The Heir of Thornfield Manor

by Ellie Thornton

  She sucked in a breath. “An inside job?”

  “Possibly. Do they get a lot of foot traffic? It could’ve been someone passing through.”

  Right, of course. “Debbie Martel, the store owner, did say that they used to open the grounds every Saturday before Katelyn was killed. So yeah, I guess it could’ve been anyone.”

  “Just watch your back, okay?”

  “You know I will.” She glanced out the window and spotted Daley walking toward the garage with a chainsaw. She furrowed her brow and pulled the curtain back so she could watch him until he disappeared around the corner. What on earth?

  “When are you coming back?” Lee asked.

  She dropped the curtain. “I don’t know, Lee. I need to help them finish this.”

  He breathed out slowly. “Wrap up quick and get back here. They’ve partnered me up with Spencer.”

  “I thought you liked Spencer?”

  “I like him from a distance, but if he tells one more joke, I swear—”

  She chuckled. “I’ll hurry.”

  “Call if you need me.”

  “You know I will.”

  She hung up and dialed Fin. Her call went straight to voicemail. Maybe he was still traveling. She’d try him again later, and if she couldn’t get a hold of him, she’d talk to him at the party tonight. But for now, she needed to tell Patrick.

  * * *

  Patrick had been busy preparing the house for guests when she’d finally found him, and not wanting to bother him, she’d headed to her room to read over the case files again. She got so caught up that hours later when she glanced at the clock, she panicked when she realized people would be arriving within the hour.

  She rushed through a shower, did a blowout on her hair and curled in it large curls, applied a slightly smokier eye shadow than she normally wore, and slipped into her best Sunday dress. The dress was light blue with large white flower prints all over it. It fit snug over her top, had capped sleeves and a V-neck, and flared out at the hips. The hem went to her knees in the front, but hung a few inches longer in the back. It wasn’t a cocktail dress by any means, but she loved it, and it made her feel pretty. Plus, she was sure the blue would bring out the color in Patrick’s eyes.

  She put on nude pumps, fluffed her hair in the mirror one more time, and headed downstairs via the main staircase. From the looks of it, most of the guests had already arrived, and she was glad that the commotion of the arrivals kept everyone’s eyes off her as she made her descent. Patrick stood in the midst of them in his normal three-piece suit, but this time with a dark blue tie and his suit coat. His curls had been combed back but not tamed, and he seemed happier than she’d ever seen him.

  Despite guests vying for his attention, his gaze somehow found her. His eyes went wide as he took her in, and his jaw hung slack. Then a slow, wolfish grin spread over his lips. She sucked in a breath, her cheeks warming at his intense appraisal, and she forced herself to look away. This was the first time he’d seen her in anything fancier than her clean work clothes—not to mention all the times he’d hung around after work when she’d been sweaty and gross. She bit her lip fighting back a smile, pleased that he liked what he saw.

  She had to hold it together. Finley was supposed to be here tonight, and the last thing she needed to be doing was turning strawberry red every time Patrick looked at her.

  Helen stood at the far side of the room, drinking a flute of champagne. She looked absolutely stunning in her knee-length green silk dress. And more than that, she looked relaxed.

  Elizabeth caught her eye, and they waved to one another.

  Alice stood near the door in a black floor-length dress, holding a tray of champagne glasses. Elizabeth came down the last of the steps and skirted around the crowd in the middle of the large foyer, over to Alice.

  “My goodness.” Alice smiled as she approached. “Don’t you clean up nice.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  Alice swatted at her just as Bridgette walked in. Elizabeth froze as the woman dropped her coat from her shoulders and tossed it at her. The coat hit her in the face, and Elizabeth caught it as she stepped back. Bridgette wore a black lacy dress that left one shoulder bare and the other covered in a long sleeve. The material clung to her in all the right ways and ended mid-thigh. It had the appearance of nude under several sections; Elizabeth just hoped it was nude fabric. The woman straightened her spine. She looked good and knew it too.

  “Patrick,” Bridgette belted in a singsong voice over the chatter of the group.

  Alice thrust her tray of drinks forward, and before Bridgette could take off, she swiped one of the flutes. The guests parted as she passed through, then closed in around her again.

  “Talk about making an entrance,” Alice said.

  “I really don’t like her.” Elizabeth chucked the woman’s coat over her shoulder, letting it land on a heap on the floor.

  Alice chuckled, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but join in.

  Patrick went to the stairs and raised his glass. “I want to thank you all for coming and promise you a night you’ll never forget.” The small party cheered. He put a hand in his pocket. “As you’re all aware, we’re here for Katelyn.”

  The group sobered.

  “But this isn’t a night for sadness. This is a night we celebrate her life.” He lifted his glass. “So drink up, eat up, and whatever you do, don’t shut up.”

  The group laughed and raised their glasses.

  “Bottoms up,” he said. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  They drank.

  Elizabeth shook her head. He wasn’t joking when he said he liked the limelight. He certainly knew how to capture their attention. Chatter broke out through the group as Patrick came down the steps. Elizabeth took the opportunity to glance around. It didn’t take her long to spot Debbie and Susan standing together, enraptured by Patrick’s every word—and they weren’t the only ones.

  What would it be like to have that kind of power? Then again, not everyone looked pleased. Phil stood behind his wife and Debbie in a suit two sizes too large, she guessed, and seemed to be trying to kill Daley with his mind. Yikes. Aside from them, she barely recognized anyone else. She’d seen a few of them at the car show, she was pretty sure, but that was it.

  She leaned into Alice. “Who are all these people?”

  Alice pointed to a couple standing arm in arm. “That’s Frankie and Ellen Marshall. Frankie’s the new police chief.”

  That must be why she recognized his name.

  “To the right of them are Debbie Martell, Susan and Phil Strong, and next to them are Steve and Linda Baker,” Alice said.

  Elizabeth was pretty sure she’d seen the Bakers at the car show. They seemed so friendly.

  “Over by that wall are Noah and Kristy Calhoun.” She frowned. “I’d stay away from them if at all possible.”

  Elizabeth took them in. Kristy had a severe look on her face, but still seemed to be listening intently to the conversation around Patrick. A waiter passed by, and Noah, the tall man with narrow features who’d swigged his drink in one go, reached for another glass of champagne. Kristy slapped his hand, and he set the drink back down.

  She grimaced. “Sheesh.”

  Alice frowned. “You don’t know the half of it. He’s the bank manager here in town and spends all of his time at work. They’ve been having troubles for years.”

  Elizabeth spotted one more couple on the opposite side of the room. They were young, perhaps mid-twenties. The girl wore a dress that was only one step less appropriate than Bridgette’s and bright pink to boot. Her boyfriend, for all his good looks, seemed to lack brains—or maybe willpower, or both—as he kept his gaze locked on the girl’s chest. “Who are they?”

  Alice tsked. “That’s Lauren Holt. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but she’s a good girl. She’s just made some unwise decisions. I’ve never met her date.” She cleared her throat, her gaze locked forward. “And of
course you know Bridgette.”

  Bridgette was pressed against Patrick’s side, whispering in his ear.

  Elizabeth frowned. Why was that woman even here? Why was she always around?

  Alice patted her back. “Don’t worry, dear. Patrick only has eyes for you. I haven’t seen him this happy since before Katelyn.”

  As if to confirm her words, Patrick’s gaze found her again and he winked. She felt a small smile creep over her face despite herself, and she fought the urge to face-palm. Bridgette had treated her like a coat rack when she’d come in, and now she was all over Patrick. This wasn’t the time to smile—he was allowing it!

  She turned from him and grabbed the last flute of champagne from Alice’s tray. She forced a straight face and raised her glass to him in salute, then headed for Helen.

  The last thing she wanted was for Patrick to think he could fix their problems by simply smiling his megawatt smile and winking. As far as she could tell, there was absolutely no reason for that woman to be here. Especially if the things he said about her were true. He hadn’t sounded like he liked her.

  Patrick raised his voice. “If everyone will please look to the back of the room where my lovely friend, Helen, is standing.”

  Elizabeth stopped mid-stride. If he was calling Helen out, she didn’t want to be standing next to her.

  Patrick weaved his way through the crowd as he spoke. “Wave, Helen.”

  She did.

  “Helen will lead you down to the ballroom,” he said. He was almost to Elizabeth now, blocking her from going with the group.

  Helen headed off, and the crowd followed, Alice included. Elizabeth huffed and lifted her glass to her lips, but before she could get even the tiniest of tastes, Patrick ripped the glass from her hand and set it on a nearby table as he wrapped her in his arms.

  He kissed the side of her mouth. “Hello, beautiful. This dress is … perfect.”

  She glared. “Is that what you say to all the girls?”

  He chuckled. “Only my favorites.”

  “Does that include Bridgette?”

  He stepped back, dropping his arms from around her waist, leaving only a hand on one of her hips. “Elizabeth, I thought I made my feelings about Bridgette perfectly clear.”

  “So did I,” she said. “Until two minutes ago, when she was heaving her breasts into your face. Somehow she missed the memo.”

  “Daley,” Finley called from the door.

  Elizabeth turned in his direction. He stood in the door in black dress slacks with his normal white shirt and blazer and a salmon-colored tie. He removed a dark raincoat and ran a hand through his wet locks. It was then his gaze narrowed in on Patrick’s hand on her waist. She moved away from Patrick and toward Finley. Patrick followed close behind.

  “You made it,” Patrick said. “Is he here?”

  Finley’s lips pursed and his gaze flitted to her quickly before landing on Daley again. “I said I’d bring him, and I did.”

  “Bring who?” Elizabeth asked.

  Before either of them could answer, a man came through the door. His salt-and-pepper hair sparkled in the light from the overhead chandelier, slightly dusted with a mist that not even the veranda could spare them from. He stood tall and stiff as a board, and his broad shoulders spoke of physical strength uncommon of his years, and confidence. He wore dark jeans and cowboy boots with a button-up shirt and a tasseled tie with a large silver clip. Between those things and his mustache, she couldn’t help think of the old Western films her dad used to love.

  “This had better be good, Daley,” the man said in a husky voice—his dark eyes narrowed in and sent a chill up her spine.

  Patrick stepped forward, hand extended. The man took it reluctantly.

  Finley made eye contact, his gaze apologetic.

  Patrick turned to her. “Elizabeth Shea, I’d like you to meet former Thornfield Police Chief Benson Shaw.”

  It was all Elizabeth could do to keep a straight face as the floor seemed to drop out from under her. She listed off the names she knew: Debbie Martel, Phil Strong, Frankie and Ellen Marshall, Bridgette Stevens, and now Benson Shaw.

  This wasn’t a party. It was a gathering of suspects.

  Sure, there were other guests here that didn’t seem to be connected to Katelyn’s death, but she was willing to bet cold, hard cash they were. And neither Finley nor Daley had had the courtesy of warning her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Despite the look in Finley’s eyes, a look that seemed more disappointed than anything else, Elizabeth grabbed Patrick’s hand and pulled him down the hall to the ballroom where all the guests were. She could only deal with one thing at a time. Patrick came willingly, and while she hadn’t looked back at him, she could almost sense a smug grin on his face. She led him to the door of the ballroom, where they could see everyone, and stopped. Music from a wireless speaker vibrated a bouquet standing on a table to their right, playing Frank Sinatra’s “Luck Be a Lady.”

  The suspects had all taken their seats at a large dining table that had been set up and were currently being served delicious meals of what looked to be chicken thighs, creamy potatoes, and asparagus. It smelled heavenly.

  Patrick whispered in her ear. “If your plan is to kiss me senseless, I can’t say I’m against the idea—only I doubt this bouquet will give us the privacy you’re looking for.”

  Clenching her jaw, she turned on him.

  His grin dropped the moment he saw her face. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “What is it about this place that makes people go absolutely insane?” Her fury and frustration were barely contained. Here she’d been thinking that this town was okay, but now, seeing all the people who’d had part in Katelyn’s death, she wasn’t so sure. Even Daley had concocted this insane plan to, to … to what? What was he even doing?

  “What do you mean?”

  The rain outside picked up its pounding rhythm, fighting for attention with the smooth timbre of “Ol’ Blue Eyes.”

  Since she’d met Patrick, there’d been a side of him that scared her, a side he barely tamped down. And now he was here, in a room full of people who’d all played a part in his wife’s death. Could she trust him? She wasn’t so sure. At best he was unpredictable, at worst a man blinded by his need for revenge. A revenge he’d sworn to her he’d get. A chill shot up her spine, and the lights flickered once more, then extinguished—the music played on.

  Another bolt of lightning hit outside the window, sending a flash of cold light over the room a mere second before a crashing boom seemed to shake the very foundation on which they stood. And yet its power and proximity had nothing on the foreboding that rushed through her when she made eye contact with Patrick.

  A nervous chattering started up when the lights didn’t turn back on. Sinatra’s voice trailed off, and another deeper voice replaced his and started singing “Memories Are Made of This.” Dean Martin. As much as her mother had loved musicals, her father had felt just as strongly about the Rat Pack. In the past this song would’ve made her smile; now it just sent a chill up her spine.

  Benson Shaw came to a stop beside them. “I’m here as a courtesy and nothing more.” Shaw lifted his chin and fixed his eyes on the group of people situated around the table.

  Patrick rested a hand on Shaw’s back and smiled. It was the kind of smile that said, We both know that’s not true. “And it’s appreciated.”

  “I have no intention of staying all night at your asinine party.”

  Lightning struck again, causing another round of screams from the women.

  Bridgette’s voice came from a dark silhouette at the table. “Patrick, will the lights be back on soon?”

  Just then, Alice appeared from the hall with a Mag flashlight and two candelabras. She gave Patrick a pointed look, then set the candelabras down. Helen stood and lit one of the candles; then both women took to lighting candles.

  Patrick ushered Shaw toward the table. “Have a seat, Shaw. Enjoy some foo
d. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  The man groaned under his mustache and did as he was told.

  Elizabeth grimaced. She’d lost her chance to talk to him about it for now.

  Alice started to follow, but Elizabeth grabbed her arm. “Where’s Finley?”

  Alice blinked at her, her gaze skirting to Patrick and back so fast, Elizabeth almost missed it. “He went downstairs to check the circuit breaker.”

  “I’ll see if he needs help,” Elizabeth said. The last thing they needed was this particular group of people stranded together in the dark.

  Alice handed Elizabeth a flashlight and pulled another from somewhere in her gown. It was like a concealed carry, flashlight style.

  Clicking the light on, Elizabeth glanced at Patrick before turning to leave. His lips were down-turned and his expression hard. She briefly thought about asking him what was wrong, but she had a gut feeling that expression had to do with her going to help Finley, so she didn’t ask.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The basement steps creaked beneath Elizabeth’s feet as she descended the stairs. Before she was even halfway down, a beam of light shot up at her. She covered her eyes with her hand. “Lower it, Fin. It’s just me.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Mrs. Dawes gave me the light. Can you believe how bright these are?”

  Yes, she could. She’d seen them in action more than once. “How can I help?”

  “The problem’s not with the circuit breaker.”

  Okay, all right. Everything would be fine. They just needed to call the power company. “Do you have your cell on you?” Hers was upstairs in her bedroom.

  He pulled it out and hit a few buttons before lifting it to his ear. “It’s not going through.”

  A nervous swirl of energy settled over her, starting at the top of her head and working its way slowly down her frame to the tips of her toes. “Come on.” She headed up the stairs with Fin close behind. At the top, she glanced around for one of the servers Patrick had hired for the night. There was no one.