by HANNA, H. Y.
“Yes, she has broken down and admitted everything. Well, except for one thing.” James frowned.
The two girls looked at him expectantly.
“She says she didn’t take the bloodstone ring.”
“Huh?” said Pomona. “What do you mean, she didn’t take the ring?”
“She says she never touched it—that the keys were the only thing she took. According to her, when she left Mrs Brixton’s sitting room, the ring was still there. The police showed her a picture of the ring and she insists that she saw it on Mrs Brixton’s desk. In fact, she says that Mrs Brixton was examining it when she arrived.”
“But… then how did it disappear?” demanded Pomona.
“Somebody else must have taken it,” said Caitlyn suddenly. “Someone who came in after Mrs Harris left.”
“Yes.” James gave her an approving look. “That’s what Inspector Walsh thinks as well. The theft of the ring was not actually connected to the murder—it was simply a coincidence of sorts. Someone must have come into the sitting room and taken advantage of the situation.”
“You mean—they saw a dead body on the floor and just, like, ignored it? Didn’t report it to the police?” said Pomona. “Who would do that?”
“Somebody who didn’t want their presence in the house to be revealed,” said Caitlyn. “They knew that the body would be found eventually, so they just got what they wanted and got out again quickly.” She looked at James. “Do the police have any idea who it might have been?”
“Not Matt?” said Pomona quickly.
“No, Inspector Walsh thinks it may have been an opportunistic thief,” said James. “Someone who came in the back door and happened to see the ring on Mrs Brixton’s desk—”
Caitlyn shook her head impatiently. “That’s ridiculous! The sitting room is quite a long way from the back door. They can’t seriously think someone would sneak in and just happen to wander down the hallway to Mrs Brixton’s sitting room? And besides, if the person was an opportunistic thief, wouldn’t he have stolen other things as well? Like her purse? There was nothing else taken, other than the bloodstone ring and the keys, was there?”
“Yeah, it had to be someone who came in specifically for the ring,” Pomona agreed. “Didn’t Inspector Walsh have this theory that the mysterious dude who asked Amelia to steal the ring came to make a deal with Mrs Brixton? I’ll bet that’s what happened! He came and found her dead… so he just took the ring and skipped out.”
“It might have been a ‘she’ and not a ‘he’,” said Caitlyn. “Remember the girl who took the ring into the antique jewellery store?”
“Oh yeah!” said Pomona. “Yeah—there’s no way that was just an opportunistic thief! I mean, that was someone who went to the trouble of wearing a red wig—like they were trying to incriminate Caitlyn. Which opportunistic thief would do that?”
“That could simply be put down to coincidence as well,” said James. “The thief might have wanted to use a disguise and just happened to pick a red wig. I know, I know, it’s very unlikely—I’m just playing devil’s advocate…” he said with a laugh, holding his hands up defensively as both girls turned indignant eyes on him. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you both and I said as much to the police, but I get the impression that now that the murderer has been apprehended, Inspector Walsh is less interested in following up an incidence of petty theft. After all, the ring itself is not worth a lot of money—it’s the kind of thing that people buy all the time at flea markets and in junk shops. Its value is mostly sentimental and… I suppose you could say, mythological.” He smiled. “Inspector Walsh is a very pragmatic man with little patience for anything related to the supernatural. He is understandably reluctant to invest police time and resources in a ring of minimal value, no matter how incredible the legends say it is.”
“Excuse me, sir, there’s a phone call for you,” came a voice behind them. They turned to see Amelia standing in the front entrance.
“Thanks,” called James. “I’ll be along in a minute.”
“Jeez, how come she’s still here?” asked Pomona. “I thought you would have fired her already—I mean, she tried to steal your stuff!”
James looked slightly sheepish. “Yes, well… I had a long talk with Amelia. She seems genuinely contrite. Besides, she told me about her sick mother and how she is supporting her…”
Pomona rolled her eyes.
“…anyway, she’s on a probationary period to begin with, but I think everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you?” He gave them a smile. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll just take this call, then I’ll be right back.”
“James is too nice and noble,” Pomona complained when he had returned to the house and was out of earshot. “People will just, like, take advantage of his kindness and generosity.”
“I think he’s just very fair… and quick to forgive,” said Caitlyn. “But I don’t think James Fitzroy is a pushover. There’s something about him… a sort of quiet authority…”
“My, we’re getting to know Lord Fitzroy quite well, aren’t we?” Pomona said with a teasing smile.
Caitlyn blushed and said quickly, “So what’s this big party you’re going to tonight?”
“It’s the premiere of a film by that new Scandinavian director, Sven Jordbro—you know, he’s been winning a string of Oscars and awards, and everyone wants to work with him. And his after-parties—they’re like the place to be seen. You’re no one if you’re not seen at a Sven Jordbro after-party.”
“Are they really that amazing?”
Pomona shrugged. “They’re okay. I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. A lot of Hollywood stars will be jetting in, though, so I guess it might be fun… Actually, the only reason I want to go is ’cos I heard that Thane Blackmort might be there!”
“Who?”
“You know—Thane Blackmort, the mysterious billionaire! The papers call him the Black Tycoon, ’cos he always wears black, only drinks black vodka, and flies around in a black private jet.”
“Sounds like some kind of weirdo,” Caitlyn commented.
“Yeah, but a really hot weirdo,” said Pomona with a lusty sigh. “Have you seen a picture of him? Omigod, those eyes—I’ve never seen blue eyes like that! The man is like sex on legs.” She gave Caitlyn a grin. “I’m hoping I might get an introduction at the after-party.”
“I thought you’d sworn off men,” said Caitlyn dryly.
Pomona waved a hand. “Thane Blackmort isn’t a mere man—he’s a god. I’ll make exceptions for gods.” She looked suddenly over Caitlyn’s shoulder and called, “Well, I guess I’d better be on my way. Thanks for having me to stay.”
“It was a pleasure,” said James, coming down the front steps and crossing the gravel driveway to join them again. “I’m sorry to see you leave. I hope you’ll be back soon? You know you’re welcome to stay at the Manor again, any time.”
Pomona grinned at him. “Don’t say that—you might regret it.” She glanced at Caitlyn, then back at James and winked. “You know what they say: two’s company, three’s a crowd…”
“I think you need to get on the road now,” said Caitlyn pointedly. “You don’t want to get caught in the rush-hour traffic.”
Pomona tossed her head back and laughed, then said, “Okay, okay… I can take a hint. I’ll leave Lord Fitzroy all to you…”
“Th-that’s not what I meant!” stammered Caitlyn, red in the face.
Pomona chuckled and walked around to the front passenger seat, then smacked her forehead and said, “Still can’t get used to driving on the left of the road!” She walked back around to the other side of the convertible and opened the driver’s door.
“Be good!” she said to Caitlyn over her shoulder, giving her another wink.
Then she slid into the driver’s seat, gave a jaunty toot of the horn, and drove away. Caitlyn stood and watched her cousin’s car disappear down the driveway, very aware of the tall handsome man next to her.
James cleared his throat. “Would you like to take some tea in the conservatory?”
“Oh…” Caitlyn looked at him, suddenly feeling terribly shy and tongue-tied. The thought of sitting alone with James in the cosy conservatory—without Pomona’s bubbly presence—seemed very overwhelming all of a sudden. “I… er… maybe I’d better go… I’ve got… er, some things… I need to do… um…”
“Oh. Well, some other time then,” said James politely.
Caitlyn wanted to kick herself. What was wrong with her? Why hadn’t she just said “Yes, thank you”? That was what she had really wanted to do, wasn’t it?
“Thank you very much for the invitation, though,” she added stiffly. “It’s… it’s very kind of you to offer. Tea in the conservatory sounds lovely. I’m… I’m sorry I won’t be able to accept—”
“It’s all right.” James’s grey eyes twinkled. “I don’t think it requires a formal RSVP.”
The corners of his lips quirked, as if he was trying to hold back a smile, and Caitlyn realised suddenly how ridiculous she had sounded. She giggled, grateful to him for putting her at ease. They settled into a companionable silence as he walked her to her car.
James opened the door for her, waiting courteously until she had settled herself into the driver’s seat before shutting the door again.
“I see you didn’t go to the wrong side, like Pomona did,” he said with a chuckle.
Caitlyn smiled shyly up at him through the open driver’s window. “I’ve driven on the left side before. One benefit of moving around a lot and living in different countries, I guess. I’m sure Pomona will get used to it quickly if she does a lot more driving here.”
“Is she planning to come back to Tillyhenge soon?”
“I don’t know,” said Caitlyn. “I don’t think she meant to stay here as long as she has. And once she’s in London, she’ll probably get so caught up in the shopping and theatres and social life and parties, she’ll be too busy to think about coming back much.”
“Ah… you might be surprised,” said James with a smile. “I used to live in London myself and never thought I’d be happy living in the country, and yet… life surprises you sometimes.”
Caitlyn gripped the steering wheel and looked thoughtfully through the windscreen. “Yes, I never thought I’d find myself living in England.”
“So you’re staying?” he asked swiftly.
Caitlyn hesitated. “For a while, at least.”
“Good.” Something in his eyes made Caitlyn’s pulse quicken, then he added, “The Widow Mags would miss you if you left, I think.”
“Uh… yes…” Caitlyn tried to ignore the stab of disappointment. She injected a light note into her voice. “Yes, I suppose she’s got used to having me around.”
“We all have,” he said softly.
Caitlyn looked up at him quickly but his face was in shadow and she couldn’t read his expression. He stood back from the car, gave her a nod, and said in a different voice:
“Safe drive back.”
She started the car, turned it on the wide driveway, and headed out of the parklands towards the main road. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she saw the driveway curve away behind her, and standing in front of the Manor house, with an English mastiff and a black kitten at his feet, was a tall, handsome man who never took his eyes off her as she drove away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Caitlyn got back to Bewitched by Chocolate, she was surprised to see that instead of sitting at her customary place behind the shop counter, the Widow Mags was in a corner of the kitchen, fiddling in a bad-tempered manner with a small black screen.
“You’ve got a new TV!” said Caitlyn.
“Bertha got it,” grumbled the Widow Mags. “I told her I don’t need one in the kitchen—I’m more than happy with the one I’ve already got in the bedroom—but, as usual, she won’t listen to me. Always thinks she knows best.” She flicked the remote control irritably. “Doesn’t even turn on, anyway.”
“Here, let me try…”
Caitlyn took the remote and, a minute later, there was a faint click and the screen blurred into life. It was showing a news channel and the Widow Mags made another noise of derision.
“Ahh… news… it’s always news! And so much of the news is rubbish these days.”
“I can change it to another channel—”
“No.” The old woman got up. “Don’t change it for me. I’m going to pop down to Bertha’s place to take her and Evie some of this leftover fudge.” She glanced at Caitlyn. “Would you like to come along?”
“I think I’ll stay here and enjoy your new TV,” said Caitlyn with a smile.
The Widow Mags left the kitchen, still grumbling, whilst Caitlyn leaned against the counter and watched the screen with interest. She wondered if there might be any more coverage of the recent murder. She knew that the police had already given a press conference and that the inquest was to be held next week, but that probably wasn’t enough to satisfy the tabloids. In fact, she had been surprised not to see any reporters or photographers around when she had arrived at Huntingdon Manor earlier.
The news, however, seemed to be focusing on the upcoming premiere and after-party that evening, with the paparazzi already hounding several of the big Hollywood stars who had flown in for the event. The screen showed footage of several celebrities arriving at the airport or their hotels, some waving and smiling, some ducking and trying to cover their faces. Then it cut to a clip of a tall, dark-haired man being escorted to a limousine. He was dressed all in black—a perfectly tailored black suit with a black shirt and a black silk tie—and there was an air of mystery about him. A newsreader’s voice spoke over the footage:
“… Another highly anticipated guest expected at the Sven Jordbro premiere after-party is reclusive billionaire, Thane Blackmort, who arrived in his famous black private jet earlier today. He is seen here leaving his hotel for an unknown destination, possibly a lunch date. Mr Blackmort, whose company, Blackmort Enterprises, has been one of the fastest growing companies worldwide in the last year, is rarely seen in public and little is known about the enigmatic businessman…”
The camera jostled close, zooming in to Thane Blackmort, and he turned suddenly, fixing the viewer with piercing blue eyes that seemed too vivid to be real. He raised a hand to his temple—it was a casual gesture and yet there was something menacing about it. Hastily, the camera retreated and, a moment later, the limousine glided away.
Caitlyn sat and stared at the TV, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest. The news droned on but she wasn’t listening or watching anymore. Instead, she was replaying in her mind’s eye that moment when Thane Blackmort had raised his hand. Had she imagined it? No, no, she knew what she had seen. There, gleaming on one of his long fingers, was a distinctive antique ring with an unusual red stone.
The bloodstone ring.
Caitlyn felt like her head was spinning. How had Thane Blackmort got hold of the bloodstone ring? Had he been the one behind the anonymous note to Amelia, the furtive theft after the murder? And was that girl—the one who took the ring to the antique jewellery store—a Blackmort employee?
She refocused on the screen, hoping that there might be more coverage of the premiere party—maybe even a repeat of that clip of Thane Blackmort—so she could get a look at his hands again. She had only caught a quick glance the first time. Maybe she was wrong about the ring after all…
The channel, however, had switched to sports news and was now covering the results of the latest races from Royal Ascot. Caitlyn decided to take the opportunity to make herself a cup of tea. She paused in the middle of filling the kettle and realised that she was moving about the kitchen with a familiarity that made it feel like home. In fact, in a way, the Widow Mags’s cottage felt more like home than many of the luxury hotels and vacation homes she had lived in.
And the Widow Mags herself? Was it coincidence that the old woman felt so much like “family”?
&
nbsp; Caitlyn set the kettle down suddenly as she realised that she was alone in the cottage. It would be the perfect opportunity to look at the photo album again. Perhaps she would find more clues; perhaps she would find the answers to her questions… Caitlyn abandoned the kitchen and hurried to the Widow Mags’s bedroom. She turned the knob and pushed the door open, relieved that it wasn’t locked. The hinges creaked loudly and she had to stop herself from throwing a nervous look over her shoulder.
It’s fine. The Widow Mags isn’t a fast walker—it will take her a while to cross the village to Bertha’s cottage, and then she’s got to walk back. You’ve got plenty of time, she told herself.
Caitlyn took a deep breath and stepped into the bedroom. She hurried across to the bedside cabinet and dropped to her knees. In a minute, she had the old photo album out and spread open on her knees. She touched the page lightly with a finger and chanted the spell, amazed at how naturally it came to her already.
“Manifesto clandestina!”
Instantly, the photographs in the album emerged, like forms coming out of a mist. Caitlyn turned the pages impatiently, but was disappointed to find that there were actually fewer pictures than she had expected. Most were of the Widow Mags as a much younger woman, with people Caitlyn didn’t recognise, although there was one tall, gangly man, with a lugubrious face and thinning hair, who looked suspiciously familiar. Surely not… Viktor? There were several faded gaps in the pages too and Caitlyn wondered if some photos had been removed.
She found the picture she had seen the other day—it took pride of place in the centre of the album—and pored over it again. The little girl, with her vivid red hair and wide hazel eyes… Caitlyn felt a tingle go up her spine. It had to be… it had to be her mother…
“What are you doing in here?”
Caitlyn gasped and sprang up, dropping the album on the floor. She turned around guiltily to face the Widow Mags, who was standing in the bedroom doorway. The old woman glowered at her and Caitlyn was unable to meet her eyes.