by Robyn DeHart
“I believe I was seven, my lord, the last time you saw me.”
“That would explain it.” He shrugged. “Tell me, how is your father?”
“He is well.” His deep voice fluttered across Amelia’s ears and quickened her pulse ever so slightly. That in itself gave her pause and made her eager for him to speak again. For him to say anything so she could put a name to the sensation. But listening to his voice was certainly not the reason for his visit. There were far more important things at hand.
“Father, why don’t you tell the inspector what has happened?”
“Right. I am a collector of Egyptian antiquities, and it seems my prize possession has been stolen directly from under my nose. She stays here in my study—I have a specific and special place where she sits.” He walked to the pedestal table and pointed. “Right here. And this morning I noticed she was gone.”
“She?” Inspector Brindley asked.
“Nefertiti. Gone. Missing. Stolen. Right out of my study.”
“And this Nefertiti is ...” Inspector Brindley’s words trailed off, as if he were waiting for her father to fill in the gaps.
Since her father would assume everyone knew who Nefertiti was, Amelia chimed in. “It is a bust of Nefertiti, actually, that has gone missing. She was the most powerful woman in ancient Egypt and it was the only one of its kind.”
Inspector Brindley scribbled something on a notebook and looked around the room before asking, “Have you inquired among your servants about the missing artifact?”
Her father’s expression fell, “No. But we have very loyal servants that are highly paid. There would be no reason for them to steal from me.”
“There can always be a reason,” he said.
“We don’t believe our servants are capable of such a thing,” Amelia said.
He eyed her for a moment, but it was such a brief glance she couldn’t even determine the color of his eyes.
Colin turned his body to face her father, clearly dismissing her. “Lord Watersfield, we need to explore every possible suspect. Your servants are on that list. Does anyone else have access to the house? Any other family members?”
“No. It is only my daughter and I.” He pointed a chubby finger at the inspector. “You know, some fools have claimed she’s not the real thing, but I know Nefertiti.” He tried to take a sip of tea, but his hand was shaking too much. He set the cup down on the saucer with a rattle and tea dripped down the sides to pool around the base. “Poor dear. She was awfully misunderstood. You must realize, she really is quite important.”
“Father, why don’t you retire to your room for a nap?” She placed her hand on his shoulder and turned him toward the door. He was awfully upset and needed his rest. “We can handle things from here. Would you like me to send up some tea?” She rang for Weston.
“No more tea. I don’t know where she could be. She was here yesterday.”
“We’ll find her. Don’t you worry.”
She led her father to the door, where Weston gathered him and led him up to his room. She could hear her father’s tired voice mumbling to the servant. It really was quite imperative that they find Nefertiti. He’d already lost enough in this lifetime.
Amelia stepped closer to the inspector, who was making his way around the office, looking at everything, but touching nothing. He stopped to examine a display of Egyptian pottery, wrote something in his notebook, then moved on. He made no indication that he felt her presence behind him. Instead he kept his broad back to her.
“Inspector.” She ventured closer to him until she stood directly behind his shoulder. “My father gets upset rather easily, and I’m afraid it’s not good for his heart. I believe any more questions will need to be directed to me.”
He turned abruptly and nearly bumped into her. He took a step backward. “I can come back at a better time for your father,” he said.
“He’s always a bit frazzled and more than likely won’t be in a position to better answer your questions. He is not taking Nefertiti’s absence well and I’m afraid he’ll only become worse with time. It is no bother for me to assist. I am as familiar with the artifact as my father.”
He cocked his left eyebrow. “Indeed? Did you steal it?”
She giggled and waited for him to do the same, but there was no response. He merely stood there with the same expression, as if waiting for her to respond. As if he were quite serious in asking her such a question.
He was actually suspicious of her. Of all the ludicrous things. Clearly he misunderstood the situation, else he wouldn’t ask such a silly question.
“Of course I did not steal it. He is my father; I would never steal from him. I would never steal from anyone, for that matter. Thievery is wrong and unjust.”
He frowned. It was not so much an angry frown as one that reflected deep thought. There was a quiet intensity about him. An undercurrent that quickened her blood ever so slightly—whether out of fear or out of curiosity, she wasn’t certain.
“Very well,” he said tightly.
“In any case,” she continued, “my father loves that piece very much. It is probably his favorite of all his antiquities. He has a fondness for Nefertiti.”
“I’ve noticed. What can you tell me about the piece?”
“Well, as my father mentioned, the piece is rather controversial. Nefertiti’s existence is thought by many to be a legend, although we believe she was real. In any case, many of my father’s colleagues do not believe the bust is of her. But my father is certain. He may seem fragile, but he’s an expert when it comes to Nefertiti and other Egyptian artifacts.”
“Interesting.” He made a few notes. “Can you describe to me what it looked like so that I might render a sketch?”
“She’s about this big”—she showed him the size with her arms stretched out—”and a bust—only her head and shoulders.”
“I know what a bust is,” he said. “What is the statue made of?”
“I believe it is limestone, although I’m not positive. It is rumored that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but also quite powerful. A deadly combination, wouldn’t you agree?”
“But it has never been confirmed that she actually existed,” he said dryly, all the while working on his sketch.
“That’s correct. Which is why many do not believe this bust is authentic.”
“Tell me about the facial features.”
She gave him the specifics of Nefertiti’s face and the rest of the statue as he continued to sketch.
Finally, he finished. “Does this look similar?” he asked, tilting the book so she could see the image more clearly.
“Why, yes. That’s actually a perfect rendition. You’re really quite good. Almost too perfect. As if, perhaps, you’ve seen it before.” She smiled. “Did you steal it, Inspector?”
She thought she saw the comers of his mouth tilt up ever so slightly, but the smile, if that’s what it was, was gone before she could be certain.
“This will be helpful.” His voice was so rich she had to struggle to pay attention to the actual words and not get lost in the sensation the deep tones caused. It made her very much want to touch him. Touch him briefly—to discover if his arm would be as hard as she imagined, or if that slight line of stubble edging his chin would be as prickly as it looked.
“What else can you tell me? Who else has access to this room?” he asked.
“All of the servants. Any guests that might come by. Father loves to show his pieces, so we frequently have visitors drop in to view the antiquities.”
“I see,” he said, continuing to make notes. “Do you keep a log or record of these visitors?”
“No, we’ve never kept such a thing. But that is a lovely idea.”
“I’ll need a listing of anyone who has passed through this room in the last six months.”
“It might take me some time to compose such a listing.”
“As soon as you can get it to me, I’ll be able to start a proper investigation.” His tone
was even, with only a hint of a bite to it, but what puzzled her most was his obvious aversion to looking at her when he spoke. “I need to have as much information as possible if I am to assist in the retrieval of your father’s artifact. Unless, of course, this is not a priority.”
“No, it absolutely is a priority. I’ll get to that list immediately. Inspector,” she said, and put her hand on his forearm. He glanced at her hand, then slowly raised his gaze until he met her eyes. Brown. His eyes were brown. A lovely brown. Rich and warm like freshly tilled earth.
What had she been about to say?
He pulled his arm away. “Miss Watersfield, do you have something more to add?”
“Yes, well, I simply wanted to say that I am pleased you’ll be handling this investigation. I worry so about my father, but I have confidence you will be able to find Nefertiti.”
He nodded, but did not thank her. “I want to finish examining this room, and I might want to see the rest of the house.”
“Of course.” She offered him a smile.
He did not smile back.
Curious man. Everyone smiled at her when she smiled. She had friends in every corner of London. Most people she met liked her, or at least had a passing fondness for her. But this man seemed perfectly immune to her charms.
Colin clenched his teeth and mentally counted to ten. There was no reason to smile at her. She was interrupting his investigation, had yet to be helpful, and she was incredibly distracting.
Oddly enough, he found he wanted to return her smile. Which was ridiculous, because he simply wasn’t the sort of person who smiled. There wasn’t all that much to smile about when one spent one’s life dealing with criminals and miscreants.
“Is it possible to have this room closed off?” he asked her.
“Closed off? We can close the doors.” He watched her wide mouth wrap around each word. She had nice teeth. White. Even. Feminine.
Feminine? How could teeth be feminine? He stopped himself short of rolling his eyes and settled on jotting something nonsensical in his notebook. This was not boding well for the investigation. His concentration was scattered, which rarely, if ever, happened.
“What I meant was, can you prevent people, any people, from coming in and out of this room until I can collect evidence?”
There was that smile again. So easy how it slid right into place and lit her eyes. He’d known naturally cheery people before, and he’d always assumed they smiled out of stupidity or lack of something else to do rather than actual amusement or joy. But Miss Watersfield did not appear to be ignorant. What, then, kept that smile on her face?
“You wish to collect evidence.” She clasped her hands together. “That’s so very exciting.”
He cracked his knuckles, relishing the uncomfortable pop of each finger. “It is fairly routine. But I need to keep the room free of disturbance.”
“I shall alert the household immediately. If you will excuse me.” She gave him a small curtsy, then left the room.
He exhaled loudly. Perhaps now he could get some actual work done. Clearly Lord Watersfield and his daughter enjoyed a good bit of drama. A missing statue amid a sea of other antiquities. Had the piece not had such a prominent display in the room, they might not have even noticed. The bookshelves lining the study walls were riddled with vases and busts and other pieces of pottery.
Surely the full-sized statue in the corner behind the desk was worth more than the missing bust. No doubt this was simply a bored father and daughter looking for an adventure. The two obviously thrived on melodrama.
It was money, though. They had offered him a handsome sum before he could even give them his price. And he needed the money. Desperately. Without funds, he would have to cease his research. He hadn’t walked out of the Yard only to forsake his research for lack of funding. So despite his pride and snobbery at working a silly case, he would give the Watersfields what they were willing to pay for.
He was an inspector for hire and he would solve this case. Or at least he would appear as if that were what he was doing. If they found this sort of thing entertaining, he could work slowly and give them their money’s worth.
On to the investigation. He retrieved his lens from his bag and went first to the table from which the missing statuette had been stolen.
There was nothing that indicated that a priceless artifact had once resided here. No outline in dust or glass cover. Which meant it was probably handled regularly—the servants would have to pick it up daily to wipe it and the stand free of any settled dust.
He glanced around the room to see if anything seemed amiss, but it was hard to tell if something was truly out of place or not. Books and papers were scattered about the desk. A few more books, all on ancient Egypt, sat opened on an occasional table, indicating a recent read.
The office was cluttered, one could even say messy, a far cry from Colin’s own pristine environment, where everything was in its place. Rather, this office looked to be a part of a home— every inch occupied by the owners.
A bit of scarlet caught his eye, and he walked toward the door to get a closer look. Bending to investigate, he found it to be a small piece of red fabric caught in the doorframe. He dug in his bag to retrieve his tweezers, then knelt in front of the door to remove it. No sooner had he gotten in position than the door flew open, whacking him in the head and knocking him flat onto his backside.
He looked up to find a wide-eyed Miss Waters- field standing above him.
“Oh, Inspector Brindley, I’m so very sorry. How clumsy of me. Oh, dear.” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I didn’t realize you’d be right there,” she said through her parted fingers.
He looked up at her, simply disbelieving his current position.
“Can you hear me?” she said loudly, leaning down farther.
He rolled his head to the side and caught sight of her ankle, and he nearly forgot to breath. Why a stocking-clad ankle could be breath-stealing, he wasn’t certain, but there it was, the most attractive ankle he’d ever seen. More than likely the only ankle he’d ever seen save his own, but that mattered not. Must be the door to the head that had him so addled.
“Yes, I can hear you,” he finally said.
She released a loud breath. “Thank heaven. I was certain I’d knocked you senseless.”
It was a distinct possibility.
“Can I assist you?” she asked, holding her hand down to him.
Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Get off the floor.
“No, I believe I can manage. Thank you.”
He got to his feet and took several steps away from her. Standing too close to her, he was certain to notice how delicate she seemed next to his overly tall self.
She was attractive in an unassuming sort of way. Certainly not the type of woman to garner stares on a public street, but handsome nonetheless. It was her smile, he decided. It was easy and engaging and rather constant. Too constant to ignore her wide mouth and perfect teeth.
She was distracting with that smile of hers, not to mention those ankles. Ironically enough, if it turned out that Amelia Watersfield was indeed the perpetrator, then he could certainly give a detailed description of her to the authorities.
He rolled his eyes. It was no wonder women generally ignored him. He was an idiot.
“I informed the servants that no one is to enter this room without permission,” she said.
“Excellent. Servants. Ah, right, I will be wanting to question them.”
She frowned, and he watched in fascination as tiny lines furrowed her brow. “I understand your thoroughness, Inspector, but I can assure you our servants would never steal from us.”
“Duly noted, Miss Watersfield, but I insist. Let me give you a scenario. Let us say that—what is the name of the servant who cleans this room?”
“Penny.”
“Very well. Let us say that Penny is in here cleaning, and while she is dusting the artifact, she accidentally knocks it to the floor, and it breaks. Now, Penny, b
eing the loyal servant she is, knows how dear this piece is to your father, and she loathes the thought of revealing such wretched news to him. So instead, she takes the piece. Tosses it in the dustbin, or perhaps takes it to her room to try and repair it.”
The frown dissolved from her face and a slow smile crept in. She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Inspector, I believe you have a knack for creating fiction.” She pointed one dainty finger at him. “Are you a reader, sir?”
“I beg your pardon? It was not fiction, but rather a possible scenario.”
“Hmmmm ... I’m not so certain about that.”
She was toying with him, and he had the sudden urge to tease back. Enjoy a bit of whimsical banter. But he did not engage in banter of any sort, and now was certainly not the time.
“The servants, Miss Watersfield. Can we set up a time when I can come and question them?”
“Why not allow me to ask them if they took it? That will work the same, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.
“No, I would not agree. They will lie to you,” he said flatly.
She actually looked affronted, as if he’d accused them of something absolutely unspeakable. “They would do no such thing.”
“Everyone lies, Miss Watersfield.”
“I do not lie, Inspector.”
She looked quite serious, not to mention insulted that he’d even suggested such a thing. She did not lie. That was quite unlikely. It was his experience that everyone lied. Even honest peopled lied if it served their purpose. He would not even entertain the possibility that she might be different in that regard.
“I insist on being present when you question them.” She tilted her chin up with a notch of defiance.
She was not budging on this issue. Perhaps they would save the actual questioning for another day. In the meantime, he would play the insistent inspector. “Your presence could make it a futile exercise. It is likely that if one of the servants is guilty, he or she will not freely admit it if you are in the room.”
“But you believe they will admit it to you, a stranger, if I am not?” He would have taken those words with a heavy dose of sarcasm had he not glanced up to see her face. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
