“And you had the misfortune to come to my crumbling pile.”
Not a complete misfortune, she thought as they crossed the landing to the room at the far end, her hand still in his. And yes, she’d known him for a total of twenty-four hours and she absolutely didn’t believe in love at first sight, but still… It was like when a friend declared, “I’ve met someone.” Not, a half-hearted, “I went on a date last night,” or “I’ve been seeing this guy…” But a definitive “I’ve met someone.” And both of you knew thatthiswas going to be a significant someone. She stole a glance at Tom. He looked a little fierce. It turned out she liked the idea of having a significant someone again. But it had tobe therightsignificant someone. A man who lived on the same continent and was not being shot at would be a good start.
As they stepped into the study, Tom dropped her hand. Inside was the bookcase she’d glimpsed earlier, a modest old desk, a view out to the river, and papers spread over every flat surface, like a disorganized student was doing exam prep. It was messy but not murder-scene messy—in Amelia’s extensive experience of watching crime shows. Not that she’d watched anything but rom-coms in the last year.
“So, the intruder—they were looking for something?” she said. The top drawer of an old metal filing cabinet was open, a piece of paper sticking out. She plucked it out. “A bank statement. More than a decade old.”
Tom scanned the papers on the desk. “Tax returns, insurance certificates, receipts, more bank statements…” He picked up a stapled document and flicked through it, frowning. “This is the police report from my brother’s crash.” He put it down and examined something else, his forehead bunching. “I guess if they found what they wanted, it wouldn’t be here anymore.”
“A police statement? Was there a court case?”
“It didn’t get that far. Connor was a minor, though only by a couple of months, and because he pleaded guilty early and was otherwise a good kid, and my grandfather put in a good word, he got diversion. He felt awful though. Still does.”
“I’m not sure that’s something you could ever leave behind.”
Tom riffled through the other documents. “He went through a period of denial, though. The day after the crash he changed his story to say he hadn’t been driving, but it was too late, he’d already confessed. And of course, Duncan and my grandfather had got there straightaway, so there was no doubt. So, he changed his story back—to get diversion, you need to admit your guilt, anyway. It was all wrapped up remarkably neatly, and before Eddie had the aneurysm, luckily for Connor. Otherwise,the charges might have been more serious. That can’t have anything to do with last night, though.”
“But then I did go and crash in the same place, after seeing the same gho—figure.” Amelia picked up the police report and flicked through it, without really taking it in. “It was good of your grandfather to stand up for him.”
“You know, I really admired him for that. It sort of set the tone for the rest of us. He would have been a hypocrite not to, though. The year before, Eddie had done a very similar thing—knocked a poor woman off her bike, after a few pints. He got diversion too—she only had a few grazes, luckily. I remember my grandfather saying to the sergeant, ‘You gave the grandson of a peer diversion. How would it look if the son of a groundskeeper got harsher treatment?’ This is all old paperwork,” he said, sifting through it. “Maybe it wasn’t what they wanted.”
“How old were you when the crash happened?”
“Fifteen. Connor and Eddie had been on at me to go with them, but I knew they’d been into the wine cellar. I should have stopped them, but I didn’t want them to think I wasn’t cool.”
“You don’t blame yourself, do you?”
He raised his eyebrows at her, which was all the confirmation she needed. “Everyone got a bit lost in it, to be honest, especially after the aneurysm. Duncan and my grandfather, because they were home, my parents because they weren’t. It was the last straw in their marriage.” Tom blew out his cheeks. “It’s all history, and you can’t change history. Task at hand, yeah?”
Amelia wanted to ask more questions, but Tom was right. This wasn’t the time. No wonder he had mixed feelings about leaving the estate.Yin and yang, good and bad, he’d said. An event like that had to eclipse the good memories, in the same way the robbery had cast a filter over hers—her relationship, her home… If she even looked at a photo of herself from before therobbery, all she saw was her stupidly naïve former self. It was like it had changed her past as well as her future.
“So,” she said, bringing herself back to the current crisis, “maybe Duncan woke up to someone going through his study, and then…”
“Whatever happened happened,” Tom finished, his expression dark. “And then they returned to keep looking for whatever it was they were looking for.” He opened a desk drawer. “Huh,” he said, pointing at something in the drawer litter. “One gold and emerald cufflink.” He fished the loose emerald from the robot vacuum from his jeans pocket. The emeralds were a match.
“So itwasDuncan’s?”
“If that man has ever worn cufflinks, it wouldn’t have been yesterday. Family heirloom, maybe. Has to be a coincidence—maybe he dropped it on the stairs years ago. I guess this intruder wasn’t after valuables, or he’d have taken it. Definitely no keys here though.” Tom slipped the loose emerald back into his pocket, and headed for the landing.
“It doesn’t look like there was any kind of struggle,” Amelia said, following.
“And Duncan wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. He’s not young but he’s been doing physical work every day of his adult life. Us boys used to challenge him to arm wrestling as kids. I don’t remember us ever winning, even when we were fully grown. He’d tease us, let us think we were going to finally nail him, then land it at the last second.” Tom jogged down the stairs. “What could Duncan have that someone would want that badly? He lives about as simple an existence as you can get.”
“If whoever did all this just left in that car, maybe the coast is clear for us to go for help? Seeing as we can’t call for it. Could we walk to the village?”
“I have the key to the estate Land Rover, though we’d have to wind along the main drive. We’d want to be certain they weren’t still lurking. We know that last night there weretwopeople—or deep-sea fish, or mythical creatures. If I did some recon first…” He patted his coat pocket and frowned. He tried his other pockets, one by one. “I definitely had my key when I left the house. I must have dropped it. Bugger.” He dug his fingertips into his temples, which reminded her of her own headache. “There’s a spare in the abbey, in my grandfather’s study.”
“I thought you said the house was too risky.”
“You said it yourself—risk is relative.” They reached the kitchen. “And there are rifles in the house.”
“Okay, so we sneak in there, get the key, get a gun, andthengo to the police station.”
“Precisely, my dear Watson.”
“What makes me Watson to your Holmes? Maybe I’m Holmes and you’re Watson.”
“Quite right, Sherlock.”
