by Fiona Grace
“Because you were left to open up on your own this morning, and there’s always so many things to juggle during the morning rush.” She glanced about her, realizing for the first time that everything was in order. The shelves were neatened. The furniture straightened. The dusting and sweeping were all done. “Although it looks as if you managed to juggle everything perfectly well.”
Finnbar smiled proudly. “Thanks. Maybe I’m a bit more capable than you think. I mean, it’s not like there are loads of customers first thing in the morning to interrupt.”
Lacey’s stomach dropped. She looked over at Gina, suddenly aghast. Mornings were usually the busiest time for the store, with people filtering in the moment the doors were opened for the day, distracting Lacey from the various administrative tasks she needed to perform.
“There were no customers?” she asked. “None?”
“Nope,” Finnbar replied, oblivious to the gravity. “Not a single one.”
Frank paced over, his gaze roving over Lacey’s perturbed expression. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
Gina answered on her behalf. “Finnbar just told us we haven’t had a single customer today. Probably because everyone thinks Lacey is a fraudulent murderer.”
“Yes, thank you, Gina,” Lacey said, stiffly, folding her arms. “No need to state the obvious.”
Finnbar looked perturbed. “Wait. What? What’s going on?”
Lacey sighed heavily. “The papers have got hold of the story. It was on the news this morning. That’s the real reason we’re late. We got distracted.”
“Oh,” Finnbar said, glumly. “That’s not good.”
Understatement of the century. With the murder now splashed all over the news, people would be avoiding the store, and the woman who ran it, like wild fire. It wouldn’t take long for the whispers to start about her. That she’d committed fraud. Or worse, murder. Lacey’s reputation and whole business were now in jeopardy, and it would remain that way until she solved the case.
So she’d better get to it.
With a fire of determination lit under her, Lacey turned to face the others.
“Gina, we may have no customers, but I still want that new window display done today. Christmas themed. Got it?”
Gina looked surprised. “Yes, of course.”
“Dad,” Lacey said, turning to Frank. “You know what you need to do. Security doors.”
Frank nodded. “I’m on it.”
Then she looked over at Finnbar. “Do you want to clock off for the day? There’s no point having all three of us on shift if there aren’t any customers. And it looks like you have quite a lot of reading to get done.” She nodded at the textbook.
“Really?” Finnbar said, hopefully. “Lacey, that would actually be great. This book must be written in Old English or something, because it’s almost impenetrable. It would be good to read it without distraction.”
He looked guiltily over to Gina, and then Frank. Lacey smirked. Her reason for sending Finnbar away wasn’t entirely out of the goodness of her heart. She, too, wanted fewer distractions in order to focus on her detective work. Gina and Frank were plenty enough, and Finnbar’s constant worrying and need for reassurance was an extra stressor she could do without.
Finnbar snapped the heavy-looking textbook shut and leapt up. “Thanks so much!” he exclaimed over his shoulder, as he hurried for the exit.
The bell tinkled noisily as he slammed the door shut behind him.
A sense of calm fell. A calm Lacey knew would not last for long. It was imperative for her now that she actively investigate the case, and that meant getting her hands dirty. After the mind-mapping session with her gang, she decided that by far the best place to start was with Lord Fairfax.
His bizarre behavior was suspicious enough, and he was the only person she could think of at the moment who hit the triad: a motive (humiliation); the means (Hounslow); and the opportunity. It also wasn’t lost on Lacey that Lord Fairfax knew exactly where Ronan Pike was staying while in Wilfordshire. She had that information for obvious reasons, but there was no reason why he did. And his timing, turning up at the murder scene just in time to make some grand, theatrical display in front of the police, was also very suspicious.
With her mind made up, Lacey headed into the back office to formulate a plan of action. She’d need some way to lure the lord to the store, since she’d been warned not to leave town.
“Money,” she said, aloud. “Lord Fairfax will only come here if it’s to do with the money.”
With a heart-skip of nervous anticipation, Lacey picked up the phone, and was about the dial the number Lord Fairfax had given her when she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before she had a chance to answer, Gina poked her head around. She was holding a wedding magazine in her hands.
“Ah, there you are,” she said, blustering inside the small office without invitation. “I wanted to talk to you about the arch.”
She presented the wedding magazine open on the desk in front of Lacey, where there was a spread of different arches, wooden ones and plastic ones and even a glass one.
“I’m in the middle of something,” Lacey told her, waggling the phone at her as evidence. “Besides, didn’t we already make a decision about this?”
Now didn’t seem like the best time to be organizing the wedding, let alone reorganizing the bits of it that had already been decided!
“We did,” Gina said, looking excited. “But that was before I saw this.” She pointed at one of the wooden arches, a beautiful construction made to look like a tree. “Don’t you think it would look better in your winter-themed wedding than the one we already have?”
Lacey gave her an incredulous look. “Gina. I’m facing potential ruin. I’m the suspect in a murder. I don’t have time right now to think about wedding arches!”
Gina pouted and straightened up, snapping her magazine shut. “Fine,” she huffed. “If that’s how you feel.” And with that, she turned on her heel and left the office.
Lacey sighed with frustration and turned back to the telephone again, ready to punch in the first number. But before she got the chance, there came another knock at the door.
If that’s Gina again… she thought with irritation, angrily swiveling in her chair to face the door.
The door opened and this time, Frank poked his head inside. “Do you want a cup of tea? I’m putting on a pot.”
“No thanks, I’m fine,” Lacey said.
“Coffee?” Frank said. “I don’t mind firing up the machine.”
Lacey shook her head. “Nope. I’m all good.”
“Water? Juice? Margarita?” He chuckled.
Lacey ground her teeth. Her patience was wearing thin. “No thank you,” she said for the third time, firmly yet politely.
At last, Frank left.
Finally alone, Lacey turned back to the telephone for the third time. She paused, listening out for the sound of any approaching footsteps and, finally deciding she wasn’t going to be interrupted again, dialed Lord Fairfax’s number.
“You’ve reached the estate of Lord Fairfax,” a female voice said in her ear. “How may I help?”
“I need to speak to Lord Fairfax, please,” Lacey said.
“I’m afraid Lord Fairfax doesn’t use telephones. Can I pass on a message?”
“I’m sorry, did you just say he doesn’t…use telephones?”
“That’s right. He doesn’t like things touching his ears. I can pass on a message for you.”
Lacey blinked, astonished. Of course, she shouldn’t be surprised to hear something so ludicrous thing from Lord Fairfax.
“Well, who are you?” Lacey queried.
“I’m Cressida,” the girl replied. “His PA.”
Lacey cast her mind back to the auction, trying to see whether she recalled anyone else with Lord Fairfax. But she could only remember seeing him with Hounslow, the scary valet. He had mentioned a Cressida, though, telling Hounslow she needed to arrange the gift wrap of his letter and track d
own where in the world his sister was.
“It’s regarding a purchase he made from my store recently,” Lacey said. “I need to reverse the sale with him.”
“Ah. This is about the auction? The Queen Victoria letter? Yes, he told me to expect your call. Lord Fairfax is happy to meet to arrange the reimbursing…”
Lacey gave herself a self-congratulatory nod. She’d suspected as much.
But Cressida wasn’t finished. “…and compensation.”
Lacey eyebrows rose in surprise. “Compensation? What am I supposed to be compensating him for?”
“Emotional distress,” Cressida replied.
Lacey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I’m sorry—what?” she cried incredulously.
Cressida did not seem to be aware that anything she was saying was ridiculous. “Lord Fairfax was very embarrassed about the fake. It made him a laughingstock among his circle of friends.”
“Then he should get better friends!” Lacey cried. “I’m not paying him compensation.”
“Lord Fairfax anticipated as much,” Cressida replied. “He’ll be sending someone over to … discuss things with you further.”
“Wait? What? Who?” Lacey asked. “Do you mean a financial advisor or something?”
But the call went dead.
Frowning, Lacey put down the phone. What on earth had Cressida meant? It had sounded extremely ominous to Lacey.
She left her office and went back to the shop floor to discover Chester was standing guard by the door, and Gina and Frank nowhere to be seen.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lacey said, as she spotted a note lying on the counter beside the register.
Gone to fetch coffee.
Lacey rolled her eyes. It didn’t take two of them to get coffee! And they shouldn’t have left the store unattended, even if Chester was a very good guard dog/alarm. There was a murderer on the loose after all.
Just then, Lacey saw a cream-colored Rolls-Royce draw to a halt outside her store. Lord Fairfax’s car. And emerging from it came not Lord Fairfax, but his huge, hulking valet, Hounslow.
Suddenly, Cressida’s words repeated in her mind. He’ll be sending someone over to … discuss things with you further.
Lacey gulped. Had Lord Fairfax sent his bodyguard …to kill her?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lacey’s mind began to frantically race, and she trembled all over as she watched the hulking Hounslow loom ever closer to the store. Had she earned herself a spot on Lord Fairfax’s hit list? Was he systematically working his way through all the people he blamed for almost humiliating him? And if this was how he reacted to almost being humiliated—by sending his henchman to murder any and everyone involved—then how on earth did he react when he actually was humiliated? With all-out war?
From where he stood beside her, Chester started to growl. He must’ve sensed her fear, and hunched himself up protectively.
Then suddenly, Hounslow was upon them. The door flew open from the strength of his enormous muscles, and in he thundered, footsteps reverberating on the floorboards.
“I think you know why I’m here,” he said, taking a step forward. “I’ve been sent to … tie up some loose ends.”
Lacey took several steps back, Chester mirroring her. His fur was standing on end, making him look almost wolf-like, and he was emitting a low, long grumble.
“Y—yes?” Lacey replied, her voice quavering, her body trembling. “And what loose ends would those be?”
“The sale,” Hounslow said, matching her steps back with his own steps forward, with the meanest, most menacing look in his eyes. “The fake auction letter. Lord Fairfax is furious.”
Lacey gulped. “I’m sure he is,” she squeaked. “I’m upset about the forgery, too.”
Just then, her backside hit the counter. There was nowhere else to go. She was trapped.
The big, bald Hounslow loomed above her. He had over a foot on her. He glowered down. “He sent me to … arrange the reversal of the sale.”
From her cowering position, Lacey paused. That wasn’t how she’d been expecting his sentence to finish. He sent me to … right a wrong would’ve been far more appropriate. Even, He sent me to … kill you. But certainly not “arrange the reversal of the sale”!
A sudden hope ignited inside of Lacey. Had she read this whole thing wrong? Had Lord Fairfax actually only sent his bodyguard to reverse the sale, not kill her after all? Had she jumped to conclusions?
“That’s it?” she asked. “He just sent you to… oversee the reversal of the sale? To do the administrative work?”
“That’s right,” the big, beefy Hounslow said. Suddenly, his gaze scanned Lacey’s cowering position. He looked offended. “You thought he sent me to hurt you, didn’t you?”
He didn’t say it with malice, but with disappointment. This was clearly a sore spot for him.
“No!” Lacey said, hurriedly.
“Yes, you did! I can see it in your eyes!” He looked at Chester. “Even your dog thinks so!”
His face creased, almost as if he was about to cry. Then he turned and suddenly paced away from Lacey.
She straightened up, perplexed, watching him. Chester stopped growling.
“I’m not just Lord Fairfax’s lacky!” Hounslow exclaimed as he paced the floorboards. “I’m his valet! That is a highly respectable position. They don’t just give it to any old nitwit. I have lots of responsibilities, including financial ones.” He stopped pacing and caught her dead in the eye. “I have a degree from Oxford!” He folded his arms huffily. “People always get the wrong idea of me.”
I wonder why… Lacey thought, eyeing the way his arm muscles were bulging beneath his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, relief overcoming her. “It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions like that. It’s just when I spoke to Cressida on the phone, she sort of implied Lord Fairfax was sending someone over to… you know… settle the score.”
“Huh, Cressida. I always said she was a terrible choice for the job,” Hounslow barked. “But does anyone ever listen to me?”
Lacey blinked, perplexed. Her mind was spinning.
“Shall we start again?” she suggested, gently. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
The big, intimidating Hounslow pouted like a child. “Fine,” he huffed. “Okay.”
Lacey nodded. “Then please, let’s go into my office.”
As she led the huge man down the corridor into her back office, her mind spun from the 180. It seemed she’d gotten a little carried away with her theory that Lord Fairfax was the killer, and when Hounslow had emerged from the Rolls-Royce, she’d seen what she needed to in order to confirm her suspicions. She’d judged him, made him culpable by association. It was exactly the same thing the gossipers of Wilfordshire had done with her. Lacey resolved not to jump to conclusions again.
They entered the small, back office and the large man took a seat. Lacey sat opposite him. He was so big their knees almost touched.
“So,” she began, “I’m sure you understand that Ronan Pike’s estate is currently frozen, while the investigation is ongoing.”
“I do,” Hounslow said.
“And that I obviously don’t have the funds in my bank account to return to you at this given moment.”
“Of course,” Hounslow said.
He seemed all business now. And now that he was actually sitting down at eye-level rather than looming over her, Lacey realized he was a lot less intimidating than she’d thought. His beady eyes weren’t so mean, his expression not as glowering.
“So when it comes to reversal,” Lacey finished, “I’m afraid we’re all having to play a waiting game.”
“Lord Fairfax understands the situation,” Hounslow said. “What he’d like, however, is the necessary arrangements to be made with the bank so the funds can be reversed as soon as the estate is unfrozen. And he would also like compensation.”
Compensation… Lacey thought, with a sigh. Cressida
had mentioned that.
“I can arrange the reversal with the bank,” she began, “but regarding compensation? Honestly? That’s a little far-fetched.”
“This has been very emotionally trying,” Hounslow said.
“I’m sure it has,” Lacey replied. “But no actual emotional harm was done. Lord Fairfax never gave the letter to his sister, and never faced any humiliation as a result. I can hardly be expected to compensate him for something that didn’t happen…”
But her voice trailed away, because to her surprise, the big, bald Hounslow had dropped his face into his hands, and his shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.
“Is everything okay?” Lacey asked, gently.
He shook his bald head. “How are you so composed? A man is dead. Murdered!”
Ah, Lacey thought. That’s what he meant by emotionally trying.
“I suppose I’ve become hardened to it,” Lacey told him. “I seem to inexplicably be drawn into these kinds of things…”
Hounslow gazed up at her with red puffy eyes. “I’m barely holding it together. What if the killer is after us next, you know? Lord Fairfax has ruffled his fair share of feathers over the years.”
Lacey regarded him with consideration. Hounslow was far from what she’d expected him to be. In fact, he was more of a gentle giant type. A harmless man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
She handed him a tissue. “Do you happen to know where Lord Fairfax was at the time of the murder?” he asked.
“With me,” Hounslow said, dabbing at his tears. “I rarely leave his side.”
“So you had eyes on him the whole time?”
“Yes. Trust me. It wasn’t him. I never leave that man’s side.”
Lacey paused. “Except for now…”
Hounslow frowned. “Well, yes, except for now. But this is definitely an exception. It’s the first time I’ve been anywhere without him in years. Normally he’d want to see to these things personally, but he’s decided to cloister himself up in the castle until the killer is caught. He’s afraid. We both are.”
Lacey could see as much, from his red, puffy eyes and trembling body.
She sat back in her chair ponderously. It was becoming quite evident to her that Lord Fairfax wasn’t the murderer, and neither was Hounslow. But if that whole avenue of investigation was now resolved, then she was left with no one. Nothing. No more leads.
