“Ah,” was all he said.
Wren stopped in the middle of the hallway, halfway to her room, and looked him right in the eyes. “Listen. You don't have to agree with the way I live. Or agree that a Princess or royal family should have a multipurpose room. You don't even have to like me.”
He nodded as they stood there.
She continued, “I just need you to find out who murdered my father and try to be on my side during this. I wouldn't hire you just to end up convicting myself. I know the evidence so far. I didn't do it. Are we clear on those current facts?”
Eyes traveled from her own, down, and back up again. The right side of his lips quirked up and revealed a dimple. “Got it, Princess.”
“Just. Call. Me. Wren.” Eyes narrowed, Wren spun forward and began striding down the hall.
“Will we get to your room sometime this year?”
“Na, I think it will take at least a month. You should have brought a book.” Wren picked up speed until she was almost racing down the hallway.
“Do you think we could slow down to prevent an asthma attack?” he breathed.
Although he didn't sound out of breath at all, Wren lessened her pace. She continued to look ahead and refused to glance at him. Silence followed her until she reached her door.
“This is my room. Davies informed the police of your arrival, and they entrusted him to unlock the door. Mr. Gabriel already obtained their permission to show you the rooms. I'll show you where they found the knife. Oh. Here,” she handed him the permission note before going to stand beside the queen-sized bed which stood in the very middle of the room.
She watched as he circled the bed once, twice, three times. Then he got on his hands and knees and peeked under it.
“Which side did they find it on?”
“Over here. On the side closest to the door,” Wren bent over and looked under the bed. She pointed to where the knife had been found.
Hunter stood and came to her side of the bed. He got on his hands and knees at her side and looked under the bed. “Where this stain is?”
“Yes, that's it,” Wren stuck her head next to his.
“Does anyone besides you come in here often?”
“Na. Just me and Ellie.”
“Who's Ellie?”
“Ellie is the maid that cleans my room,” Wren explained, adding, “She's also one of my best friends.”
“Rwy’n gweld. I see. Was she in here the day before or after the murder?”
“Both days. She comes in the morning to get my clothes to be washed, dust and vacuum, and help me with anything I need. She wasn’t here that day because of her school classes, and I had a charity event to go with my father and stepmother on the day of the murder.”
“What about the day after?”
“The police were all over that morning. She didn't even make it into the house until after they had searched it. The guards had already found the knife by then. We had to exit the room. As evidenced by the black and yellow tape, we aren’t really supposed to be in here.”
“Gotcha. Can you give me a time outline of all of this? It will give me a clearer picture if I see it on paper,” Hunter walked to the hall door and back again as he asked her.
“Sure,” Wren watched with pinched lips. “What are you doing?”
“I'm seeing how far it would take to get to the door and back. Forty-eight steps. That's a lot of walking.”
“Good exercise,” Wren refuted.
“Touché,” he then began opening and closing the door. Slowly at first and with great care and then faster and faster.
“What are you doing now?”
“Checking for squeaks,” he repeated the process again but with slower swings. He went out into the hallway and closed it, only to reopen it in slow motion.
“That's a little creepy,” Wren shivered.
“I didn't hear a sound. You?”
“Nothing,” Wren shook her head.
“Well, let's go look at the king's bedroom.”
Wren closed her door and took him to the right, opposite of the way they came.
“I don't know how you keep track of north, south, east, and west in here,” he mentioned.
“Since I'm not often giving directions based on the cardinal rose in my home, I couldn't tell you.”
“Perhaps you should make a map? Visitors might find it helpful when visiting the multipurpose room.”
Wren sucked in her cheeks and counted to twenty. Then counted a second time. The hallway came to an end and directed them to the left. “Father and stepmother's bedroom is in the middle. It takes up this whole side of this hallway.”
“How many feet is THAT?” Hunter's eyes grew until they took up half his face.
“Feel free to count it,” Wren tossed her hair over her shoulder and began walking. “It has only one main entrance. The two doors in the center. However, it connects to two bathrooms, two closets, and two sitting rooms on both ends.”
“You could house a whole school in this room,” he muttered.
Ignoring him, she continued, “The very center holds the king-sized bed and furniture to the left and right. Doors into the bathrooms, closets, and sitting rooms are also to the left and right. My stepmother's rooms are all to the left. Father’s things are all to the right. This whole side faces the front, side, and back yards.”
“Waw, I could probably live in the sitting room and still have plenty of room left over.”
“We aren't advertising for lodgers. However, I'll keep you mind if a closet becomes available.” Opening the double doors, Wren ushered him inside with these words.
“Well,” he muttered and then began walking to the bed. He came back again to her side. “Are you going to hold up the doors?”
“I can see fine from here. I don't feel like going in further.”
“Understood,” Hunter looked around the room for a minute, and then met her eyes. “Which side did your father sleep on?”
“Typically, the right,” Wren waved at that side and took a deep breath.
“Was he on that side the night he was killed?”
“Yes,” Wren nodded.
Hunter walked back to the bed going to the right this time. He walked there and back three times. Wren didn't bother to ask him what he was doing. She assumed it was the same thing he had done in her room.
Pausing, he ducked down beside the bed and looked under it. While she watched, he climbed under the bed until he disappeared.
“What are you doing now?” Wren walked further into the room to see him.
“Just checking out a theory!” he called.
“O-kay,” Wren shook her head and bit her lip as she waited for him to reappear. He did in the next minute and came to a stand beside the bed once more.
“Cleanest nook I've ever seen. Totally clean. How do you get such neat freaks to work here? I can't even see under my bed. Perhaps I'll change my form of payment. Do you think your staff would be willing to clean my house in place of my fee? It needs some serious help.”
His hair stood up on end all over his head. He was right. No dust covered his clothes at all. Wren fought the smile she knew was coming. She didn't win.
Lips stretching out until her cheeks hurt, she let out a “ha-ha”. “I guess that could be arranged. Depends on how good you are at catching this murderer.”
“Then I sincerely hope the butler didn't do it. Or any of the cleaning staff. That would be a bummer.”
Laughing, Wren shook her head. Her eyes followed as his hands attempted to smooth down his hair. “You might want to leave it that way. You actually look better,” Wren joked.
“Gasp!” Hunter's eyes widened again, and his mouth dropped open. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “That is very disappointing to hear. Especially when I'm a chick magnet with the hair down. I may have found a new style to impress the ladies. Diolch!”
Wren's smile left her face. She didn't feel he needed any help impressing the ladies, and she fe
lt sorry for them. “Are you finished in here?” she wanted to know instead.
“I think so. Now tell me. As a professional, is this really a good look for me?” he pointed to his crazy red hair.
“I'm sure it's an improvement, but there isn't much you really can do. I don't think I would take you as a private investigator if I was asked to point you out on the street.”
“Gotcha. Just a lady's man. I guess that will work fine. After all, I don't want anyone to spot me for what I am. I have the professional integrity of being a great undercover detective to hold up. Thanks for the feedback.”
Wren sighed again and shook her head. “Are you always this informal when taking on a case?” She didn’t add about his attitude toward the royal family.
“No,” he said, with a shake of his head. “However, I enjoy catching people off guard.”
“I’m sure you have great success in that department. Acting as though you’re a teenage hooligan or class clown must go over big with your clients. Is there any chance your father or uncle could handle this?”
They both stopped in the middle of the hallway. Hair still standing on end, his smooth appearance turned into boyishness. Wren had a tough time keeping a smile off her face.
“Sometimes,” his eyes turned serious, “it’s good to get to know your clients on all levels. Everyone has more than one face. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“If you mean we all have several facets to our personalities, then yes, I agree.”
“I do. I find people fascinating,” he commented with a smile. Leaning forward, hands clasped behind his back, he whispered, “You strike me as someone with a lot of depth.”
Rolling her eyes, completely unladylike, Wren crossed her arms. “Do you have a lot of woman fall at your feet with that line? Because I won’t be one of them.”
He shrugged and gave a half smile as he straightened.
“Do you have any questions about my father's murderer?” she huffed.
“Oh, no. Not right now. I do want you to write down the timeline of events. What you all did the night before, who went to bed when, the queen's nightly library visit, and anything else you can remember. Don't forget to take it up to the end of the next day.”
“Do you want me to drop it off at your office tomorrow?”
“Le, I would. I'm going to head to the station with your note,” he waved the paper in her face as he passed out of the room.
“If you think of anything, add it to the timeline. I may have more questions after my visit to the police, so be prepared to stay and answer them. Maybe we can have a working lunch?”
“I'll bring the papers over at nine sharp,” Wren shut the doors with a bang. She turned to go the way she'd brought him, but he didn't follow.
“Can we go this way? Just curious. Good to know the lay of the land. Would your stepmother have gone this way?”
“Yes,” Wren retraced her steps and took him down the rest of the hallway before turning left. They continued down the new corridor before taking the stairs to the front door. “Thank you for stopping by. I will see you at nine tomorrow.”
“I will look forward to it, Princess. Make sure you bring your fabulous sense of humor.”
“I'll pencil it into my calendar,” Wren retorted as she opened the front door.
“Good! See you at nine!”
As he skipped down the steps, Wren waited until he went to his car and got into it. She shook her head and growled out a breath as he honked his horn and left the circle drive.
“Arrogant jerk,” she mumbled. “I'm going to have words with Mr. Gabriel for suggesting him. He's too young and disrespectful. If he doesn't have any success in the next few days, I'll get someone else. Someone older and more experienced than him.”
As he drove down the driveway, Wren slammed the doors. “I'm glad he didn't stay for lunch,” she muttered as she turned to head toward the dining room. “Jerk.”
16
“Chief Constable, PI Hunter is here to see you,” Officer Dylan stuck his head inside his superior’s office and told him.
Shoulders slumping, the chief began to mumble and shake his head.
“What, sir?”
“Older or younger?” he asked, raising his voice an octave.
“Younger,” Officer Dylan reported.
“Duw fy helpu,” the chief muttered.
“What, sir?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head, “nothing, Officer Dylan. Show the lad in.”
Ioan Hunter entered with a smile, waving a paper in the air. “I got the paper as you requested, Chief Constable.”
Dropping into a chair across from the chief, he continued to smile as he leaned forward and put the paper on the elder’s desk. Sitting back in the chair, he crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands in his lap.
“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Hunter?” Officer Dylan asked, as he hovered just inside the doorway.
“Yes, that would be lovely,” the younger replied.
“Sir?”
“Yes, make that two, Dylan.”
The officer nodded and exited the room. Chief Constable Hector sighed and leaned back in his chair. Arms stretched with hands folded over his stomach, he eyed the youngest PI of the Hunter family with reluctance.
He liked the Hunters and didn’t mind when people called them in to search for the truth. They were always forthright with the police in their findings, after a bit of time. It was always a slight bear dealing with the youngest though.
PI Ioan Hunter had something to prove. Chief Constable Hector didn’t like the young man’s flippant attitude. Dealing with him in the past had led to a few childish pranks and misdirection. However, he could use some help this time, and the boy was much more intelligent than he looked.
Taking in the young man’s dancing dark red hair, he sighed and picked up the note. “I see the princess is the one who has asked you to investigate.”
“She thinks the knife is going to lead you all to convict her. I tried to explain that the police don’t arrest important people without being certain of their guilt, but she remained unconvinced.”
“That’s kind of you,” he spoke drily. “The princess really believes we would go after her, a public figure, without more than the proverbial smoking gun?”
Ioan shrugged. “She seems convinced you all think she did it, and she’s just as convinced her stepmother did it.”
“What do you think?”
The PI shrugged again. They paused as Officer Dylan brought in two steaming mugs of coffee. He set the chief’s in front of him, black and hot. Placing the sugar, milk, and cream on the chief’s desk for Ioan, he set the PI’s coffee there.
“Thanks,” Ioan told the officer with a nod. He brought his leg down and slid to the edge of the chair. Pouring a long dredge of sugar into his cup, he used the wooden stirrer to add a bit of milk.
“Mmm,” he murmured after taking a sip. “They can’t say the police department doesn’t have good coffee. Thanks, Officer Dylan.”
“Welcome. Sir?” He turned to the chief.
“Go get the files over the king’s homicide. Have everyone on standby for questioning. Hunter will get to them soon.”
With a nod, the officer left the room. Ioan’s eyes crinkled at the corner as he slid back in his chair again and took another sip. The chief began to drink his own coffee and waited.
“So, what’s this case looking like?” It took three seconds.
“Not good, I’m afraid. The knife was wiped clean. If the princess is worried we’ll arrest her because of the knife, she’s got another thing coming.” He shook his head.
“A plant?”
“It could very well be,” the chief agreed. “Princess Wren isn’t off the mark when she suggested someone put it in her room. We’ve been considering the possibility since it was wiped clean, left in plain sight, and has the king’s blood all over it.”
“These assassination attempts might be the killer’s way of taking her or he
r stepmother out then?”
“It certainly looks that way,” the chief agreed.
“You’re not convinced the queen is guilty though?”
“Not at this time. It looks suspicious, of course, but you can’t do anything with suspicions. Most of the time, they lead you down a confused path and lead nowhere. Do you have any thoughts after meeting with the princess?”
Hunter gave his infamous shrug. “Well, she’s strong, passionate, and angry.”
“Does that make her a killer?”
“In my experience, no. That combination can give the impression of being able to take on the world, but it doesn’t always translate into murderer. Plus, I doubt she’d call me in if she was guilty. Why would she?”
It was the chief’s turn to shrug. “She wouldn’t. Unless she’s a lot more cunning than either of us predicted. However, I doubt it. She’s barely been back a few weeks, and something like this had to take months of planning.”
“I agree,” Hunter conceded. “My first impression is that she really wants the killer found.”
“Did you have more than one impression then?”
Hunter tilted his head to the left and stared at the chief. He didn’t speak for a few minutes as though assessing his own thoughts and what he wanted to share. Finally, he lifted his right shoulder in a half shrug.
“She might be hiding something but killing someone isn’t it. Back to the knife, it’s handle is wiped clean, but the blood is the king’s?”
“Yes, it is. No prints at all. It’s a serrated knife from the kitchen.”
“Their kitchen?” Hunter sat up and leaned forward as he asked.
The chief nodded. “It is. The cook identified it.”
Officer Dylan knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. “I have everything.”
Chief Constable waved him in, and the officer brought in a huge pile of files. Hunter’s eyebrows raised as he leaned forward.
“What is all of this?” he asked, in surprise.
“Everything we’ve collected this far. Dylan, put it in the empty conference room. I’ll escort Hunter there in a minute.”
“Okay,” the officer croaked and eased back out the door.
The Four Tales Page 59