by Fiona Grace
She cringed as she remembered running out on them. Harry probably thought she was very rude, and she would’ve liked the opportunity to go back and explain herself to him. But there was no chance now.
And worse than that, she’d lost her one chance of telling Tom about the pregnancy scare.
Shoulders slumped, she trudged back to the store instead.
She’d expected to at least have felt slightly happy to have caught Marcus and gotten a half confession out of him, but instead she felt disappointed that her efforts were going unnoticed.
The bell tinkled softly overhead as she went inside the store. To her surprise, it was now quiet and peaceful. She closed the door quietly behind her.
Chester hurried over to Boudica, wagging his tail as if to say, “You won’t believe what just happened!”
Gina glanced up from the counter at Lacey standing by the door. She looked stressed. Harried. Lacey wondered what was going on.
“Where is everyone?” she asked, as she began walking across the shop floor toward her friend.
“Reorganizing your wedding!” Gina replied.
So that’s why she looked so stressed, Lacey realized. She felt bad for her. This was a lot of pressure to take, changing everything last minute. Maybe it would be better just to call the whole thing off? At least then she could avoid her mom and dad meeting again and having another horrible repetition of the fight from earlier.
“Oh,” Lacey said glumly. She reached the red velvet loveseat and flopped into it.
“You look terrible,” Gina commented. “What’s wrong?”
Lacey let her head drop into her hands, her dark curls falling over her arms. “Everything. My parents. The wedding.” She looked up at her friend. “And I think I might be pregnant.”
She hadn’t meant to say it, but it just slipped out. Lacey had to admit, now that it was out there, it felt good to get a weight off her mind.
Gina’s eyes widened with astonishment. “Oh darling, why didn’t you say!” she exclaimed.
She hurried from around the counter and raced over to the loveseat, flopping down beside Lacey and cradling her in her arms in the sort of affectionate, motherly gesture Lacey’s own mom rarely gave.
“How long have you been carrying that around on your own?” Gina cooed, gently.
“A couple days.”
“Does Tom know?”
Lacey shook her head. “I keep meaning to tell him but it’s never the right time. The first test was inconclusive. I thought if I took a second one and it was negative, I could just not tell him at all.”
Gina released her and rolled her eyes, though it was without malice. “That’s never sensible in a partnership, is it? You should tell each other everything.”
“I know,” Lacey said glumly. “But now his cousin Harry is here, there isn’t any time. I tried to tell him over lunch but all Harry wanted to talk about was business.” She sighed.
“Ugh, Cousin Harry,” Gina said. She scoffed from the back of her throat.
“Not a fan?” Lacey asked.
Gina started to chuckle. In a low voice, she said, “Well, he’s a bit bloody smarmy, isn’t he?”
Lacey laughed. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so!”
She hated to admit it, since Tom seemed so thrilled his old buddy had turned up, but Harry just wasn’t her cup of tea. He bragged a bit too much.
Just then, the store phone started to ring.
“I’d better get that,” Lacey said with an exhalation. She pushed up from the couch and looked back down at Gina. “Thank you,” she said to her friend. “For everything. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“It’s what friends are for,” Gina replied with a smile. “Now pick up that phone before the ringing drives me batty.”
Lacey smiled affectionately and went over to the counter. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Lacey?” a croaky voice came on the other end, immediately recognizable as that of Abbot Weeks.
“Abbot Weeks,” she said, surprised. “Is everything okay?”
“I’ve heard about what’s going on there,” the man replied. “Brother Benedict was questioned by the police? And was forced to break his prayerful silence?”
“Um… yes…” Lacey began. “I mean, it was an obvious misunderstanding and—”
“—I’m not happy about it,” the abbot said, cutting her off. “I sent Brother Benedict with you because I had assumed this would be a safe project for him to oversee. That it would fit in well with his other commitments. Evidently, I have made a mistake. I want him to come back to the abbey. Now.”
“Oh!” Lacey squeaked, her heart hitching. She’d grown very fond of Brother Benedict during his stay. He was a calming presence when it felt like everything else around her was descending into chaos. She’d be sorry to see him go. “I understand,” she said into the receiver. “When can I expect his replacement to arrive?”
“Replacement?” Abbot Weeks exclaimed. “I’m not sending a replacement. I want Brother Benedict to come back and bring the scepter with him!”
Lacey’s heart began to pound. “But—” she stammered. “But I’ve not finished my research yet.”
“We’ll have to get someone else to do the work,” Abbot Weeks replied.
Lacey’s shoulders slumped. She felt terrible. She’d really wanted to be the one to finish the job and help the charity she now strongly believed in. Instead, she’d let everyone down.
“I… I understand,” she said, glumly. “I’ll just go and fetch him.”
But just as she was about to rest the phone down and head to the back room, the store door suddenly flew open. It was so abrupt and fast, the bell jangled noisily.
Startled, Lacey looked over to see a man come bounding in, wrapped up in a gray duffle coat with a Hufflepuff yellow and black striped scarf. It was Professor Crispin Noble, and he looked extremely excited.
Lacey cupped her hand over the phone’s speaker. “Professor?” she asked as he hop-skipped toward her. “What’s happened? Did you find something?”
“I think I did!” he cried. “I think I’ve cracked it!”
Hope blossomed in Lacey’s chest. She removed her hand from over the speaker and spoke into it. “Abbot Weeks, can you give me just one last chance with the scepter? I think I might have had a breakthrough.”
“It’s too late,” Abbot Weeks’s voice croaked in her ear. “I’ve given you plenty of time.”
Lacey squeezed the phone tightly, her gaze fixed on the eager face of Crispin Noble. “Please,” she said. “Just a couple more hours. Then I’ll drive Brother Benedict and the scepter back to the abbey myself, with the results.”
There was a long pause. Finally, she heard the head abbot sigh.
“All right,” he replied. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Thank you!” Lacey squeaked. “I won’t let you down!”
She put down the phone.
Filled with anticipation, Lacey led Crispin Noble into the back room.
As they entered, Brother Benedict stirred from his position in the corner. A flash of curiosity registered in his eyes as he looked from Lacey to the professor.
“Good news,” Lacey told him, enthused. “We might have had a breakthrough. And just in the nick of time. Abbot Weeks has summoned you back to the abbey.”
Brother Benedict’s face shifted through several different expressions in quick succession. Curiosity and excitement first, swiftly followed by sorrow. Lacey wondered if he was just as unhappy about the thought of leaving here as she was about him going.
She pushed those thoughts away as she took the wooden crate containing the scepter over to the table and opened up the box.
Crispin Noble approached and picked up the gold scepter gently.
“What are you checking for?” Lacey asked him.
“The inscription,” he replied, peering intently at the scepter. “I think I found something in my research related to the
Latin phrase. If I’m right, the treasure hunter may very well have been murdered because of it.”
Lacey frowned, confused. There was already a suspect sitting in jail accused of Greg’s murder. It would only be a matter of time before Superintendent Turner and DCI Lewis wore him down in the interrogation room and squeezed a confession of murder out of him. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the scepter. Marcus Moyles was a chancer, someone who’d inadvertently stumbled upon an opportunity. He wasn’t a smart man or a scholar. Not only would he possess zero knowledge about the scepter’s existence, he’d also have no interest in a Latin inscription, surely?
“You’re going to have to explain,” Lacey said. “Because as far as I understand, Greg’s murder had nothing to do with the scepter.”
Crispin turned to face her, looking bemused. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to argue his point, but he must’ve changed his mind. Instead, he said, “Oh? My mistake,” and turned back to his work.
Lacey let the curious exchange hang in the air between them.
“It’s a good thing your thief ran off before they could get the safe open,” Crispin said as he worked. “None of my photos had a clear enough view of the inscription.”
Suddenly, Lacey faltered. How did he know about the attempted break-in at her store? She hadn’t told him. Presumably Gina hadn’t either. So how did he know?
Suddenly, a new theory popped into Lacey’s mind. Crispin Noble had been the one to break into her store. He wasn’t even supposed to be in town anymore.
A chill went through Lacey. She looked over at Brother Benedict. The monk must have had the same thought as her, because he looked suddenly very wary of the man standing at the desk inspecting the scepter.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
“It was you,” Lacey stammered, backing away from the professor.
“What was me?” Crispin Noble asked, in a voice that suggested innocence.
But Lacey knew better. There was no way for the professor to know about the break-in at her store, let alone the extra details about the safe. He was feigning his innocence because he was the culprit!
Growing increasingly nervous, Lacey took another step back from him, close enough to Brother Benedict to feel his calming aura. She drew strength from it.
“You were the one who broke into my store,” she accused Crispin Noble.
The professor’s face blanched. He did not need to say another word for Lacey to get her answer. His guilty expression said it all. Sitting in front of her was the masked intruder who’d tried to steal the scepter from the safe!
“Now listen,” Crispin Noble said, raising both hands in a stop gesture. “It’s not what you think.”
“Did you do it?” Lacey demanded again.
In response to her demand, the professor was becoming increasingly flustered. He wrung his hands nervously in front of him, looking so far from the thief she’d envisioned she briefly thought she must have made a mistake. That was, until he spoke.
“I—I, yes,” he stammered. “Yes, it was me.”
Anger raced through Lacey’s veins. She exchanged a glance with Brother Benedict. Even without words she could feel the fury in his eyes and the anger of his feelings. The scepter was the abbey’s only chance at keeping its outreach program operational—the very same program that had saved Brother Benedict from a life of misery. For him, this was personal, and Lacey was quietly relieved he’d taken a vow of pacifism. Had it not been for that, she was quite certain he would’ve lamped Crispin Noble!
The tension in the room was so palpable, it even affected Chester. He went back on his haunches, adopting a defensive pose, and began to emit a low growl.
“Let me explain,” Crispin said.
“You think I want to hear your explanation?” Lacey challenged. “As if there’s any way to justify an attempted robbery?”
But before he answered, a horrible thought overcame Lacey. Was Crispin also the person who’d killed Greg Ford? Were the theft and the murder connected?
Her mind began to race. As much as her instinct was to lay into this awful man who’d admitted to trying to steal from her, if Crispin really was the killer, then he was dangerous and she needed the cops here right now. And that meant keeping him talking until they got there.
Swallowing her anger, Lacey slid her hand into her pocket for her cell phone. “Did Greg offer you a deal?” she said, forcing out a measured voice.
Crispin shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.”
His eyes kept darting from Lacey to the monk to Chester and the door, as if assessing his chances of escaping. They were slim, Lacey decided, but that didn’t stop her from thumbing the speed dial to Wilfordshire station into her phone in her pocket. She prayed her phone speakers were quiet enough not to be heard.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked, speaking calmly now. “Because he offered me one. A good one, too. Take the scepter and split the profits.”
From her peripheral vision, she saw Brother Benedict shoot her a pained expression. Lacey wished she could tell him that she hadn’t entertained Greg’s offer for even a second, but she needed Crispin to believe she had if he was going to confess. If that meant Brother Benedict temporarily believing it too then so be it.
Crispin puckered his lips in a way Lacey took to mean yes. So Greg had approached him with the same deal. Only where Lacey had said no, Crispin had caved. And then what? Had the deal turned somehow sour, perhaps in a way that caused Greg to become violent, and Crispin to retaliate?
As she turned the theory over in her mind, her cell phone suddenly connected, and the muffled yet audible voice rang out. “Wilfordshire police? How can I help you?”
Crispin’s eyes widened. Then everything happened all at once.
Crispin bolted for the door. Brother Benedict stepped in front of it, using his large body as a blockage. Meanwhile, Chester sprang up from his haunches and stood behind Crispin, and began barking loudly, incessantly. There was nowhere for Crispin to go. He was trapped between a monk and an English shepherd.
“Let me go!” Crispin cried. Then his eyes darted to the cell phone Lacey had removed from her pocket, the screen clearly showing it was connected to Wilfordshire Police Station. “Help! Help!” he screeched, directing his voice at the phone. “I’ve been kidnapped!”
Lacey quickly put the phone to her ear. “I need to speak to Superintendent Turner,” she said hurriedly.
“Do you, ma’am?” came the bored, lazy voice of the lady on the other end.
Lacey tensed. Of course it would be the same receptionist who had it out for her!
“This is preposterous!” Crispin was yelling. “You can’t keep me in here!”
He tried to shove past Brother Benedict, but to Lacey’s astonishment, the monk shoved him roughly into the office chair, making it spin beneath him. Crispin had nowhere to run. He blinked up at Lacey, looking stunned.
“Please,” Lacey continued into her cell. “This is important. I know who killed Greg Ford. I have him right here.”
From where he sat in the office chair, Crispin Noble shot Lacey a pained and panicked expression. “You think I killed him?” he cried.
Lacey ignored him, trying to keep her focus on the telephone call, and her lifeline to the police. But there was so much noise—from Crispin’s protests and Chester’s barks, and now Gina knocking panickily on the other side of the door—that Lacey could hardly hear a word she was saying. But she got the gist of it. The receptionist on the phone was explaining that the detectives were too busy to attend to her, and she was using the same irritated voice she always did when it was Lacey who called. This call was pointless. She wasn’t getting anywhere.
She hung up and called Beth’s personal phone instead, praying her friend would pick up while on duty, not something she always did.
As she listened to the dial tone, Crispin continued with his anguished explanations.
“Look, I admit I tried to steal the scepter and that I was in caho
ots with Greg Ford. But I did not kill him!”
“Why would I believe you?” Lacey demanded.
“Because it’s the truth!”
“You tried to steal from a charity!” she cried back. “You’re clearly a cruel and heartless individual.”
Crispin looked stung.
Suddenly, the door flew open and in tumbled Gina. But to Lacey’s astonishment, she was not alone. Superintendent Turner and DCI Beth Lewis came tumbling in with her. The sound of a cell phone ringing came shrilly from the female detective’s pocket.
Everyone froze.
Turner took one look at the scene—of the man in the office chair being towered over by Brother Benedict, of Chester, teeth bared and in his pouncing pose—before sucking his teeth and glowering at Lacey.
“Why did I just get a call about a possible hostage situation?” he said, running a nervous hand through his shock of white hair.
Lacey pressed the red button on her phone and Beth’s cell stopped ringing. She looked down at Crispin expectantly. “Are you going to tell him, or am I?”
The professor paused momentarily. “I’m the one who broke into the store,” he said eventually, hanging his head with shame.
Superintendent Turner’s eyebrows went up.
“And…” Lacey prompted. “Please tell the detective who you were teamed up with.”
“Greg Ford…” Crispin mumbled, so quiet he was barely audible.
“And…” Lacey prompted again.
“And nothing!” Crispin cried. “That’s it! I tried to steal the scepter for him. I DIDN’T kill him!”
Superintendent Turner looked at Beth. “Take Professor Noble to the station. He has some serious explaining to do.”
Beth nodded and approached the man. She hauled him to his feet and manhandled him out the door. Everyone else followed, leaving Lacey and the superintendent alone.
As soon as they were gone, Lacey frowned at him. “Why aren’t you arresting him?”
“Because,” Karl replied, tersely, “the last person I arrested in relation to this case is now free. I’d like to avoid making any silly slip-ups right before my retirement, or I’ll be teased at my party.”