Cloche and Dagger
Page 22
Nick shook his head and threw an arm about me. ‘Don’t unravel on us now, Scarlett.’
The others laughed and I pouted.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go call the police.’
‘Fine,’ I said.
* * *
We called Inspectors Franks and Simms and Harrison and all three arrived within moments. Simms bagged Elise’s knife and hauled her off to the station with a couple of uniforms while Franks stayed to interview us.
Andre and Nick made their departure when it was apparent that this would take a while. They promised to return the next day to get the full story.
When Harrison finally walked Inspector Franks to the door, the detective was positively beaming, and as the door shut after him, I heard him break into a rich baritone as he belted out an Alan Jackson song.
Vivian gave me a perplexed look.
‘He fancies himself a country-western singer,’ I said. ‘We really should go and see him at the pub sometime.’
Harrison collapsed onto one of the empty chairs, looking relieved. ‘Is it finally over?’
‘Yes, I do believe the mystery of who killed Lady Ellis is solved,’ I said. ‘But there is one thing I’m unclear on.’
‘What’s that?’ Viv asked.
‘I still don’t understand about the wardrobe,’ I said. ‘Elise said it was locked the night she broke in to search it for Vicks’s hat.’
‘And?’ Viv prodded.
‘And, I’ve never locked it and I don’t think Fee did either,’ I said. ‘So how could it have been locked?’
Viv and Harrison exchanged a look and then Viv got up and started whistling. She didn’t say a word. She just disappeared through the door that led upstairs and finally even her whistle faded into nothing.
I turned to look at Harrison. ‘What was that about?’
‘No idea,’ he said. He rose from his seat and headed for the door.
‘Harry, what is going on?’ I demanded as I followed him. ‘You and Viv are keeping secrets. Even Fiona said something about the wardrobe just doing what it does. What did she mean?’
Harrison turned to face me, and I felt caught in his emerald-green gaze as he asked, ‘Are you staying?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, but he didn’t explain. Instead he turned and continued to the door.
‘Come on, Harry,’ I cajoled. ‘We’ve been through so much together. Tell me.’
He was almost at the door when he turned abruptly and I slammed into him. He caught me by the arms and steadied me on my feet.
‘It’s Harrison,’ he said, but he was grinning as he laced his fingers with mine. ‘Who do you suppose would lock the wardrobe to keep a hat safe?’
‘I don’t know. Who?’ I asked.
‘Think about it,’ he said. He stepped forward and kissed me gently on the forehead. Then he let go of my fingers and strode out the door.
I stomped my foot. This was positively maddening. I locked the door and set the alarm. As I crossed the room to go upstairs, I glanced at the wardrobe.
‘All right, Ferd,’ I said. ‘You win this round, but I’ll have your secrets yet.’
It may have been a trick of the light, but I was quite certain this time that he did wink at me, and then the faint scent of Lily of the Valley filled the air. It was Mim’s scent. The same scent I had smelled in my room after Elise had almost suffocated me. But instead of feeling the grief of Mim’s loss this time, I felt engulfed in warmth like I was being hugged. I stood perfectly still until the scent dissipated.
‘Mim?’ I asked. There was no answer. Duly spooked, I raced up the stairs, slamming the door behind me.
Viv had obviously gone to bed, so I tiptoed up to my own room as quietly as I could with my heart racing and my knees trembling. I was being ridiculous. I knew it, and yet, I couldn’t seem to help it.
Then I thought of Mim and her no-nonsense ways, and I stiffened my spine. I was no coward. Was I going to stay and find out what my cousin wasn’t telling me? That Mim was still here in some mystical way? That it was Mim’s ghost that had locked the cupboard and comforted me when I needed it?
Embraced by the hideous pink as I walked into my room, I smiled as I switched off the light.
‘Heck, yeah,’ I said out loud. ‘I’m staying.’
Acknowledgments
Attempting to write about a foreign setting was a daring leap for me. Luckily, I had my agent, Jessica Faust; my editor, Kate Seaver; assistant editor, Katherine Pelz; and my family and friends to hold the net for me when I jumped. This is invaluable when you are taking a neck-breaking risk and so I thank each and every one of you.
I’d also like to express my eternal gratitude to my fellow authors Hannah Dennison, Rhys Bowen and Deborah Crombie for being willing to slog through the unedited galleys of Cloche and Dagger. As always, the generosity of the writing community leaves me humbled to be a part of it. Also, I’d like to thank my author friend Dorien Kelly, who introduced me to Andrea Blohm, a hat designer, who patiently answered my e-mails about the hat business and kept me from botching the details. And because it is all in the details, I’d like to acknowledge my cover artist Robert Steele for this truly brilliant cover. It’s perfect.
Lastly, I’d like to tip my hat to the three men in my life who make every day a wonderful new adventure. Chris, Beckett and Wyatt, I love you!
Next in Hat Shop Mystery:
Death of a Mad Hatter
One in a milliner.
Find out more
First published in the United States in 2013 by Berkley
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 Shepherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Jenn McKinlay, 2013
The moral right of Jenn McKinlay to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788636568
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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