Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery)

by Linsey Lanier

  Parker’s expression went dark. Big surprise. “What do you mean?”

  She made a careless gesture with her hand. “Lady Gabrielle wants me to meet her and Lady Davinia at someplace called Selfridges.”

  His scowl grew darker. “That’s a department store. A high end one. Are you having a sudden urge to go shopping?”

  He knew she despised shopping and everything that went with it. “Gabrielle is. And she says I ‘must’ join her.”

  She gave a laugh and watched Parker’s lip twitch. Every muscle in his beautiful body tensed beneath his tailored suit as his temper boiled over in that Mount Vesuvius way of his.

  But he managed to control himself as he leaned near her ear. “Miranda, do you really think that’s wise?” His voice was low and ominous.

  He was still worried about her after the polo pony incident. Annoyance rising inside her, she shrugged. “Like you said. It’s shopping. In a department store. What could happen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Any number of things. You could go out on the street and get pushed into oncoming traffic, for instance.”

  He had a point. If Lady Gabrielle was out to hurt her to stop this investigation, she could be planning something like that. But this time, Miranda would be on her guard. “I’ll be careful.”

  “Careful enough?”

  That was a low blow. “Do I have to remind you I can take care of myself?”

  He eyed her up and down as if sizing her up for the first time. “Not in the slightest.” He reached for her hand. “Do I have to say I don’t want you to go?”

  Now he was playing the tender card. She pulled out of his grasp. “I think I might learn something.”

  He didn’t reply.

  She poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “Tell you what. If something happens, I’ll say you were right and I should have listened to you.”

  He gave her a wry smile, tinged with fury. “That might be too late.”

  Her temper crackled inside her. She didn’t want to make him mad. But they were supposed to be partners. Why couldn’t he trust her?

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Look. We both think there’s something funny going on with the family. Why not take this opportunity to dig under their facades?”

  He didn’t answer. He knew it was a good opportunity but he didn’t want to admit it.

  She stepped close to him. “Well, you go follow up on your hunch about the intern and I’ll follow up on mine.” Despite her irritation, she rose on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. “I’ll meet you back here when I finish and we’ll compare notes.”

  His tone turned demanding. “Miranda.”

  She wiggled her fingers at him. “Bye.”

  He could have come after her. Pulled rank, forced her to stay. But that would have only caused a big scene. Instead all he did was send her a furious scowl.

  Anger pounding in her temples, she spun around and headed out the exit, leaving him fuming and her stomach empty.

  Parker watched his headstrong wife march out of the café and head for the museum exit, his jaw as tight as a vice grip.

  Why couldn’t she listen to reason? Why couldn’t she take some precautions? But she’d never been one to be cautious when she thought a clue was at hand. And she had good instincts. Most of the time they were dead on point. It would be counterproductive to keep her from following up on them. And as she said, it was only shopping.

  Still, if anything happened to her…

  He let out a long sigh and headed back to the table. This consulting business of theirs might prove to be the death of him.

  He found Sir Neville staring off into space, dismay in his eyes.

  Parker set down the tray and sat across from him. “Are you all right, Sir Neville?”

  The man shook himself out of his reverie and frowned. “Oh, I suppose I am.

  “Would you like a sandwich?”

  “Miranda isn’t eating with you?”

  “No, she had an errand.” Best his friend didn’t know what that errand was. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

  Sir Neville shook his head. “No, thank you, Russell. I had something earlier.” His light blue eyes took on a faraway look again and his white brows drew together. “I saw Davinia with a young man at the match today.”

  Parker tensed. He’d seen them too and knew that’s what had brought on the anxiety attack. “Oh?”

  “He’s a friend of Lionel’s. Used to be a polo player himself. He’s in advertising, I believe.”

  As the Duchess of Oxham had said.

  “He’s a very handsome chap.” Sir Neville’s upper lip began to quiver.

  Parker stopped chewing.

  “The thing is…”

  “What?”

  He watched his friend wrestle back the painful emotions that must have gripped him on the polo field earlier.

  “She had that look in her eye. That glow. The one she used to have when we first met.”

  Parker put down his sandwich. He hadn’t expected this. “Neville, I—”

  “We used to talk for hours back then. We had so much in common. She was an art student in college and had an interest in the Etruscan period. Then we married and after a few years it all…disappeared. It was as if she woke up one morning and realized she’d been beguiled into marrying someone beneath her.”

  Parker thought of the problems Miranda had had because of the difference in their status. It had taken all the patience he had to convince her they had a future together. “I’m sure that isn’t the case, Neville. All marriages go through ups and downs.”

  “Ours has been down for over a decade. It wasn’t until today that I realized how far down it was.” He turned to Parker, his blue eyes glassy. “Russell—I think Davinia’s going to leave me.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Parker felt as empty as his words.

  This man had crossed an ocean to comfort him when he was a boy and now he had nothing to offer in return.

  They sat staring at each other for a long moment. “I’m afraid I don’t have a magic elixir for marital woes.” If he did, he’d take a dose of it himself right now.

  Sir Neville wiped a hand across his aged face. “No, I didn’t expect you to. And I didn’t mean to burden you with my personal problems. You have enough to worry about with my professional ones. Finish your lunch and we’ll talk to Toby.”

  Parker picked up the sandwich again though he had little appetite.

  He hoped with all his being this intern gave him something he could work with so they could close this case soon. It was the best he could do for his old friend.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Following Lady Gabrielle’s directions, Miranda made her way through the pedestrians on Gowan Street, past historic-looking buildings, a pizza shop, and a Starbucks until she reached the underground station to catch the Central tube.

  She tossed a few coins Parker must have stuffed into her pocket into the turnstile, climbed aboard and flopped down on a blue patterned seat. After a minute or two, the train took off and zoomed along the tracks. It was a lot like the subway in New York, she thought. Only the crowd here wasn’t as rough looking.

  A group of older women in raincoats chatted away down the aisle, and across from her a thin, middle aged man sipped delicious smelling coffee from a Styrofoam cup. The scent made her mouth water again, which made her temper resurface.

  As the car rattled noisily along, she stared out the window into the darkness of the tunnel and thought about how mad she was at Parker. Okay, he didn’t want her to get hurt. She got that. And maybe the polo pony thing was upsetting.

  But did that mean he was going to hover over her like a mother hen for the rest of this case? She couldn’t work like that. How could he expect her to?

  She was pondering that over when a female voice poshly announced they were at Bond Street. Her stop.

  Without any more answers to her problems with Parker than to who stole the Marc Antony dagger, she got off
and made her way back up the concrete stairs to the sidewalk and a street lined with more old buildings and filled with small cars, red buses, bicyclists and pedestrians.

  She hiked a block west, then half a block north and found herself in front of the huge store.

  The place had as many Greek columns decorating its facade as the museum. A humongous statue of a regally robed woman stood right over the entrance, as if warning those who entered, “You’d better have bucks if you want to come in here.”

  This was going to be interesting.

  Miranda stepped through the revolving doors and was flooded with a cloud of exotic smelling fragrances and a sea of white counters. She began to inch past the sparkling surfaces filled with merchandise, everything made to entice and empty the wallet, wondering what kind of mercantile jungle she’d stumbled into.

  Ignoring the beckoning clerks, she made her way to the second floor where a DJ was spinning old Elton John tunes. She wandered around for a while and at last spotted Davinia’s elegant frame and Gabrielle’s animated one—in the Women’s Designer department, of course.

  Her red-gold curls shimmering under the bright lights, Gabrielle acted as excited as a schoolgirl when she saw her. “Oh, Ms. Steele,” she squealed. “I’m so very happy you’ve joined us at last. This is going to be so much fun.”

  Lady Davinia gave Miranda a perfunctory smile that lacked her daughter-in-law’s enthusiasm. “I’m afraid we may have already reached our allotment of fun this afternoon, Gabrielle,” she said stiffly. “I’m quite spent.”

  Gabrielle ignored her and turned to Miranda, big green eyes glowing. “What do you think of this Valentino?” She held up a bright red lace dress with a short scalloped skirt.

  Hard to imagine what it might look like on her against the white silky dress lavishly decked with silver bangle-bling the woman had on. Apparently, she’d changed somewhere or bought the white outfit and decided to wear it.

  Falling right into the role she was playing, Miranda took the hanger and held up the garment. That was when she got a glance at the price tag.

  Holy moly. It might be in British pounds and she didn’t know the exchange rate, but she could tell it was still a whopper. She hoped Parker didn’t pay that much for her clothes.

  But then who was she to tell a member of the aristocracy how much she should spend on a dress? She handed it back to Gabrielle with a bright fake smile. “It’s nice.”

  .“How about this Pilotto?” Gabrielle pressed a luxurious piece of material with a bold print of pinks and blues and golds against her body. Its shape on the hanger was so weird so couldn’t tell how it would be worn. The price on that one wasn’t much better.

  Giving up, Miranda raised her palms. “I really couldn’t say. I’m not much of a shopper.”

  Davinia leaned over her shoulder. “I’m trying to get her not to spend everything in Lionel’s bank account.”

  Before Miranda could reply, Gabrielle scoffed at the comment. “I believe a person ought to live their life to the fullest, don’t you, Ms. Steele?”

  Miranda opened her mouth, but Gabrielle kept talking. “We should buy Ms. Steele something, Mother. You know, to make up for her dress getting ruined at the match today?”

  Feeling guilty about that, was she? Or was she just trying to remind the American investigator what she could do to her?

  Miranda forced another grin. “Not necessary.” The last thing she wanted to do was try on clothes. “Actually, I was hoping for something to eat.” Now that was the truth.

  She was hungry and eating with Ladies Who Lunch would be the best way to get them to relax and open up.

  Lady Davinia glanced at the gold and diamond watch on her wrist. “It is almost teatime.”

  Teatime? Wasn’t that around four? “Wow, I really got carried away with my errand. I haven’t even had lunch.”

  Gabrielle opened her mouth as if horrified. “Oh, my. Then we must feed you, mustn’t we, Mother.”

  “I suppose so.” Davinia’s elegant dark brows drew together in thought. “There’s Dolly’s downstairs. They have sandwiches.”

  “No, oh. Not in the store. We need to take her somewhere fabulous. Arbutus.”

  Davinia shook her head.

  “High Tea, then.”

  Davinia considered that a moment, then nodded with a regal air. “Very well.”

  Miranda didn’t care where they ate as long as she could wolf down a burger somewhere and get them talking, she’d be fine.

  Miranda followed the ladies out of the store and discovered Gabrielle had her car. A tiny, shiny white Mercedes with a trunk so small it was a miracle it held all the packages the ladies stuffed into it.

  They climbed inside and Gabrielle pulled onto a crowded street.

  Miranda still wasn’t comfortable with the riding on the left thing, and Gabrielle’s driving was about as capricious as her thought patterns, so she focused on the four-and-five-story brick buildings lining the road. With their elaborate trim they looked like they must have been built in the seventeenth or eighteenth century. Back when people had nothing better to do than carve decorations into walls.

  Cars were parked on both sides of the road, some spots marked “Disabled.” The sidewalks were crammed with shoppers on their way to buy luggage or jewelry or yes, more clothes. They passed a hot dog shop that would have suited Miranda just fine. But no, not these ladies.

  At Duke Street, they made a turn in front of an arch with a gold-trimmed gate and after spending longer than it took to drive here, found a parking spot a block away from their destination.

  Miranda got out and followed her hostesses down a quaint cobblestone walkway and into a clean looking place done in mahogany and muted colors with shiny mirrors, spotless wineglasses and tabletops, and a staff with expressions that said they took the job of food service very seriously.

  A stiff waiter in black seated them and handed them menus.

  Miranda squinted at the offerings.

  Pass on the pig’s head. Likewise on the squid and mackerel burger. After hunting for a plain old cheeseburger without success, she settled on the Dorset crab with guacamole, peanuts and Provençal figs. Whatever that was.

  The waiter brought drinks and she sipped tea and listened to the ladies sum up their shopping trip while she waited for the food to come. Best to let them settle in before she went to work on them.

  At last the food arrived. The waiter placed slices of some sort of cream cake in front of Gabrielle and Davinia, then set Miranda’s order before her.

  It was small and looked like it might have been plated by one of Picasso’s offspring. She poked a fork into the crab and took a bite. Edible. Good, even. And loaded with tasty exotic flavors she couldn’t begin to identify. It would do.

  She waited until she was about half finished then decided it was time to pounce. In this situation, Parker would go for a subtle, suave approach. She went for direct.

  “So Lady Gabrielle, how do you know the woman with the cat?”

  Gabrielle’s eyes went wide and her teacup froze halfway to her lips. “Who on earth do you mean, Ms. Steele?”

  Playing dumb, huh? Seemed to be her standard ploy. Miranda waved her fork. “You know. The woman whose cat got loose at the polo match? I saw you talking to her.”

  Her eyes got even bigger. The cup went down to its saucer as Gabrielle recovered with a girlish giggle. “Oh, yes. That was Ellen Quinn. I went to school with her. Haven’t seen her in ages.”

  Somehow that didn’t ring true. “Really strange that her cat jumped right out of her arms and headed straight for your husband’s pony.”

  “Yes, wasn’t it though? I would have thought Lionel would have better control of his own steed.” She laughed at her own innuendo and toyed with her cake.

  Miranda pretended to study a landscape on the wall. “I don’t know. It just seemed as if it was orchestrated, didn’t it?”

  Gabrielle started blinking like a flashing traffic light. She reached for her te
a again. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  Uncomfortable with the conversation, Lady Davinia cleared her throat. “Ms. Steele I apologize for what happened today. You must send me the cleaning bill.”

  Miranda picked up her cup and waited a beat before she replied. “Good idea. I’ll tell Parker to add it to our expenses.”

  Now it was the mother-in-law’s turn to blink. Before she could come up with a polite response, Gabrielle’s cell went off, playing an annoying synthesized tune in a funky, syncopated beat.

  “Oh, that must be Lionel. Please excuse me.” She hopped up, cell in hand, and hurried off to an alcove where the restrooms were for privacy.

  Now that was an interesting way to escape uncomfortable questions.

  Lady Davinia gave Miranda a look of distress. “I am sorry for Gabrielle’s rudeness, Ms. Steele.”

  Miranda shrugged. “It’s okay.” She’d been talking to people who’d have liked to run away from her all afternoon.

  Davinia stared at her teacup. “I did mention to Gabrielle the real reason you and Mr. Parker are here. I suppose she told you.”

  Nice of her to admit that. “Yes, she was curious about the case.”

  Lady Davinia kept her eyes on the liquid in her cup as if she wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. Now would be a good time to mention the guy she was with at the match.

  Miranda was just about to when Gabrielle scampered up to the table.

  Her face was pale and there was no trace of a smile on her lips now. “I have to pop around the corner to meet someone for a moment,” she sputtered as if out of breath.

  Davinia scowled. “Gabrielle, really? In the middle of our tea?”

  “I have to, Mother. It’s…an old friend. She’s…run into a bit of trouble. I won’t be long.” She turned to go.

  “Well, what are we to do?” Davinia called after her, a bit of temper showing.

  Gabrielle turned back and rolled her eyes. “Just wait here. I won’t be more than fifteen minutes.” And with that, she scooted out the café door.

  Miranda watched her, gritting her teeth to make herself sit there instead of following the flighty woman out the door.