Cat Burglar in Training

by Shelley Munro

  A full-fledged ache sprang to life deep in my chest. I was out of my element, and I knew it. The sexual tension I associated with his presence leapt to new, heady heights as we taunted each other, circling on the dance floor the Latin way.

  The song ended in a bold fanfare of drums. I flinched, ripped rudely from the sensual spell. We froze in position, sides heaving, gazes meshed together.

  “Folks, give them a hand. That was some floorshow!” The singer’s breathy voice grounded me back in the present, as did the ripple of enthusiastic applause and rousing catcalls from friends.

  “Drink?” Kahu asked.

  “Sure.” I matched him for coolness, but I suspected the intense undercurrents had rattled us both.

  At the bar, Kahu ordered fresh drinks, despite our glasses being half full and sitting where we’d left them. I approved, having learned the hard way about unscrupulous people who thought it was funny to spike drinks.

  Kahu handed me my Coke. The ice tinkled when I rolled the glass against my cheek.

  “Are you engaged to Seth?”

  Cola splashed over the rim of my glass. “No.”

  “Good.” Kahu tipped his head back to drink his beer. His tanned throat worked as he swallowed. He set his empty glass on the bar. “Seth seems like a decent man. I wouldn’t want to step on his toes.” He brushed a kiss across my lips and stepped back. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He strutted away before my brain engaged enough to formulate a smartass answer. I stared after him in real consternation. What the hell had he meant by that?

  Richard Beauchamp popped up beside me with the suddenness of a jack-in-a-box, resplendent in his navy blue satin. A gingery beard covered his weak chin. I sighed and stowed my questions about Kahu to drag out later when I was alone. One glance at Beauchamp’s bloated red face told me I was in for a proposition.

  I sipped my drink while debating how to handle him. No time like the present to start on my investigation. “Did you hear about the murder?”

  “Perdita Moning.” There was a break in his voice that made me study him carefully.

  “Did you know her?” I asked.

  “We were old family friends. I went to Eton with Perdita’s older brother.”

  “Hell of a way to go,” I observed, watching him carefully over the rim of my glass. “I feel sorry for her husband and children.”

  “They didn’t have children.”

  “Oh?” So why did they have all the photos in the bedroom? I arched one brow while I waited impatiently for him to answer.

  He gazed off into the distance, seemingly far away. I wanted to shake him. Demand answers.

  “Perdita didn’t mention children,” he said finally.

  Because she didn’t like them? No, that didn’t make much sense either. If I didn’t like children, I wouldn’t keep kids’ photos on my bedroom dresser. None of the rumors gelled. Didn’t like children. Shot blanks. The answer probably lay somewhere in the middle. I needed to dig deeper in the gossip garden.

  “I thought anyone who married into the Moning dynasty would produce the requisite heir and a spare.”

  Beauchamp sank onto a barstool with a loud sigh. “Perdita had several miscarriages. The baby she managed to carry to term died when he was a toddler.”

  God. Sympathy stirred within me. I’d give my right leg and arm up in exchange for Amber’s safety, even though the circumstances of her conception made my gut churn. “And then she was murdered. The lady didn’t have much luck.”

  A strange look passed over his face. Secrets. The man wasn’t telling me everything.

  “Morbid subject, murder. Let’s talk about us, Lady Evelyn. Eve.” Lowering his voice, he edged closer. “Your father owes me money. I intend to collect, one way or the other.” His gaze came to a halt on my breasts.

  Once again, sex reared its ugly head. “That would be blackmail. Go see my father. He’s the one who owes you money.” I glimpsed Selena Gibson across the dance floor. She’d be a good source for gossip. Let Beauchamp do his worst. I slid from my stool and stalked off, ignoring the whispered threats that slithered after me.

  At least I didn’t need to play dumb for Selena. We’d met each other as nervous five-year-olds on the first day of school. Our friendship had endured through the years even though we went for stretches without seeing each other.

  “Selena, how are you?” We air-kissed before stepping back to smile broadly and study the changes since we’d last met. “Got time for a chat? Catch up on a bit of gossip?” I silently admired her solid gold earrings. Each time Selena moved, the Egyptian emblems glistened in the light.

  Selena tossed her head, making the earrings dance against her Cleopatra wig. “Sure have. Fancy a quick turn about the garden? I could do with the peace and quiet. It’s been hectic all day.”

  I caught sight of Jemima across the other side of the room and waved hello before Selena and I wandered through a pair of open double doors. We paused on the patio. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of an ornamental orange tree. Five steps led down to a floodlit garden where a fountain danced, the tinkle of the water musical and relaxing.

  The exact thing I needed to soothe my fractured nerves after my latest meeting with Kahu “The Hawk” Williams. The man certainly took after his name. Saw everything. Noted it all. I’d have to remember to take extra care at our next meeting. The blonde-bimbo image needed to stick like elephant-strength superglue.

  We wandered aimlessly until we came to a secluded seat amongst the hedges. The low drone of traffic was the only discordant note in the garden.

  “I saw you on the dance floor.” Selena sank onto the stone seat.

  “That wasn’t me,” I said promptly.

  “I know. That’s why I’m so intrigued. Who is that cowboy?”

  “No one important.” People were used to seeing me with Seth since I’d arrived back in England. “Let’s talk about something juicy instead. Did you know the Monings?”

  The humor bleached from Selena’s face. “Terrible, isn’t it? They’re saying it was a burglary gone wrong. I’d hand over my jewels to thieves plus the key to the safety-deposit box with instructions to take the lot. Life’s too important to risk for material possessions.”

  I opened my mouth to say the murder had nothing to do with theft, then snapped it shut. The report of the gunshot echoed in my head, reinforcing my decision. If I tripped over clues while I searched for the child, I’d ring the cops with an anonymous tip. Until then, I intended to keep the info to myself.

  “I suppose they had children,” I said.

  “I didn’t know them well. The funeral should be soon now that the police have finally released her body to the family. I guess if they had kids they’ll be there.”

  Good point. I made a mental note to check online for the time of the funeral. So far my searches in the social media had yielded zilch—only gossip instead of useful info. Most frustrating.

  “Oh, hell. I should’ve worn my glasses.” Selena clutched my forearm. “Eve, is that Henry the Eighth heading this way?”

  I checked the direction she indicated. “Yep, I’d recognize that stomach anywhere.”

  “No way do I want another of his oily propositions. I’m outta here.” She jumped to her feet. “Detain him for me, will you? Give me time to escape.” She flew down the gravel path in the opposite direction, leaving behind nothing but a whiff of Chanel No. 5.

  Darn, I didn’t want to see the man either. I darted in the same direction as Selena but turned left where she’d turned right. I brushed past a pot of roses and ducked down another path, entering the hedge maze with the intention of lingering until Beauchamp disappeared.

  It was much darker in the maze. I slowed, letting my night vision adjust. A series of high giggles alerted me to proceed with caution. I caught a glimpse of a couple groping each other. The man had his hand up the skirt of his partner’s maid costume. A lot of heavy breathing punctuated the giggles. Averting my eyes, I tiptoed past.

&nb
sp; The sound of gravel crunching underfoot alerted me to a presence ahead. I stepped off the path onto a section of grass, cursing softly when my heels sank halfway to China. I yanked free of the grass while debating which direction to head. A man’s voice made me hesitate. Damn and blast! Not another clandestine tryst.

  A second man replied, and I froze. I knew that voice.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  Bloody hell. I knew that voice too. What were Kahu Williams and Richard Beauchamp doing out here together? Curious, I edged closer and settled in to listen.

  “I needed a breath of fresh air.” Kahu’s tone was mocking, and I sensed he wanted to provoke Beauchamp.

  “I’m meeting someone,” Beauchamp snarled.

  “I won’t take up much of your time.”

  Beauchamp must have registered the determination underlying the antipodean accent. “What do you want?”

  “Do you know Ihaka Morrison?”

  A beat of silence played out. “Never heard of the man.”

  “Liar.”

  I sucked in my breath at the grit in Kahu’s voice.

  “For God’s sake, quit the games and tell me what this is about.” Beauchamp was becoming impatient.

  I imagined him glancing at his watch. Who was he meeting? It wasn’t me, and Selena had fled the second she saw him. His confident manner implied the meeting was prearranged.

  “Ihaka Morrison is dead.”

  This time the silence was longer and preceded by a shocked intake of air. Yep, Beauchamp knew this Ihaka Morrison, whoever he was. Now Kahu knew it too.

  “I don’t know any Ihaakar Morrison.” Beauchamp drew out the name, making it sound different from the way Kahu pronounced it.

  Intrigued, I crept closer. I wanted to see Beauchamp’s face. Kahu’s too, although if I was a betting kinda gal, I’d lay odds Kahu Williams had a hell of a poker face. As I slid to the end of the hedge, I caught the blur of movement when Kahu grabbed Beauchamp by the shoulder. He thrust his face right in Beauchamp’s and shook him like a dog shakes when it’s wet. Hard and vigorous.

  “That’s a lie. You knew my brother. He worked for you and now he’s dead. Talk, damn it. I want answers. I want to know what happened.”

  I heard voices behind me. So did the two men. Kahu let go of Beauchamp with a muttered oath. “Keep watch over your shoulder, Beauchamp, ’cause I’ll be there until I learn the truth about my brother.” He stalked away, luckily in the opposite direction to where I lurked.

  Beauchamp appeared shaken and stirred like the proverbial James Bond special. He smoothed his crumpled satin outfit before slinking along a third path I hadn’t noticed. The man looked furtive, and the trainee cat burglar in me grew curious. I sneaked after him. About halfway down the path, a slender shadow separated from the hedge. A woman. The deluded soul threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Beauchamp didn’t object. Two shadows melted to one. Yuck!

  “Hello.” An arm snaked around my waist. “Fancy finding you out here.”

  Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Clichéd but oh so true.

  “Doing a little spying?” Kahu whispered.

  His sexy drawl got me every time and melted the heck out of my willpower. I turned, and my hand reached out to touch him before warning bells even whimpered. Bloody hell. I snatched my hand away only millimeters before I touched warm masculine skin.

  “Just out for some fresh air,” I said.

  “A lot of that going ’round.”

  I bit back a grin. “I wanted some quiet, but I keep tripping over amorous couples. You’d think they’d prefer a soft bed.”

  “Never fancied adventure?”

  Oh, boy. One conversation detour coming right up. “I need a drink.” Lame, very lame.

  “You know, variety is the spice of life.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” I whirled about and headed directly for the steps leading to the ballroom.

  A soft chuckle followed me, but I restrained the impulse to look over my shoulder. Sometimes strategic retreat is the wisest course—the only path.

  Chapter Five

  The funeral was scheduled for the Wednesday after Selena’s ball, in the Monings’ hometown of Kinnell Green, Lancashire. My Mini rattled up the M6, shaking and shuddering theatrically each time a truck flew past. I eyed the temperature gauge with misgiving, but the needle hovered in the middle of hot and cold. I sighed, but softly so I didn’t tempt the gods to hammer me for smugness.

  Apart from a childhood foray to Blackpool, I’d never visited this part of the country before. To tell the truth, I was relieved to leave Oakthorpe. I’d let my destination slip to my father and been called upon to defend my reasons for traveling north instead of heading for the jewel-rich mansions of London. Evasion and lying without blinking an eye was becoming second nature to me, but I hadn’t quite got the impassive expression down because Father, backed up by Ben, demanded details. Of course, I’d refused, digging in my heels, stating again for the record that I didn’t like stealing. The argument had heated up to shouting and cursing, and things headed downhill from there.

  A bright flash of lightning zipped through the sky. Thunder boomed scant seconds after the lightning. The black clouds had hovered in the distance for the whole journey, and now they were about to unleash nature’s wrath. Rain lashed my windshield. I flicked the window wipers on and resigned myself to getting wet since my Mini leaked like a fishing net.

  I peered through the rain and finally spotted the turnoff. Half an hour later, chilled and damp, I pulled up outside the church and parked behind a dark blue Mercedes.

  Two men climbed from the saloon. Although I could only see the back view of both men, my heart sank. One of them was Kahu Williams. I’d stake my left leg on it. My pulse rate kicked up. Drat. I’d hoped to sneak in and peruse the attendees without any messy entanglements. Kahu Williams was the definition of messy, and judging by the nerves dancing a jig in my stomach, entanglement as well.

  Aghast at my reaction, I dawdled. I had no idea why I was attracted to danger. “Maybe it’s genetics catching up on you,” I muttered in disgust.

  The second the two men disappeared inside the church, I opened my door and stepped from my Mini. My black jacket and knee-length skirt didn’t look too bad despite the dampness.

  I strode to double wooden doors that looked old enough to date from medieval times, opened them and slid inside the church. Before I could close them, a gust of wind ripped the handle from my grasp. The resulting crash had every head turning to stare. Most wore disapproval, although I did catch a couple of snickers from two teenage males.

  “Sorry,” I said, desperately searching for an empty pew to duck into and hide.

  “Eve, over here.” The masculine voice held a trace of amusement beneath the huskiness.

  After a quick nod of greeting, I slid onto the hard wooden pew and stared straight ahead. Beside me, Kahu moved slightly, his hard thigh cozying up to mine.

  “You’re wet.” His warm breath stirred a tendril of hair at my temple.

  I turned to face temptation in spite of my inner qualms. “It is raining outside.” The heart palpitations should have forewarned me, but his masculinity struck me afresh. Tanned skin, dark intelligent eyes that held laughter at the moment, and a lean face combined together into a dangerous package. Briefly, I prayed for fortitude.

  “I didn’t know you were coming to the funeral,” I said.

  “Standard procedure these days. You’d be surprised how many murderers attend the funeral because they knew the victim.”

  My brows rose at the subtle implication. “Family? Do you think one of her family murdered her?” Guilt made the words at the end of my sentence rise. I was reasonably confident the murderer was no relation to Perdita Moning because my discreet inquiries beforehand had told me her husband had flown to Brussels on important company business. It was more likely a crime of passion.

  “Surely that doesn’t surprise you,” Kahu said. “A l
ot of victims know their murderers.”

  I bit my lip and debated how to answer. Forensic tests would show Perdita Moning’s sexual activities prior to her death. No doubt the cops would check the husband’s alibi closely. Finally, I settled for something generic. “I guess you’d know from experience.”

  I turned my attention to the minister’s sermon, listening to the friends and family members who read from the Bible or related personal memories of Perdita, and filed away impressions to drag out later. It was hard not to get emotional. A young woman snuffed out before her prime. I wasn’t the only one attempting to hold back tender sentiments. A lone tear spilled down my cheek. If I didn’t do something quick, there’d be more. I groped in my jacket pocket, searching for the handkerchief I’d put there this morning, and came up empty. Seconds later, a large white handkerchief floated in front of me. Accepting it gratefully, I dealt with the tears. Hopefully I wouldn’t end up looking like a panda bear.

  There were a few familiar faces at the funeral. Richard Beauchamp was in attendance, thankfully on the far side of the chapel. I squeezed closer to Kahu and hoped like hell the man didn’t see me. Jemima Cameron, the new friend I kept running into at balls and charity functions, sat a few pews in front of us. I decided to ask her a few questions later.

  Also present were a few acquaintances from school. I hadn’t kept in touch with many and wasn’t looking forward to the “what are you doing now?” conversation or the subtle games of one-upmanship, but I’d suck it in and deal. Discovering the identity of Amber’s father was more important than false pride.

  While I listened, I took lots of mental notes. I’d tried to keep up with case developments via the net, but the police weren’t releasing much info and most of what I found was supposition on the part of the reporters.

  An hour passed. My damp suit started to feel distinctly uncomfortable, the crop of goose bumps pebbling my skin growing by the minute. A shiver worked its way through me.

  “Won’t be long now,” Kahu murmured. “It’s stopped raining so it won’t be bad outside.”