But maybe this night he’d gone to meet a black market fence for a stolen dagger. No wonder Wample was so sure he was right about this arrest.
“I was going to have a spot of pudding at Louise, but it was too crowded and I was all aflutter about the big day on the morrow. So I went home, had a draught of brandy and went to bed. The next morning I was as excited as a schoolboy. The press arrived, everything was ready. Neville arrived and we rolled in the cart with the crate to unveil the dagger. And…it was gone. I have no idea what happened. I feel as if this is all my fault but I didn’t take it. I followed protocol.”
Parker leaned forward with a stern look in his eyes. “Mr. Eames. I need you to remember if there was anyone in the storeroom with you last night. Anyone who might have followed you in.”
Eames blinked at Parker as if he was speaking Dutch. “No. Toby usually helps me receive, but he had a date and I told him it was all right, I’d take care of it myself. I wish I hadn’t. At least I’d have a witness.”
“Toby?”
“Toby Waverly,” Sir Neville supplied. “He’s an intern. He started at the museum two months ago.”
Parker’s brows furrowed. “You let an intern help receive priceless artifacts?”
“Not all of them are so valuable. There are usually other staff members there. Several. But it was a weeknight and we had an early day the next morning. I sent everyone home.”
“When the Marc Antony dagger was being delivered?”
With a groan Sir Neville put his palms against his temples. “This is all my fault. I should have been there. But the lorry service has always been impeccable. Our security system is first rate. We’ve never had a single incident before. I never thought—” His voice trailed off.
Parker reached over and patted him on the arm. “We have to all stay calm, Sir Neville. We have to think. Mr. Eames, I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have enough to get you released yet. Tonight I want you to concentrate very hard and try to remember who on your staff has been acting strangely within the past week or so. Who might have been in the storeroom when he or she wasn’t supposed to be. Anything out of the ordinary you can recall.”
Looking worried, Eames shifted in his chair, making the old wooden slabs creak. “I’m not sure what I can come up with, but I’ll try.”
“We’ll get you counsel, of course.” Sir Neville said.
“No need. I already have someone.”
“Really?”
“Well, when the inspector started tossing accusations around, I thought I had better. I spoke to Trenton Jewell.”
Sir Neville blinked several times as if confused. “Trenton? We haven’t been close since Cambridge.”
“I see him now and then. Actually, he called me.”
Parker shot Miranda a look of concern. “How did he know you were in here?”
“Is the news of Mr. Eames’ arrest in the media?” Miranda wanted to know. She hadn’t heard it but she’d only seen one newspaper.
Eames looked from Miranda to Parker to Sir Neville. “I—I don’t know. Trenton hears things in his profession, I suppose. Anyway, he offered to defend me pro bono.”
Sir Neville sat back, a look of shock on his gentle face. “That’s wonderful, George. Very generous of him.”
And strange, Miranda thought. But what did she know about old college friendships? She’d never made any real friends until last year. You didn’t form attachments in the school of hard knocks.
Parker rose and the other two men got to their feet, weariness in their movements. After everyone said good-bye, Parker called the officer to take Eames back to his holding cell, and the three of them shuffled back down the hall.
“We’ll do as you said, Russell,” Sir Neville murmured almost to himself. “We’ll figure out who did this. All of us together.”
They had better. Or Sir Neville would be looking for a new chief collections manager soon.
Chapter Eight
As they climbed back into the limo, fatigue began to hit Miranda hard. She leaned back her head, closed her eyes and listened to Parker and Sir Neville chatting.
“If it’s not out of the way, your driver can drop us off at the hotel.”
“Hotel? Oh, no, Russell.”
“I think we need to get some rest at this point.”
“Oh, of course you do. And neither of you has had a descent meal, either. What a bad host I am.”
“You’re not a host, Sir Neville. You’re a client. You’ve had a very bad happenstance.”
Happenstance? Miranda thought. Parker was sounding more British by the minute.
“Nonetheless, you are both my guests. And as such, I can’t let you go to a hotel. You must stay at Eaton House.”
Miranda’s eyes popped open. “Eaton House?”
“Our estate in Surrey. Well, technically Davinia’s estate.”
Parker nodded. “Oh, yes. I recall now.”
“It’s just an hour’s drive. I promise to make you comfortable.”
“Are you sure it won’t be any trouble?” Parker asked.
“Oh, no. There will only be Davinia, and Lionel and his wife.”
Parker frowned. “Lionel is your son, correct?”
“My stepson. His father was the late Harry Halsing, Earl of Eaton. Lady Gabrielle, daughter of the Marquis of Camden, is Lionel’s wife. They haven’t been married very long.”
Parker turned to Miranda. “What do you say?”
All she wanted was a nice meal and a cozy bed. But it might be smart to get to know Sir Neville’s family, even with all their crazy names and lineage. One of them might have had access to the museum. Or they might have a better idea of who Sir Neville’s enemies were.
She nodded. “I’m game.”
Sir Neville smiled for the first time since she’d met him. “It’s settled then.”
They turned a corner and once again stopped at the hotel to check out and get their bags. Then Sir Neville told the driver to head home.
Chapter Nine
By the time they reached Surrey, the rain had stopped and a magnificent sunset flooded the rolling hills on the horizon with dazzling color. A rainbow stretched over a hill and ran behind a clump of trees, adding to the splendor.
But even the gorgeous landscape’s impact paled next to the grandeur of Eaton House.
A huge estate of weathered, ornate stone that must have been constructed centuries ago, it stood with its turrets and spindly, sharp spires pointing majestically to the sky, while its hundred or so windows looked snobbishly down their noses at the peons entering below.
If the Parker estate was too rich for Miranda’s blood, this place was diabetic coma level. In fact, Parker’s whole house would barely make a nice garage here.
The chauffeur opened the limo door, and Miranda stepped out into fresh air tinted with the scent of flowers and the sound of birdsong. “Nice digs,” she murmured under her breath to Parker.
It made him smile.
But Sir Neville shook his head at her reaction. “It is rather ostentatious, isn’t it? But Davinia loves it, so here we are.”
The chauffeur hurried up the stone steps and opened the massive front door, and their host ushered them through a narrow, medieval-looking passage and into a grand hall at least three times as large as the Parker mansion foyer back home.
Its floor was covered with a huge red-and-gold carpet with a gaudy design, its walls were filled with even gaudier tapestries of men in tights under willow trees, and above and between the hangings were rows and rows of tall gothic arches and high windows that let in the receding sunlight.
“As magnificent as I recall it,” Parker said.
“You’ve been here before?” Miranda asked.
Parker nodded. “When I was a boy.”
“A very curious boy, too, as I recall,” Sir Neville added.
While they stood there gawking, a female voice rang out from one of the halls “Neville, is that you?” She didn’t sound very happy. A moment later a sta
tuesque woman stepped through one of the arched doorways and stopped short. “There you are. Where on earth have you—? Oh.”
She looked to be maybe in her mid-fifties but she wore her age well. She had her dark hair caught up in a stylish chignon at the nape of her neck, and she wore a rosy dress that went well with her flawless complexion. The skirt was cut to accent her long legs. She might have been a dancer in her heyday.
Sir Neville stretched his arms to encompass everyone in the room. “Davinia, dear, this is Wade Parker’s boy, Wade Russell Parker and his wife Miranda Steele from Atlanta, Georgia. Russell, Miranda, this is my wife, Lady Davinia.”
As if programmed for good manners, Davinia stepped stiffly forward, hand outstretched. “Good evening, Mr. Parker, Ms. Steele.”
“Good to meet you,” Miranda said, not sure that it would be.
“Wade Parker. Why yes, I remember your father. You’re visiting from America?” She cast a doubtful glance at her husband. Obviously she wanted to know why he’d dragged these two near strangers home.
“They’re private investigators, Davinia. They’ve come to help find who took the Marc Antony dagger.”
She blinked, her gaze going back and forth from her husband to her new houseguests, as if he had just spoken in Japanese. “But isn’t Scotland Yard handling that?”
“Of course, but Russell has an outstanding reputation. Well, his whole agency does. He’s solved cases that have stumped the authorities. I thought the museum deserved the best.”
“Oh, yes. Such a dreadful business. I…heard about it on the news.” She placed a hand on his arm. The first gesture of affection Miranda had seen between them. “I’m so very sorry, Neville. You must be devastated.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. Shaken to the bone, in fact. But never mind me. Russell and Miranda are in want of a good meal and a quiet night’s rest. I hope we can provide that for them.”
Her eyes glowed as her mouth opened in dismay. “Have you forgotten the dinner party tonight?”
Now Sir Neville’s mouth opened and shut again. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to argue with Davinia. Instead he shook his head. “Yes, I did forget what with…what happened at the museum. I suppose it’s too late to cancel it, even though it could prove…discomforting.”
Davinia turned a tad defensive. “Of course, it’s too late. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure you would even be here, Neville. I thought it would look worse to cancel. This way you can show you’re handling the incident with grace.” She waved a hand at Miranda and Parker. “Why, you’ve even brought in your own investigators. I’m sure all will be set right in a matter of days.”
Talk about living in a glass tower. This lady didn’t know much about chasing down ruthless criminals, did she? And Miranda couldn’t help catching a hint of resentment in her tone.
Apparently Sir Neville hadn’t even spoken to her since the theft. There was trouble brewing in River City and that was the last thing they needed. And to top it off they had to go to a dinner party? They should have stayed at the hotel.
Lady Davinia turned to them with a magnanimous smile. “Mr. Parker, Ms. Steele, would you be so good as to join our party for dinner?”
Parker cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought a tux, Sir Neville.”
“It’s to be small, rather informal,” Lady Davinia answered for her husband. “Loungewear.”
Miranda frowned. They were supposed to come in PJs?
“Suits and ties will do for the gentlemen. Cocktail dresses for the ladies.”
Now it was Miranda’s turn to feel awkward. “I don’t have—”
“I packed one for you,” Parker interrupted. “The blue one you wore to the Governor’s mansion this spring.”
Miranda glared at him. How could he know they’d need evening wear? Besides, she’d been hoping to go over the case with him tonight. Not hobnob with some highbrow Brits.
Satisfied Lady Davinia gave them a dismissive, thin-lipped smile and turned to go. “Very good, then. Dinner is at eight. I’ll have Geoffrey show you to your rooms.”
“Have him take up the bags,” Sir Neville called to her. “I’ll show them up.”
She paused in the archway to turn back for a moment. “The corner chamber room will be comfortable, I should think.”
Sir Neville nodded. “That should suit them well.”
“Until tonight then.” Lady Davinia nodded graciously at her new guests and left room.
“Well, then. Shall we?” Sir Neville gestured the way and they followed him through another arched doorway and into another huge hall.
This one was littered with statuary and antiques and had fancy columns around the walls that led to a high ceiling covered with paintings done centuries ago. But the artwork was dominated by an alabaster staircase leading to the stories above—a maze of parapets and more arches.
Sir Neville ushered them to the stairs. As they made their way upward, he pointed out the Chinese vase from the Ming dynasty, the statue of Minerva hugging a large candle holder, the portraits of this or that aristocratic ancestor hanging from the vast walls.
As they rounded a corner, Miranda nearly jumped at the life-sized knight on horseback guarding the landing.
“Saint George can be rather intimidating,” Sir Neville chuckled. “I apologize if he startled you.”
“Saint George and the dragon?” Miranda asked.
“The very one. I was fascinated by the treasures in this house when I was first invited here. It was one of the things that attracted me to Davinia. We used to discuss them for hours.” His face grew taut.
Sounded like they didn’t do much of that any more.
They went down a long, winding hall under a series of cream-colored arches and finally arrived at a tall paneled door.
“Here we are,” Sir Neville said, opening it. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”
Miranda stepped inside and saw a large room with a row of tall windows hung with heavy brocade curtains on either side of a huge, inviting bed. The thick spread was decorated in a busy purple-and-gold octagon pattern while stripes of fleur-de-lis in matching colors formed a dome over it on the ceiling.
The scent of flowers came from fresh cut lilies that sat in a vase on a table. In the opposite corner stood an antique oak table that looked like it came from France.
Their bags sat at the end of the bed. The mysterious Geoffrey had come and gone unnoticed.
Miranda had the sudden urge to leap over the bags, sink into the downy covers and fall asleep.
“You have a private bath. It’s over here.” Sir Neville crossed the carpet and opened a side door. “Towels, soap. Everything seems to be here. Do let me know if you need anything.”
“We will,” Parker told him.
Sir Neville crossed back to him and took his hands. “Thank you again for coming, Russell. I know you’ll solve this case.” He turned to Miranda. “Both of you.”
“We’ll do our best,” she told him.
“I’ll see you in a few hours.” And with that he left them alone.
As soon as the door closed, Miranda kicked off her shoes, scampered over to the bed and sank down onto it.
Parker loosened his tie, studying her wearily. “Aren’t you even going to take off your clothes?”
“Uh,” she answered numbly.
He laid his tie across the back of a chair, pulled off his coat and laid it across the arm. Then he followed suit, removing his own shoes and taking his place on the opposite side of the bed. “Good idea.”
“Uh huh,” she said, her eyes closed.
“I know this place is out of the way, but I thought it might help the investigation to get to know those who are close to Neville.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She rolled over and threw an arm across his muscular chest. But all she had the strength for was to smile at the sensation.
Parker moved under her, going for his pocket. He pulled out his cell. “I’ll set
an alarm for an hour.”
“Sure,” she said, opening an eye to scowl at him and wishing they could sleep until morning. And that they could beg off going to that dinner.
But before she could even suggest it, her eyes fluttered close again and she was fast asleep.
Chapter Ten
An hour later, Miranda’s eyes popped wide open at the sound of the rooster crow ringtone she’d given Parker as a lark last Valentine’s Day. That would teach her to play games.
Groggily, she reached across him, groping for the thing.
Parker grabbed her wrist and pulled her on top of him.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” the phone buzzed.
“Turn that thing off. It’s making my jet lag worse.”
He chuckled, found it on the nightstand and hit the button. Relief.
He brushed back her hair and fixed her with a lusty gaze in his gray eyes. “I’ve never made love in a castle before.”
Raising a brow, Miranda affected a British accent. “Oh, haven’t you now?”
Grinning with delight he pulled her to him and kissed her hard. He could really get horny when he was sleepy. He rolled her over and dipped his tongue into her mouth, making her groan with delight and temptation.
She closed her eyes and let him work his way across her cheek and down her neck before she stopped him. Before she lost the ability to speak. “We’ve got to quit. Party.”
He stopped kissing her and rested his head against her shoulder. “What we sacrifice for others.”
“So true.” She couldn’t resist reaching down and giving his butt a tweak before she rolled over. Of course he was still in his dress pants so it wasn’t as much fun as if he’d been naked. But he felt it.
“I will return that favor later,” he said in a low, lusty voice.
“I was hoping you would,” she laughed and headed for the suitcases. It took her a minute to realize they were empty. “Someone’s either already unpacked for us or stolen all our clothes.” She looked around the room. “Where’s the closet?”
“Try the wardrobe.” He gestured toward the corner at a beautifully carved piece of furniture with a mirror on the front of it.
She tiptoed over to it and gingerly opened the door. Their clothes were hanging neatly inside. “Cool,” she grinned.
Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) Page 5