“The same people who investigate all our friends and acquaintances.”
“And?”
“And she was an actress. Not very successful. A few commercials. Sitcom spots. A small part in a movie.”
“Does that make her unworthy of me because her career didn’t land?”
“Certainly not. Just wanted you to be aware. There’s a mysterious gap in her resume. She left L.A. for Las Vegas, then nothing until she returned to Hearts Bend.”
“I think that’s her own private affair.”
“Very good. I’m going to lunch. Dinner then?” Gus backed toward the door. “Our place. Seven o’clock.”
When little brother had gone, John fired off a message to the head of security.
“Send me all the data on Ms. Gemma Stone.”
Dexter, the royal corridor footman, carried in a luncheon tray. Sandwiches and crisps along with bottled water.
John thanked him and retrieved a sandwich and bag of chips, as the Americans said.
Instead of sitting and reading as he’d been doing, he went to the window and scanned the palace grounds where the man in the anorak had appeared, gazing up from under the elm.
Who was he? What was he doing on the grounds? He should inquire of security.
Looking southwest, the late summer sun flooded Port Fressa like a golden river, warming the streets, the grounds, the structures, and every soul in preparation for Lauchtenland’s long, grayish winter.
Farther west was the Heart of God—the six cathedrals built hundreds of years apart but which somehow formed a heart. When all their steeple lights were on, the heart could be seen from space.
The Heart of God…a man-made phenomenon. Or was it?
Up in the old hamlet of Dalholm, a grassy ledge had been carved out in the sheer rock cliffs above the North Sea channel. The sailors who hid there during a storm called it the Hand of God.
How they scaled the rock as the seas crashed around them remained a mystery. Or as the Northtons said, a miracle.
As a boy fascinated with a fairy tale, John had dreamed of his first kiss being beneath the Heart of God lights. But the moment had been stolen during a late-night summer party at the end of his first year in A-levels. Charlene Backus. He couldn’t remember who kissed whom first, but at sixteen, the Heart of God was far from his mind.
Then with Holland, he decided to take her there on their first date. But she’d kissed him first, just as they’d finished dinner. She’d scooted to his side of the booth and dropped one leg over his and slipped her arms around his neck. By that time, all their engines were revving and it was impossible to stop and ask, “Care to trot over to the Heart of God first?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Your Royal Highness.” Briggs stood just inside the office. “Two people are here from the Solicitor General’s office. An Inspector Meade and Inspector Tolsma.”
“Don’t look so distressed, Briggs. Whatever you’ve done, I’ll put in a good word for you.”
He didn’t smile. Not even a little. “They’ve asked to see you, sir.”
John held his composure. He’d learned from the queen to never look rattled or surprised in front of the staff.
“Send them in. And thank you.”
A man, Inspector Meade, and woman, Inspector Tolsma, dressed in business attire entered with solemn expressions. He bowed and she curtsied.
“Sorry to bother you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Please, come in. How can I help?” John encouraged them to sit, but they remained standing.
“We are here on behalf of the Justice Ministry’s Solicitor General’s investigation into the Midlands case.”
“Yes, I just read a briefing this morning. I’ve been following along. Is it true a member of parliament might be involved? Hamish Fickle is my guess. Corruption, malfeasance, and insider trading.”
