Miss Fairmont and The Gentleman Investigator

by Pat White

  Grace pointed, sprayed and ran. She heard him coughing, swearing between gut-wrenching gags.

  Clutching her bags of clothes and food, she fled from him, determined not to let him take anything from her ever again.

  She raced down the street, turned a corner and hailed a cab. She’d get to the inn where she’d call the police immediately. The man who’d assaulted her on the train would not hurt her as he had before.

  Adrenaline addled her nerves, and she struggled to remember her destination. “Guest House of Edinburgh,” she said.

  It was a good mile to the inn, far enough that she felt sure Harry Franklin couldn’t follow her. What did he want? He already had her credit cards and money.

  The cab dropped her at the inn and she raced up the stairs. She put down her packages and fumbled in her pocket for her key. Not there. Oh, God, had Harry Franklin picked her pocket when she wasn’t paying attention, when she was too busy buying clothes for her bodyguard, buying him fish and chips?

  “My key, my key,” she whispered, her fingers shaking at the memory of his eyes, dark, like death, with a twisted, sick twinkle in the black pupil.

  If he got her key, what else did he get? Could he know where she was staying? They had to get out of here. She knocked on the door and it swung open.

  Bobby towered over her, anger filling his eyes. “Where the hell did you go?”

  “For clothes, then food, then Harry Franklin found me,” she said, her voice catching.

  His expression softened and he pulled her into the room with a gentle grip of her elbow. “Slow down, Grace. You saw Harry Franklin? The guy on the train?”

  “He was…he was outside the pub—”

  “A pub?”

  “I went for food, after I got clothes,” she said, shoving the shopping bag at him. “I got jeans and shirts and…and…” Her voice hitched.

  “Grace, it’s okay now. You’re safe.” Bobby led her to the bed and she sat.

  “My key, I can’t find my key. What if he got it?”

  He unpried her fingers from the food bag and placed it on the nightstand, then knelt beside the bed and held her hands in his. “Where did you put the key when you left me earlier?”

  “Um…jacket, jacket pocket.”

  “Check it.”

  She couldn’t move, still dazed by the thought that on her one trip out of the country she’d snagged herself a stalker.

  But why? She was a middle-school science teacher, for heaven’s sake.

  “I’m going to search for your key.” Bobby reached up and stuck his hand in her left coat pocket. Grace watched his eyes as they filled with concern. If Harry Franklin had taken her room key…

  “Not in this one,” Bobby said. “Grace, it will be okay. He can’t hurt you with me here.”

  “You were unconscious when I left.”

  “I’m okay now. Let’s check your other pocket.”

  Something snapped. This is exactly what she’d been fighting: depending on a man to make everything okay.

  “No,” she said, pushing his hand away. “I’ll do it.” She reached into her pocket and fished around. If she wanted to be an independent woman she had to start acting like one.

  If Harry Franklin had stolen her key she’d just have to deal with it.

  Her fingers grazed cool metal. She sighed and pulled the key from her coat pocket.

  “It’s here. It’s fine.”

  “See? I told you it would be,” Bobby said, with compassion in his eyes.

  And for some reason she resented it.

  She stood and took off her jacket. “I’d better call the police and tell them I saw Harry.”

  Someone knocked on her door. She jumped back, then took a deep breath and called, “Who is it?”

  “Detective Inspector Owen. May I have a word?”

  Bobby stood behind the door and motioned for her to open it. She did, and recognized the inspector from the hospital.

  “I thought we agreed there’d be no charges brought against Mr. Finn,” she said.

  “It’s not about that. Could you please step into the hall, alone?”

  She nodded at Bobby and went into the hall.

  “I was about to call the police,” she said.

  “You were?”

  “I just saw the man who attacked me on the train last night. He was following me.”

  Inspector Owen motioned for her to join him down the hall. “I didn’t know you were assaulted. Yes, well, it’s beginning to make sense.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry to say that we suspect Mr. Finn may not be the most honorable of chaps.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He has a criminal record, did you know that?”

  “I heard something about it.” He’d been honest with her and told her about his delinquent teenage years.

  “Did you also hear that one of his known partners was a man named Harry Franklin?” Inspector Owen said.

  “No.” A chill raced down her arms. It couldn’t be. Bobby had been hired to protect her. He couldn’t have known the man who attacked her.

  “Mr. Finn and his partner were suspects in half a dozen burglaries and assaults some years back. Harry got caught and served prison time for one of the crimes, but Bobby Finn’s girlfriend provided him with an alibi.”

  His girlfriend. Of course, always charming the ladies. Charming them into giving alibis, keeping him out of jail. Charming them into buying him clothes, dinner and a place to sleep for the night.

  “I…I can’t believe it,” she whispered.

  She glanced down the hall. He was living in her room, touching her things.

  She had to get out of here and away from him. Tonight.

  Yet something didn’t feel right. Dad wouldn’t hire a criminal to protect her. Had he been charmed, as well, tricked into hiring Bobby?

  “We don’t have solid proof of any wrongdoing, but I thought you should be warned,” the inspector said.

  “Thanks.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach.

  “He hasn’t left your side, has he?” Inspector Owen prodded.

  “No. He was supposedly hired by my father as a bodyguard.”

  “Why would you need a bodyguard?”

  “My father is overly protective since I’m his only child.” She glanced down the hall. “Why me?”

  “Anyone’s guess. Is your father wealthy?”

  “No, he works as a scientist for the U.S. government.”

  “Maybe it’s about his work. More likely, knowing Mr. Finn’s criminal history, it’s about money. It’s a new angle these days: chum up to a girl on holiday and keep her happy while you blackmail the family.”

  “But he told me he was with Scotland Yard before becoming a private detective.”

  “I checked. Couldn’t find any record of a Bobby Finn working at Scotland Yard.”

  Bobby a bad guy, working with Harry Franklin? She should call Dad to see if he’d received a ransom demand.

  Damn, her cell phone was in the room.

  She’d have to go back in there. Figure out how to get away from him. She should be afraid of him, afraid he might hurt her, but she wasn’t. There was something about Bobby Finn, something…gentle.

  Get real, girl! Maybe Dad was right to worry about her. She was too darned trusting.

  “I appreciate you stopping by.”

  “I tried phoning but it went into voice mail. You should check your mobile.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “I’ll put out a bulletin on Harry Franklin, see what we can turn up. In the meantime, be wary of Mr. Finn. Oh, he forgot this at the hospital.” He pulled a metal cross on a piece of black cord from his pocket.

  She took it from him and thought how ironic it was that a man like Bobby Finn would wear a cross around his neck. Yeah, he needed forgiveness for his sins all right.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “If you need anything—”

  “I won’t.”

  He
nodded and left. She went back to her room and took a deep, steadying breath before opening the door. Then she had a thought. She started downstairs. Her door cracked open.

  “Grace?” Bobby said.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said softly. “I need to find Mrs. McCarthy.”

  “You won’t leave the inn?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

  “No,” she said, turning and making her way to the first floor. She had half a mind to keep on walking, but her things were in her room, most importantly, Mom’s diary.

  She needed to get away from all these games and find her mother’s hometown. Discover that piece of herself that would make her feel whole.

  She found Mrs. McCarthy in the den watching television. “Can I help you?” the woman asked.

  “I was wondering if you had any openings tonight?”

  “I did have a room open up downstairs.”

  “I’d like to rent it for my friend,” Grace said.

  The woman went to the reception desk in the entryway and pulled out a key. She handed it to Grace. “I’ll charge your card then?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Grace went upstairs and opened the door to her room. Bobby was standing by the window, her mother’s diary in his hand. She clenched her jaw, suddenly feeling naked.

  “That’s personal,” she said, snatching it from his hands. No one had read Mom’s thoughts but Grace. She felt violated and suspicious about his motives.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Like hell, he was. He probably wanted to gain insight into her psyche so he could manipulate her more.

  “What did the inspector want?” he asked.

  “He needed me to sign a statement about your arrest.” Quick thinking, girl. She handed him the key. “A room has opened up downstairs.”

  He took the key and looked surprised, maybe even hurt. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I’ll be fine. Your room is right by the stairs so you can stay up all night and keep watch if you’re that worried.”

  “You were worried, too, a few minutes ago.”

  She untied the bag of food, resigned to the fact she’d have to eat this one last meal with him. She didn’t want to make him suspicious.

  Act cool, unaffected, as if nothing has changed.

  “I’m starving,” she said. With her foam container in hand she sat on the bed. She took a bite of fish hoping to speed up this process. Inside, her stomach rebelled as she fought her frustration. Was this man her enemy or friend?

  No, even if he wasn’t her enemy, he wasn’t a friend. He was hired to protect her. Maybe. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  Yet an hour ago she was protecting him in his hospital bed. Could she really have been so wrong about Bobby? She didn’t want to come right out and confront him with the inspector’s accusations. She had to figure out another way. She’d start by calling Dad, later, after Bobby left.

  She checked her cell phone. The battery was dead.

  “You’re sure everything is okay?” He walked over to close the door.

  “Leave it open,” she said. He took a step back and studied her. “Here.” She handed him his food. “So, tell me about your work.”

  “As a private detective?”

  She wondered if he was trying to remember which lie he’d told regarding his career.

  “That’s what you do, right?” she said.

  “Yes.” He opened his container and analyzed its contents, then closed it. “Maybe later. What else did the inspector say to you?”

  He pinned her with those dark eyes of his as if he could read her next lie before she even spoke it. To think she’d thought his eyes warm and charming last night on the train.

  “He said they’d put out a bulletin for Harry Franklin. That eased my mind a bit.”

  “Which doesn’t mean they’ll find him,” he muttered.

  Was that wishful thinking?

  “Oh, I don’t know. Stranger things have happened.”

  Like I was seduced by a major charmer named Bobby Finn.

  “I almost forgot.” She pulled the cross from her pocket. “He also came to return this. You left it at the hospital.”

  He didn’t reach for it at first, his expression suddenly younger, a bit lost.

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice hoarse. He took it from her and placed it around his neck.

  “Who gave that to you?” she said.

  “My mother, after…” His voice trailed off. “Before I left.”

  “Left for Scotland Yard?”

  “No, left for England, to live with my uncle.” He gently rubbed the metal cross as if to conjure good luck or maybe even solace.

  That expression on his face made her want to ask more questions about his childhood, his family and his disappointments. Was he really that good an actor?

  “Why did you live with your uncle?” she pushed.

  Bobby went to the window and stared down onto the street. Why did he live with his uncle? There were so many reasons, all of them rubbish. He knew the truth from the day mum had dropped him with Uncle Thomas: Bobby had been a grand failure and she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

  She might have tried to whitewash it by saying the schools were better in Uncle Thomas’s area of London, and that Bobby needed special help because of a learning problem, but he knew the truth. Ever since Wendy’s accident things were not the same at home. Bobby was no longer welcome. It was his fault Wendy struggled to walk with a cane, his fault she’d become a withdrawn, sad woman.

  If only he’d been paying attention. If only he’d moved a little faster, Wendy wouldn’t have been hit by the speeding car.

  And maybe if he’d spent another twenty years solving crimes he’d be able to live with himself.

  Or not. He’d never forgive himself for his sister’s condition, always wondering what kind of woman she would have become if not for the accident.

  “Is it for good luck?” she said.

  “What?” He’d forgotten what they were talking about. His brain had been a little fuzzy since his arrest, and he suspected it was due to more than a slight knock to his head. Something else had happened when he was with those two officers. If only he could remember.

  “The cross.” She motioned to his neck.

  “Not luck, exactly. More like…” What? What could he say? That it was his constant reminder that even if his mother and sister couldn’t forgive him, even if Bobby couldn’t forgive himself, there was always hope that God had the compassion to forgive a bastard like Bobby. “A reminder,” he said. “To behave.”

  “Does it work?” She smirked.

  “Not always.”

  “Like with women, right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I sense you’re a charmer with women. You use them, right?”

  “What if they’re using me?” he said.

  She shrugged and ate another piece of fish. She was awfully calm and sure of herself compared to when she’d come in earlier.

  It must have been Owen’s visit that had eased her fear. Even though she had Bobby as her personal bodyguard, a visit from the local police had probably calmed her down.

  Sure it had. Bobby was a failure at protection. She probably sensed it.

  “Are you well enough to make it downstairs by yourself?” she said.

  “You want to be rid of me that badly?” he joked.

  An odd look creased her features as if he’d guessed her very thoughts.

  “It’s been a full day,” she said. “I’d like the rest of the night to myself.”

  Something was off. She seemed colder, more distant than when they’d gone shopping. He could have sworn they’d developed a connection of sorts this afternoon.

  But now, watching the woman on the bed eat her fish and chips, he wondered if he’d imagined it. She suddenly seemed like a complete stranger.

  What are you thinking, Bobby? She is a complete stranger.

  “Have I done something?” he said without thinking.


  “Done something?”

  “Offended you in some way?”

  “No, why?”

  “You seem different, uncomfortable.”

  “I’m tired.” She closed her foam container and sighed. “Exhausted from all the drama.”

  “Right, well…” He started for the door and her shoulders sagged as if she was relieved. Why? Was she afraid of him?

  He thought they’d come to an agreement, an understanding about his role in her holiday. Yet she seemed anxious to be rid of him.

  “Good night, then.” He opened the door. “Make sure you lock this behind me. And pull the nightstand to the door to block anyone from coming inside.”

  “The nightstand isn’t very heavy.”

  “The bed then. Something.”

  “I’ll be fine. Will you?”

  She said the words, but he sensed she didn’t mean them. She wanted him out of her room and quite possibly out of her life.

  “Good night,” he said.

  “Wait.” She got up and handed him a shopping bag. “Some clothes I picked up for you.”

  “Thank you.” He closed the door, waited until he heard her lock it and went downstairs to his room. Something felt off, her attitude, her forced smile.

  You’re suffering from a blow to the head, mate. Maybe it’s all in your imagination.

  Bobby opened the door to Room Two and flipped on the light. The room was pleasant enough, a wood dresser in the corner and the bed covered with a flowered spread.

  He dumped the clothes on the bed. Not bad, he thought. Black trousers, a few black shirts and an emerald-green shirt. Cheeky.

  He splashed water on his face at the sink, then dressed in the new clothes.

  Well, he couldn’t put off the inevitable. Time to call in. He wasn’t sure how he was going to break the news to Max that he’d been arrested, although not charged. He’d start by calling Eddie to see if the bloke had any news for him on this case.

  “Malone, here.”

  “Eddie, mate, it’s Bobby.”

  “You okay, man? We got a call from the police asking about your employment with the Blackwell Group.”

  “Bugger,” he swore. “So, Max knows then?”

  “Yep. But he thinks something smells fishy, although he didn’t say it like that.”

  “Did you find uncover anything interesting about the Fairmont family?”