“Fine, then,” Doyle groused, resigned to her fate. It had occurred to her—gauging from Munoz’s reaction—that Munoz harbored her own suspicions, and wanted to stay away from potential eavesdroppers.
They continued their walk, and with a care-free posture, Doyle idly watched the traffic go by. “You don’t seem very surprised.”
“No,” the girl replied briefly. “But I don’t think I can talk about it, not with the NDA.”
“Mayhap you can give me just a hint,” Doyle ventured. “That way, you wouldn’t be technically breachin’ the non-disclosure agreement.” She added as a caution, “But it can’t be too hard a hint.”
Munoz seemed to find this idea within the bounds of her constraints, and disclosed, “I’m supposed to hang around some blokes and pretend I can’t speak English very well, so that I can listen to what they have to say.”
Reminded of Gabriel’s observation, Doyle asked, “Doesn’t that seem a bit odd? You’re so recognizable, Munoz—especially after the PR work you’ve done for the CID. It seems strange that anyone would be wantin’ you to work undercover.”
Carefully, Munoz disclosed, “The location is one where it would be less likely that I’d be recognized. But I’ll agree that it seems a bit odd.” They’d come to the juice shop, and as Munoz reviewed the hand-written chalkboard menu, she added in a low voice, “Tell me what you’ve heard.”
Doyle pretended to look over the menu, although all the offerings looked frankly horrifying. “I truly haven’t heard much, Munoz, but I’m worried that the ACC is settin’ you up for a crime, so as to have somethin’ to hold over your head.”
Munoz was silent, but Doyle caught a flare of emotion, and exclaimed, “Faith; they’ve already tried, haven’t they? That’s why you’re so leery.”
“Can’t say,” Munoz replied briefly. “But you’re a good guesser.”
As the two girls stood aside to wait, Doyle casually pulled her mobile, and pretended to scroll. “Mayhap you can speak to someone in Legal, to see if the NDA can be ignored in this situation.”
“Who would I go to?” Munoz replied, crossing her arms and looking about her with a bored expression. “Legal would just send it to Professional Standards, and the whole lot of them could be bent.”
“There’s always Acton.” With a stoic air, Doyle stepped forward to receive her hideously green concoction. “You could speak with Acton.” She teetered on the edge of telling Munoz that Acton was on the verge of taking down the ACC, himself, but decided she’d best button up—no telling if Munoz was already compromised, although she didn’t have the feeling that the girl was anything but wary.
“I’ll think about it.”
Doyle pretended to take a sip, and warned, “Be extra-careful, Munoz. Don’t give them a hint that you’ve twigged them.”
“I’m not an idiot, Doyle.”
As this was said in a tone that discouraged any further discussion, they walked back toward headquarters in silence, until Munoz paused in front of a shoe display. As she pointed toward a pair of sleek black heels, she said, “I think we’re being shadowed. A man’s followed us from headquarters, and he’s still back there. Let’s take a deviation on the way back, just to verify.”
Doyle resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder, and dutifully admired the shoes. “Is it a white man in his thirties; business attire?”
Munoz eyed her sidelong. “Yes.”
“That’s only Trenton, Munoz. He follows me about because he’s Acton’s private security.”
Munoz took a causal sip. “Oh? Well, he’s one of the blokes I’m monitoring, on my assignment at the racecourse.”
30
Perhaps he’d take some time off, also. It would be pleasant to be at home with her, after the hardships of the past few months.
After parting with a pensive Munoz, Doyle lingered in front of the shoe shop and decided she may as well buy a pair of the black heels, just so as to give herself cover, and to stall for time until she decided what to do next. Yet again, she was squarely on the horns of an Acton-inspired dilemma, and she was getting mighty tired of it—not to mention that the last thing she truly needed was a pair of spiky heels.
From the very first, Acton had assigned Trenton to keep a watchful eye over his bride, who—to be fair—had run the poor man ragged, having been the target of many a bloody-minded villain. Therefore—as Acton was already well-aware that the ACC was up to no good—it was entirely possible that Trenton was at the racecourse in his role as Acton’s man, sniffing out whatever was going on, and running into Munoz purely as a matter of coincidence. Or—or it was the unthinkable; Trenton was a turncoat, and he was part of whatever the scheme was to manipulate the fair Doyle into doing some undisclosed something that would definitely not be to her husband’s benefit.
The easiest way to find out, of course, would be for the discerner-of-truth to have a conversation with our Mr. Trenton, and thereby discover what-was-what. However, Doyle did not normally engage in conversation with Trenton, and—if he were indeed a turncoat—he’d surely be tipped that she was on to something. Faith—he may be tipped anyway; no doubt Trenton knew very well who Munoz was, and it seemed unlikely that he would be fooled by her undercover role.
I’m flummoxed, Doyle admitted to herself as she thanked the clerk, and accepted her package. And—based on all events thus far in my short marriage—whenever I’m flummoxed, my better half is usually somewhere close at hand, pulling the levers. With no further ado, she rang him up.
As always, Acton answered immediately. “Kathleen.”
“Did Trenton report that I was drinkin’ some hideous concoction from the juice shop?”
“He did not. Trenton would never betray you in such a way.”
This seemed like a perfect opening, and so she plunged in. “D’you think there’s any chance that you’re the one Trenton is betrayin’?”
There was a small pause. “Now, there’s a comment that requires a follow-up. I am at your disposal.”
“That is excellent. I’m a little sharp-set, I have to say—I keep missin’ out on lunch opportunities.”
“Then let’s see to it that you are fed. Candide’s?”
She smiled into the phone. “Are we wavin’ the heroic-Actons flag, yet again? Who’s goin’ to be there this time, the Prime Minister?”
He soothed, “Only two more days, and then you won’t have to be seen with me ever again.”
“Mother a’ mercy, but this is brutal, husband; all this smilin’, and carryin’ on.”
“We need to fool everyone for just a bit longer, I’m afraid.”
“Ongoing psyops,” she declared.
She could feel him smile. “You astonish me, Lady Acton.”
“Oh, I’m very well-informed,” she declared airily. “Where am I meetin’ you? The parkin’ garage?”
“I’ll come to you—don’t move. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
It went without saying that he knew exactly where she was. “All right, but I’m warnin’ you—I bought a pair of spiky heels, as my cover. They were almost as expensive as your shoes.”
“I look forward to seeing them.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“Too late.”
With a giggle, she rang off.
A short time later, they were once again seated in pride of place at Candide’s, the wait staff fluttering around them like so many butterflies. As Acton perused his menu, Doyle noted, “Savoie’s goin’ to flee back to the continent, apparently.”
“You are indeed well-informed,” he replied in a mild tone. “I believe the beet salad is excellent, here.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Well, that’s an outright lie, husband, and it’s nothin’ short of amazin’ that you think I’d come within a gaffin’-stick of a miserable beet.” Doggedly, she continued, “It’s just as well, actually—that Savoie is leavin’, I mean. I’ve been workin’ like a journeyman to convince Munoz to break it off with him.”
Watching him from under her lashes, she added in a casual tone, “Still and all, I’ll be that relieved when she’s moved on. It could have been worse, I suppose; if Savoie had taken up with Morgan Percy, they could have conquered the world—and not in a good way.”
Ah, she caught a reaction from him, as he folded the menu; it wasn’t much of a confirmation that he knew all about Williams’s troubles, but it was enough.
“I thought I was the one you’d paired up with Morgan Percy, so as to take over the world.”
“No, Michael,” she chided in mock-annoyance. “I’m stickin’ to you like a burr, and tryin’ to save you from yourself, remember? Although I’m not in the best shape to run a counter, if she keeps castin’ her lures your way.”
“Let’s see your new shoes, and then we shall decide.”
She laughed, much relieved that Acton was aware of the Percy problem, since she was certain that he’d not allow Williams to come to any harm. Not to mention that she’d hate to have to tattle on the poor man—it was thoroughly embarrassing that he’d been played so easily, and he should repent fasting. Of course, the fact that Acton hadn’t rushed to Williams’ rescue indicated—to her, at least—that Acton was making certain there’d indeed be some heavyweight repenting; nothing like staring professional and romantic ruin in the face, to make a man swear off scheming trollops.
The waiter interrupted her thoughts, so she ordered her favorite fried sandwich—no need to add to all her sufferings, after all—and after the man had fussed sufficiently, it occurred to her that her husband hadn’t yet brought up the reason for this meeting. Therefore, after the waiter withdrew she leaned forward. “May I speak of Trenton?”
“Please.” He lifted his gaze to hers, and waited.
“Is it possible—is it possible that he’s tangled up with the corruption rig, Michael? She struggled with how much to tell him. “I’m a bit worried, based on somethin’ Munoz said about her ACC assignment.”
He frowned slightly. “Has Trenton lied to you about anything?”
“No, Michael—faith, I never talk to him. It’s only—” she hesitated, and tried to decide how much to say. “He was in a place he shouldn’t have been, I suppose.”
He thought this over for a moment. “The racecourse?”
She stared in astonishment; trust Acton to be two steps ahead of her. “Aye, the racecourse. What’s he doin’ there?”
“He’s keeping an eye on Munoz.”
She almost laughed out loud in her relief. “Of course, he is—because Elena was kidnapped, and we still don’t know why.” She reached to take his hand, and said with all sincerity, “Thank you. I would save myself a lot of frettin’ if I just trusted you, my friend. Thank you for keepin’ her safe.”
But he tilted his head. “My motives are not entirely honorable, I’m afraid. Please keep in mind that she may be compromised.”
Doyle nodded, to show that she wasn’t such a fool that she hadn’t considered this uncomfortable possibility. “I don’t think so—I’ve asked a few questions, and even though she can’t tell me much, I can’t find the whisper of a guilty conscience.”
“Do not let your guard down, nevertheless.”
“Right-o.” She paused, because there was something niggling at her, something that didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t grasp what it was—another willow-wisp, as Reynolds would say. Trying to catch the elusive thought, she said slowly, “I’m worried that there’s a tickin’ clock, somewhere.”
Acton’s manner became a bit grave. “There is indeed a ticking clock, and I’m afraid the CID is in for some further unpleasantness.”
This was not surprising information, based on what she’d already pieced together. “I know you hate to expose the ugly truth, Michael, but this time it can’t be helped. If the ACC is bent, the public has a right to know about it. And besides, a hail of fire and brimstone is exactly what these villains deserve, once their misdeeds hit the news. There’s nothin’ worse than the watchdogs turnin’ themselves into wolves, and they should be heartily ashamed of themselves.”
A bit belatedly, she realized that the man seated across from her tended to blur the watchdog-and-wolf line, himself, and so she decided to change the subject. “Is Savoie goin’ to be a star witness in the corruption case, too? You’ll have him busy as a fishwife at Lent, if that’s the case. He should demand a parkin’ pass.”
“We shall see,” was all her companion offered, as their meals were served.
Doyle made a wry mouth. “Well, can you at least tell me if we’ll get a second helpin’ of Savoie, in the committee hearing? I’m half-afraid he’ll cross the line, and all those old bag-wits will try to slay him on the spot. I don’t know which side I’d root for.”
“Unlikely, that anyone will resort to violence,” Acton soothed. “Although I suppose the possibility cannot be eliminated.”
Their conversation was interrupted when an important-looking man in a very fine suit strolled by, and then made a show of nodding to them in a friendly fashion. Doyle smiled a greeting, then leaned in to Acton. “Who’s that?”
“I’ve no idea.”
She sighed in mock-resignation. “Yes, well; we’re a bit late for the power-lunch people, so we’ve got to settle for the second tier.”
“Not much longer,” he soothed. “Soon, it will all be over.”
This was true, and she was given the impression that he felt assured of victory. Considering this, she eyed him a bit suspiciously. “Are you goin’ to tell me how the final committee hearin’ is goin’ to go?”
He made a small, self-deprecatory gesture. “I think you place too much confidence in my abilities, Kathleen.”
Amused, she made a derisive sound. “Ach, husband; there are times when all I can do is sit back and marvel. I’m startin’ to think there’s no such thing as too much confidence in your abilities.” Her scalp prickled, and she paused, wondering what it was that she was trying to understand.
“What is it?” Watching her, he reached to touch her fingers.
“Somethin’s up,” she confessed a bit somberly. “But I can’t figure out what it is—there are too many loose ends, and I don’t know which ones are the important ones.”
“Would it help to make the visit to Trestles, now?”
She stared at him in surprise. “Right now?”
He folded his napkin. “Certainly.”
“All right—but think of an excuse, so we won’t have to stay very long.”
She caught a quick glimpse of frustration from him, and was instantly contrite. “Faith, Michael, I’m that sorry—it’s a beautiful place, and I haven’t given it a decent chance.” In her best supportive-wife manner, she declared, “If you wanted to move in tomorrow, wither thou goest, I would go, you know. I’m just bein’ a baby.”
“You are uncomfortable there. I understand, and I only wish I could remedy the problem.”
“No—it’s Edward’s home, and his heritage. I’ll come around, husband; pay me no mind.”
“All will soon be resolved,” he soothed. “Wait and see.”
With a smile, she squeezed the hand that held hers, even though her scalp was prickling to beat the band.
31
He always felt so rejuvenated, when he was here.
And so, a few hours later, Doyle found herself standing in the ancient archives room at Trestles, listening to the silence and feeling a bit foolish. The round, stone-walled room had been part of the original keep and it was always a bit cool, even on a warm day.
Since she needed to soothe the ghost of the angry knight, Acton had asked if it would be best to make the attempt from the oldest part of the manor house. She’d willingly agreed, and hadn’t the heart to tell him that it truly didn’t matter; the ghosts were always bangin’ about in the rafters and they were a noisy, attention-seeking bunch. She didn’t tell him because she was worried that it might sound creepy, and—ever since
her confrontation with the Santero—it was important that she never sound creepy.
The house was quiet, because Acton had phoned ahead and had seen to it that everyone was cleared out except for Hudson, who’d met them at the door with an impassive, respectful expression; not at all like someone who’d committed a shadow murder or two, in his day.
“Let me know if you have need of anything,” Acton had said to her, as he prepared to wait outside the ancient oaken door. “Take all the time you need.”
Yet again, she refrained from telling him that the knight had popped up immediately upon their entry to the house, very unhappy with her and rattling his sword as he was wont to do when he was irritated, which seemed to be most of the time.
A bit annoyed with the ghost’s high-handed rudeness, she addressed the silent walls in a low voice. “Listen, you—I know you’re unhappy about Savoie’s tryin’ to claim Trestles, but believe me, he’s not goin’ to take up residence here—faith, you’ll never even see him again. It’s all a misdirection play—a false flag. In truth, he’s helpin’ Acton.”
She was met with the unwavering conviction that she was a fool of the first order.
Exasperated, she retorted, “Fine, then; don’t believe me—and besides, it doesn’t matter in the first place; France and England aren’t at war—France and England are friendly, now. And Ireland is a sovereign state.” She thought she’d throw that in, just to knock him back a bit—he was such an arrogant know-it-all.
But again, she was given to understand that she was the next thing to a simpleton, and for a strange moment she was reminded of Harding, imploring her to pay attention, and nattering on about the stupid Até.
“You know that Acton’s no fool,” she soothed, in an attempt to lay his ghostly fears to rest. “He’s goin’ to be extra careful, when it comes to all things Savoie. And he’d never do anythin’ to jeopardize Trestles—I promise you.”
But the knight would not be swayed, and thoughtfully, she withdrew from the tower, holding up her palms in frustration when Acton’s gaze met hers. “It’s like talkin’ to the stones in the wall. He thinks Savoie is goin’ to take Trestles from you, and there’s nothin’ I can say to convince him otherwise.”
Murder in Shadow (The Doyle and Acton Murder Series Book 6) Page 17