for
earmuffs,” said Misty.
Mother rubbed her temples. “Alright. Forget it. Mr. Davies,
please have my daughters’ dinners delivered to their rooms. Mine as well, while
you’re at it. I’ve had enough of this family for the time being.”
The butler lifted his dark brow and nodded. “Yes, milady.”
“Goodnight, girls.”
Gertrude Caine shuffled off, leaving the three sisters alone
in the dining room to sit in silence. Vivian knew better than to be drawn in by
her mother’s feigned irritation, however. Mother was far too unflappable to let
something so small bother her so much. It was a testament to her cunning that a
woman who hardly batted an eye at cannon fire and robbery could make her
children believe a tiff at dinner was enough to faze her. Something was going
on, and Vivian was going to find out what it was.
“We’ve got to follow her,” Misty said.
“I can see I’m not alone in my suspicions,” said Lily.
“Nor am I,” Vivian admitted. “Right then. Let’s not all crowd
in at once. A thing like this requires finesse.”
***
Alexander Atwell’s breath smelled of expensive alcohol,
his collar of exotic perfume. Jonathan guessed he hadn’t paid a chip for either
of them. Nor had he financed the whitewashed castle he lived in, the expansive
property surrounding it, or the army of servants who kept it all intact.
Everything that had once belonged to Alexander’s late parents was now his
alone, only child that he was.
Atwell released Jonathan from a long embrace and held his
childhood friend at arm’s length by the shoulders. Despite the moisture in
Jonathan’s clothing from the drizzle coming down outside, Alexander hadn’t
spared him a second look before wrapping him in one of his customary greetings.
“I’ve missed you, old bean. So good of you to offer a helping hand.”
Jonathan refrained from pointing out that Alexander had made
his request for help almost impossible to refuse. “What seems to be the
trouble?”
“Right this way.” Alexander led Jonathan through the house’s
echoing grand foyer and past several luxurious rooms, every one of them updated
to give the castle a homier feel. They came to a side door, which opened onto a
hangar-like garage filled with vehicles of every kind and color.
Jonathan had been to Alex’s house many times. There seemed no
end to his family’s wealth—and since his parents’ death, no shortage of ways by
which he seemed intent on pacifying himself with it.
“It’s this old thing,” Atwell said, kicking the rear tire of
an antique motorcar, a roadster with a blue-jay paint job. “I’ve had a bit of trouble
with it, and I was wondering if you might take a look.”
“I’m no automobile mechanic, I’m afraid,” Jonathan said.
Alex laughed. “Oh, listen to you. Always the humorist. Come
round here.”
Alex circled to the front of the vehicle. One of the
headlights was shattered, the fender dented and scratched, the grill mangled.
On the floor lay a long, thin heap with a large picnic blanket thrown over top
of it.
A chill ran down Jonathan’s spine. “What is that?”
“It’s what I wanted you to take a look at,” Alex said, his
smile fading.
“Is that a… a person ?”
“If you include the more provincial among us, then yes, I
suppose it is.”
“Gods, Alex. You killed someone?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, old bean. After all, I’m not
certain she’s entirely dead.”
Jonathan blinked at him, then rushed to the heap and threw
off the blanket. A woman lay beneath, eyes closed, breaths so shallow Jonathan
could hardly tell she was alive at all. Her clothes were damp and mud-caked.
She shivered when the blanket came off; whether a twitch or a chill, Jonathan
couldn’t tell.
“Why didn’t you take her to a hospital?” he screamed.
“There’s one just down the road, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid I’m quite drunk,” Alex said.
“And what good did you think it would do to drive in
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