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“She always does.” Harry sat opposite and pushed a steaming cup of coffee from Roma Café closer to me. “For you.Cleo.”
I smiled sweetly at him over the rim of the cup. “That’s better. We don’t want things to go backwards. Let’s just pick up where we left off, shall we?”
Harry hesitated then nodded. “I think that’s for the best.”
Good. It was resolved. We were friends again and the kiss could be relegated to the past, a mistake never to be repeated. Harry and I were on the same page.
His father, however, was not even reading the same book. He glanced between us. “Is something the matter?”
“Everything’s fine,” Harry assured him with one of his charming smiles.
“Good. It would have been awkward, otherwise.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Harry, have you heard about the murder at the Bunburys’ ball last night?”
Harry sat forward. “No. It wasn’t in this morning’s papers.”
“They managed to keep it suppressed for the time being, but tonight’s editions will probably report it. A guest was murdered. Hit over the head with a candlestick in the library. Miss Fox was there.”
Harry’s brows rose. “You asked her here to interview her?”
“No. None of the guests will be interviewed, so my superiors have stipulated. They say it’s not necessary as a footman has been arrested and charged.”
“You don’t think he did it, do you?”
D.I. Hobart shifted his weight in the chair. He wasn’t a large man, but he was in his sixties and looking ahead to retirement. Sometimes, he seemed tired, as if the burden of his work became too much. He was always thorough, however. He would never make an arrest unless he was certain of guilt.
But I agreed with Harry. Something wasn’t right.
Not that D.I. Hobart admitted it outright. “Due process has not been followed,” was all he said. “I would like to have more time to investigate properly. Guests should have been interviewed, background checks made. None of that happened.”
On our last investigation, Lady Bunbury discovered I was helping the police, something which very few people had known. D.I. Hobart alluded to the fact that her husband knew his superiors at Scotland Yard and my involvement may have been revealed at that level. Perhaps Lord Bunbury had exerted his influence again and made sure an arrest was made in order to avoid dragging out the investigation. He wouldn’t want his guests to suffer the indignity of being interrogated by the police.
Or perhaps he was protecting the killer.
“Are you askingusto investigate?” Harry asked.
His father nodded. “Quietly, of course. No one must know.”
“They’ll find out if we discover the killer wasn’t the footman.”
“If you have enough evidence of another’s guilt, my superiors will have to release the footman and arrest the real killer. Your case must be watertight, however.” He shifted his weight again. “Unfortunately, Scotland Yard won’t pay your fee. But there is one party with an interest in this case who might pay you for solving it.”
“Not the Bunburys, surely,” I said.
“No, not the Bunburys. To understand who, I must start at the beginning. Three weeks ago, on the night of March thirtieth, a painting was stolen from a house on Grosvenor Square.”
“So the empty space on the Bunburys’ library wallwasrelevant,” I said.
Harry put up a finger to top me. “You saw the crime scene?”
“And the body and murder weapon.” I winced. “It was awful.”
His gaze softened. “I’m sure.”
“You’re right, Miss Fox,” D.I. Hobart said. “A painting was stolen from their library. Lord Bunbury noticed it and informed me upon my arrival. I immediately thought of the earlier theft. I organized a search and one of my men discovered the Bunburys’ missing painting with the footman’s things. Lord Bunbury confirmed it was the one that usually hung in the library.”
