Miss Fairmont and The Gentleman Investigator

by Pat White

  A man dressed in a British Transport Police uniform walked in their direction.

  “Excuse me,” Bobby said. “We’re here to make a report about a mugging.” The man seemed puzzled. “The mugging on the rail from London?”

  “Oh, yes, I thought… Never mind. I can help you. I’m Officer Markham.” He shook hands with each of them. “Right this way.”

  He led them down a long hallway into an interview room. “We’ll get the details as quickly as possible so you can be on your way.”

  “The officer who picked us up got plenty of details,” Bobby said.

  “The officer who picked you up?”

  “I didn’t catch his name.”

  “Odd,” he said, and motioned for them to sit at a table across from him.

  “So, you are Mr. Fairmont?” the officer asked Bobby.

  Grace nearly choked at that one. She’d never fall for a man like Bobby Finn, a self-proclaimed troublemaker turned private detective. Although he was charming, she recognized his need to dominate and control.

  Grace needed a man who would trust her to take care of herself, a man she could trust, as well. She’d been fooled by her share of boyfriends, lured into romance with false promises.

  Trust was key with Grace. And respect.

  Although he’d been kind to her, she suspected Bobby Finn was an expert at tempting women into his bed. Not much respect in that.

  “I’m just a friend,” he clarified. “Bobby Finn.”

  “And Mr. Finn, you’re traveling with Miss Fairmont?”

  “We met on the train.”

  “And you’ve accompanied her here? What a gentleman.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Markham narrowed his eyes at Bobby as if trying to make out his character. “I’d like some basics from you, Mr. Finn, then I’ll interview Miss Fairmont.” He pulled out a pen and wrote something across a pad of white paper.

  Grace sensed that Bobby was uncomfortable, but she couldn’t figure out why.

  Markham asked questions about home addresses, employment and the reason for Bobby’s trip to Scotland. She noticed Bobby fisted his right hand in his lap. Maybe, as doctors make terrible patients, former Scotland Yard detectives make uncomfortable interviewees.

  Or maybe he was hiding something.

  She was being completely paranoid. Sure she was, she was tired, hungry and still rattled.

  The officer moved on to Grace. She answered the questions about her life and recalled what she could about the attack.

  A knock interrupted them. The door opened and a second officer walked in holding her backpack.

  “You found it!” She shot to her feet and he handed it to her.

  “Someone from the train turned it in,” the officer explained.

  “Excellent,” Officer Markham said.

  “Not excellent,” Bobby argued. “Why did he attack her if he didn’t want her pack?”

  “Money? Check inside, miss,” Markham said.

  She dug though her things, makeup case, books and emergency underwear in case her luggage had been lost. “He took my wallet, but nothing else. The rest of it’s here, even the pepper spray. A lot of good that did me,” she muttered.

  Relief settled low. She could put this incident behind her and move on with her trip. That is, after she notified the credit card companies.

  Bobby’s cell phone rang. “Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course, we’re nearly done,” Officer Markham said.

  Bobby touched her shoulder for support and left the room.

  “So, miss? You didn’t know Mr. Finn before to day?” Markham jotted something down.

  “No, why?”

  He leveled her with a serious expression. “How much do you know about Bobby Finn?”

  BOBBY WENT OUTSIDE to get better reception on his mobile.

  “Finn,” he answered.

  “It’s Eddie.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Fast is my middle name. Listen, this is one complicated family.

  “The mother left. Poof, disappeared one day. Then, about five years later, there’s a death notice for Mary Logan, that was her last name. Died in a ter rorist bombing in London. Body was messed up. Closed-casket service.”

  Abandoned by her mother. He glanced toward the station. Bobby knew what that felt like.

  “Oh, and this is weirdo stuff,” Eddie continued. “The boyfriend, Steven Hunter? I can’t find much on him. What’s that about, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’m beginning to think the assault on the train was not a coincidence. The bastard said Grace couldn’t run away like her mother. That’s too close to the truth. Is Max around?”

  “Just left with Cassie. Date night.”

  Good for him, Bobby thought. Max deserved a night out with the woman he loved.

  “I’ll check back tomorrow,” Bobby said. “Fill Max in. He should know what’s going on.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.”

  Bobby shook his head. “Good night.”

  Eddie was a character to be sure, and a gifted computer expert. Bobby shoved his mobile into his jacket pocket, puzzling over this new information.

  Grace had made it sound as if the mother had died when she was a child. Did she even know the truth—that her mother had disappeared five years before her death? And did the father have anything to do with it?

  It amazed Bobby how families could lie so easily.

  Da’s gone off on a sea journey and wun be back till next year.

  You’re just stayin’ with Uncle Thomas until school lets out. Schools are better in London.

  Lies, lies and more lies.

  Feeling his life was completely out of control, Bobby had reached out to his aunt and uncle who had nothing to give their precocious nephew.

  Feeling unloved, Bobby had reacted the only way an eleven-year-old boy could: he found another family—a local gang.

  Those were dark days. Then came Max Templeton, who’d challenged Bobby out of his anger and away from his criminal career.

  Max had saved his life, and Bobby would do anything to return the favor.

  Which right now meant protecting Miss Grace Fairmont, a woman who was turning out to be her very own mystery. She’d been attacked at random and happened to be dating a man with no past?

  He went back into the station to the interview room. He pushed open the door. Grace was gone.

  “Where is she?” Bobby asked.

  “One of my officers gave her a lift.”

  “What? To where?”

  “She’d made a reservation at a bed and breakfast for the night, paid in full so the missing credit cards are not an issue.”

  “But…” Bobby glanced out the door, confused and frustrated.

  “But what, Mr. Finn?”

  “I need to find her.”

  “She doesn’t want to be found. She wants to be left alone.”

  Bobby stared at him.

  “Yes, even from you.”

  “Bloody hell.” He turned and raced out of the station.

  Searching the street left, then right, he panicked.

  He rang Eddie.

  “Hey, long time no talk,” the computer genius quipped.

  “Grace Fairmont’s credit cards: find the numbers, trace them. I need to find out where she’s staying tonight.”

  “What, you lost her already? I thought—”

  “Just do it, please.”

  Bobby paced the sidewalk. Blast, if she was hurt again while out of his company—

  No, he wouldn’t let it happen. He’d only been gone minutes when she’d sneaked out of the station.

  Sneaked away. Was she scared of him? Why? What had the Transport Police officer said to make her leave without even saying goodbye?

  Now he sounded like a twit. He was a stranger who had offered comfort on a train, nothing more. He didn’t deserve another thank-you or goodbye.

  “Got it,” Eddie said. “The Guest House of Edinburgh at 8 Ne
wington Road.”

  “Thanks.” Bobby clicked off his mobile and hailed a cab.

  Instinct told him this wasn’t a routine mugging, and this was anything but a routine American woman.

  Now, if he could only get to her in time.

  HE LIT a fag and glanced across the street at the dark-haired stranger in the leather jacket. This could be a problem.

  The man named Bobby Finn climbed into a cab and took off, probably in search of the girl. Why? Who was he working for?

  He stepped into the phone box and called in. “Eleven o’clock check-in. She’s safe in Edinburgh for the time being.”

  “What does she know?”

  “Can’t be sure. She had company so I couldn’t ask too many questions.”

  “Intel indicated she’d be traveling alone.”

  “She made a friend on the train. A man named Bobby Finn. Must be a cop, or former cop. He made me.”

  Silence.

  “No,” he clarified. “He doesn’t know who I am but he suspected something.”

  “And the girl? Where is she now?”

  “On her way to the inn.”

  “Did you identify her attacker?”

  “Not yet. I’m worried about her new friend. He could complicate things.”

  “We’ll have to take care of him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Set him up. Be creative.”

  “And if he’s a cop?”

  “All that matters is the girl and finding out what she knows.”

  “And if she knows nothing?”

  “Unfortunate for her. If she doesn’t know anything, she’s as good as dead.”

  Chapter Four

  Grace sat on her bed, paging through the worn leather diary. As she traced her fingers across the faded pages, she struggled to absorb her mother’s thoughts and feelings.

  An inquisitive little girl, Grace reaches for everything, especially my gold locket. I will give it to her one day, when she’s all grown up.

  Grace squeezed the locket in her hand. She could no longer wear it around her neck, thanks to the jerk who’d broken the clasp when he’d ripped it off.

  The image of Bobby Finn’s soft brown eyes taunted her. She should have said something before leaving, but the officer had a point: she knew nothing about Bobby. He could be a part of the attack on the train.

  No, she didn’t believe that. She’d left him behind because she felt herself relying on him, appreciating his steady hand and virile strength. She found herself falling into an old pattern of being taken care of by a man and she didn’t like it, especially not with a stranger, for Pete’s sake.

  Still, he’d been helpful and gracious. She’d do the right thing and call his cell phone in the next day or two, apologize for running off and thank him again for his help. After all, she wasn’t rude by nature.

  And apparently not cautious, either.

  She flipped a page in her mother’s diary.

  She has her father’s blond hair and blue eyes. I hope she’ll grow up looking more like him than me.

  “Why did you want me to look like Dad?”

  Someone knocked on her door. She sat straight and closed the diary, marking her place with her locket chain.

  “Yes?”

  “Miss Fairmont? You’d mentioned wanting to take a bath? It’s available,” the innkeeper, Mrs. McCarthy, said through the door.

  “That would be great.”

  “I’ll put a note on the door and you can have it for thirty minutes then.”

  “Thanks.”

  She slipped on her footies and tied her robe around her waist. Her cell phone rang. The caller ID read Dad and she sighed. Well, she couldn’t avoid this forever.

  “Hi, Dad,” she answered, trying to sound perky.

  “Gracie,” he said in that dad tone. “You were supposed to call when you’d checked in.”

  “I just got here.”

  “Just?”

  “Have you spoken to Steven?”

  “No, why?”

  Odd. She figured Steven would have called her father for reinforcements, to convince her to come home.

  “There was an incident on the train. I’m fine but it delayed my getting here.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  “Someone stole my backpack. It’s okay, though. They found it. Everything is fine.”

  “You’re trying too hard.”

  “Dad, really, I’m fine. I’m about to take a bath and the clock’s ticking on my thirty minutes so if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “You promise you’re okay?”

  “Promise.”

  “Gracie—”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, too, sweetie.”

  She hung up. Tension started around the base of her throat, that feeling she used to get when she’d try hanging out with a new friend, only to have Dad call the parents. Then he’d call his friend at the police department to do a background check and make her wait until the family had been approved before she could go over to play.

  By the time she got there, playtime had been cut in half and the new friend thought Grace a freak with a bossy dad.

  Grace knew he meant well. But after all these years would she ever break free of his micromanaging? Ever become her own woman?

  She dug in her backpack and pulled out the pepper spray. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she wasn’t going anywhere without it from now on. She hoped she’d never have to use it, but holding it in her hand made her feel safe.

  She headed down the hall to the bathroom, closed the door and locked it. Filling the tub, she sat on the toilet seat and dropped lavender bath salts into the water.

  When she’d started dating Steven she’d thought it progress that Dad hadn’t demanded Steven be fingerprinted and checked against the FBI database before her second date. Working for the government, Dad had connections and friends in all kinds of places.

  But he’d seemed to trust her decision to date Steven. Dad’s confidence made her feel a bit independent, like a mature, grown woman who could make her own choices and take care of herself.

  For the most part Steven supported that concept, but every once in a while he’d slip, and it seemed that he was falling into the overprotective role, as well.

  Was that because women are attracted to men like their fathers? Had she unwittingly attracted another controlling man into her life?

  God, she hoped not. But here, thousands of miles and an ocean away, things looked a bit clearer than they did back home in Illinois. Things seemed a bit clearer since she’d had time to breathe and think without the pressures of school, lesson plans and paper-grading.

  Now, if she could recover from the trauma of being attacked on the train she’d actually relax and enjoy this trip.

  A trip designed to help her find peace.

  She took off her clothes and slipped into the water, letting it warm her skin. She turned off the faucet and leaned back, her arms resting on the rim of the tub.

  It felt heavenly, the quiet, the solitude.

  After Dad had married Andrea and had two more children, life had been anything but quiet. Grace had wanted to please her new mother, maybe even find love there. Andrea did love Grace, but not the same way a biological mother would love her child. Grace was convinced of this.

  She slid down, letting her shoulders rest deeper in the water. It had been Dad who had bathed her as a little girl, fed her and read to her at night.

  Dad. He’d always seemed sad growing up, which is why Grace tried so hard to please him, not disobey his wishes. But at what cost? She was now in her twenties and still felt that tug to please him instead of pursuing her own dreams. Sure, she loved teaching science, but a part of her yearned for something more, something exciting.

  “Girl, getting away has really mixed you up,” she muttered.

  Exciting? Grace was the definition of predictability. She didn’t need or want anything outside that safe circle.

>   Or did she?

  The lights went out and she was plunged into complete darkness. She sat up and reached for the pepper spray. Gripping it in her hand she heard the doorknob rattle.

  Her heart slammed against her chest. Naked, wet and alone.

  Vulnerable.

  A flash of memory sparked panic.

  Lights out. A stranger’s presence. Grace was only five.

  But she wasn’t five now.

  “Who’s there?” she called.

  Pepper spray in hand, she got out of the tub and fumbled in the dark, drying off the best she could. It wasn’t pitch-black, thanks to the streetlight outside.

  “Miss Fairmont?” the innkeeper called through the door. “We’ve had a power outage. I’m terribly sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  She managed to get her robe on and tie the sash, her fingers trembling from the cold. Or was it fear?

  “I’ve put a lantern in the hallway so you can find your way back to your room.”

  “Thank you.”

  Grace heard the floorboards squeak as the woman went back downstairs.

  “It’s okay. Breathe,” she ordered herself. With arms straight out and a finger on the pepper spray, she opened the door. She grabbed the lantern and went to her room, shaking off the sensation that someone was behind her, too close, within reach.

  She’d always been scared of the dark. Ever since the lights had gone out when she was five and had waited for Dad to return with the flashlight. She could have sworn someone was there, with her in the bathroom.

  Just like she felt someone was behind her now.

  She spun around pointing the pepper spray at her imaginary stalker. The short hallway was empty.

  “Get a grip,” she muttered.

  She turned and opened the door to her room.

  “Grace,” a deep voice said from the corner.

  She screamed and fired off the pepper spray.

  “Bloody Christ,” a man said, coughed and collapsed to the floor. “Grace, don’t. It’s Bobby.”

  Bobby struggled to breathe, his eyes burning, his chest tightening as if someone was squeezing the air out of his lungs.

  “How did you find me?” she cried.

  “I’ll explain.” Cough. Cough. “I have to…talk to you.”

  He wheezed, struggling to breathe. Blast, if she called the police on him he’d be taken away for questioning and she’d be vulnerable again.