Ashes of Roses

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

“That’s a lot,” Jenny declared. “A dozen free-range organic, generally runs less than five.”

  “No way! Thirty-six dollars, for a carton of eggs?” Xander said in amazement. He also looked a little horrified, but Miles shook his head.

  “That was the cost at that time. By today’s equivalent, an entire carton would be closer to a thousand.”

  Everyone’s eyes bugged at that.

  “A thousand dollars?” I exclaimed. “For twelve eggs?”

  “It was a little more than that, actually,” Miles replied, and our jaws dropped. He felt the need to elaborate. “We weren’t entirely mercenary. Prices were high, but so was the cost to transport food and goods. The railroad didn’t run that far until later on, and there was no trade route or trail blazed along which to easily move supplies. It wasn’t cheap, either in cost, or labor on the part of myself and others, to get the mercantile built, to keep it stocked, and running reliably. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we didn’t profit. If I’m not much mistaken, the mercantile yielded a greater return than any other business venture, before or since. There was gold in abundance, and those in possession were eager to spend. We priced based on cost, and demand.”

  “Well I’m stunned,” I declared. “I did not see that coming!”

  Miles half smiled as he glanced at me.

  “I hope you won’t feel differently about me, now that you know,” he said.

  He did not look the least bit worried.

  “What, that most of our fortune is thanks to groceries, rather than gold?” I raised an eyebrow. “Actually… it fits. You’ve always been excellent at business, just like the rest of the men in your family. It makes sense that you’d see a need and supply it, rather than buy a mine, or dig one.”

  “That was pretty smart,” Xander said. He sounded impressed.

  “It’s not as sensational, though,” Jenny remarked. “So of course it didn’t factor into the stories that were told later on.”

  “Speaking of stories, what else did you see?” Annette asked. “You said James and Katharine met Evie in the garden at the manor.”

  “Right,” I remembered. “Evie and James were cousins, though distant, and she and Katharine remembered each other from Cynthia’s wedding. James was then called away to shoot clays with the rest of the men, and Katharine and Evie stayed to talk. She, meaning Evie, wasn’t at dinner the night before. Douglas Carlisle, the guy she was engaged to marry the following week, was to be there. She was nervous about meeting him for the first time.”

  “They were getting married the next week, and they hadn’t met?” Annette questioned.

  “You’re kidding!” Jenny said in horror. “She had no more warning than that?”

  “No, she knew, and they exchanged some letters,” I replied. “She had on a locket, with his photo inside. She said she was in love with him.”

  “Maybe she was in love with the idea of him,” Annette’s eyebrows knit.

  “Then I hope reality fit what she imagined it would,” Jenny frowned.

  “Me too, I didn’t get that far,” I said.

  “Was there anything else?” Miles asked.

  “Katharine was concerned because Evie was so nervous, she didn’t go to dinner, and missed seeing him…” I rolled my eyes and frowned, as I considered that. “She missed seeing him walk in and sit with some other woman, which is what would’ve happened. The manor Bannermans were as bad as Lady Carlisle. Evie tried to assure Katharine she was thrilled about marrying Douglas, and Katharine hid her concern, after a point. Then a gong sounded, announcing tea, and they went in. And that’s the end,” I concluded.

  “That’s it?” Xander was now the one frowning.

  “Well… James talked about when he fell in love with Katharine, but that probably isn’t important. I was going to tell Jenny and Annette later, and spare you guys, but if you really want to know…”

  “No!” Xander quickly replied.

  “That won’t be necessary,” John as swiftly added.

  “Wait, but… why do you suppose this is happening?” Jenny’s eyebrows knit. “Nothing you’ve seen appears to be in need of resolving, here in the twenty-first century.”

  “It doesn’t,” Miles agreed. “Yet. Given more time, and more broadcasts received, then it might.”

  “It’s kind of trickling in,” I said. “But only when I’m at the manor. I’d still rather not spend the night there. That has nothing to do with the intruder, and everything to do with the manor suite’s lack of a shower, and a trustworthy source of water.”

  “You also need recuperative rest,” Miles pointed out. “So we’ll spend our nights here, and work in a nap if needed.”

  “Well… the way things have been, we’ve certainly had plenty of time to ourselves,” I remarked. “Although that may change. Sir Edmund was genuinely upset at how we were either ignored or forgotten, after his mother ordered him to leave us, and go act as the Countess’ pack mule.”

  “So she was the one who called, after all,” Miles said. I nodded, and he looked irritated. “Then either Edmund will stand up to his mother, or I shall feel it necessary to provide Lady Carlisle with a lesson in etiquette.”

  “The woman sounds like a total piece of work,” Xander declared. “And, shall? Where in the world did that come from, man?”

  I laughed, and Miles smiled.

  “The longer we’re there, the more my former way of speech is coming back to me,” Miles replied. “I suppose it’s just as well we aren’t spending more time there, than we are.”

  “Thanks to our awesome transporter,” I said gratefully, and Trixie stood so I could pet her. She also looked a little worried, and a lot irritated, as she glanced at Miles. He considered whatever she had to say.

  “You are very kind, Trix. It’s a good point you make, but… even if you were invisible to others, Anika and I would still see you. If we forgot and spoke, I’m afraid they might decide we were crazy.”

  Trixie’s response made Miles laugh, then so did she.

  “You’re right,” Miles smiled. “You’d need only show yourself, and the others would decide they were the crazy ones.”

  Our friends found the thought amusing also, but not as much as the pups. I’m pretty sure they laughed hardest.

  “Send a group text if you need an emergency evacuation,” Xander suggested. “Whoever gets here first, will relay the message.”

  “We’ll do that,” Miles agreed.

  “It’s comforting to know we have such a reliable way out when we need it,” I said. “Other than being spared starvation, boredom, and bathing in rat water… I don’t think we will.”

  “Well… just in case there is an emergency, why not use a pager?” Annette suggested. “The Lodge does have several, after all. You can leave one here in the suite. Unless Trixie is out for a walk with Xander—in which case, you can reach her through him—she’ll know right away when you need her.”

  “That’s perfect!” I declared.

  “Excellent idea,” Miles approved.

  Before we called it a night, John and Annette retrieved a pager from the office, and placed it where Trixie directed.

  After that, I think we all breathed easier. With Miles’ abilities, we knew we were safe. But with Trixie on speed dial, regardless of what we might face… we also had a way out!

  Chapter 11

  “Ready?” Miles asked super early in the morning, Glen Haven time. It was much later in the morning on the Isle of Camden, which is where we were headed.

  “I’m ready,” I said, as we wrapped our arms around each other.

  Trixie nodded, and with a bump of her hip against Miles’ knee, we traded our suite at the Lodge, for our suite at the manor.

  “Thank you, Trix,” Miles said, and after receiving an appreciative pat, she vanished.

  I belted my heavy sweater more tightly about me, and rubbed my arms.

  “The difference in temperature is almost as shocking as crossing thousands of miles in a blink
,” I remarked.

  “It could stand to be warmer in here,” Miles said, and he crossed the floor to the radiator, and adjusted it. “I’m pretty sure it was warmer than this when we left. No one was here in our absence, I made certain of that. Perhaps a storm rolled in during the night.”

  “There’s lots of fog,” I commented, and he joined me at the window. Outside, the garden was covered in a misty, rolling shroud. It fluctuated as we watched, thinning in places, then growing dense once more. “How long do you suppose it will last?”

  “No idea…” Miles said, as he looked closer. “Remember where the greenhouse is?”

  “Yes, not that I can see it,” I replied.

  “Keep looking,” Miles instructed.

  The fog shifted slightly, as the sun’s rays escaped the grip of the clouds. The greenhouse, or what we could see of it, shone in the light. Some of it, that is. Several glass panels appeared to be reduced to jagged fragments.

  “Oh my goodness!” I said in dismay.

  Miles removed his cellphone from his pocket, and placed a call. On the other end, I heard a faint greeting.

  “Yes, very well,” Miles replied. “No, the storm didn’t bother us a bit, we slept right through it. Yes, she’s doing better today. Much better than your greenhouse, from what we can tell by looking out our window.”

  “Poor Finn,” I lamented, as I imagined the heartbreak he would feel, or maybe already felt, at discovering the devastation. Could any of the hybrids survive the kind of storm it would take to cause such destruction?

  “Anika and I are heading down,” Miles said. “I’m sure Finn could use the help, it looks pretty bad. Alright. We’ll meet you there.”

  Miles returned his phone to his pocket, and we gathered our coats from the wardrobe.

  “It must have been a terrible storm to break those panels,” I said with concern, as we hurried into them, and out into the hall. “Do you suppose it hailed? I can’t imagine what else would do that.”

  “If hail is what caused the damage, somehow it managed to miss just about everything else. Did you notice the trees, and the roses visible in the gaps between the fog?”

  “There should’ve been leaves missing, and limbs broken,” I realized. “If it didn’t hail, then what could’ve caused it?”

  “A lot of things,” Miles replied. “Rather than speculate, let’s find out what did.”

  We followed the stairs to the ground floor. There was no solemn guy currently on duty, so we let ourselves out , then hurried down the steps, and into the fog.

  The drip of water and the chirping of birds filled the air around us. Our visibility was limited, but so was theirs. They twittered and hopped amongst the rose bushes on each side of the path, completely oblivious to our presence. If I reached out, I might touch one. Or get a handful of thorns. I had no desire to give a bird a heart attack anyway, so I kept one hand tucked in Miles’ arm, and the other in my pocket, as we walked. Occasionally the mist thinned, allowing a broader view of our surroundings, but for the most part it shrouded all but the next step. It was all we needed; that, the right path, and a sense of direction to keep us on it, and from branching on to another.

  The scent of roses and rain washed earth was exhilarating, but the reason for our morning walk dampened our mood, as did the pair of legs stretched across our path. Miles stopped abruptly.

  “Oh my goodness!” I gasped. For a moment, I was too startled to do much else.

  Expensive black dress shoes, beaded with dew, raindrops, fog, or a combination thereof. Dark socks and navy slacks, also soaked. No movement, other than the slow drip of condensation down the sides of the patent leather, and off the ends of the sodden laces.

  “Oh my goodness!” I said again, as my mind raced for an explanation preferable to the one most obvious.

  “Honey, stand back,” Miles said firmly, as he loosened my grip on his arm, and cautiously moved a step closer.

  “You don’t think—” my voice shook, and my feet felt like lead. Despite our frequent encounters with murderers, we had yet to stumble upon the scene of one freshly committed. I was not anxious for that to change! “Grandma Polly didn’t say anything about the unorthodox use of scarecrows in Europe, did she?”

  Miles almost laughed.

  “No,” he replied, and cautiously followed the legs off the path, and in between two rose bushes.

  “Be careful,” I couldn’t help saying, as I laced my fingers together tightly, and watched him kneel. I knew nothing could get through his ever present forcefield, but…

  With a sigh of relief, I remembered that its protection worked both ways. Not only was he safe from any attempts to harm him, he was also safe from disturbing or contaminating the possible crime scene, and ending up a suspect. I relaxed just a fraction. But only a fraction. “What is it?”

  “It’s a, uh… homicide, most likely,” Miles replied grimly, as he stood and rejoined me, then retrieved his phone. I clamped my hands over my mouth to hold in my horror, and all the questions flooding my mind.

  “Edmund, it’s Miles again. Contact law enforcement, they need to send a team out here right away. No, we haven’t made it to the greenhouse yet. We discovered a body on the way there.”

  I could pretty much figure out what Sir Edmund was exclaiming, even without understanding a word he said. I squeezed Miles’ arm, and he wrapped it around my shoulders and pulled me close. I couldn’t see everything from my new vantage point, but the man’s face, cold and lifeless, was no longer hidden. His arms were splayed out on each side. Underneath his head, the once white stone bordering the rose bed was stained dark.

  “We’ll wait here,” Miles said. After describing our general location, he ended their call.

  “Do you recognize him?” I asked, and Miles studied the man’s face.

  “I… think he might be the man who raced out of the manor and away from it, the day we arrived,” Miles answered.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I replied. “Do you suppose he was the one in our suite last night?”

  I studied the front of his dark, rain soaked jacket, searching for snags in the fabric.

  “His clothing doesn’t appear to be torn, and his palms show no sign of abrasion,” Miles said. “Unless you now recognize him as such, I would say no.”

  “I didn’t get a good enough look to know,” I acknowledged. “You’re probably right. Do you suppose that guy killed him?”

  “I’m fairly certain someone did,” Miles replied. “He didn’t fall flat on his back and fracture his skull intentionally, and it’s unlikely he did so by accident, either.”

  “Should we search him?” I suddenly wondered. Miles gave me an incredulous look, and I rolled my eyes a little. “With your abilities, it’s not like you’d have to touch him.”

  “No, but as x-ray vision is not something either of us possesses, it would be necessary to move him, which would compromise the scene of a probable homicide. If it’s an identity you’re after, I imagine that information will be gained easily enough. The man was leaving just the day before yesterday, when we arrived. If Edmund doesn’t know who he is, someone else will.”

  “Maybe he worked here, and was angry because he was fired,” I suggested.

  “It’s as good a possibility as any,” Miles replied.

  “Always before, darkness was our signal that there was a case to solve,” I remarked.

  “This time, the victim is,” Miles finished my thought.

  “His ID could be in his jacket pocket,” I hinted.

  “It could,” Miles agreed. “We’ll suggest that to the authorities, if they’re too flustered to check for it themselves. Better that, and to practice your patience a bit, than to take matters into my figurative hands, and have Edmund arrive just in time to see the dead man writhing around, emptying his pockets.”

  “Fine, when you put it that way,” I sighed, and covered the sudden urge to laugh with another eye roll.

  Footsteps thudded dully on our left,
and we turned to look. Not that it did any good, with the fog still hanging about. The sun was once again in the grip of the clouds, so there were no helpful rays to hurry its dissipation.

  “Miles!” Sir Edmund called out, his voice sounding flat and deadened, as though his words were uttered in a packed closet.

  “Over here,” Miles answered, and a moment later Sir Edmund appeared out of the mist, followed by Solemn Guy… maybe the sixth. I was beginning to lose count. Sir Edmund looked extremely disturbed. Solemn Guy paled, and his eyes widened at sight of the legs stretched across the path.

  “Good heavens! What—who—how—why—” Sir Edmund stuttered.

  “That’s what we’d like to know,” I took the perfect opportunity to begin. After all, he started it. “Do you have any idea, yourself?”

  “Gracious, no,” Sir Edmund declared, as he stared at the man in horror.

  “Neither of you recognize him?” Miles questioned.

  “I’ve no idea who he is,” Sir Edmund replied. “Nor why he should be here, at all. Certainly not lying dead, in the garden! What in heaven’s name!”

  Sir Edmund looked as though he was in shock. So did Solemn Guy, but still…

  “Do you know anything about him?” I asked. Solemn Guy shook his head, which gave my ability nothing to work with, then cleared his throat.

  “No, mum. I’ve never seen him before.”

  And probably wished he never had, and he was telling the truth.

  I squeezed Miles’ hand once. That was two down.

  “Anika and I do recognize him from the day we arrived,” Miles volunteered. “As we waited for an answer to our ring, he rushed from the house. He appeared angry, and very much in a hurry. We heard him drive away moments later.”

  “It sounded like he left half his tread behind,” I added.

  “I’ve no idea what purpose he could have had here,” Sir Edmund frowned. “Really, I can’t imagine. An unusual number of people are about in the weeks before the ball, additional help, you know, but to leave in such a state… Perhaps the butler would know, or mother. I should think one or the other.”

  “The footman on duty at the time of his arrival, whenever that was, would be a good place to start,” I suggested.