“I told you.” The butler’s scratchy voice was as low and sinister as wind through autumn leaves. “If it were out here, I would’ve found it. I’ve dug up every square inch that wasn’t covered by rock. See for yourself.”
A wet sputter, as his hand moved away from the single candle far enough for the cold breeze to lick at the flame.
Ollie turned away, ignoring the proffered candle, and lumbered through the garden. The butler followed with the flickering candle, spreading more shadow than light. But Evan saw more than enough.
Every inch of the gardenhadbeen overturned. Recently. But why? There couldn’t bethatmany wayward bodies beneath its surface. The soil was too sandy for Ollie to have decided to try his hand at potato farming in a fit of domestic madness. Unless he’d been drunk. Overgrown oaf was well known for making bad decisions after too much whiskey.
Suddenly Ollie stopped. Pointed.
“I said I dug everywhere not covered by rock, didn’t I?” The servant’s voice managed to sound peevish despite his feral rasp. “What was I to do, dig up graves?”
Hmm. Further proof that, coincidental as it might seem, they weren’t all skulking about the grounds for the same reason after all. Evan bit back a frustrated sigh. The thought had reminded him of his brother. Timothy had never believed in coincidences.
“Yes... if they’re not really graves,” Ollie answered cryptically, motioning his butler forward. “What do you see there?”
His lapdog paused, shuffled closer, shrugged. “Graves?”
“Gravestones,” Ollie corrected softly. “Which are not at all the same things.”
“This is a gravesite,” the butler muttered. “Of course there are gravestones.”
“And there should be two graves.” Ollie jerked the shovel from his lapdog’s limp grip. “Not three.”
They hadn’t known!
Evan looked over at Forrester to see if he was as surprised at this revelation as Evan was, and was startled to discover the magistrate had disappeared. Evan glanced around uneasily. Had he gone for good? Or had he hidden himself better this time, and was even now watching Evan from the shadows? Evan held his breath and waited.
Crunch.
Silence.
Then, “Was that a bone?”
“All the bones in this cemetery are inside caskets, you nancy.” Ollie dropped to his knees. “I think I found it. Help me dig.”
Metal into dirt. Wet soil splattering against rock. Miniature avalanches of tiny pebbles.
The butler’s shocked gasp. “You were right!”
“Help me get it out of here.” The shovels dropped to the earth. “We’ve got to hide it from her.”
They had tohideit? What the hell was their prize doing buried in the rock garden beneath an unmarked gravestone, if not being well hidden? And from whom? Miss Stanton?
Evan struggled to peer through the darkness at what looked like an ornate gilded box not much bigger than the plain wooden one the captain used to keep his snuff dry while out at sea. A similar-looking bejeweled box graced Ollie’s dining room mantle. Or was it the same one?
A crackle off in the darkness reminded Evan of Forrester. And his own presence. Evan was obviously not meant to know about the events transpiring before his eyes. But why?
True, the gold-filigreed box hadn’t been about to remain hidden for much longer. But Ollie obviously hadn’t known that. So what had tipped him off? Why would anyone want to bury a jewelry box in the first place? And for God’s sake,where the hell was Timothy’s body?Evan’s muscles bunched in frustration. Then his nostrils flared.
He smelled her, in the wind. Jasmine. Coming closer.
Leaving his tools on the ground where they were, he slipped from his position against the wall and followed the scent, hoping to intercept her before she made a telltale sound. Or worse, stumbled into direct view.
She gasped when his hand clamped over her mouth. He pulled her backward, into his arms, into the shadows. Now was not the time to explain his presence. Nor was it the time to demand whatshewas doing there. In her nightgown. With Timothy’s shovel.
Those questions would come later.
“It’s not safe,” he murmured into her ear, his mouth brushing against the softness of her hair, the smoothness of her cheek. He plucked the shovel from her hands and rested the scarred wooden handle against the gate. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”
