by Fiona Grace
He had her there. Maybe for someone like Lacey the thought of booking a hotel room only to not use it when your plans changed seemed absurd. But there was another half of the world, the Hugh Buckinghams and Oxanas and, apparently, Colins, who could throw more caution (and money) to the wind.
“You must be disappointed,” Lacey said. “You didn’t win your statue. And you didn’t get the girl.”
“Didn’t I?” Colin asked.
She looked up from her whiskey glass, feeling her cheeks grow hot.
Colin continued. “Because the girl appears to be sitting with me, sharing a drink on a summer evening. Despite seeing someone.”
She coughed awkwardly. She just couldn’t do this. Being an undercover agent wasn’t her style. “I think we both know you’re not really sticking around for me,” she said.
“Ah,” Colin said. “You figured it out.”
Lacey’s heart seemed to stop beating. Was he about to confess?
“Figured out what?” she prompted.
Colin’s eyes went over her shoulder to the open door of the drawing room. Lacey craned to see where he was looking. It was Emma, the pretty receptionist, who was busy reapplying her lipstick in a handheld mirror.
Lacey turned back, completely confused. “What?”
“Emma. We… well, we hit it off. What can I say? You’d rejected me, and I was down. And then this lovely young woman started chatting to me. Before I know it, it’s two in the morning and we’ve talked for hours.” There was a deep blush in his cheeks.
Lacey was astonished. That was not what she was expecting to hear at all! Any attempt on her part to keep up a ruse failed in one go. “You’re hanging around because of Emma?”
Colin looked embarrassed. “I’m a single man. What can I say? I’m sorry. I know I’m a bit of a pickup artist, and I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. You don’t need to be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Lacey refuted immediately. “That’s not what’s going on at all.”
Before Lacey fully had a chance to explain herself, Superintendent Turner came marching in. He’d obviously grown impatient of listening to their back and forth.
“Right, you,” he said, pointing at Colin. “Can you come to the station with me? We have some questions to ask about a theft in the B&B.”
With a stunned expression, Colin looked from the detective to Lacey. “Is he with you?” he asked, sounding hurt. “Did you set this up?”
Lacey didn’t know what to say. She let her eyes drop with shame.
“Lacey!” Colin exclaimed, as Superintendent Turner manhandled him out of his seat. “I didn’t steal the statue! Search my room. It’s not there. I know my story doesn’t seem legit, but it is. I came for you, and I stuck around for her.”
Lacey said nothing as Colin was led away by the police. But for some reason, she felt like he was being sincere. It had been far-fetched when she’d thought of it, and now she’d have to bend a whole bunch of different things to fit with the theory. Why would he need to scam his way to owning a statue if he was as wealthy as he claimed? The bid he put in at her auction far exceeded the price he knew she’d paid for the statue from the art store in Weymouth. If he’d wanted the statue so much, that would’ve been the time to get a hold of it! Not later. Not through such convoluted measures.
Lacey realized, too late, that Colin wasn’t the thief. She’d led the police right to him and now she had to solve this before an innocent man was sent down for a crime he hadn’t committed.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Lacey didn’t know what to do. Something was missing. She felt she’d made the wrong call with Colin. Possibly even with Oxana. Nothing was quite adding up.
She went into the hallway and over to the reception desk. Emma was there, peering at the door with an anxious, pained expression. Through the glass, Lacey could see Superintendent Turner leading Colin to the cop car.
“You okay?” Lacey asked Emma.
Emma twisted her lips. “I kinda know that guy who just got arrested.”
“Oh?” Lacey asked, feigning ignorance. “When I asked you about him before, you said he was just some guy with a dog.”
Emma’s big doe eyes went even rounder. “I know,” she said, quickly. “That’s because the night I spent talking to him was the same night the statue got stolen. I didn’t want anyone to blame me for it.”
So Colin had been telling the truth, Lacey realized. Emma had just confirmed his alibi. Lacey had gotten it wrong, and now he’d been arrested because of her.
Just then, Suzy entered through the foyer doors and Emma snapped her lips shut as her boss and neighbor floated toward the reception desk like a fairy.
“The cops just arrested someone,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. Then she noticed Lacey standing there and a smile suddenly warmed her pixie features. “Lacey! What are you doing here?”
Lacey did a double-take at Emma. The receptionist had averted her eyes, and was now shuffling some pages on her desk, wafting her flowery perfume toward Lacey as she did so.
Lacey frowned. She’d smelled the perfume before…
“Lacey?” Suzy asked again in response to her silence. Worry was now sounding in her voice.
Her mind still trying to place the smell, Lacey looked back at her friend.
“Is it Gabe?” Suzy whispered. “Did he do something?”
Lacey shook her head. “It’s not Gabe.”
Suzy took her hand and led her to the brown leather couch opposite the reception desk.
“What’s going on?” she asked softly, as Chester plonked his head in her lap. “You look perturbed.”
Lacey was still racking her brains. The cogs were whirring, and she felt like she was just on the cusp of something… something important.
“It’s just all this stuff with Hugh,” she said absentmindedly. “I thought I’d worked it out, but now I’m not so sure.”
You’re playing sleuth again?” Suzy said, sounding frustrated. “I’ve told you to stop getting so wrapped up in all these investigations. You’ll get yourself killed one day.”
Lacey, realizing what she’d just said (and more importantly who she’d said it to—the world’s gentlest sweetheart) finally came around to the moment. “Trust me, it’s not a choice. Superintendent Turner’s got it in his head that I’m a bad egg. He suspects me for everything.”
Suzy rolled her eyes as she petted Chester. “Look. Run me through what’s happened. Maybe I can help.”
Lacey was hesitant. Not just because of Suzy’s reluctant tone and completely inability to deal with anything squeamish. She didn’t want to admit her mistakes. Suspecting Gabe. Colin. Gina. She’d entertained some pretty crazy theories in her quest, and she didn’t want her friend to know the reason she’d ended up at the Lodge in the first place. She also didn’t want to divulge too much information in a public place, since Emma the receptionist was sitting barely ten foot away.
No sooner had she thought it than Lacey suddenly placed the smell of her perfume. She felt the blood drain from her face as she put two and two together. She’d smelled Emma’s perfume on the love note she’d found in Hugh’s mansion.
At her desk, Emma began touching up her makeup in a hand mirror, applying a shade of shimmering pink lipstick. It was the exact same shade as the lipstick that had been on the flap of the love note.
The love letter. The perfume. The lipstick kiss on the flap.
Emma was the author of the letter. Emma was Hugh’s young, disgruntled fiancée…
Of course! Lacey thought, as it all fell into place.
Emma had access to Oxana’s room—she was the receptionist. Emma had access to Hugh’s house—she was his lover. Emma knew the cost of the statue. Emma was the thief.
But was she the killer?
Was that what the X on the window had been signifying? That Emma, the woman he kissed, had killed him?
Lacey’s mind went a mile a minute, fitting all the pieces together. Unlike her other theories, e
very single piece slotted perfectly into place. Emma was suspect number one.
But what could Lacey do now? She’d already exhausted the police’s patience. There was no way she’d be able to get them to turn around and hear her out after they’d just arrested Colin on her insistence!
She’d have to hatch a plan.
“Earth to Lacey?” Suzy said.
“The statue,” Lacey blurted.
“Huh?” Suzy asked, looking confused.
“It’s being relinquished tonight,” she said, using her projected auctioneer’s voice to make sure Emma could definitely hear her.
It worked. Out of the corner of her eye, Lacey saw that her words had elicited the intended response in Emma. She was clearly listening in, her curiosity piqued.
“The police are bringing it back to my store tonight,” Lacey added.
Suzy frowned. “Er… okay?”
“I need to go.” She stood.
“Lacey?” Suzy asked, standing from the couch. “What’s going on? Let me help you.”
But Lacey shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I promise. I just have to go. Chester, come on, boy.”
She hurried out of the foyer, leaving a baffled-looking Suzy behind her and a curious-looking Emma at the reception desk.
As she trotted down the steps, heading for the parking lot, she grabbed her cell phone from her pocket and dialed a number.
“Beth?” she said when her call was answered. “It’s Lacey.” She shoved the cell between her ear and shoulder and rummaged for her keys. “I need your help.” It was only then that Lacey realized the bright pink mini was quite obviously Emma’s. But was it the car of a killer?
She unlocked the door. Into the speaker she added, “I think I’ve solved this thing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
“Night, Gina,” Lacey said, waving from the counter.
Gina hesitated at the threshold of the door, Boudica on her leash beside her. They were both framed by moonlight. Gina looked back over her shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t need me to stay a little longer? Help you tidy everything up?”
“I promise,” Lacey lied.
Gina regarded her cautiously, as if trying to find dishonesty in her micro-expressions, before she finally nodded and left, with Boudica in tow.
The second she was gone, Lacey leapt up, ready to get her plan in motion. She felt bad about keeping it from Gina, but she knew she’d only worry if she actually knew what was planning on doing this evening…
Lacey locked everything up and turned off the main lights, leaving just a single lamp on, emitting a soft, warm, yellow glow. Chester watched her curiously as she set everything up, as if silently questioning her. Which was fair enough, Lacey thought, considering she herself was questioning her plan as well. If she was wrong, and ended up accusing someone innocent of a terrible crime, she’d feel awful. Especially if Oxana really was the perp, and in accusing the wrong person Lacey inadvertently let the guilty party escape scot-free.
But the wheels were in motion, and there was no turning back now.
Lacey headed into the auction room, Chester trotting behind her as she went, ready to protect her should worse come to worst.
She unlocked the back French doors, then immediately jumped out of her skin. There was a shadowy figure standing in the garden. “Emma?”
“Are you still open?” the young receptionist asked politely.
There was no hint of a sinister tone in her voice, nor on her pretty, moonlit face. But Lacey knew looks could be deceiving.
“How can I help you?” Lacey asked. Her own voice, in contrast, sounded stressed.
But Emma didn’t seem to notice. She closed the space between them quickly. “I wondered if you could value something for me.”
Lacey took a step back, needing a bit of breathing space. Her eyes fell to the bulky object clutched in Emma’s sparkly-pink gloved hands. She was holding something wrapped in cloth.
“Of course,” Lacey forced, pulling the French door open wider and gesturing her inside.
Emma smiled sweetly as she passed Lacey into the auction room, her flowery perfume scenting the air as she did.
Lacey shuddered. The perfume triggered a visceral memory in Lacey. She’d smelled that delicate floral scent before, on the love letter she’d retrieved from between the floorboards in Hugh’s study. She swallowed hard.
They went into the main storeroom, and Emma placed her bundle on the counter. She began to peel back the cloth wrapper and the flowery smell became even more pungent.
Lacey frowned. Had Emma sprayed the cloth with perfume? It seemed like a bizarre thing to do.
Emma stepped back, revealing an antique vase.
Lacey recognized it immediately. It was the Art Nouveau long-necked vase with a squat baluster she’d spotted in Hugh Buckingham’s mansion.
Her hands began to shake. This was irrefutable proof that Emma had access to his property. The perfume. The vase. It was strengthening her theory.
“So, what do you think?” Emma asked, sounding completely unfazed. “Is it worth anything?”
Lacey hung back. There was no way she was touching the vase and transferring her fingerprints on to it. That was likely the reason Emma had brought it here in the first place, in an attempt to frame her. If her prints were on something of Hugh’s, it would be extremely difficult to argue it away, after all.
But more than the fingerprint issue, some instinct told Lacey not to touch the vase. There was something disconcerting about the fact Emma had sprayed the cloth with perfume. Something that made Lacey even more wary.
Then in a moment of horrible realization, Lacey put it all together. Hugh was killed with cyanide. Cyanide, though mainly odorless, could sometimes give off a smell like burnt almonds…
Emma was using the perfume to hide the smell of cyanide!
It all made sense. Emma had poisoned the love letter to Hugh, then covered the smell with perfume.
And then it dawned on Lacey that Emma must’ve put cyanide on the vase too… She was trying to kill her!
“It’s an interesting piece,” Lacey began, keeping up the facade. “It’s an original Shelley, circa 1890. Looks to be in mint condition. Where did you get it?”
“My fiancé,” Emma said dumbly. “He’s very wealthy.”
Lacey thought back to the contents of the letter. In it, Emma had been lamenting the fact that Hugh wouldn’t marry her.
Was she completely deranged? Had she made up a proposal? She was a fantasist. A sociopath!
“Oh, you’re engaged,” Lacey said, adopting the dreamy tone of a hopeless romantic. It wasn’t a role she took to easily, but the prissy Emma might be more at ease if she acted like she cared. “So what’s the lucky man’s name?”
“H—” Emma began, before clearly realizing her mistake and quickly changing course, “Harry. Harry… Mann. You wouldn’t know him,” she added evasively.
“No, I can’t say I’ve ever met a Harry Mann,” Lacey replied, wryly.
Emma nudged the vase closer to Lacey, using the index finger of her sparkly pink gloved right hand. “Aren’t you going to check this?”
“Are you in a hurry?” Lacey asked innocently.
“No. It’s just, it’s closing time, isn’t it?” Emma said. “I don’t want to keep you.”
Lacey wasn’t about to touch her cyanide vase!
Lacey continued her pretense of examining the vase. “When is the wedding?”
“We haven’t set the date.”
“Are you going for a lavish ceremony, or something small and intimate?”
“Lavish,” Emma said in a floaty voice. “Hugh knows I won’t settle for anything less than a big, elaborate event.”
She stopped speaking abruptly. By the way her eyes widened with fear, Lacey could tell she’d realized her mistake.
She locked gazes with Lacey and gulped. The cat was well and truly out of the bag now.
“Hugh,” Lacey echoed. “Hugh Buckingham. He
was your fiancé.”
Emma’s fear immediately disappeared, replaced by theatrical crying. She’d switched on the waterworks in the way only a true sociopath could.
“I wasn’t meant to tell anyone,” she said through her crocodile tears.
But Lacey wasn’t buying it for a second. Emma had been at work the next night flirting away with Colin! She’d slowly and methodically poisoned her lover because he wanted a prenup? He’d obviously been suspicious of her intentions. And for good reason!
“Emma, give it up,” Lacey said. “I know the truth.”
“What truth?” Emma wailed, feigning grief.
“You’re both from Tolleton Green, you and Hugh. You met there, and wormed your way into his life. You dropped out of college because your only real goal was to marry rich. But Hugh could tell something wasn’t right. He was keeping you a secret and he’d only marry you if you signed a prenup.”
Emma shook her head as if to refute Lacey’s claims. “It wasn’t like that. We were deeply in love!”
But Lacey wasn’t done. “The only thing you were in love with was his money. He kept you waiting. Gave you his conditions. No marriage until the prenup was signed. But of course you weren’t going to marry him with a prenup, because then you wouldn’t get any of his money. Why didn’t you just walk away? Why did you have to kill him? Was it because your ego was damaged? Or was it because you wanted to remind him his time was running out?”
Emma shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Did you want him to get sick so you could care for him, so he’d throw caution to the wind and marry you anyway?” Lacey continued. “How long were you poisoning him for? Weeks? Months? You were murdering him by a thousand cuts, weren’t you? Inflicting a slow death with cyanide on the perfumed love letters you were sending him.”
If Hugh had ingested the poison, he would have died quickly. But through slow, consistent absorption through the skin it had made him sick, giving him a fever and nausea and eventually, respiratory failure. Hugh must have finally worked out what was happening with that last letter and was running out of the house to get help but collapsed at the door. With his last ounce of strength, he scrawled the X’s on the window’s condensation.
