Tempted at Every Turn

by Robyn DeHart

  “But what shall I get if I win?” she asked.

  “Perhaps you would like a kiss as well,” he offered.

  “I most certainly would not.” A few silent moments passed before a slow smile crept onto her face. “I’ve got it. If I win, then you must write a formal apology for all your reckless antics with a promise to fully adhere to the rules and regulations set forth by the Metropolitan Police, to be published in the Times.”

  Oh, and that reminded him. “I wasn’t actually done with my own guidelines,” he said. “If I win, I receive the kiss. Willingly, I might add. As well as a promise from you to never send me another letter again.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it and frowned.

  He almost laughed, but he feared she might actually box his ears if he did. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was going to agree to his ridiculous request. So far, she continued to surprise him. Well, if he were to be saddled with an assistant, at least he’d win peace in the end. Not to mention a kiss.

  “Are we in agreement?” he asked.

  “I suppose I have no choice but to win,” she said.

  “Let us kiss on the agreement,” he suggested.

  She stuck her hand out in front of him. “I prefer to shake hands, thank you very much.”

  He took her gloved hand and shook it gently. No kiss today, but he would taste her lips sooner or later. He knew one thing for certain: Willow would never beat him at his own game.

  Chapter 4

  Willow had made a deal with the devil, and then she had agreed to kiss him. She had taken serious leave of her senses. His request, though, had taken her aback. Men did not tease her or flirt with her, and they certainly did not request kisses. So, she had been disarmed and completely unprepared to respond to such a ridiculous request.

  If she won, however, there would be no kissing, and he would have to publicly apologize. Yes, that was sounding more the thing. Why had she agreed to such conditions? She took a deep breath. She would win, so none of the kissing would come to fruition. She had nothing to worry about. All she need do was keep her eyes focused straight ahead and analyze the facts of the case. This would be no different from any other mystery she’d solved, fictional or real.

  Granted, the only mysteries she’d ever solved were fictional, unless she could include the assistance she’d given Amelia in discovering the whereabouts of her father’s missing artifact. So, she did not have an enormous amount of actual experience. It did not mean that she didn’t know how to go about investigating.

  No, the wager’s conditions would not be a problem, because she would ensure she solved the crime first. She could do that. Tomorrow was another day, and they were set to return to the photographer’s house to search his studio. Once the body had been removed and the blood cleaned up, they would be able to look for other evidence. She had been unable to accomplish much today, but she had some ideas for gathering additional information.

  She was, after all, a member of the only ladies’ sleuthing society. Her friends certainly knew of the photographer; perhaps they had some insight into who his clients might have been. Charlotte was generally active enough in Society that she would know if Mr. Drummond had any enemies.

  More than likely this was simply a burglary gone awry, but until that was certain, she would sniff about and see what she could uncover on her own.

  James eyed Willow as she stood next to him on the stoop. They had knocked and were waiting for Fenby to answer the door. She was enveloped in a brown cloak of wool, and he could see the determination furrow her brow. He knew that look. He’d made that expression himself.

  An invisible line passed between them. They might be rather different, but there were some similarities he could not deny. He’d be a fool not to recognize them. Willow had something to prove. Either to him or to herself—perhaps even the world—he wasn’t certain which. But he knew what it felt like, and recognizing it unsettled him. A strand of commonness that he could neither touch nor ignore.

  A moment later the aging butler cracked the door. “Oh, Inspector. I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, then opened the door the rest of the way. He nodded at Willow. “Madam.”

  James cleared his throat. “I’ve come to further investigate the studio.”

  Fenby’s watery eyes scrutinized them before he moved out of the way and admitted them. “I did as you instructed and locked the door to prevent anyone from disturbing any details.”

  “Very good,” James said.

  “I also located the missing vase,” Fenby said.

  “Whereabouts?”

  “The hallway that leads to Master Drummond’s studio goes in the other direction, but ends at a wall. He always thought to expand his studio down that way, but it was not to be.” Fenby put his hand to his mouth. “The vase is in that darkened corner.”

  “Did you touch it?” James asked.

  Fenby shook his head. “Follow me.”

  James noted the slight bend in Fenby’s back and the cane he now leaned on to walk. It nearly masked a limp. James rattled his head trying to remember if the man had had a cane and limp yesterday, but nothing surfaced.

  Fenby led them through the kitchen and down some back steps. He nodded to his right. “The vase is down there.”

  “We’ll collect it on our way back up. I want to gather evidence in the studio right now,” James said.

  They proceeded to the left end of the hallway, where they came to a large door. Fenby inserted a key, unlocked the door, and then nudged it with the weight of his entire body. The door did not move. James pushed it himself and it creaked open.

  “Thank you,” Fenby said. “These bones are not as strong as they used to be.”

  James nodded but said nothing.

  They stepped into the room, and had James not been standing so close to her, he would have missed Willow’s slight gasp. Rich red and purple silks draped the walls, and plush furniture sat arranged in the middle of the room on an exotic Persian rug. Lining the wall to his left was a large rosewood breakfront. It had a central fitted secretary drawer with side drawers and four base cupboards, and its shelves were hidden behind glazed doors.

  Aside from the missing dead body, the room looked exactly the same.

  “Mr. Drummond spared no expense,” Willow said under her breath.

  “No, he always had an eye for things such as these,” Fenby replied. Apparently the man might be failing in some of his senses, but hearing wasn’t one of them.

  James turned to face Fenby. “Thank you. We’ll let you know if we need anything.” The old man clearly knew when he was being dismissed, but made no immediate move to leave the room. After a long scan around the room, Fenby nodded curtly, then turned and headed for the stairs.

  In the center of the room sat an oak tripod topped with a wooden accordion box camera with black hood attached. It was aimed at the settee, clearly ready for the next model.

  “My mother is quite fascinated with the advent of photography,” James admitted. “I can’t really say that I share her wonder.”

  “The girls and I posed for one at a fair once. I believe Amelia still has the tin reproduction in her room,” Willow said. “But they’ve already made such strides in how these things are done.”

  James moved to the breakfront. A new Scovill portable box camera sat on the secretary edge; James doubted Drummond had had the opportunity to use it. He bent and began opening the cabinet doors. The shelves were lined with wooden plates, glass screens, pieces of linen, and glass jars filled with liquid chemicals. Everything needed to expose the photographs and print them onto the linen sheets.

  “What precisely are we looking for?” Willow asked.

  “Anything that might explain why someone would want this man dead. Evidently, the murder wasn’t motivated by theft, or this expensive equipment would have been taken and sold. So if something was stolen, then it might be more of personal than monetary value.”

  Willow’s lips parted as if she had something
to add, but thought better of it. She was a handsome woman. Not by all standards beautiful, but something about her face intrigued him. He wasn’t certain if it was the delicate arch of her eyebrows that framed her unassuming brown eyes, or perhaps the classic bow-and-arrow shape of her lips. The small cleft in her chin certainly demanded some attention, but didn’t prevent one from noticing the graceful line of her neck or the creamy texture of her fair skin. He forced himself to turn away from his scrutiny of her features.

  Whether or not Willow Mabson was considered classically beautiful had no bearing on their current investigation. And if he were to work with her on this case, he had to find a way to keep his observations of her flawless complexion in the back of his mind lest it cloud his judgment.

  He shoved his hand through his hair to push it from his eyes so he could focus on the task at hand. He opened a drawer and rifled through the contents. He found a ledger, bill notes, old copies of some gossip broadsheets, and a small leather pouch full of coins.

  “It’s not right,” he heard her say from behind him.

  “What’s not right?” he asked as he turned to face her.

  “This.” She spread her arms out to encompass the room. “It feels wrong to rifle through his belongings. It’s his privacy,” she added in a whisper.

  “He’s dead,” James offered.

  She looked from him to the brocade chaise lounge next to her and then back at him. She shook her head.

  He released a puff of breath. Evidently she needed more convincing, and he knew precisely how to spur her into action. “This is what it takes to be a detective. But if you need me to do this part of the investigating, I understand,” he said with feigned compassion. “You can simply sit and wait, and then—I don’t know—read my notes or something.”

  She seemed to grow a full inch in height and he suppressed a smile.

  “I most certainly will not stand by and just read your notes,” she said. “I meant it when I said I could best you in this little competition.”

  He shrugged. “But if the privacy issue bothers you…”

  “I’ll push aside my concerns for the sake of the investigation,” she said sweetly, then turned and immediately began perusing her surroundings. Several ornate frames had to be moved, as well as long cuts of lush fabrics that were strewn about the studio.

  It was difficult, but he managed to stifle a chuckle and went back to his own search. He opened the next drawer and found mostly newspapers. He tugged on the next drawer and found it locked. Interesting. He scanned the area for something he could use to open the lock and spied a metal letter opener.

  James fiddled with the letter opener and the lock for what seemed like five minutes, but eventually the lock gave way and the drawer loosened. He opened it, fully expecting to find it full of money. The drawer was much more shallow than he’d imagined, and it contained nothing resembling money. All the thin drawer contained was blank parchment. He pulled it all out and fanned through it, but found nothing but page after page of unused paper.

  He went back to the deceptively small drawer to further investigate, going so far as to pull the drawer completely out. As he did so, a small, soft leather book fell to the floor.

  Before he picked the book up, he turned to see that Willow was busy, bent over a stack of books she was examining. He tried not to notice how nicely rounded her bottom appeared with the bustle out of the way and the dress molded to her curves.

  He turned with a groan and grabbed the book. He flipped it open to a random page and saw that it was a diary, no doubt the one Fenby had mentioned yesterday. One more flip, and it opened to a list of names. Certainly this book would be of use. He tucked it into his coat pocket, then bent to examine the hole where the drawer went. Nothing else remained, so he returned the drawer and moved on to another cabinet. The diary would remain his secret for the time being.

  James finished searching through all of the cabinets and drawers and found nothing else of importance. Willow had apparently found a stack of letters tied together and was in the process of unbinding them.

  “Who are they from?” he asked, walking toward her.

  She frowned. “I’m not certain.”

  “Put them in your bag; we’ll take them with us and go through them later. I’ve gone through everything over there, so if you’re finished, we can be on our way. I do have a few more questions I’d like to ask Fenby before we leave, though.”

  Willow eyed the letters once more before tucking them into her reticule. “There wasn’t much else over here besides books, and these chests”—she gestured to her right—“were filled mostly with various fabrics. But buried inside one is where I found the letters.”

  James nodded. “Perhaps they’ll be of use.” He would keep the diary from her for the time being, but she might have found something useful herself. “Don’t forget your cloak.”

  Willow gathered her cloak and they shut the door on their way out. They made their way down the long hallway past the staircase and to the empty wall where the hall ended.

  “Strange design,” Willow said, noting the hall that seemed to lead nowhere.

  James nodded, then bent down to retrieve the bronze vase that looked to have been tossed into the dark corner. He slipped a glove on before touching it. “We’re still a long way from being able to use fingerprints in our investigation, but Colin said we should try to keep our prints off as much evidence as possible.”

  “His research is quite fascinating,” Willow said.

  “Indeed.”

  “Is it heavy?” she asked as James lifted the vase from the floor.

  “It’s not light.” He moved away from the corner. “It’s too dark here to see if there is anything on it. We’ll better be able to see upstairs.”

  She nodded, then headed back for the stairs, all too aware of his presence behind her. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost feel his breath. It didn’t take long to find Fenby; he was waiting in the kitchen for them.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.

  “We’ll have to wait to see how the investigation unfolds,” James said. “I do have some additional questions for you, however.” The bronze vase hung from his hand at his side.

  Fenby tilted his white head, then turned and walked away. James gave her a half smile, clearly amused with the butler’s behavior. That crooked smile nearly stopped Willow’s heart—which was completely ridiculous considering it was quite unlikely that a simple smile could actually stop the beating of someone’s heart.

  She followed James and Fenby to the front parlor and went and stood by the window. Distance was what she needed. And sunlight. She peeked outside and was met with an overcast sky. So much for the latter. Being in that dank, windowless studio downstairs alone with James had been…nothing. No matter how she tried to spin it in her mind, there was nothing remotely scandalous about the encounter. He’d been so busy digging in the cabinets and drawers, he hadn’t even known she was in there with him.

  Lock Meg alone with a man, and she gets kisses stolen and a compromised reputation.

  Amelia was nearly killed by a lecherous shop owner.

  But no, boring Willow could spend hours alone with a man, and he wouldn’t so much as look at her inappropriately. Not that she actually wanted him to.

  Oh, this line of thinking was getting her nowhere. And it confused her to boot. She tried to concentrate on the conversation between James and Fenby.

  “So there weren’t any other investors besides Duke Argyle?” James asked.

  Fenby’s withered hands fidgeted in his lap. “Not that I ever heard.”

  “There were no other men that he had meetings with or accepted money from?” James prodded.

  “Master Drummond did not discuss his financial affairs with me. I only knew about His Grace’s patronage because of the upcoming exhibit.”

  Willow had to admit, James wasn’t handling the investigation as she’d imagined he would. He hadn’t yet resort
ed to violence or bribery or any of the other means she’d heard he used to persuade suspects or witnesses to talk to him. It certainly would be easier to point out these indiscretions if she could actually catch him in the act, but so far he’d been on his best behavior. Being able to chastise him a little would certainly make it easier to ignore how handsome he was and keep her focus on besting him in their little competition.

  Instead he’d stuck to traditional modes of questioning and she was left feeling nothing short of guilty for all the letters she’d sent him. Perhaps the information she’d received about his tactics had been inflammatory. Her cousin certainly had a flair for gossip, so it wouldn’t be beneath him to embellish some details.

  She shook her head. No, James was only behaving because he was clever enough to know she was watching him closely. So, he was making certain to cross all his t’s and dot all his i’s while in her presence. Sooner or later he’d slip, and she’d be there to notice.

  “We’ll be in touch,” James said to Fenby, then turned to go.

  It was annoying how he always decided when it was time to leave and then simply expected her to follow him as if she were some sort of trained dog. It was even more annoying that she had to follow him, as he was providing her ride back to her house.

  James hated to have to ask for help, especially from his mother, but she would be particularly useful in this case. So he swallowed his pride and stepped into his family’s entryway. Craddock, the family butler, nodded when he saw James.

  “They’re in the drawing room,” the butler said, sounding utterly bored.

  How was it that the man never seemed to age? It was as if he’d been the very same since James was a child, which obviously couldn’t be the case. But he’d always been tall and slender, with lucid blue eyes and a head of thick, bright white hair. Very stately looking, which appealed greatly to his mother.

  “You’re looking quite fit, Craddock,” James said as he handed off his coat.

  Craddock gave him a wry smile and draped the coat over his arm. With a slight nod, he said, “And you as well, sir.”