Night Storm (Bones & Gemstones Book 1)

by Tracey Devlyn

“At what time?”

  “I don’t know. Around noon, maybe.”

  “For any particular reason?”

  “She likes pistachios. I took her a bag.”

  “Is this something you do on a regular basis?”

  Felix rubbed his palms down his trousers. “I—”

  “Mr. Adair,” Charlotte interrupted. “I don’t think a pistachio killed Lady Winthrop. Could we please move on?”

  Felix glanced at Cameron.

  “Answer my question, Mr. Scott.”

  Charlotte’s grip on her reticule tightened.

  Felix cleared his throat. “No.”

  “Why did you this time?”

  “I needed a favor.”

  Cameron waited a heartbeat, then sighed. “What type of favor?”

  “Did Mrs. Fielding tell you I’d auditioned for a part the day her ladyship died?”

  “I had heard about your audition, but not from Mrs. Fielding.”

  “Jeffrey Gallow auditioned for the same part. He’s better than me. Older, too.” Felix’s thumb rubbed back and forth against the smooth grain of the chair’s wooden arm. His voice dropped. “I had to stand out, somehow. Make them forget my age and lack of experience. So I traded a bag of pistachios for one hour’s use of a Roman costume.”

  “It was a good plan,” Charlotte said.

  “Why did you select Roman garb?” Cameron asked.

  Felix glanced away, embarrassed. “I used Marc Antony’s speech for my monologue. Seemed fitting.”

  As if sensing Felix held something back, Cameron said, “I’m not here to judge you, Mr. Scott. Only to get the facts so I can locate the baroness’s murderer.”

  A muscle in Felix’s jaw jumped as his gaze shifted from Cameron to the wall and back again. “Romans were warriors. Courageous, strong, unstoppable. I thought if I could—” He broke off to sit forward, resting his forearms on his knees while one palm rubbed anxiously over the knuckles of his other hand. “If I could pretend for five minutes that I was a Roman general on the edge of a battlefield, then a mere audition would not seem so impossible.” He peered at them both with a mixture of chagrin and challenge sparkling in his eyes.

  “Did your stratagem work?” Cameron asked.

  “Yes—” Charlotte said.

  “I don’t know—” Felix answered at the same time.

  Cameron stared at Charlotte and Felix. “Which is it?”

  Charlotte said, “Mr. Riordan asked Felix to perform a second monologue, which meant the manager liked what he heard.”

  Cameron raised a questioning brow at Felix.

  “She’s right,” Felix mumbled. “But I’ve been told not to go back to the theater, so I don’t know if I got the part.”

  “Why are you not allowed to return to the Augusta?”

  “Because I asked him to stay away.” Charlotte straightened her spine, bracing herself for Cameron’s rebuke. He already thought her overprotective of Felix. Hearing she’d all but forbidden Felix to return to a place he loved would no doubt add another mark to her list of sins. “At least until we have a better idea of why Lady Winthrop was killed.”

  “A prudent decision.”

  Charlotte frowned, uncertain if she’d heard him correctly.

  Felix threw himself back into the chair, crossing his arms.

  Cameron pushed on as if he’d not noticed both hers and Felix’s reactions to his comment. “Can you describe the Roman costume for me?”

  “Looks just like the paintings of Julius Caesar or Marc Antony or Augustus.” Felix’s eyes narrowed on Cameron’s blank look. “Haven’t you seen any of those?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “I wore a long red cloak shot with gold thread, arm guards and a leather apron, and a gold-colored breastplate.”

  “Sounds like the wardrobe mistress did well by you.”

  “It was a big bag of pistachios.”

  “Tell me something, Felix. What did you wear beneath the body armor?”

  Charlotte gritted her teeth. All of Cameron’s questioning came down to this one answer. She tried to think of a logical reason to stop Felix from answering, but nothing came to mind. In the end, Felix’s answer didn’t change anything. It would simply leave Cameron wondering why she’d had her nose buried in a sixteen-year-old boy’s costume. She shuddered.

  “A long tunic,” Felix said.

  “Did it match your cloak in color?”

  “Yes.” Felix glanced at Charlotte, suddenly sensing her distress. “Why are you so interested in my costume?”

  “No particular reason,” Cameron said. “Other than it helps me to visualize things. What did you do after leaving wardrobe?”

  Felix went on to explain how he found a secluded area to practice his lines until the manager called them to the stage. “After Mr. Riordan finished his opening remarks, I ran to wardrobe, put on my costume, and hurried back to the stage. After the audition, I joined Mrs. Fielding and my sister, and we left.”

  “I understand you may have been a little late to your audition.”

  Felix nodded. “The wardrobe mistress couldn’t find the brooch she always used to pin the cape together at the shoulder. Luckily, the cape had multiple costume uses and came with ties that could be used to secure it at the neck instead. But, unfortunately, one of the ties broke.”

  A whirring began in Charlotte’s ears, momentarily disorienting her. What were the chances two broken red cloak ties would show up on the same day at the Augusta Theatre? None, zero, naught. And she didn’t believe in coincidence—not of this magnitude. She struggled to decipher what this new information meant, but she couldn’t seem to connect the layers.

  Cameron cut into her panicked thoughts. “Sounds like you had a bit of bad luck before treading the boards.”

  “If I were the superstitious kind,” Felix said, “I would have tucked tail and gone home.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. I remembered something Mrs. Fielding told me once.”

  “Which was?”

  “We are only defeated when we allow ourselves to be. She said the mind produces many fears. Fears that give us permission to quit rather than face possible failure.” Felix sent her one of his mischievous smiles. “I wasn’t about to let a brooch or a broken tie defeat me.”

  Tears stung the backs of Charlotte’s eyes. After Felix’s moving audition, she thought she couldn’t ever be more proud of him. But she was wrong. So wrong. “Bravo, Felix.”

  He folded his arm across his midsection and performed a seated bow.

  “How did you wind up securing the cloak?” she asked.

  “We ripped the place apart until we located another brooch.”

  “After your successful audition,” Cameron said, “you located Mrs. Fielding and your sister before leaving by way of the staff entrance. Correct?”

  “Yes, sir—after I returned the costume.”

  “As you approached the passageway door, did you see anyone entering or leaving the theater?”

  “Not that I can think of. But there were so many people flitting around, I might have.”

  “You were the first to enter the passageway leading out to the street?”

  Felix nodded.

  “Did you see anyone in the passageway?”

  “No. I didn’t even see her ladyship’s body until I fell flat on my face.”

  “Lady Winthrop’s black cloak covered every inch of her, even her face,” Charlotte added.

  Cameron nodded, thoughtful. “Did anything unusual catch your notice?”

  “Unusual how?”

  “A shadowy movement, a strange sound—anything out of the ordinary.”

  “We were all busy talking about ways we would celebrate my audition as we entered the passageway. I didn’t hear anything beyond our conversation.”

  Cameron nodded. “Had you ever noticed Lady Winthrop around the theater before the incident?”

  “Sure.”

  Several heartbeats slammed by without
clarification.

  “Mr. Scott,” Cameron said, “the more detail you can give me, the better chance I’ll have at locating the killer.”

  “I’ve seen her before.” Felix slid deeper into his seat. “Her ladyship spent a lot of time backstage with the actors and attended most of the performances. She was always there.”

  “Can you think of anyone she spent more time with than the others?”

  “You think an actor killed her?”

  “I think nothing of the sort.”

  “Then why are you asking about who she spent her time with?”

  Cameron rubbed at his shoulder. “So I can understand Lady Winthrop better. Given the fact that nothing was stolen from her reticule, I suspect she knew her assailant.”

  Felix shook his head. “Lady Winthrop chatted with everyone. No one special stands out, except for Mr. Riordan.”

  “Riordan?”

  “Her ladyship spent a lot of time in his office.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “The money, I suspect. I’d heard she helped keep the theater operating.”

  “Can you think of anything else about Lady Winthrop’s involvement at the theater?”

  “I always wondered about her husband.”

  “Why?”

  “Never saw him once. Her ladyship would attend the performances either alone or, more likely, with her friends.”

  “Male friends?”

  “No, she wasn’t that kind of lady.”

  “Thank you, Felix.” Cameron rose to his feet, holding out his hand to assist Charlotte to her feet. “I believe I’m done here.”

  His abruptness threw her off balance, and she mindlessly took his hand.

  After presenting a card to Felix, he said, “If you think of anything else—anything—don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.”

  Charlotte smiled at Felix. “I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Fielding.”

  Pausing at the door, Cameron glanced back at Felix. “Did you ever get an opportunity to celebrate?”

  Felix shoved his hands in his pockets. “No, sir.”

  Regret burned in Charlotte’s stomach as she made her way to the carriage. How could she have been so insensitive as to not have followed through on Felix’s celebration? It wasn’t like her to be so thoughtless. She sent a sideways glare in Cameron’s direction. He had set her world topsy-turvy once again.

  Cameron assisted her into the carriage. Once they got underway, he waited three agonizing minutes to ask the question burning in the air between them.

  “What was it about Felix’s costume that had you so…intrigued?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that what she did or didn’t do was none of his concern anymore. But the new information Felix had revealed about his costume disturbed her on a level she still didn’t understand.

  “Charley, please tell me you’re not going to try and deny that the red tunic you were holding the other day was Felix’s.”

  Then the layers of intrigue began to click into place. Slowly, precisely, devastatingly. Why she hadn’t been able to assimilate all the clues before; she didn’t know. The answer to how two broken red ties wound up at the Augusta on the same day was so obvious, she was embarrassed by her slow-wittedness.

  There was only one broken tie, the one from Felix’s costume, and someone had to have planted Felix’s tie in the passageway. But how? Why? When would they have had the opportunity? Did the wardrobe mistress notice it was missing?

  “What will it take, Charley?” Cameron’s voice carried a note of anger or frustration, possibly both.

  She shook her head, surprised by how deeply entrenched she’d been in her own thoughts. “Pardon?”

  “Last night, you said you trusted me to keep you safe. Yet you don’t believe I’ll safeguard your secrets, nor did you think I would treat Felix with care. What does all that mean, Charley?”

  Did she even know? No, she realized. Since Cameron had reappeared in her life, she had acted on instinct. She never wanted to give him the power to hurt her again. Nor did she want others she cared about to be hurt by him. The young man she once knew would never have preyed on those weaker than him. But would this new, ruthless, hardened man? She thought of Granston and Alice and Trig and knew the answer.

  Whatever Cameron had been forced to do to survive and establish himself as a successful thief-taker had nothing to do with the compassionate man inside. She still might not be able to trust him with her heart, but she could offer him a special place in her life for as long as they both desired such a connection.

  Lifting her gaze to his, she produced a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know what it all means.” She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Did Felix reveal anything of substance to help with your search?”

  He studied her for several long seconds. “Yes and no. I didn’t learn anything that would point me into another direction. However, I’m able to mark Felix off my list of potential suspects.”

  Charlotte’s body melted into the seat cushion as the tension she’d been harboring slowly seeped from her muscles. “Did you truly suspect him?”

  “No, but I’ve learned to follow every possibility.”

  “Since Piper and I were also in the passageway, will you be questioning us?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “But you may, eventually.”

  “I may.”

  Some time passed before Charlotte realized they weren’t heading in the direction of her shop. “Where are we going?”

  “To my office.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Can we not do so now?”

  “Not enough time, and I’d prefer that we not be interrupted.”

  A dozen reasons filed through her mind as to why Cameron would want to be alone with her to discuss an important issue. Some terrifying. Could this be good-bye, once and for all? Had Jules shared their conversation with him? Would she have to relive the nightmare all over again?

  By the time she had worked through all the possibilities, her heart clattered inside her chest. Anticipation vibrated along every nerve in her body.

  She hoped whatever it was he wished to discuss didn’t end in a terrible row. She was tired of being angry with Cameron and had no desire for either of them to hurt a moment longer.

  She wanted, finally, to be free of the past.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adair pushed open the door leading into the lower level of his office, stepping aside to allow Charley to precede him. She had said little since he had announced their destination. And Adair didn’t care to speculate on the reason for her silence.

  On the short walk from the carriage to the front door, he found himself uncharacteristically nervous. So much of him resided within the walls of these three floors. Before settling in at the Mirador, he had lived here, struggled here, and eventually succeeded here.

  The ground level held a comfortable antechamber for waiting clients. An office and sleeping chamber could be found beyond the antechamber, both utilized by his man of business, Neville Vaughn. Unmarried, Vaughn often worked deep into the night. After finding him often slumped over his desk, Adair had insisted on renovating the ground level to include private quarters for Vaughn.

  The first floor held a spacious office for Adair as well as a smaller, cozier library full of novels, travel guides, and collectors’ manuals on antiquities, gemstones, armaments, coins, and several other reference topics. Although useful, the manuals were basic and no substitute for meeting face-to-face with experts in the field.

  Early on in his career, he had realized the value of learning as much about the stolen property as the thieves themselves. Such advanced knowledge had aided him on more than one occasion. When he wasn’t researching a particular collectible, he enjoyed studying new worlds discovered by famed explorers like Ibn Battuta, Johan Nieuhof, and Marco Polo.

 
; The second floor of the building housed his bedchamber, plus two additional rooms that had sat empty for the first year and a half. During that time, his bedchamber had consisted of little more than a bed, an armoire, and a washbasin.

  As his business expanded, his utilitarian sleeping quarters transformed into an expansive sanctuary, taking up the entire third floor. He had moved walls, added doors, installed towering windows, created a private bathing area and reading niche, and installed a modern water closet.

  Even though he now spent a lot of time at the Mirador, this place would always be his sanctuary. For the first time ever, he wanted to share it with someone besides Vaughn and Trigger.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Adair.” Neville Vaughn appeared in the doorway between his office and the antechamber.

  “Hello, Vaughn.” Adair nudged Charley forward. “Neville Vaughn, I would like to introduce you to Charlotte Fielding. Mrs. Fielding’s an old friend of mine and Jules. She’s also a witness in the Winthrop case.” He turned to Charley. “Mrs. Fielding, Mr. Vaughn is my man of business. I should try to come up with a better title, but none seem to encompass all that he does. First and foremost, he keeps our clients happy and me organized. Both of which are incredibly difficult feats.”

  “Nonsense.” Vaughn sent Charley a lopsided grin, not meeting her gaze with his unsettling eyes. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Fielding.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Vaughn. How long have you worked for Mr. Adair?”

  “Four years next month.”

  “So you’ve been involved with his business almost from the beginning.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Vaughn shifted his attention to Adair. “The coroner stopped by earlier, looking for the two of you.”

  “Did he leave a message?”

  “He asked that I tell you that the thread he found was blue.”

  “Blue,” Charley murmured, as if saying the word aloud would help her make a connection to the murderer.

  Vaughn looked at him inquiringly.

  “Blackburne found a dark thread beneath Lady Winthrop’s fingernail. Interesting information to know, but, unfortunately, it doesn’t help us identify her killer. At least not yet.”

  “I had thought to meet a friend for a drink at the Mirador,” Vaughn said. “However, if you need me to stay, I can reschedule.”