The Four Tales

by Rebecca Reddell

  “All right, Queen Sybelle. We’ll leave it at that for now. If you think of anything, please let us know.”

  Wren’s narrowed eyes focused on her stepmother as the chief talked. She hated her full name and didn’t often go by it. Heat spread through her cheeks at the reprimand. The feeling helped convince her more than ever of Sybelle’s guilt.

  “Mi nwaf, I will,” Sybelle stood, shook his hand, and then called for Davies.

  “Princess, do you have any thoughts to share before I go?”

  “I don’t suspect anyone beyond this room. Na.” Her gaze stayed centered on Sybelle even though her stepmother didn’t look at her once and ignored the obvious dig.

  Clearing his throat, the chief made a note, and then told them, “Thank you both. I will keep the men posted outside your house until this is resolved. So, if you see a squad car out front, know it’s us trying to protect you. I’ll send over an officer later today to have your statements signed. I think it’s best if neither of you leaves the house without a proper escort.”

  “Cytunwyd, agreed. Thank you for the extra men. I know Captain Ward will have everything well in hand.”

  “I agree. I just want to add my support as we look into this man’s background. When we have answers, we will let you know. Do you think you can have your secretary send me a copy of your daily schedule for the next few weeks?”

  “Chief Hector, at this time, I’m not able to send you our daily schedules. I don’t feel it’s necessary either. I think I’ll have them cleared for the next few days anyway.”

  Wren’s eyes traveled to Sybelle again. She knew this side of her stepmother. The side of Sybelle no one saw. Except her. It was the austere, grumpy, professional side.

  “I respect your decision, Queen. I do hope you will change your mind. It will help us to keep you safe.”

  “I would like to believe this is the end. You killed the assassin. He may have been the murderer. We might be done with all of this. If not, whoever he’s working for will see we are protected.”

  “We can hope that is the case, Queen Sybelle.”

  “I don’t think anything else will happen now.”

  Wren spoke up, “Was anyone else hurt by the shots this assassin fired?”

  The chief constable looked down at the ground before answering. He scratched his head and sighed. “There were a few casualties. Two of your guests were shot in the arm. One, Father Henry is in critical condition.”

  “Father Henry? From Westridge Academy? He was the head of the school where Wren went.”

  All eyes turned to her. She looked back. “Who were the others who were hit?”

  “A Mrs. and Mr. Sinclair Glynn. The shots fired appeared at random, but mostly leveled at the two of you. We think these others just got in the way.”

  “I do recall them being near right before the service. I can’t place where everyone was though,” Wren confessed.

  Sybelle continued to twist the ring on her finger. “Will they be all right?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. The couple will be fine. The bullet skimmed the husband’s arm as he reached out to protect his wife and went through his wife’s arm. Father Henry Grigor was hit in the leg and chest, and I’m not sure how he will fare.”

  “Oh my gosh,” Sybelle whispered.

  “So, the killer was aiming for us and hit others instead? Was he a bad shot or were there too many people?” Wren wanted to know.

  “We’re unsure at this time, Princess. There could have been a number of factors. Since he’s dead, and there’s no identification, it will take us some time until we get to the bottom of what happened.”

  Wren nodded and pressed the new ice to her head. The old ice she placed on her cheek. The burn was starting to become intense. She’d need to put ointment or something on it soon. She’d turned down the offer of paramedics, but she knew it’d be best for her to tend to it before it got worse.

  “I think we’ve had enough to think about today,” Sybelle said as she strode forward and pulled the bell. “You’ll have to excuse me, Chief Constable, if I go lay down for a while. This has been a most difficult day.”

  “I understand, Queen Sybelle. If you –” He was interrupted by the door.

  They all turned as Davies entered the room and bowed. Wren watched the chief look between her stepmother and the butler as if he wanted to say more.

  “Ah, Davies,” Sybelle acknowledged, “there you are. The chief is ready to leave. He’ll be keeping a car outside the gate and will have an officer bring back our statements to sign later this evening. Please show him the door. Wren, I’ll be in my room.”

  Sybelle disappeared. Wren watched Davies escort the chief from the room. For a moment she felt hopeful. Either Sybelle was the killer and just pointed her own finger at herself, or she was covering for the killer. At this point, the only thought Wren had was to start snooping.

  “Wren, are you alone? Is someone in there with you?” The question came from Sybelle. She stood in the doorway, head tilted, green eyes meeting grey.

  Wren looked up from the sofa where she had been reading a book. Or attempting to read a book. Her mind couldn't concentrate, and it appeared she had read five pages without having one idea what they said.

  “Yes, I’m alone.” Wren turned back to her book.

  “I could have sworn...”

  “What now?” Wren’s grey eyes snapped back up, and a finger slid into the book to mark her page.

  “Nothing. I think I'm just hearing things.” Sybelle's brows were narrowed low over her forehead. She was biting her lip.

  Sighing, Wren waited for the woman to continue.

  “I was wondering if you would help me write thank you cards? We need to get them sent out as soon as possible. I'm handwriting a few myself, and then Mrs. Griffith will write the others for me to sign. I thought it might be nice for you to write a few yourself.”

  “If I must.”

  “Would you like to join me in the study?”

  “No, I wouldn't. Just have Davies bring them in here. Do you have a list?”

  “Yes, I'll send it along.”

  She still didn't move away from the door.

  “What else, Sybelle?”

  “The shooter. Do you think he was trying to kill us?”

  “Well, I suppose he just could have been there to hunt, and we got in the way.”

  “Wren! That isn't what I meant, and you know it. Can you please stop being so sarcastic all the time?”

  “Sarcasm is the way I deal with having my father murdered and being shot at. Leave me alone.”

  “W-Wren, I just want to help. I want to be here for you.”

  “I don't want to be comforted by a murderer.”

  Shaking her head, Sybelle turned and left the room without another word. For the first time, Wren wondered if she was right. What if she was wrong, her stepmother wasn't the killer, and the real killer was getting ready to assassinate them all?

  Shivering, Wren threw the book onto the sofa and paced to the windows overlooking the front lawn. Evidence of security was apparent in the extra guards patrolling the yard, two police cars instead of the one, and the gates locked up tight against intruders.

  At least the ointment she’d put on earlier was helping her cheek. The nap she’d taken hadn’t hurt anything as well. Her body still felt sore and exhausted.

  The shooter had scared everyone. Wren included. Shivering again, she released the curtains and stepped back. The phone ringing had her screeching and leaping about an inch in the air. A hand flew to her chest, and her heart kicked up to a rapid pace.

  “Princess Wren?”

  Wren screamed once again. Twirling, Wren found Davies in the doorway with a handful of envelopes and cards.

  His frowning brows and opened mouth were wiped away as he said, “Here are the cards Queen Sybelle would like you to work on, Princess Wren. Also, Mr. Gabriel is on the phone for you.”

  “Oh, good! Set them on the desk, please, Davies. I'll
take the call in here. Thank you.”

  “Yes, Princess.” He delivered the mail and exited the room in the next breath, and Wren made her way to sit at the desk where her mother used to write her own letters.

  Picking up the phone, Wren rubbed at her heart hoping to wipe away the fear and the memory.

  “Mr. Gabriel?”

  “Princess, how are you doing?”

  “Fine, I think. Have the police told you anything about the assassin?”

  “Na, there was no identification on him. They are checking his prints, face recognition, and DNA to see if they run across any matches. So far, they have come up empty. Either this is his first time taking pot shots at people or he's kept his record clean. Thank goodness that guard was able to get him. Too bad he couldn't have been taken alive, though. I'm sure we would have gotten him to talk.”

  “I appreciate the information. I wish we could have taken him alive. May I ask you a question, Mr. Gabriel?”

  Of course, Wren. Anything.”

  “Do you think you could hire a private detective for me? Do you know one?”

  “Yes, actually. I have a local private detective agency to help with cases from time to time. They’re excellent, discreet, and family owned.”

  “Do you think they’d be willing to help? I know there’s evidence against me. I have a feeling the chief is itching to arrest me, but the assassination attempt yesterday has him reconsidering.”

  “Now, Princess, please don’t jump to conclusions. Chief Constable Hector and I have talked. He isn’t convinced you’re guilty. He believes in innocent until proven otherwise. He does have questions, but when I spoke with him this afternoon, he revealed the assassination attempt has him wondering if there is more going on here than meets the eye.”

  “I hope he’ll see I’m innocent. I’m still not convinced Sybelle isn’t guilty, though.”

  “Now, Wren--”

  “I know her, Mr. Gabriel. Better than the rest of you. Please don’t think I’m just making things up. I wouldn’t suspect her if I didn’t have cause.”

  “I understand, but I think you should extend her the same courtesy she is extending you and not suspect her out of hand because of personal dislike.”

  “You just confirmed she dislikes me. That has to be motive!”

  Sighing, “No, Princess, that’s not what I meant at all.”

  “All right. I will try to reserve judgement. Can you tell me more about this detective agency?”

  “Technically it’s a family run business. I really believe they will be able to help us find the culprit behind your father's murder. I've used them before on other cases I've worked. The Hunters are wonderful at tracking down their man. I've been able to help defend my clients due to their dogged resolve at finding the truth.”

  “Do you think they'll be able to help me? Help clear my name and find the real murderer?”

  “Yes, el, I do think so. I wouldn't discuss the case with them otherwise. As I've said before, I've worked with them on previous cases. They have a reputation for being the best. I would like for them to meet with you. Let me call them now and get back to you. They fill up fast. I want to make sure they give this top priority, especially if this assassin was working for someone.”

  “Cytunwyd - agreed. Diolch, thank you, Mr. Gabriel. I’ll await your return call.”

  After hanging up, Wren wandered around the room. Too anxious to sit back down until he called back. Fingering the stationary on the desk, she noticed the flowery design and monarch crest at the top. Sybelle had it made for her after the marriage.

  Stepping over to the windows, Wren looked outside. The sun was setting and cast shadows. Trees had been planted strategically around the edges of the lawn and along the circular drive.

  For a moment, Wren remembered being carried into the house just hours ago. She’d began to come around, Sybelle’s red face hovering above her, and screeches filling her ears. Her stepmother had a set of lungs on her, but Wren didn’t remember anything she’d said.

  “If she set all of this up, why? To kill me? I need to find proof. Maybe this detective will help me get the evidence I need. If Sybelle’s guilty, then I want her behind bars.” Hands wrapped in fists, Wren hit them against her legs.

  Picturing her father in bed, bloody and dead, made her want to sob. Her heartbeat slowed, and her head began to ache. Blinking the image away, she walked back to the desk and willed the phone to ring. When it did, she snatched the phone up.

  “Princess, the Hunters have agreed to help. They are honored the royal family would ask them.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you, Mr. Gabriel. When can I meet with them?”

  “Now, the only day I could set up a meeting is Friday with Ioan,” Mr. Gabriel’s voice was a welcome sound as she listened to him. “His uncles own the business. It was left to them by their father. They are both retired police officers.”

  “Is Ioan the only Hunter available then?”

  “Yes, he is at the moment. Ioan is youngest but quite capable. I filled them in on what has happened so far, most of which they’ve been following on television, and they promised absolute discretion. They're sending Ioan to get a look at the house. I know this will be hard, but do you feel up to meeting with him?”

  “El, yes. I can do it.”

  “I knew you could, Princess. I'll let them know. Will Friday afternoon be an acceptable day for him to come? It's the soonest he's available.”

  “Yes, that should work.” Wren looked at the calendar on the desk and saw nothing happening over the next few days.

  Ellie, Davies, Jacob – the king's valet, and Mrs. Griffith had copies of her schedule, the King's, and Sybelle's as well. They also wrote down all the schedules on a flat monthly calendar in the library, so it could be seen at a glance. Seeing the events crossed through, Wren could tell their schedule had been cleared, as Sybelle promised, for the next few weeks. For that she was grateful. Penciling in the meeting, she also wrote a sticky note to pass onto Ellie and help herself remember to share with Davies.

  “Please make sure the Queen and all of the servants are available for him to talk to at that time, Princess Wren.”

  “I will make sure to inform them,” Wren promised.

  “Well, Princess, I hate to hang up, but I have another client coming in a few minutes. I'll call you later to check in, and as soon as I hear any more news about the assassin, I will let you know. The chief has promised to contact me as well as contacting you or the queen. I told him I would be taking care of both your interests for now from a legal standpoint.”

  Wren let out a long breath. “I will. Diolch, Mr. Gabriel, for helping us.”

  “My pleasure, Princess. That's what I'm here for, and you know I'd do anything for you. Talk to you soon.”

  “Goodbye.” The click of the dial tone resounded in her ear before she set the phone down.

  Sighing, Wren took the sticky note and picked her book up off the sofa before exiting the library. Walking down the front hall, Wren found Davies in the dining room prepping for lunch.

  “Davies?”

  “Yes, miss?”

  “I wrote down a time on Friday that a private detective will be coming to speak with me about father's murder. Mr. Gabriel has used this agency before and tells me they will be successful at helping us. Mr. Hunter will be coming at noon on Friday. I put it on the calendar in the library. Do you think you can help me make sure Mrs. Griffith and Ellie get a copy?”

  “Of course, Princess. I will speak to them the moment I finish here. Is there anything else?”

  “Please make sure everyone is here Friday at noon. The detective may have questions for each of you. Also, we may want to set an extra place for lunch in case he decides to join us.”

  “Yes, Princess.”

  “Diolch, Davies.”

  “Croeso, welcome, Princess.”

  Wren reached out and squeezed his arm before turning to leave the room. His bow and smile had her smiling as she left.r />
  12

  Thursday evening had Wren and the queen headed to Diarmuid's. An exclusive restaurant with private rooms for meetings. They were gathering with a few reporters of the local press to field questions. A meeting they couldn’t cancel, according to her stepmother.

  Mr. Gabriel was meeting them there. He had suggested they take the time to let the people know what was happening, in person, beyond the few statements he had released right after the death of the king and the shooting following his funeral.

  Wren twisted her thumbs, rotating them around and around the other, and gripped her sweaty palms together. She hated talking to the press. They always made her feel funny inside, as if they could see right through her.

  “Whooo,” she let out a pent-up breath and tried to think of something else.

  “Do you have your response cards?” Sybelle's voice stabbed through the air and jerked Wren's head around.

  “Yes,” she muttered and looked away. She hadn’t gotten the chance to search her stepmother’s room again. Yet. The phone number had been a dead end this far as well.

  “Da, good.”

  They hadn't talked the last few days unless it was necessary. Wren still believed Sybelle was somehow responsible for her father's death and the assassination attempt. Sybelle didn't air her thoughts, but Wren noticed the coolness toward her.

  They arrived in silence a few minutes later. Captain Ward was there with another guard to open their doors and escort them inside. Mr. Gabriel stood to the right of the restaurant's entryway. The brick building, as large as a house, sported a comfortable and spacious entryway where guests could sit and wait or head to a bar stocked with the finest wines.

  “Croeso, Queen Sybelle! Croeso, Princess Wren! I am very sorry for your loss. The kingdom grieves with you.” The manager said and indicated his black armband, worn as a sign of respect, before motioning them forward.

  Their guards took charge and led the way. Some moved into position behind them. The host passed Mr. Gabriel, who smiled at Wren and held a finger in the air to indicate he would be along, then continued his conversation.