He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “I think I can handle Jean.” The woman was in her sixties and barely topped five feet tall, and even though she’d taken Lake’s self-defense class years ago, he was pretty sure he could take her in a fight. None of this he said to Agnes, mainly because he didn’t think she’d appreciate it.
With an irritated humph, she ran up the stairs to her room.
“Do you think we could get a cup of tea and some cake while we wait?” Jean said as Logan gestured toward Agnes’ office.
“This isn’t morning tea, Jean. We just caught you stealing from Dougal.”
She gaped at him. “What do you mean stealing? I wasn’t stealing anything. We have an arrangement with Dougal.”
“We?” Oh crap, he knew where this was going. Forgetting his nose was bruised, he pinched the bridge then winced.
“Aye,” Jean said. “Knit or Die. We’ve had this arrangement for years.”
And there it was. “My mum’s in on this? Of course, she’s in on it. Where there’s one of you, there’s always more.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I didn’t have any breakfast, and my sugar levels are getting dangerously low.” She put out a hand to hold on to the wall. “I feel woozy. There’s a good chance I might faint. Who knows how long I’ll be out? You might have to take me to the hospital or call the doctor. Wouldn’t it just be easier to get me a cup of tea and a slice of cake? Chef always makes a nice cake for morning tea. I expect it’s just sitting in there, waiting to be sliced.”
“Get in the office,” Logan said. “I’ll get you some tea after I’ve called the rest of your coven.”
“Thanks.” She sat in one of the straight-backed guest chairs. “When this was Dougal’s office, he had a sofa in here. But he probably got rid of it because of the bad memories.”
Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
He had to ask. “What bad memories?”
“Well, he wouldn’t want to sit at the desk and look at one of the places where we’d made love. He was brokenhearted when I left him. Said those were the best three months of his life.”
He shouldn’t have asked. “I feel nauseous.”
“You’re probably hungry.”
Logan pinched his nose again and yelped.
“Do you think we should get the tea before you ring your mum?” Jean said. “I’d like to fortify myself before the new manager gets back. I think she might have some anger-management issues. Are you sure you know what you’re doing with her?” She rummaged in her tote. “Tell you what, I’ll ring the girls and you get the tea. We have a conference call thingie.” Before he could stop her, she’d swiped the screen. “I’ll put it on speaker. Hello? Hello? Shona, is that you?”
“Aye.” His mother’s voice came through the phone, followed by the other main members of Knit or Die.
“What’s going on?” Heather Donaldson, the mother of Invertary’s only cop, said. “Do you realize what time it is?”
“Aye, I’m at the hotel, and Logan’s arrested me.”
There was a pause before all hell broke loose.
“I didn’t arrest you,” Logan said over the shouting. “I have no powers of arrest.”
“You also don’t have any cake. You’re still standing there, and I’m still suffering from low blood sugar.”
“Jean,” his mother shouted, “pay attention. What’s going on?”
This could take all day, and Agnes would be back any minute. He snatched the phone from Jean. “This is Logan,” he said to the rest of the gang. “I need every member of Knit or Die at the hotel, right now.” Then he hung up. He put the phone into his back pocket. “I’ll keep this until they get here.” Who knew what plans they’d hatch if they could talk to each other.
“Are we getting tea now?”
“I’ll run to the kitchen.” He pointed at Jean. “Don’t move from that spot.”
She nodded solemnly. “Maybe you could get Chef to make me an egg sandwich while you’re there, with some bacon if he’s got it, and maybe a potato scone.”
With a shake of his head, Logan shut the office door on Jean and jogged to the kitchen, hoping he’d be back before Agnes found their thief unattended.
Chapter 10
Four women sat in a row in Agnes’ office, on chairs she’d had to grab from the pub. They were all of retirement age, none of them were happy to be there, and only one wasn’t related to a cop or Benson Security employee—their thief, Jean.
Dressed in her gray pantsuit, Agnes wore her hair clasped at her nape and sensible low-heeled work shoes on her feet. Usually, the outfit made her feel in control. But not in this situation. No, this situation was completely out of control and getting worse by the minute, because not only was one of the women Logan’s mother, she’d also brought his daughter along.
The preteen sat on the floor beside the door pretending she was too sick for school, while she soaked up everything that was happening. And the sight of her brought reality crashing back down on Agnes—Logan was a father. Just the thought made her take another step to the side, to widen the distance between them. And, of course, Logan noticed her retreat. Not only him, but his mother and daughter too.
The temperature in the room seemed to go up a few degrees.
“What are we waiting for?” Margaret Campbell demanded. Agnes had learned that Margaret was the leader of the knitting group. She was also Lake Benson’s mother-in-law.
“Dougal.” Agnes wasn’t happy about that, but when she’d called to update him on the situation, he’d insisted on being present.
“Do we have to?” Jean complained. “It’s awkward between us. I don’t think he’s ever gotten over me.”
“That was years ago,” Shona McBride, Logan’s mother, said. “Of course, he’s over you.”
Jean shook her head. “I see it in his eyes every time I’m around him.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Unrequited love.”
“Piffle.” Heather Donaldson, the mother of Matt, Invertary’s only cop, rolled her eyes.
“I’m a hard woman to get over.” Jean reached for another slice of cake.
Which reminded Agnes. “Why do they have cake?” she asked Logan.
“They were hungry.” There was a sparkle in his eyes again. He was amused.
She wasn’t. “They’re stealing from us, so we’re rewarding them with cake?”
“Stealing? Who’s stealing?” Margaret shot to her feet, clasping her massive handbag in front of her. “You think we’re stealing? I won’t stay here to be maligned like this. And you”—she pointed at Logan—“you can explain this to your boss. Lake will hear all about it.”
“Sit down, Margaret,” Logan said with long suffering. “Lake already knows, and he trusts us to get to the bottom of this.”
“You stole something, Gran?” Logan’s daughter’s eyes widened.
“Of course not.” Shona sounded outraged. “And keep quiet, or I’ll decide you’re well enough to go to school after all.”
It was Agnes’ turn to roll her eyes. “She isn’t sick. She’s faking it. Those dark circles and that white complexion are makeup.”
“Darcy,” Logan rumbled. “Is that true?”
The kid’s cheeks flushed red. “I just wanted to meet your new girlfriend. She’s the first girlfriend you’ve had since Mum, and I heard Gran say it must be serious if you’re showing this kind of interest. Gran said you live like a monk, although I had to ask my teacher what a monk was, and I’m not sure Gran’s right.”
“Gran sure says a lot of things,” Logan drawled as he stared at his mother.
Shona stuck her nose in the air. “In my defense, usually nobody listens.”
Logan turned back to his daughter. “You shouldn’t have cut school. You should have asked me if you could meet Agnes.”
“I did, and you said no.”
“So, you thought you’d just take matters into your own hands, because you know better than me?”
“I�
��m sorry, Dad.” Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked at Agnes. “I only wanted to meet the woman who might become my stepmum.”
Stepmum? A shudder went through Agnes. Oh, hell no. She was shutting this down. Right now.
“I’m not your dad’s girlfriend, so you don’t have to worry about me becoming your stepmother.” The girl looked weirdly disappointed, which twanged Agnes’ hardened heartstrings like someone playing an out-of-tune guitar inside of her. “I will give you some advice though. If you’re going to fake dark circles, don’t use a shadow with a shimmer. And you might want to enroll in some acting classes. Otherwise, having an ex-cop for a dad will seriously scupper any future cons you run.”
“Will you stop encouraging my granddaughter to rebel and explain exactly what I’m supposed to have stolen,” Shona demanded.
“It’s not encouragement. I’m giving constructive criticism.” It was clear that Logan had inherited his even temper from his father. “And she needs it. I was faking illness better than that by the time I was five.” To her horror, Darcy looked awestruck. “No.” She pointed at the kid. “I’m not teaching you how to do it right.”
“I should think not,” Shona snapped before scowling at Logan. “You’ve got two minutes to explain what’s going on before I leave.”
“I think I can help with that,” Dougal said as he made a dramatic entrance. Today’s ensemble consisted of purple tartan trousers, a purple shirt, and a green waistcoat. The sight made Agnes feel nauseous.
His dog ran in on his heels and headed straight for Darcy, who started cooing over it.
“Dougal,” Jean simpered, batting her eyelashes at him.
His cheeks went red, and he blustered for a second or two. “Jean, it seems you have been stealing from my store cupboard over a period of months, if not years. Empty your bag.”
Sharing a look of confusion with her friends, Jean upended her bag over the coffee table in front of them. Several small shampoo and conditioner bottles fell out.
“They stopped me before I got to the soap,” she explained to her fellow crooks.
Wasn’t anyone taking this seriously? “This is no laughing matter,” Agnes said. “You’ve been picking the lock and helping yourself to the hotel’s sundries. That’s a serious offense.”
“You picked the lock?” Shona said. “I thought you had a key.”
“I forgot it one time. Picking locks hasn’t gotten any easier since the time we tried to get into Lake’s shop. Even after watching all those YouTube videos on how to do it. Maybe I need better lock picks.”
“For goodness’ sake,” Agnes exploded, swapping out the words she wanted to say in deference to the kid’s presence. “You’re stealing from us, and you’re worried about the quality of your picks?”
“We aren’t stealing,” Margaret said to Dougal. “We’ve had an arrangement since you and Jean were an item. Remember, we told you we liked the tiny bottles, and you said that we could help ourselves at cost? We pay every month.”
“Aye.” Jean held up a plain white envelope. “In cash, because you said charging us would make accounting awkward.” She tossed the envelope onto the table, where everyone stared at it for a minute.
“Dougal?” Agnes said at last.
The hotel owner cleared his throat, his face a fluorescent red. “I, um, assumed that arrangement was only in place for the duration of our…dalliance.”
When Logan made a strangled noise, Agnes shot him an irritated glance, only to find that he was suddenly fascinated by the books on her shelf.
“But, Dougal,” Heather said, “how could you think the arrangement was over when we pay you every month?”
He tugged at that damn waistcoat again, making Agnes want to take a pair of scissors to it. “I haven’t received any money since Jean and I separated.”
“Saying it like that makes it sound as though I was paying you for services rendered,” Jean said with a wink.
Logan coughed and ran a hand down his face.
“Who do you give the money to?” Agnes tried to keep the discussion on track. It was like trying to herd kittens.
The women shared a look. “Why, Bernadette, of course.”
Agnes took a deep breath and shouted, “Bernadette, get in here!”
A few seconds later, Bernadette burst through the door. “Yes?” she said, smiling nervously at everyone in the room. With her shoulders up around her ears, she looked like a terrified puppy. And, in a weird twist of fate, both her makeup and the streak of color in her hair matched Dougal’s outfit perfectly.
Agnes picked the envelope up off the table. “Does Jean give you an envelope full of money every month?”
“Oh.” Bernadette visibly relaxed. “Yes, she does.”
“See!” Jean pointed at the receptionist then folded her arms in triumph.
“And what do you do with the envelope?” Agnes said.
“Well.” Bernadette looked up as she concentrated on her answer. “Usually, I buy makeup for my tutorial videos, but one month I bought new lighting for my studio. Well, my bedroom, but that’s where I shoot my videos. The lights have made a huge difference to the quality of the recording. Everyone said they would, but I wasn’t sure until I tried. It’s so, so much better now.”
“You spent the money?” Jean gaped.
“Well, yeah.” Bernadette looked around at everyone. “Wasn’t I supposed to spend it? Did you want me to save it? You never said, but I thought what I did with it was up to me.”
The women started to argue, but Agnes held up a hand for silence. “Bernadette, why did you think Jean was giving you cash?”
“I thought it was a tip. Was I wrong?” She twisted her hands in front of her. “I mean, it’s okay if we get tips, isn’t it? It isn’t against the rules or anything. I don’t think…”
For a second, you could have heard a fly buzz.
“Why on earth would I give you a tip?” Jean said. “I’m not a hotel guest.”
“I thought it was because you appreciated my service.”
“What service?”
“You know, when you come in through the hotel lobby and I’m friendly and stuff. And when I help you carry out new bedding and bring back laundry. That sort of thing.”
“Wait. What?” Agnes turned back to Jean. “We’re doing your laundry?”
“No. Of course not. I just like the sheets here better than mine, so every week I borrow some and bring them back when I pick up new ones.”
Margaret groaned, Shona glared, and Heather reached out to smack Jean on the back of the head.
“Dougal never agreed to us borrowing sheets,” Heather said.
“I didn’t think he’d miss them.” Jean looked at Dougal. “Have I left you short?”
“This is unbelievable,” Agnes muttered.
“I’m confused,” Bernadette said. “It sounds like the money wasn’t a tip.”
That prompted groans all round.
It was time to take control of the three-ring circus happening in her office. Agnes held up her hands and shouted, “Right, things are going to change, starting now. Hand over your keys.” She pointed at Jean. “Anyone else have keys that I don’t know about?” There were shakes of heads. “No more taking toiletries,” she told them. “The arrangement you had with Dougal is over.”
“Well,” Heather said huffily, “I think that’s up to Dougal, not you.”
Agnes turned to her boss and, for the first time since she’d taken the job at his hotel, she let every bit of her irritation show on her face. She folded her arms, tapped her toe, and dared him to undermine her. Career at stake or not, she’d walk out the damn door if he did. “Dougal?”
He took a step back from her while tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I’m afraid I have to agree with my manager. This situation is making it difficult to keep track of stock.”
Agnes nodded her approval. That was the right answer.
“But where will we get our wee shampoos?” Shona said.
; “And those mini soaps. I love the mini soaps,” Margaret added.
“What about my sheets?” Jean asked.
Agnes narrowed her eyes at all of them. “This hotel isn’t your own personal store cupboard. You lot will stop entering the areas that are only intended for staff. If you want access to a room, pay for a night. No more sneaking in early in the morning, and no more giving money to the staff.” She glared at Bernadette. “There will be no more tips. We aren’t in America. Nobody tips in Scotland.”
The receptionist looked crestfallen, but she nodded.
“As for the sheets.” She turned to Jean. “You’ll have to learn to live without them. Otherwise, you can purchase a set from our supplier and pay for washing them yourself.”
“But…” Jean started.
“No,” Margaret said. “She’s being fair.”
“Now.” Agnes folded her arms. “Are any of you helping yourselves to anything else in this hotel?”
“No,” came the chorus as the women looked shamefaced.
Agnes studied them until they squirmed in their seats. Stealing jewelry seemed outside the spectrum of what they’d been doing.
“Okay,” she said at last. “Then I think we’re done here.” She turned to Dougal. “Unless you have anything else to add.”
“No. I don’t think I have. You seem to have everything in hand.” He tugged down his waistcoat, making her want to rugby tackle him and remove the damn thing. “I trust you’ll explain things properly to Bernadette?”
“You can count on it.”
Bernadette looked like she was about to burst into tears, but she held it together, raising Agnes’ opinion of her in the process. Maybe there was hope for her yet.
“Sorry about the sheets, Dougal,” Jean said.
“And I’m sorry we didn’t check the situation over the sundries with you instead of Jean,” Margaret said.
“Aye, we should have known better.” Shona glared at Jean.
“It’s not my fault she pocketed the money.” Jean pointed at Bernadette. “If she’d just given the envelope to Dougal, everything would have been fine.”
Can't Buy Me Love: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 3) Page 9