“Then… the project was about renovation, as you just said,” I mulled. “Not restoration.”
“Correct, but a company in the business of restoration, would be better able to renovate a historic building,” Miles pointed out. “In theory, that is.”
“Well… maybe we’ll find something to back our other theory in one of the pigeonholes,” I said optimistically. “A check from Lady Carlisle, or an invoice referencing the manor, would fit.”
The accordion file rose to take its place inside the safe, then abruptly stopped.
“What is it?” I wondered, as he stepped forward to look more closely.
“There are several more folders here, leaning against the cubbyhole box,” Miles replied. As the accordion file slid the rest of the way in, the loose files slid out.
“That’s it!” I exclaimed, as I read the label written on the top folder’s tab.
“Bannerman Manor,” Miles said with satisfaction, then quickly sorted through the papers contained within. But not so quickly I couldn’t follow along.
“Invoices for materials used, for payment due and received, a contract for the project…” I perused. “So now we know. Gerald Abernathy’s company is responsible for installing ensuite facilities, leaking pipes, and the resulting mold and dry rot.”
“Right, and now we know why he was at the estate the day we arrived,” Miles replied, as he examined a list of calendar dates, also contained within the file. “He was keeping a standing appointment with Lady Carlisle, to discuss the next stage of the project.”
“So she didn’t call the meeting to discuss the damage, but I’ll bet she gave him an earful, once he got there,” I surmised. “Do the inspection reports tell you anything?”
“Only that they appear to be official, and deem the various aspects of the project to be in compliance with the appropriate guidelines,” Miles answered.
“Even the plumbing?” I questioned.
“Even that,” Miles replied. “That leaves four possibilities, that I can see. The inspector signed off without making a thorough inspection; the inspector was paid to sign off and look the other way; the material used to seal the pipes was faulty, but held long enough to pass inspection; or, someone tampered with the plumbing after the inspection, and before the wall was finished.”
“If it’s not a manufacturing flaw in the materials, or plain negligence on the part of the person responsible for the plumbing, then the damage was intentional,” I summed up.
“If our remaining theory is correct, it was intentional, and Delacroix was the instigator,” Miles remarked. “What I’d like to know now, is who executed the plan. Unless Abernathy regularly visited the job site, then the plumber, plasterer, and foreman, are the most likely suspects.”
“If Gerald Abernathy was on site often, it makes sense that someone working at the manor would remember him,” I considered.
“Good point,” Miles acknowledged.
“What’s in the rest of the folders?” I remembered, and the three files separated and came to rest on the desk.
“Earnest Smith, Donovan O’Roark, and Jake Evans,” Miles read the labels.
“Employee files?” I wondered.
“That would be my guess,” Miles answered. Earnest Smith’s folder opened. I barely scanned the first page, before Miles pointed. “You’re right. He is, or was, an employee.”
“So which is it?” I wondered, as he moved to the next page, and the next.
“There’s no sign of his employment being terminated,” Miles replied. “As to his specialty, it appears he finishes walls.”
“Was he involved in the manor’s renovation project?” I promptly asked, and Miles flipped through the manor’s folder.
“He was indeed,” Miles confirmed. “So were Donovan O’Roark, and Jake Evans, though not in the same capacity.”
We turned to their files, and soon found what we were searching for.
“We’ve got our foreman, and our plumber,” Miles summed up.
“Other people worked on the manor project too, right?” I questioned.
“A number of others did,” Miles referred to the manor’s file once more.
“But these three, the ones most able to sneak a few leaking pipes in before sealing up the walls, are the only ones to have their files placed in the safe with the manor’s,” I said. “Why would Abernathy do that, if he didn’t suspect something?”
“He might if he was involved in it, himself,” Miles suggested. “But your theory is more likely to be correct. I can’t imagine a way he could regain even a fraction of what it would cost him.”
“Even if he found a way to frame one of them, he would still be liable,” I considered.
“It’s his company, and he’s ultimately responsible for the quality of work, or lack thereof,” Miles concurred.
“So maybe he suspected his employee or employees were up to no good before he met with Lady Carlisle, but we know he did, after,” I said with certainty. “If he came up with the same suspect list as ourselves, then as angry as he was when he left the manor, his next step would be to confront.”
“That confrontation then led to a meeting at the manor, and his death,” Miles concluded. “If we’re correct.”
“So maybe one of them killed him,” I mulled. “But why meet at the manor? It’s more than a little out of the way for people based a two-hour ferry ride away.”
“Maybe they didn’t, but it’s even less likely Abernathy’s intent was to take a late night stroll in the garden, for his health.”
“That’s true,” I acknowledged. “The manor is at the center of this, so his visit had to be related in some way. I still wonder why he met someone there, and if it was one of these guys he met, or Delacroix. Or maybe he met with more than one.”
“I know of only one way to find that out, and that’s to ask,” Miles said. “How we’ll manage that—“
Trixie suddenly appeared, startling us both. I had no idea she was gone! She was telling Miles something. Whatever it was, he looked concerned.
“There’s someone in the outer office,” he said quietly, as he wrapped his arm around my waist, and Trixie bumped his knee with her hip.
The office vanished, and was replaced with… a different view of the same office! Oh my goodness!
I listened as footsteps approached the door beside us, and watched as the employee folders slid back into the safe, along with the accordion file. The heavy door quietly swung shut and the lock spun, latching it in place, as the doorknob turned.
The office vanished, only to be replaced by another office, and the back of a guy with dark hair. He gave no indication he was aware of our presence as he opened the door in front of him. On the other side, Abernathy’s desk and the framed wall print were clearly visible. He paused for a moment, then turned to close the door behind him, precipitating another abrupt transfer, and although it resulted in our remaining out of view, I was getting very dizzy! Who’s idea was this, anyway!
We were now beside the closed door to Gerald Abernathy’s private office. The lock clicked in place, then there was the sound of footsteps, and the slide of the desk drawers as they opened, then closed. There were several thumps I didn’t recognize, and the heavy screech of something being moved, probably the desk. We didn’t think of that, or have time. I wondered if he found anything, then there was another thunk, and the tick of the combination lock as the knob turned first one way, then the other. There was the click of the tumblers settling in place, then the sound of the door opening, and the scrape and rustle of the files as they were extracted. Papers shuffled rapidly, then more slowly, then rapidly again. I wondered what he was looking for, and if he was there legitimately. But he moved the desk, and that was odd. So I prepared to focus on listening, and hoped he had a habit of lying to himself. Out loud.
There were several moments of silence.
“What’s the idea, leavin’ off without a heads-up?” the man demanded. Either he was on the phone, or he
talked to himself after all.
“Be that as it may, it’s past time I was bowin’ out,” he said firmly. “So if you’ll be so kind as to follow through on our arrangement, I’ll just be on me way.”
The sharp laugh he uttered had a dangerous edge.
“That’s none o’ my concern, now is it? I’ve not much to lose, not compared to some I could name. Not nearly. It’s not as though I’m guilty o’ killin’ anyone over it,” he said pointedly.
Whether the person on the other end of the line was silent or replying, I couldn’t tell. But now the guy was talking again.
“Who else’d he be havin’ a chat with, seein’ as I was none the wiser, up until he beat the details outta me? He was right mad he was, an I’d not envy you, though he got the worst of it, seein’ as you’re still alive.”
More silence, brief this time.
“You can take yer chances tellin’ it to the police detective,” the man said loftily, as though washing his hands of the matter. “’Course I’ll be doin’ the same, when they come askin’ do I know anythin’. So best be expectin’ a visit.”
More silence.
“Then I should like to know how he come to be there, at that time o’ night, an who he met up with an why,” he declared. “They’ll not pin it on me, at any rate, though I’ve plenty they’d like to hear. So long as our arrangement is completed to my satisfaction, I’ll be on me way. They’ll not hear a word of it.”
Another brief pause.
“It’d be to yer own advantage to do so,” the man said with grim satisfaction. “By the lion, then. Nine sharp.”
There was silence on the other side of the door now, and not for the first time, I wished the call was on speaker! Was he listening as the other party responded, or was the conversation over?
“You best be makin’ time,” the man said dryly, so apparently he was still talking on the phone. Or to himself. “It’s not a visit I’m after, an I’ll not be waitin’ around, myself. You’ll be gettin’ to yer festivities soon enough an with no one the wiser, for all I’m concerned. You’ll have more to worry over than bein’ late for dinner, if I don’t find you there. I should think as much. Nine, it is.”
On that ominous note, there was the rustle of papers, several scrapes and thuds, a clang, then footsteps coming closer. The doorknob turned, the office disappeared, and we were once again in our room at the manor.
I didn’t dare ask if we were done, as I stood there gripping the front of Miles’ sweater, and waiting for whatever might come next.
“No, I agree,” Miles said, as Trixie looked up at him. “There is no safe vantage point in the office, and I’m not willing to risk a sudden appearance outside of it.”
I felt disappointment at losing our chance to see the man, the better to identify him later, but I also relaxed slightly.
“So we’re done, for now?” I asked.
“For now,” Miles verified. “Thank you, Trix, for all your help. You did an amazing job.”
He pet her, and so did I, then she returned to our suite at the Lodge. A glance at the clock told me we weren’t due for lunch just yet.
“I don’t know about you, but I found that more than a little nerve wracking!” I declared, as we sat in the room’s two chairs.
“Trix takes our safety very seriously,” Miles said. “Her own, I’m not so sure of. I admit the longer she was gone, the more I regretted asking her to go. If she was injured in some way, I could never forgive myself.”
“Well, nothing did, but I felt the same,” I acknowledged. “From now on, we find another way. One that doesn’t involve sending her alone into the unknown.”
“Agreed,” Miles said. “As to what we just witnessed… Did you get anything from what the man said, or was it the truth?”
“He was telling the truth,” I replied. “What do you suppose he meant when he said ‘by the lion’ ?”
“Unless he’s from Narnia, it’s unlikely he was referring to Aslan,” Miles said. “It could be the name of a pub, or perhaps a landmark.”
I watched as he removed his cellphone from his pocket, and began a search. Then he began another.
“That’s a lot of lions,” I said in surprise.
“I suppose there would be, seeing as the lion is the symbol of England,” Miles replied. “According to this, there are over six-hundred pubs bearing the name Red Lion, and others with some form of ‘lion’ in their title. Inns, also.”
“Good grief, that’s a lot!” I declared. Miles smiled as he took a moment to squeeze my hand, and I laughed. “You’re right, that’s the truth. Here’s another; now we know Abernathy wasn’t in on it, but that he figured out who was. So, it makes sense that one of the three files in the safe belongs to the man we saw, the man Abernathy confronted.”
“As for the other two, it’s possible they were also involved,” Miles said. “But, it’s very unlikely that the man’s phone call was to one of them. I won’t go so far as to say it’s impossible, but I’ve yet to find a way in which an employee would benefit financially by wrecking their employer’s business. Not unless they were paid to do so.”
“Paid by someone such as Delacroix,” I agreed. “We’ve often found that nothing is as it seems, but… that doesn’t mean it never is.”
“You’re right. What is impossible, even with Trix’s help, is to canvass each of the English businesses bearing the name or image of a lion, all in a matter of minutes,” Miles said. “It would take more than luck to be in the right place, at the right moment, to intercept the two men. In addition, we’re not entirely certain any of the three are involved in this, and online photos would only be of use, if they are. If not… we could look right at them, and never know.”
“Alright, you’ve convinced me,” I replied. “So instead of undertaking an exercise in futility, we stick with our theory. Abernathy confronted Delacroix, at the manor. Maybe he didn’t kill Abernathy, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t meet. If his death was accidental, or an act of self-defense, there would be no lingering darkness to pick up on, anyway. The man in the office said there would be plenty of time to meet at nine and transact business, without being late to dinner. That seems awfully late already, but dinner at the manor, is. So that, too, supports our theory that Delacroix was the guy on the other end of the line.”
“If he’s to make it to the manor’s dining room by nine-thirty, the rendezvous point must be located somewhere on the grounds,” Miles said. “That being the case, our next step… is to find the lion.”
Chapter 22
The morning sun shone softly through the windows of the storage room, where my friends and I hunted through the estate’s generous supply of authentic, period clothing. The manor’s offerings left something to be desired, and with our own ample supply, combined with our convenient mode of travel, there was no need to settle. Besides, our friends needed caught up before anything else happened! It took a couple of fast-talking hours, but finally they were apprised, and discussion was had. They took a few minutes to update us, as well. Afterward, Trixie ferried us—all of us—from the Lodge, to the estate. Trixie then returned to the Lodge for the time being, the guys adjourned to the basketball court, and we girls to the storage room dedicated to clothing from the past. It was a big room.
“I’m stunned,” Annette declared for the umpteenth time.
“What, in particular, has you stunned?” I asked, as I sorted through one of several racks dedicated to the Regency Era.
“I never would’ve guessed Finn was the one who destroyed the manor’s roses,” Annette answered.
“Not all of them,” I felt compelled to remind her. “Only his own creations, but I feel the same way. If it wasn’t for my truth ability, I’d have a hard time believing it.”
“He must have felt desperate after realizing how he’d been betrayed,” Jenny remarked, as she searched through the wardrobe filled with accessories.
“I guess. He was mostly angry,” I recalled. “Angry enough to run an
intruder through with a pitchfork, which is one reason we don’t want anyone knowing where he is. The authorities would see him as their most likely suspect, and anyone who’s after marketing his roses as their own, could be a threat to his life.”
“I can’t imagine valuing property more than people,” Jenny said with a shake of her head, no doubt in reference to Lady Carlisle’s recent choices. “The way she treated Finn and Ashley—not to mention her own son! She’s sacrificing relationships, which are worth so much more.”
“On the bright side, this is what it took—that, and a talk with Miles, to convince Sir Edmund to cut his dependence on his mother,” I said.
“At least there’s that,” Annette commented, as though she doubted the end was worth the means. “Do you need shoes, too?”
“I have a pair that will do,” I answered, as we both eyed the long shelves filled with boots and slippers.
“It’s great their conversation went well, but what will it mean for Ashley, when she finds out Sir Edmund is planning to leave, too?” Jenny asked with concern.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I really don’t. But she didn’t tell him about her change in priorities. She may believe he’d claim to want the same thing himself, but then instead of seeking it, he’d hold her back.”
“She doesn’t need the extra weight,” Jenny said grimly. “I’ve seen girls, and guys, who sacrificed their own spiritual growth, waiting for their significant other to either get on board, or catch up.”
“Ashley realizes that’s what she did,” I assured my friend. “She’s determined not to make the same mistake again. That’s why she’s leaving on the first ferry after the ball.”
“I really hope she sticks to that,” Jenny said fervently.
“Did Ashley ever try talking to him about her faith?” Annette questioned. “If not, guilt may cause her to doubt her decision.”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Miles will tell him, though. I’ll make sure she knows it’s not up to her, and Miles will make sure Sir Edmund doesn’t see Christianity as a way to get her back, either. That’s all he was concerned with, when he and Miles talked earlier. It was a good talk, though. It’s a good start.”
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