“Where to begin,” Wren whispered, looking around the room. “There’s a chance she’s hidden something here since moving in.”
Looking under the bed produced a few pairs of slippers and nothing else. The closet was organized by color too. Wren shook her head. Dropping to her knees, she rifled through the boxes and shoes. Sticking her hand inside the heels and tennis shoes was gross and had her gagging, but the exploration for clues was turning out to be useless.
“There’s nowhere else I can look that I didn’t search the last time,” she muttered.
Jumping to her feet, Wren looked along the top shelf of the closet. Hunting through bags and boxes produced nothing. Heading into the private bathroom, the hamper looked promising. Knowing the police had searched these rooms already did nothing to stop her. They might not recognize something out of character for her stepmother like she would.
The hamper had a few articles of clothing inside, but nothing which said, “I’m a clue!” Sighing, she glanced around the bathroom. Sybelle’s hairbrush was on the sink, makeup bag on the vanity, Wren rifled through the medicine cabinet, towel closet, and makeup bag.
Nothing.
She might have told her stepmother she didn’t believe she had anything to do with her father’s death, but it was the best way to throw a murderer off her guard. Have them trust you believe them, and they might just make a mistake.
So far, no mistake. No clues. No bloody daggers or creepy letters or anything.
What do police look for when seeking a murderer?
Glancing around the room, she tried to spot something she hadn’t searched yet. The dresser didn’t hold anything of interest and neither did the nightstands on each side of the bed. A book sat on the top of the left one with a pair of reading glasses.
Reading glasses!
The only other place Sybelle kept those was in her sitting room on the first floor. There was a good chance something might be in there. Unfortunately, Sybelle would be headed to that room or the kitchen to talk to the cook. If she snuck down there now and found her or Mrs. Griffith inside, it might alert her stepmother to her suspicions. Sybelle could get rid of clues then.
One last glance around the room, she exited the room with a tiny, defeated click.
Wren paced the library, usually her favorite room, as she waited. Sybelle believed Wren didn't think she was capable of hiring assassins, but Wren didn't feel completely convinced her stepmother wasn't involved. Besides, she knew telling her stepmother would gain her trust and help her find the evidence she needed to take to the police.
The queen might look faint and spout nonsense about the assassins trying to kill her as well, but Wren knew better. How convenient it would be to take a shot at the queen and miss. The bullet would find its way into Wren's heart. She knew it.
“Maybe I should search Mrs. Griffith’s room next?” she whispered. “Maybe the old maid is part of her plot?”
Thinking about this, she tapped her finger against her leg and glanced at the clock in the corner of the room. It was ten minutes till twelve. After yesterday, she was even more eager to meet with this private detective and see how he could help them. In particular, she wanted him to help her find the evidence to convict the real murderer.
“What if it isn’t her? What if I’m letting prejudice cloud my thoughts?” Rubbing her temple, she looked out the window overlooking the back lawn. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Wandering around the room, she walked up to the coffee table with its bowl of fruit in the middle. She eyed the offerings. Oranges, apples, and bananas. The staff were aware she and the queen often used this room to pass the time. However, they all knew her dislike of apples, the queen's favorite fruit.
Snatching the red apples from the bowl, she threw the shiny fruit into the garbage can tucked on the other side of the sofa.
“Ahem,” a voice sounded behind her.
Jumping, Wren turned around.
A tall, young man stood in the doorway beside Davies. He was slim and handsome. His hair a dark red and his eyes a bright green.
“Detective Hunter, Princess Wren.”
Davies cast an eye back at the man in the doorway. His nose wrinkled, and his lips pinched, looking the young gentleman up and down.
“You're Private Detective Hunter?” Wren asked, as she stepped forward to greet him.
“Yes, Princess.”
He, too, stepped into the room and met her with a firm handshake. Davies looked at her around the detective and raised his brows.
“Thank you, Davies,” she dismissed him. The doors closed on the butler's exit, and Wren stood staring at the detective. “You don't look like a detective,” she told him.
“I'm sorry. I suppose you were hoping for someone old?” Seeing his lips stretch and his teeth peek out, Wren had the feeling he was mocking her.
“Maybe just someone more experienced,” she retorted.
“Ahh, well, I have plenty of experience.” His eyebrows raised as he maintained eye contact.
Feeling her cheeks redden, Wren indicated the sofas. “Would you please have a seat? I appreciate you making time to come.”
“I couldn't turn down a Princess's summons, could I?”
“It wasn't a summons!” she snapped, and then took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it quite the way I think you took it.”
Detective Hunter smiled in full force. His bottom teeth crooked in the front and his incisors a bit pointy. It made him look a bit goofy. Or scary. Wren wasn't sure if he put her in the mind of a friendly dog or a vampire.
Straightening her shoulders, Wren asked, “Mr. Gabriel is the one who suggested your family's firm. Do you think you can help me?”
“Mr. Gabriel caught me up on the particulars already. He said you were worried about the evidence against you?” He walked over to a chair and took a seat on its edge.
“The case against me has some solid evidence. I know the police don't want to arrest the Princess if they can get around it. I don't want to be blamed for something I didn't do. I did NOT kill my father.”
“Then you should have nothing to worry about,” he told her and crossed his ankles. “Contrary to popular belief, the police aren’t going to arrest just anyone, including you, to have the case closed.”
“I wasn’t assuming they were, but since the murder weapon was found I my room, you can see why I would be concerned.” Wren perched on the other chair and stared at him.
His eyes followed her every movement, and she began to feel like an insect on display. It was one of the aspects of being a royal she hated. Folding her hands over her knees, she waited for him to begin his questions.
“What was your relationship with your father?” he finally asked.
“We had a very good relationship. You can ask anyone. We were the best of friends, and I loved him.”
“Did you ever argue over anything?”
This gave her pause, and she bit her lip. “I didn’t want to go away to school. My stepmother thought it would be good for me. She found the school and talked my father into sending me.”
“This was a point of contention then?” His eyes were so bright, she blinked and looked past him to stare at the doors.
“I wouldn’t say it was a point of contention. More like, it was a disagreement.”
“Did you go?”
“I couldn’t say no to my father, the king.” Her tone was harsh, and she had to take a deep breath.
“I suppose these are questions the police have already asked you?” he inquired.
Surprised, she looked back at him and shook her head. “No, actually. Not really.”
He nodded. “Princess, what happened to the argument of going away to the school as you got older? You went away at twelve, correct?”
“You’ve done your homework,” she speculated.
“In my line of work, it’s always important to know as much about your clients as possible,” he told her.
“Then you know
it remained a point of contention until I graduated a few months ago.”
“Yes, I knew.”
“Why ask pertinent and irrelevant questions then?” she growled.
“Because I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he said, sitting back and putting his hands on the arm rests.
“To see if I’d lie?”
He shrugged, but she knew what he meant. The silence was its own answer. She sighed and sat straighter.
“Well, it seems as if you should know about the disruptions I made at the school.”
“You accused two of the teachers of being cruel. You didn’t specify what they’re actions were, and those in charge were forced to dismiss your claims.”
“I thought all of those accusations were hushed up?” Wren asked, meeting his eyes.
“A few of your classmates were willing to talk,” he said. “Very few, though. It seems as though the majority I spoke to didn’t want to say anything.”
Wren’s shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “I know,” she whispered.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” His voice was soft and deep, dropping an octave and drawing her gaze again.
“No.” She shook her head and pulled her shoulders up again. “It’s over with now. No sense in saying anything.”
“However, Father Henry Grigor from Westridge All Girls Academy is in the hospital in critical condition.”
“I know. He was near Sybelle and me when the shots started going off. It’s a tragedy, and we have sent flowers to his room. What does he have to do with who killed my father?”
“Nothing. I was hoping you would tell me if you were surprised to see the father there?”
“Not particularly. Everyone has been very supportive since father’s passing. He was the king, and it would be appropriate for those who knew him, including Father Grigor to attend. It’s about respect.” Her gaze challenged him, but he only nodded.
“Agreed, but I wanted to see what you thought.”
“Your questions seem to have no real bearing on my father’s death.”
“What I’m trying to ascertain is motive, Princess. If you don’t have it, then who does? Also, why would that person try to frame you?”
“I believe my stepmother is framing me. I want you to find out if that is the case. Although, I'm not opposed to suspecting everyone.”
He didn't respond. He just sat staring at her. His eyes never left her own. Once, twice, three times she looked away. Her eyes would always find their way back to his. After the third time, she didn't look away. Just sat up straighter on the plush cushions and stared him down.
Five whole minutes passed before he finally nodded. “What if I find out it isn't your stepmother?”
“I just want to know who it is. I know it's not me. I suspect it's her. She stands to gain the right to rule in his stead, in a constitutional capacity, until I become of age.”
“You aren’t old enough to rule now? I mean, it’s all in an honorary capacity anyway, right?”
“I’m sure you know as well as I do how a constitutional monarchy works. No, I’m not yet eighteen. I’ll turn eighteen in three months.”
“You’re quite young then,” he observed.
“Old enough to know when people are being disrespectful and not taking me seriously,” she returned.
“I’m not meaning to be disrespectful. It’s part of the job, asking questions most people would deem rude or inappropriate.”
She didn’t say anything or indicate she had even heard him. Holding her head high, Wren waited for him to continue. It took a minute before he did.
“You’re very mature for your age,” he offered. “I suppose I was surprised you couldn’t rule now.”
“So, your information on me appears to be lacking, if you didn’t know I was still seventeen.”
He only nodded. “What happens when you turn eighteen?”
“I can legally take over the kingdom's business and rule. There have been two attempts by assassins on my life, or I suspect it is mine. The guards took one assassin out before we got any answers. The other has gone missing, and I don’t want him to try again. Especially since we were blessed both times.”
“I heard of those. One at the king's funeral?”
“Le, yes,” Wren nodded.
“What are all the reasons you suspect your stepmother?”
Wren sat back and opened her mouth only to shut it once more. “I suppose I suspect her because with my father and I out of the way, she will have the sympathy and ruling of our country. Granted, the Kingdom of Rhys is now sovereign, but the kings and queens still hold sway and power. We are important figures of society and must take our role seriously. I know my position may seem nothing but a title to you, but I care about everything it represents.”
“I didn't mean to mock you, Princess. I respect the royal monarchy the same as any other good citizen of Rhys. Please don't mistake me. I just feel that when a crime is committed, no one is above the law. I also feel you shouldn't be given special privileges as a result.”
Are you insinuating you think I did it?” Her fists clenched, and she was ready to leave.
“If I find out you did it, I will make my report to the police. However, everyone is innocent until proven guilty.” His smile popped out again, and Wren knew it most certainly reminded her of a vampire.
Blood-sucking man. Of course, I would get the one detective who probably assumes I'm guilty!
“I appreciate your position,” Wren tried to say without clenching her jaw and spitting out the words. “You will find me innocent. I just want you to prove I didn't do it. I suspect my stepmother, the queen, did it. She has the most to gain here.”
Swallowing, she added, “If it's someone else, though, I still want them held accountable. I need your help. However, if you already believe I’m guilty, then maybe I should ask Mr. Gabriel to find someone else?”
His stare became unnerving again. Pinning her down and not letting go of her own gaze until he nodded once more. “I didn’t say I believed you were guilty. However, I don’t want you to be under the mistaken impression that I won’t do my job thoroughly.”
A shiver had her twitching her shoulders. Blinking, she considered his words. “If you’re here to help find the killer, it’s all I’ll ask of you.”
“I will be happy to assist. I will need a written agreement from you allowing the police to include me in their investigation. They'll have to turn over their evidence and witnesses if you let them know I'm working for you. I will need to talk to everyone in this mansion. I will also need to see the king's room as well as your own.”
Waiting a beat, Wren reconsidered her options. Perhaps hiring Detective Hunter wasn’t in her best interest. He seemed to already think her guilty and was quite cocky. He may end up falling in love with her stepmother on top of everything.
That would be just great.
Yet, she was hiring him. Not her stepmother. Sighing, she knew she had no choice. The egotistical man came highly recommended by her lawyer.
“Okay,” she nodded once.
“Okay,” he mimicked her nod.
“Can you start today?”
“I can,” he nodded again.
Standing, Wren walked to the desk located by a front window. She opened a drawer and took out a piece of stationary. “I'll write your letter and then show you upstairs. Would you like any refreshment first?”
“No, thank you. I'll just take a look around this room. Is this where the queen came on the night of the murder?”
Wren flinched before nodding. She bent over the desk and began her letter to Chief Constable Hector. The letter was short and gave full permission to the constable to include the private detective in on his evidence and any other pertinent finds.
After a few minutes, it was finished, and she turned to find Detective Hunter standing in front of her favorite section of books: history. “I have it finished for you. If you'll come this way I will take you to the rooms.”
“You have a great collection of books,” he mentioned as they made their way to the marble staircase.
The foyer was one way to climb up to the second floor. Doors leading into separate halls and rooms opened up into the foyer on the right and left of the large staircase which faced the front doors.
Wren took him up the steps passing an upstairs maid and the butler. “Thank you,” Wren responded to his compliment as they ascended.
“Does anyone actually read them?”
Taking a deep breath before responding, Wren clenched her fists at her sides. The permission note crinkled in one hand. “Yes. We do. The selection of histories you were standing in front of are some of my favorites. I've read the whole shelf more than once.”
“Really?”
Taking exception to his tone, she gritted her teeth and ignored his question. “Although, I have read several of the other books as well. My mother and father were avid readers. My stepmother is as well.”
“Ah, that would explain her nightly errand to the library.”
“Le.” Wren sighed. “She often went to the library before bed.”
They reached the top and took a right. “This corridor will lead you past my room first. All of the corridors connect. In fact, it acts like a big square, if you will. The middle rooms are divided into two spare rooms, two tea rooms, a study, a sewing room, and a multipurpose room.”
“A. Sewing. Room?”
“Yes. I often mend my own clothes. I've also sewn new outfits. The servants have the opportunity to use the sewing room for their own personal sewing or if they need to mend for my family. It's a community area. Why?”
“Just curious,” he raised his brows when she glanced at him. “What's the multipurpose room?”
“Just that. It's a place to watch television, get on the internet, read, practice the piano or violin – in my father's case, do yoga, dance, anything. It is a room that can be shaped into what's needed at the time. We've used it for parties to set up games or dancing.”
The Four Tales Page 58
