Cat Burglar in Training

by Shelley Munro

  The minister wrapped up the service, and everyone stood as Perdita made the final journey to her resting place.

  I waited until most people filed from the church, taking the chance to see exactly who’d come to pay their respects. There were several children present, but it was difficult to know if they belonged to the Monings or were related to other attendees. None of them looked remotely like Amber. The funeral notice had been brief with nothing apart from pertinent info relating to the service and burial.

  Behind me, Kahu and his fellow officer murmured to each other, no doubt discussing a plan of attack. An arm curled around my waist, making me start. Kahu bent closer to whisper in my ear. “Ready to go?”

  “Ah, sure.” With my mind in a pleasant haze, suffused with his citrus aftershave, I wasn’t sure if attending the graveside in police presence would prove helpful or not. My usual lightning-quick thought processes were decidedly foggy. I felt a slight pressure from the arm around my waist and stepped into the aisle. Try and ignore it. I unsuccessfully suppressed another shiver.

  “Still cold?” Kahu’s husky voice massaged my skin and hiked desire with a suddenness that took me aback.

  “No, I’m fine,” I said, hoping the rain would start again. Another dousing with cold water might benefit both me and my hormones.

  “I need to talk to a few people.” Kahu paused to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. The move was intimate and smacked of possession. My stomach roiled but there was no distaste involved. My frisky hormones frolicked like spring lambs as I stared into his eyes. “Will I see you later?”

  “Ah…probably not. I have to get home. My father isn’t well, and if I’m not there to supervise, he overdoes things.” I comforted myself with the fact I spoke nothing less than the truth. Father and Ben would attempt a job without my approval, especially if they couldn’t wear me down again. So far it was a standoff.

  Kahu nodded.

  “Coming?” his partner asked with a trace of impatience.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute.” Kahu waited until the other man moved out of hearing range. “Can I ring you?”

  I started to nod before my brain fully engaged. Oh, boy. “No,” I said. Of course, I ended up making a total fool of myself, but that was nothing new where this man was concerned.

  Kahu grinned, a flash of white teeth. “I’ll give you my card,” he said, amusement shading his words. He whipped a plain white business card from his pocket and pulled out a pen to jot another number on the back, while I stared in helpless horror. My only excuse—the man looked really sexy when he smiled. “My private number. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  My head nodded even as I thought, no way! It was obviously something in the air. A drug. I needed to seek fresh air, and quickly, before I did something stupid.

  “Don’t get too cold, sweetheart.”

  Before I could unravel my brain, he kissed me. Right on the lips.

  Short. Sweet. Confusing.

  My gaze lingered on the man’s butt as he sauntered away. My hand crept up to touch my tingling lips the moment he exited the churchyard.

  “I thought you were going out with Seth.” A disapproving voice interrupted my Kahu-fueled fantasies.

  I turned to face my accuser. “Hi, Jemima. I haven’t seen you since the Gibson ball.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  My eyes narrowed at her tone. Who did she think she was—my mother? I remembered the chocolate episode and amended mother to conscience. “Seth and I are friends.”

  “Good friends or friends with benefits?”

  For Seth’s sake, I tiptoed around the question. “You interested in Seth?”

  “Only if he’s not taken,” she said with a prim note that pressed my humor button. “I don’t like to steal.”

  “You’ll have to check with Seth,” I said, my mouth quirking in the beginnings of a full-out grin. “But I don’t think he’s in the market for a relationship at the moment.”

  Jemima nodded and jerked her head in the direction of the cemetery. “You coming?”

  “Yeah. Do you know the family well?”

  “My brother went to school with Perdita. She used to spend time at our house.”

  I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “I met Perdita not long before the murder. I didn’t know her well but…” I shrugged and trailed off, hoping Jemima would add information without prompting on my part.

  “They haven’t arrested anyone yet.”

  “No. The police seem very tightlipped. There hasn’t been much in the news. Perdita was so young.”

  “At least there were no children,” Jemima said as we headed for the group of people loitering in the cemetery.

  So who were the kids? Frustration slammed me. How did I learn more about those photos in Perdita’s bedroom? It wasn’t as if I could come straight out and ask without someone surmising I’d been in her bedroom.

  “Are you going to the Harlequin Ball?”

  “Seth asked me to go with him a few weeks ago.” And the creditors were banging on the door again. The casual job with Seth’s mother was paying for groceries and petrol and that was all. Despite my qualms, I needed to consider putting the Shadow to work again.

  “I’ll see you there,” Jemima said. “I want to talk to Perdita’s brother.”

  My spirits brightened upon hearing Jemima’s words. “See you there,” I echoed with a bright smile. If the child wasn’t Perdita’s perhaps she was a niece. Or a godchild. Heck, that was going to make my investigation more difficult. I frowned and scanned the faces of the children still present. None of them was the child I sought. I’d have to think of some other way of obtaining the information I required.

  “What’s a pretty girl like you doing with such a big frown?” An arm slid around my waist then immediately disengaged. “Ugh. You’re wet.”

  I turned to regard Richard Beauchamp with a cool gaze, one designed to freeze at six paces. “That would be because it’s been raining.”

  “I know a cozy hotel not far from here. The owners are discreet.” His hand trailed down my cheek. “No one will know we’ve been there.”

  I jerked from his touch, suppressing my distaste as I took in the heavy and expensive gold band on his ring finger. “I would appreciate you keeping your hands off.” The temptation to relieve the pompous man of some of his wealth took flight. Perhaps I’d do a little research.

  Beauchamp’s ruddy face firmed with a determined look, one that told me he wasn’t going to give up on having me. “I’m sick of getting the runaround from your father. He owes me money, and I intend to collect. You can take the time to talk to me now or face the consequences.”

  The underlying threat made the fine hairs at the back of my neck prickle. “I’m listening.”

  “Richard!” A woman waved with an elegance that spoke of a finishing-school education.

  I studied her with interest, especially when I caught Beauchamp’s wince. To test the theory that flashed through my mind, I said, “Let’s walk.” I indicated the far end of the graveyard with a jerk of my head. “It’s quiet over there. Only the ghosts to witness our conversation.”

  “Not here. Meet me at the Rose and Crown in the village.” He checked the Rolex on his left wrist. “Four o’clock. And I’m warning you. Be there or you’ll be sorry.”

  “Richard!” the woman called again. Up close, she appeared older than my first estimate—probably late forties. Her fur coat and diamond earrings put her in a higher income bracket than mine.

  “Hello,” I said, extending my hand in greeting. “A terrible business, this. I feel so sorry for James.”

  The woman, who I assumed was Beauchamp’s wife, raised well-tweezed brows and glared at my hand so hard you’d think I carried anthrax. I glowered back, raising my own brows in a silent stare-down contest. Finally, she grasped my fingers for a millisecond. It was a wet-fish handshake, the sort that makes me want to run off and wash my hands.

  “Mil
licent, this is Lady Evelyn Fawkner. Evelyn, my wife Millicent Beauchamp.”

  The woman inclined her head, the light catching the diamonds in her earrings. Her mouth didn’t sneer but she might as well have hired neon signs in Piccadilly Circus. The woman had pigeonholed me as a threat to her hold on her husband. “Lady Evelyn.”

  Suppressing a cringe at my full name, I pretended not to notice the woman’s rudeness but suddenly I was seriously considering relieving the Beauchamps of their jewelry.

  “I see an old school friend I must catch up with. It was nice to meet you,” I said to Millicent Beauchamp. I walked away, only acknowledging Richard Beauchamp with a clipped nod. The man was a worm, but he’d piqued my curiosity. I’d meet him at the Rose and Crown and take things from there.

  After a quick glance at the groups of mourners, I headed for the biggest one. I knew a few of the people on the outskirts and hoped to eavesdrop on the ones I didn’t know—the mourners who stood beside James Moning.

  “Hi, stranger.”

  I found myself scooped off my feet and wrapped in the arms of a blond man. Before I could even take a breath, he kissed me. His tongue snaked into my shocked mouth.

  “My turn,” a masculine voice said.

  I was handed over like a parcel at a kid’s birthday party and thoroughly kissed once again. This time without tongue, for which I was truly grateful.

  “Put me down,” I gasped.

  Tristram’s eyes glowed like those of a friendly puppy. “How are you, Eve? I haven’t seen you for years. My sister told me you were living in France. Are you back home?”

  “Give the girl a chance to catch her breath,” said the blond who’d stuck his tongue halfway down my throat.

  Well, he was certainly in a position to know I needed some air. I stared at him with attitude before turning back to his friend. “Hi, Tristram. Yes, I’m back home from France for good.”

  Tristram grinned in an affable way. I remembered him as a bumbling young man with good intentions. He hadn’t altered, in either temperament or bad judgment regarding his friends…Simon Grenville. Yeah. The Honorable Simon Grenville. He hadn’t changed much either, still full of slimy moves that left a girl feeling dirty.

  “So, you’re living at home with your father?” Simon asked.

  “That’s right.” My reply was short and not far from rude.

  “You have a daughter, don’t you?”

  I went on high alert. Although I didn’t keep Amber a secret, I didn’t go out of my way to tell people about her either. It was a form of self-protection for both of us. Even now, in my world, an unmarried mother was treated as something dirty. Abortion was an acceptable means of contraception, especially if it meant keeping the gene pool free of undesirables. That was part of the reason I’d resisted returning home. In France, no one judged me.

  “That’s right.” I left my answer short, keeping to the facts.

  “What were you doing in France?” Simon asked.

  “Looking after my godmother.” I shrugged in dismissal. “This is a terrible business. I hope they catch the murderer soon.”

  “I haven’t seen you for years, not since the Christmas ball. Your godmother must have been very sick.” Simon persisted with his questions.

  “That’s right.” A casual glance across the surrounding area made the breath freeze in my lungs. Kahu’s displeasure seemed to leap across the distance separating us. I was left in no doubt he’d witnessed the kisses. Fury followed swiftly on the heels of shock. Kahu didn’t own me. No man owned me.

  Breaking the connection, I turned back to Simon and Tristram. One look at Simon’s blond hair and blue eyes and my brain jolted into fifth gear. Exactly why was Simon so interested in my missing years? I wasn’t so bigheaded to think I was truly that memorable. In heart-stopping horror, I tried to superimpose my memory of Amber’s features over those of Simon Grenville. The hair was a different color. But the eyes were right.

  No, it couldn’t be.

  But the facts remained. It was highly possible. Shoving aside distaste and loathing, I placed Simon Grenville on my list for future investigation. It felt good to have a name, but I didn’t intend to go off half-cocked with my revenge. I’d waited years—a few more days or weeks made little difference in the scheme of things.

  Chapter Six

  The Rose and Crown is your traditional English pub, set in the middle of the mainly Victorian village. As befitting its name, the pub had a royal theme with low beams and lots of paraphernalia to attract dust. I frowned when I stepped into the main bar and debated where to sit. I’d decided to arrive early to scope out the place and jot down my thoughts on paper while the funeral was fresh in my mind. After ordering a latte, I chose a recently vacated seat in a small alcove facing the door.

  If Beauchamp wanted privacy, he’d chosen the wrong place for our meeting. The pub was doing a roaring trade since market day fell on Wednesdays. I’d had to fight my way past men three deep at the bar.

  I stirred a sachet of sugar into my coffee while I organized my thoughts. The teaspoon clinked against the thick white china mug when I dropped it on the table. I rifled through my handbag searching for paper and a pen. My bank statement was the only thing at hand in the paper department. The money in my account came to ten pounds, fifty-three pence. I figured I didn’t need the reminder.

  I wrote, 1. No children. Niece or godchild? Need to search archives at library.

  I chewed the top of my pen, and the plastic taste fueled a brainwave.

  2. Search the archives at St. Evelyn’s House.

  3. Find out if Perdita or James Moning have brothers and sisters. Do they have children?

  At this point, I bashed the side of my head with my right palm. I’d been that rattled about finding the photo I hadn’t taken it from the frame and looked at the back. Stupid! It might bear an inscription, or at the very least, I’d learn which photographer had taken the portrait. With this information, I could question the photographer or, if he or she proved stubborn about privacy, search their premises after hours.

  Under point 4, I wrote, Suspects. Simon Grenville.

  The slimy man deserved a place on my list. I tried to recall the Christmas party and attempted to picture the faces of the men who’d been in our group. My mind came up blank. I suspected I didn’t want to remember.

  “There you are.” Beauchamp slid into the seat beside me, an accusing note in his voice.

  I calmly folded up my bank statement and thrust it inside my handbag, zipping my bag closed to keep the list safe. “I didn’t hide on purpose.” Beauchamp would need to be both blind and deaf to miss my annoyance. “It’s busy here today. I need to get home. Can you say whatever it is you need to say so we can leave?”

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked abruptly. “I sure as hell need one.”

  “No, thanks,” I said, although I understood his need. Millicent Beauchamp didn’t strike me as a woman who stood for nonsense.

  Beauchamp stood and brushed against me—on purpose, I’m sure. “Won’t be long.”

  “Take your time.” A niggling instinct screamed the man wanted to tell me something I’d rather not hear.

  Beauchamp returned and moved his chair nearer to mine. He took a sip of his drink, whisky by the scent, before setting it on the table. “Your father owes me money.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “He’s told you?” Beauchamp’s eyes narrowed on me in expectation.

  “Stop playing games and tell me what you want so we can both go home.”

  “Your father owes me half a million pounds.”

  The blunt answer stole my breath. I stared at Beauchamp, not pretending anything other than shock. “Half a million pounds?” That sort of money deserved reverence. Heck, I’d never seen that amount of money, let alone borrowed it. “Are you sure?”

  “I take it you didn’t know?”

  I shook my head, having difficulty forming words, and my thoughts whirred at breakneck speed. No wond
er Father and Ben were pressuring me to do another job. They were up to their necks in trouble, but did they tell me—their innocent stooge? Oh, no.

  I picked up my handbag and stood. Heads were about to roll.

  “Where are you going?” Beauchamp scowled. “I haven’t finished yet.”

  “We don’t have the money.”

  Beauchamp’s voice cracked out sharp and determined. “Sit.”

  Like a well-trained dog, I sat. “What did you want me to do about the debt?” I asked through clenched teeth. Already, my mind was skipping ahead trying to calculate how many jobs it would take to earn a cool half million.

  “The way I look at it is that if your father can’t pay, you’ll end up fronting the cash.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Beauchamp said.

  No mistaking that tone for anything but smug. I waited for the bomb to drop.

  “We can work out a deal.”

  “What sort of deal?”

  Beauchamp’s hand closed over my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I like you. We could help each other.”

  For a moment, I thought I was going to throw up. Deep breaths. One. Two. In. Out. I worked my way through the nausea before I risked a glance at his bloated face. “How can I help you?”

  He moved his chair closer. “I can be very generous with women I like.”

  A momentary twinge of sympathy for other women caught in a Richard Beauchamp snare struck me. I needed to concentrate on extricating myself from this mess I’d found myself in through no fault of my own. One thing was for certain—I was going to do some physical damage when I arrived back at Oakthorpe. I forced my mind off the pleasurable thought and back to dealing with Beauchamp.

  “Are you saying if I become your mistress the debt will be repaid in full?”

  Satisfaction flooded him before an affable smile curved his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t let you off that easily. No woman is worth half a million. Your father will still owe me the money, but I’ll waive the interest charges. How does that sound?”