed to be seething.
“Are you getting married or something?” she added, sounding surprised.
“Yes,” Lacey barked. “And I need to hurry. Harry. Dark hair. Tall. Well built. Drives a yellow sports car. Is he here?”
Carol frowned even harder at Lacey’s demanding tone, and pressed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t have any guests called Harry checked in here. There is a gentleman who drives a yellow sports car, but his name is Adam Cole.”
“Adam Cole?” Lacey echoed. “Dark hair. Tall. Well built?”
“Yes,” Carol replied, as if she was speaking to an idiot. “And he drives a yellow sports car.”
Lacey grabbed her cell phone and went online, typing in the name Harry had given them for his loch dredging company he supposedly owned. There was a whole section on their website about the Jacobite gold that had been found, but she skipped past that to the employees page and thumbed through. There was no Harry there. It was all a lie.
“He’s not Cousin Harry at all!” Lacey cried. “He was using a stolen identity!”
That was why Tom hadn’t recognized him when he arrived—not because he’d grown out of his ginger hair and small stature, but because he was an entirely different person! She remembered Tom’s “coincidental” revelation that he’d just put photos on Facebook of their summer camp holiday to Somerset together all those years earlier, and realized that must’ve been how Adam Cole got a hold of the fake persona in the first place. It was all there in the public realm, for anyone with the guts to utilize it, just as Greg had done when he’d pretended to be Professor Noble. And it only further solidified Lacey’s theory in her mind, about the pair of them stealing identities and chasing treasure across the county. The Jacobite gold found by the dredging company had been published online, and so too had her message about the scepter, albeit accidentally.
There was no doubt in Lacey’s mind now that she was right. Adam Cole was Greg Ford’s killer.
“Is Adam Cole here now?” she asked Carol.
Carol shook her head. “He checked out a few minutes ago.”
Lacey didn’t waste a second. She hurried back out of Carol’s B&B and flung herself into her car. Chester looked at her curiously as she gunned the car to life and accelerated away from the curb against which she’d previously abandoned the car in her haste.
There were only two ways to get out of Wilfordshire, and both roads could be seen from the top of the hills. If she was quick enough, she might be able to catch sight of the yellow sports car.
But her need for speed was quickly impeded when she joined the back of a barely moving row of cars. Thanks to the snow, everyone was being extra cautious and driving at a snail’s pace.
“Oh, come on!” Lacey exclaimed, thumping her steering wheel with frustration. She wasn’t usually one for road rage, but this was ridiculous!
It was only then that she realized the edge of her dress was trapped in the door and was trailing along the mucky, snowy asphalt.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she cried.
Making a snap decision, Lacey took a side street. That was the benefit of being local—she could zip around all the back streets and avoid the main congestion spots.
The cobblestones of the street made her bump and judder as she raced along far too quickly. Her teeth chattered as she raced to the end of the road and took a left onto the service street behind the restaurants, then turned onto the road that ran parallel with the high street—the less attractive one where all the buses were routed along. She raced along, taking another service street in order to bypass the promenade road, which was likely very busy. Then, finally, she reached the road leading into the hills.
And immediately braked.
The road was packed! Hood to trunk, with a row of cars, and every single one had a sled attached to the roof.
Lacey peered out through her windshield up at the snow covered hills. There were hundreds upon hundreds of sledders.
Her mouth dropped open. It looked like every resident of every town in a fifty-mile radius had decided to come to Wilfordshire to sled!
“Dammit!” Lacey cried. There was no way she’d catch Cousin Harry aka Adam Cole now.
Just then, Chester started barking from the passenger seat. Lacey glanced over at him to see what he’d spotted. She was just in time to see a yellow sports car go racing the other direction, against the flow of traffic. It was heading for the promenade road.
“Clever dog,” Lacey said, pushing the stick into drive and hitting the accelerator.
The chase was on.
Lacey gripped the steering wheel tightly and clenched her jaw. A high speed chase along the snow-covered promenade street seemed very ill-advised—on her wedding day, no less—but she was determined not to let “Cousin Harry” slip through her fingers once again.
She revved, accelerating even more in her attempt to catch up to the yellow sports car. A car honked as she swerved around it. And rightly so. Her driving was dangerous to say the least.
The yellow car passed through a green light ahead, which turned amber as Lacey approached. She put the pedal to the metal, weaving past the other cars that were slowing to a halt.
The light turned red, but Lacey careened right on through. A second later, the sound of sirens began to wail from behind.
“Shoot!” she cried, glancing into her rearview mirror.
She couldn’t see a cop car, though she could hear its sirens, and knew it was for her. Then she spotted a blacked-out Merc coming at her from behind. It was Superintendent Turner and DCI Lewis.
They started honking. They wanted her to pull over because she’d run a red light, but that just wasn’t going to happen. Lacey pressed on.
She came up behind the yellow car. Now it was her turn to honk. She blasted the heel of her palm onto the horn and a loud, constant beep rang out.
From the driver’s seat of the car ahead, Lacey saw the man she knew as Cousin Harry turn. Then he sped up, pulling away from Lacey.
“Oh no you don’t!” Lacey cried.
She floored it. But it was useless. Her secondhand Volvo was no match for the yellow sports car. Maybe the Merc could catch it?
Quickly, Lacey wound down the window and gestured with her hand for the cops to pass her.
The cruiser drew up alongside her, the window rolling down to reveal the stern face of Superintendent Turner in the passenger seat. He was wearing a black suit, dressed up, it seemed, for the wedding he was probably en route to. The wedding she was supposed to be en route to.
“Pull over!” he cried.
“That’s the killer!” Lacey shouted back over the roar of the wind. She pointed through the windshield at the yellow sports car up ahead, as it began to shrink from sight.
“Pull over!” Superintendent Turner cried again.
Lacey cried with exasperation. Why did no one ever list
en to her?
Then suddenly, there came an almighty squealing noise. Lacey looked back out the front and saw, up ahead, the yellow sports car squiggling all over the place.
“ICE!” Lacey cried.
It was too late. She felt her tires lose traction beneath her.
The Merc suddenly disappeared from view. She was spinning.
“Oh crap!” she cried, trying her best to keep control.
She bumped and juddered along, slipping and sliding, turning a full circle before suddenly hearing a loud thunk.
Then everything stopped moving.
Slowly, Lacey opened her eyes and looked up, surprised to still be in one piece. The back of her car had collided with the front of the yellow sports car. The Merc had smashed into the back. And there was Cousin Harry, aka Adam Cole, stuck right in the middle of his pursuer and the cops.
Game over.
The wreck had caused quite a crowd to form, and when Lacey jumped out of the car in her wedding dress, it caused quite a stir. And it only got worse when Superintendent Turner also leapt out of the car in his dapper black suit, his white hair gelled back in the style of a 1950s businessman. To anyone watching, it must have looked like they were the bride and groom!
“That’s Greg’s killer!” Lacey cried, pointing behind her at Harry as she slipped and slid across the snowy tarmac toward Superintendent Turner. “He’s a con man. His real name is Adam Cole.”
But just as she reached him, she suddenly felt coldness on her wrist, accompanied by the click sound of a lock. She gasped and turned back to see a silver metal handcuff around her wrist.
“What are you doing?!” she cried, looking at Superintendent Turner incredulously.
“I’m arresting you for dangerous driving, you lunatic!” he cried. “What’s gotten into you? It’s your wedding day. Why aren’t you at home doing your hair or whatever it is women do?”
“Because that’s the killer!” Lacey cried.
Karl wasn’t listening. He started dragging her toward the Merc. Thanks to the snow and her fancy wedding shoes, Lacey couldn’t even get enough traction to stop him.
“I’m telling you!” she cried, trying her hardest to dig her heels in. “You need to arrest that man! Check his car! You’ll find a wooden box with a gold scepter in it!”
Beth was halfway out of the Merc now, speaking in her walkie-talkie, requesting a paramedic and police backup. She’d overheard Lacey’s exclamations, frowned with interest, and trotted up to the sports car where “Cousin Harry” was sitting stunned inside.
He looked at the approaching detective. “Did you see that crazy lady? She was following me! Ran me off the road!”
“Step out of the car please,” Beth said, stoically.
Adam Cole did as he was commanded, professing his innocence the whole time while jabbing an angry pointer finger in Lacey’s direction. “She’s a lunatic! She needs locking up, she does! In a hospital, I mean, not a station. She crackers! A total fruit loop!”
Beth didn’t rise to his shouting. Very calmly, she said, “Is there anything inside your vehicle?”
“Like what?” Adam Cole replied, looking angry and flustered.
“How about you let me take a look?” Beth asked.
“There’s nothing to see,” he replied.
Beth opened the back passenger seat door, ducked inside, and reemerged holding the wooden crate.
“That’s just wine,” Adam Cole attempted to say. “Vintage wine, is all. Nothing to see.”
“Sarge!” the female detective cried across the asphalt, holding it aloft to Superintendent Turner.
The detective halted and looked back over his shoulder. His face registered surprise, then intrigue. He looked at Lacey. “Don’t. Go. Anywhere,” he warned. Then he hurried across the icy road to see what his partner had found.
Lacey felt a surge of triumph. The scepter would corroborate everything she’d told them. She took a couple of tentative steps closer so she could see and hear better. She watched, with bated breath, as DCI Lewis prized open the lid of the box with her fingers, and let out a gasp.
“She’s right,” the detective said to her partner. “It’s the scepter, all right.”
Both detectives turned in synchronization to look at Lacey. Lacey puffed up her chest with pride and grinned. She was elated. She’d done it. She’d solved this case, this time for real.
Detective Lewis clicked the button on her walkie-talkie. “We’re bringing in a suspect,” she said, before taking her cuffs from her pocket and roughhousing Cousin Harry out of the driver’s seat of the bright yellow car.
“Adam Cole, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Greg Ford,” she said.
As she continued reading the conman his rights, Superintendent Turner returned to Lacey.
“Well, well, well,” he said, drawing to a halt beside her. “Lacey Doyle proves me wrong once again.”
Lacey couldn’t help but grin at him. “I told you, you ought to listen to me more often!” she said. She turned to look at the mangled yellow sports car, squished between her Volvo and the black Merc. “Shame about the car,” she added. “I bet it was expensive.” She turned back to Karl Turner and raised her hands. “Can I get these things off now?” she asked, rattling the cuffs. “I don’t think they go with the rest of my outfit.”
Instead of chuckling at her joke, Superintendent Turner let out a heavy, weary exhalation. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t.”
Lacey blinked, perplexed. “But I just caught the bad guy.”
“I’m sorry, Lacey, but you’ve left me no choice. I’m going to have to arrest you.”
Lacey’s eyebrows flew all the way up. “For what?” she whispered, breathless with shock. “I—I don’t know what to say.” Then she paused. “Wait. Is this a joke?”
“I wish,” Karl replied. “But unfortunately, no. You ran this guy off the road. Blew a red light. Caused a three-car accident. And endangered many citizens. With this many witnesses, my hands are tied. You left me no choice. I really didn’t want it to be this way.”
“But—my wedding!” Lacey stammered.
Karl shook his head. He was clearly taking no pleasure in this. With a morose tone, he said, “Sorry, Lacey. The wedding’s off.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
In the gloomy holding cell of the Wilfordshire station, Lacey sat on a hard plastic bench, head in hands. Her once perfect, one-of-a-kind boutique wedding gown was now streaked with muck, its hem blackened with grime, the long lace train torn.
She let out a sad, wry laugh as she realized Beth’s warning had come true. Her meddling had led her here. Instead of getting married, she was sitting in a cell.
Just then, she heard a rattling noise and spotted the warden through the small window in the steel door. There came a clank, and a moment later, the steel door swung inward with a loud creak.
“The detectives are ready to speak to you,” the warden announced, beckoning her over.
Lacey leapt to her feet. Though there was no chance of saving her wedding anymore, she still wanted to get out of the station as quickly as possible and reunite with her family and friends. They must be worried about her.
Lacey followed the warden down the corridor to the interview room, the whole walk listening to the swish of her tattered wedding dress as it dragged along the carpet. Good thing there were no mirrors in the station; she must look a state.
They reached the interview room and the warden opened the door. Then he turned to Lacey. “In you go.”
Lacey swallowed her nerves and stepped inside.
Both Karl and Beth were waiting for her, sitting stone-faced at the interview table. They were both still in their wedding guest attire, and it occurred to Lacey then that they’d both been off-duty at the time of the chase. In fact, they were both supposed to be standing on the bride’s side of her forest wedding ceremony instead of here, working overtime.
Karl gestured to the spare seat opposite them. “
Sit, please,” he said.
His tone was as unreadable as his expression. Lacey felt her nerves spike as she sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair. If anyone was standing on the other side of the one-way mirror, this must look like the strangest wedding ever.
“Well, Lacey,” Karl Turner said. “You deserve a pat on the back.”
“I do?” Lacey asked, surprised. That was not what she’d been expecting to hear.
“Adam Cole gave us a full confession.”
DCI Lewis grinned. “You cracked the case, Lacey.”
Lacey was stunned. She may have missed her own wedding, but at least she’d saved the day.
“So he was Greg’s partner in crime?” she asked.
Superintendent Turner nodded. “They were con men. They’d trawl newspapers and forums to find artifacts, then turn up pretending to have knowledge, only it was a ruse to scout out the location and steal the item for themselves.”
“We’ve linked the pair back to several unsolved cases in continents all across the world,” Lewis added. “All of which had one common denominator. A yellow sports car.”
Lacey’s mind raced as she tried to absorb everything she was being told. “And the murder?” she pressed. “Adam killed Greg? But why?”
“That was because of the gold,” Superintendent Turner explained. “A lake dredging company found the gold at Loch Arkaig. The papers ran a whole story on it. So our two con men went there to steal it. Only Greg decided to double cross his partner. He stole the lot. Screwed Adam out of his half and disappeared into the ether. So when Adam saw your post about the scepter on the archaeological society’s forum, he knew his backstabbing partner would be coming for it.”
“He tracked him down,” Beth said. “Initially hoping to get the gold.”
“But ended up killing him…” Lacey murmured.
Beth nodded in affirmation. “Said his fury got the better of him.”
“He hung around in town after waiting for a chance to steal the scepter and recoup the financial loss from the gold,” Superintendent Turner finished. “Which he achieved this morning, when he jimmied his way into your store through a loose bathroom window. He’d gained enough intel from pretending to be Tom’s cousin to know your store would be unmanned because everyone was getting ready for your wedding, and that the streets would be quiet for the same reason, since half the vendors are guests. No witnesses to see him squeeze through the window.”
