by Fiona Grace
Tom tutted affectionately and shook his head. “You can’t help yourself when it comes to sleuthing, can you?” he said. But it was without judgment. Tom had expressed his concerns with how deeply Lacey threw herself into police matters before, yet he had clearly accepted this part of her, or he wouldn’t be sitting opposite her now, one day away from committing to her for the rest of his life, and not looking even remotely like he was about to run for the hills.
Lacey shook her head, sighing at herself for her silly behavior. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Tom said. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. I just don’t like it when you keep secrets from me.”
Lacey opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again, as her mind wandered to the other secret she’d been keeping from Tom. The pregnancy scare. She had to tell him.
Mustering up the courage, Lacey opened her mouth to explain. But before she uttered the first syllable, Tom’s gaze suddenly went past her shoulder.
“Harry?” he cried.
Surprised, Lacey turned in her chair. Tom’s distant ex-step-half-cousin was halfway through the café door, his bright yellow sports car parked on the cobblestone curb just beyond.
“Tom!” Harry cried, looking just as surprised to have run into him. He took Tom’s extended hand and pulled him into an embrace, laughing merrily.
“What are you doing here?” Tom said.
“Just checking out the competition,” he said with another chuckle. “I want to see whose macarons are the best.”
Tom let out a hearty belly laugh. Lacey was pleased to see how happy he was in Harry’s company, and felt guilty that she didn’t share the sentiment.
Harry turned to her. “Lacey!” he said, genially.
He bent down and bestowed kisses on each of her cheeks. She raised herself slightly to accept them, but didn’t stand all the way.
“Sit down!” Tom cried, enthusiastically. “Join us for lunch. That’s okay, isn’t it, Lacey?”
Stomach sinking, Lacey had no choice but to nod. “Yes. Of course. The more the merrier.”
So much for no more secrets.
*
“Lochaber,” Harry said, leaning forward to dunk his bread roll in the small dish of olive oil. “Beautiful place to live.” He took a big bite of his bread and looked at Lacey as he spoke through his mouthful. “You ever been to Scotland, Lace?”
Lacey cringed at the sound of the nickname she disliked so much. She prodded her barely eaten salad with her fork and shook her head. Tiger prawn linguine salad with a chili and lime dressing had all the hallmarks of being her favorite, but she’d lost her appetite for it.
Harry tutted at Tom. “What’s wrong with you?” he ribbed. “Not taking your lovely lady to the most beautiful place in the UK!” He looked at Lacey and wiggled his brows. “You know there’s still time to change your mind and marry me,” he joked.
Tom laughed, but Lacey was barely able to rouse a smile. As wonderful as it was having his distant second cousin here for Tom, it was actually a bit of an imposition for Lacey. She was not in the right headspace to entertain him, and he always seemed to be there at just the wrong moment.
“Harry works in excavation,” Tom informed her.
“Oh?” Lacey said, politely.
“Dredging lochs,” Harry replied. “It’s not glamorous, but it makes me a decent enough wage.”
He pointed again to the yellow sports car out the window. He was obviously very proud of it. Lacey was starting to find his bragging a little bit grating.
“How’s your business, Lacey?” Harry asked. “Tom’s told me everything there is to know about pastry.” He pretended to yawn. “But I’m more interested in what you do. Antiques. Auctioneering. I bet you’ve sold some really fascinating treasures in your time.”
“Uh-huh,” Lacey said absentmindedly, prodding a prawn on her plate with her fork. “Sculptures. Jewels. Art. A Roman coin. It’s all been very exciting.”
“Sounds great,” Harry said, leaning forward on his elbows with interest, as if wanting more.
Lacey shifted uncomfortably. She had nothing more to offer. Her heart really wasn’t in this conversation. Her mind was too full of all kinds of other worries to chat about her job.
“Tell me,” Harry said, prompting her since she wasn’t being forthcoming. “What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever sold?” His eyes flashed with interest.
Lacey took a moment to think about it. The most expensive item had been a letter from Queen Victoria to Charles Dickens, but that had turned out to be a forgery and the payment reversed, so probably didn’t count.
“I guess it was when—” Lacey began, but her voice trailed away as her gaze was caught by someone walking past the window.
Brown hair. Freckles. Fifty-odd.
It was Marcus Moyles!
She jumped up from her seat, catching her knife and fork as she did and making them clatter loudly against the side of the ceramic dish. Her sudden movement made Tom and Harry jump with surprise. From beneath the table, Chester leapt to attention and scrambled out, his ears pointing upward, alert.
“Lacey?” Tom said, looking surprised. “Are you okay?”
Lacey kept her eyes on Marcus Moyles walking by the window as she replied. “I’m fine. I have something to do. I’ll be right back.” She discarded her napkin on the table.
“Lacey!” Tom exclaimed, standing as she dashed for the door. He looked bemused at her suddenly running out on lunch. “Where are you going?”
Lacey paused, hand on the door handle. She felt bad about running out, but she suddenly had a shot at solving the case. She might’ve promised the detectives not to meddle, but this opportunity had simply dropped in her lap, and she’d be a fool not to take it.
“I’ll be right back!” she cried, heaving open the door.
And with that, she dashed out of the café on the tail of Marcus Moyles, leaving a stunned-looking Tom and Harry behind.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“Marcus!” Lacey cried as she raced along the street to catch up to her prime suspect. “Marcus Moyles!”
At the sound of his name, the man halted. He turned, took one look at the woman barreling down the street after him with an English shepherd at her heels, then turned back around and broke into a sprint.
“Oh no you don’t, you slimy weasel,” Lacey said.
She took off after him.
Marcus raced along the cobblestones, turning at a small side alleyway and disappearing out of sight. Lacey raced after him onto the small pedestrianized footpath flanked by tall town houses either side. As they went, Marcus kept making furtive, panicked glances behind him.
“Stop!” Lacey called, but of course he did not listen.
Heart pumping, Lacey followed Marcus and saw him dart through the wrought iron gates of the public gardens. The small patch of grass was popular with locals, especially young families and dog walkers, and was full of overgrown hedges. He wasn’t going to attempt to hide, was he? Lacey wondered.
She raced through the gate after him, propelling herself so quickly its hinges creaked in protest. The green was filled with buggies and prams, and small children in puffy winter jackets crisscrossing on their push scooters. Lacey suddenly realized why Marcus had chosen to divert this way. Not to hide, but because of all the moving obstacles now blocking her from him.
She screeched to a halt, narrowly avoiding slamming straight into a small child on a tricycle, and craned her neck with frustration as Marcus dodged and weaved through a group of chilly-looking picnickers, beelining for the exit gate on the other side.
“Chester,” Lacey said, turning to her dog. “It’s over to you, buddy. Bring him down.”
Chester immediately obeyed. He went racing across the gardens, weaving around the children on their various modes of transport, leaping over babies in prams, jumping from one bench to the next, much to the astonishment of the young women sitting on them sipping coffee, then leapt through the air, paws
first, and rammed Marcus Moyles square in the back.
Marcus staggered, then went down to his knees. Chester shoved his paws on his shoulders and the man folded forward. Chester, the victor, barked with triumph.
Lacey punched the air. “Good boy!” she cried.
But when she realized everyone was staring at her aghast, she felt the need to shake an apologetic hand. “Don’t worry. Citizen’s arrest,” she said, coyly.
She hurried through the gardens, passing all the stunned children and astonished picnickers who just moments earlier had been used as a stepping-stone for an English shepherd, and reached the crumpled form of Marcus Moyles.
“Aha!” she exclaimed, bending down and turning the man around.
She held him by the lapels of his suit. His clothes were rumpled from when Chester had rugby-tackled him to the ground. There was dirt smudged across his chin.
“Why are you chasing me?” he cried, sounding terrified.
“Because you’re a criminal!” Lacey accused. “I know what you did at the Lodge. Admit it!”
The crowd of onlookers were all murmuring between themselves now. Several people had stood up to get a better view. Several more were on their cell phones, no doubt calling the cops. Little did they know, Lacey thought triumphantly.
“What are you talking about?” Marcus cried.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Lacey said, giving him a little shake for emphasis. “I was there in the dining room the day Greg was murdered. I overheard him bragging to you about the gold he’d found. You stole it off him, didn’t you!”
Suddenly, tears welled in Marcus’s eyes. “I was drunk!”
“You think that’s an excuse?” she demanded.
“No,” he stammered. “No. I know it’s not an excuse. But it’s the truth. I drank too much. I lost my judgment. My sense of morality.”
Lacey couldn’t quite believe she’d gotten a confession out of him so easily. And with so many witnesses. But then she realized he’d not said the confession aloud, and it would count for nothing unless he did.
“So you admit it?” she prompted, pressing him by the lapels against the ground in what she hoped was a vaguely intimidating way.
“Yes! Yes! I admit it! I broke into his room. I tried to steal his gold.”
“And then what? He caught you? You fought?” She shook him again. “How did it go from attempted burglary to murder?”
Marcus paused. He blinked at her, looking perplexed. He took a few moments to register what she had just accused him of, before his whole demeanor shifted dramatically.
“Murder?” he echoed incredulously. “You think I killed him? I did nothing of the sort!” He tried to shove her hands off, but failed. “I tried to steal his gold, that’s all.”
“A likely story,” Lacey said, tightening her grip on his lapels. But doubt was starting to form in her mind. The change in his mannerisms had been quite abrupt when she’d accused him of murder, and not the sort of thing that could easily be faked. She shook the doubts away. All signs had led to Marcus. Besides, only guilty men ran. “If you didn’t kill him, then why did you run the moment you saw me?”
“Because of your dog!” Marcus stammered. “And because of…” His eyes suddenly widened at something over her shoulder. “…Him!”
Lacey swirled. A huge hulking figure was looming above them. She held her arm up to shield her eyes from the bright winter sun, only to find herself staring up into the furious eyes of Superintendent Turner.
Her stomach clenched. “Uh-oh.”
“Lacey, please get off this man,” Superintendent Turner said calmly.
He had his hands on his hips, and his face was blank. Not that Lacey was fooled. She knew Karl Turner well enough now to know he was fuming, he just had an amazing ability to remain measured.
With a grimace, Lacey rolled off of Marcus Moyles and stood.
Chester followed her lead, leaving the crumpled figure now entirely exposed. He had his hands up in a truce position, with a terrified look on his face. He looked rather pathetic lying there, Lacey couldn’t help but think.
Superintendent Turner bent down and offered him a hand to help him up. Cautiously, Marcus took the detective’s hand and allowed himself to be tugged to his feet—something the largely built Superintendent Turner managed with ease. Once standing, he smoothed down his rumpled clothes.
“Marcus Moyles?” Superintendent Turner asked.
“That’s right,” the trembling man replied.
“I’m arresting you on suspicion of breaking and entering.” The detective produced cuffs from his pocket. “It’s in relation to an attempted theft at the Lodge hotel.”
Marcus’s gaze dropped to his feet with shame. Superintendent Turner continued reading him his rights as he cuffed his hands behind his back and led him to the waiting car on the other side of the iron gates.
As they went, Lacey spotted DCI Lewis coming in through the gates. She came right up to her and folded her arms sternly.
“Is this what not getting involved looks like to you?” she asked with dry sarcasm. “You promised to leave this case alone!”
“Our prime suspect walked right past my window,” Lacey explained. “I couldn’t exactly sit there and do nothing!”
Beth was shaking her head. “Our? Our? Lacey! You’re not a cop! Marcus Moyles is mine and Karl’s prime suspect and he’s nothing to do with you whatsoever.”
“Aha!” Lacey exclaimed. “You admit he’s your prime suspect.” She felt vindicated. As much as she disliked being admonished by her friend, it did take the sting out of it somewhat when she knew she was in the right.
Beth puckered her lips. “Yes. Okay. He is a prime suspect. But we were already on his tail. You didn’t need to get involved.”
“Well, I didn’t know that, did I?” Lacey continued. “For all I knew, he might well have been a flight risk.”
“Flight risk or not, it’s not your job,” Beth continued.
Lacey just couldn’t agree. She’d prefer to get in trouble for something she’d done, than to do nothing and have someone else end up dead! The ends certainly justified the means, as far as she was concerned.
“Well, I’m sorry to have been such an inconvenience to you,” Lacey replied.
Beth rolled her eyes. “Your dog pounced on him,” she continued. “You know it’s against the law to have a dangerously out of control dog.”
“Now you and I both know Chester is neither dangerous nor out of control,” Lacey replied, petting her patiently waiting pooch. “And I personally think his takedown was rather elegant. Besides, it was at my command anyway and—”
“Lacey!” Beth snapped, losing her patience. “These witnesses don’t know that.” She threw her arm out to the passerby in the park, many of whom had already lost interest in the ruckus and gone back to whatever they’d been doing in the first place. “As far as they’re concerned, some crazed dog just pounced on a member of the public for no reason. They’re probably expecting me to impound him for their safety!”
Lacey looked over at Chester, sitting alert beside her. He barked happily. He must be very proud of his efforts. As he should be. As far as Lacey was concerned, they’d caught the bad guy. The cops should be thanking them, not threatening impoundment! Especially when anyone with two eyes could see he wouldn’t so much as hurt a fly, and none of the people around them seemed to care much about what had happened anyway.
“Why can’t you just leave this alone?” Beth continued. “You’re getting married tomorrow! Why don’t you go home and relax or go to a spa or something. Jeez, Lacey.”
“You know very well Karl basically left me no choice,” Lacey explained. “He’s ruining my wedding. My family is scrambling to get a plan B together as we speak.”
“At least there is a plan B!” Beth snapped. “Because unless you stop meddling, you’ll be spending your wedding day locked in a cell.”
“Why is he being like this?” Lacey cried, gesturing to Superintendent
Turner over by the car. “Why won’t he let me bend this one rule?”
“One rule?” Beth repeated with raised eyebrows. “You have no idea how much flack that man’s taken because of you. How many rules he’s already bent for you. You think I’m the good guy on your side, and he’s the bad guy against you? Who do you think let all those transgressions slide?”
Lacey snapped her lips together. It had never occurred to her that Karl Turner had been the one to pull all those strings to keep her out of jail—and there had been many, many times she’d done things she could’ve been arrested for. The thought that he had been defending her all this time made her feel awful for all the trouble she’d caused.
“I had no idea,” Lacey said, lamely, her shame growing. “I’m sorry.”
Beth sighed. “You’re good at solving crimes, Lacey. If you were a detective, you’d be an asset. But you’re a civilian. You put us in a difficult position every time you get involved. So we have no choice but to put our foot down this time. His retirement comes first.” She pointed at Karl Turner standing by the Merc busy filling in the arrest form for Marcus Moyles. “I know we’re friends, Lacey, but when it comes to your wedding versus his retirement and my promotion, you can see why there’s too much at stake.”
Lacey took a deep breath. She was defeated. There was no changing either of their minds on this one. No way to bend any of the rules. She had to stay out of the case and accept the reality that it wasn’t going to get solved in time to save her forest ceremony. And if she didn’t buck up and accept Plan B, there wouldn’t be a wedding at all. Because she’d be sitting in a cell instead.
“I’m so sorry,” Lacey said, sadly, seeing Beth’s point of view. “I promise to stop.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Lacey was about to head back to the café when she heard her phone ding with an incoming message. She checked it. It was from Tom.
Harry and I have left now. Hope everything’s okay with you?