“Are you certain?”
Miss Wheeler bristled. “Do drop the subject, or I’ll be forced to discontinue our association and investigate without you.”
Oscar held up his hands in surrender. “Your wish is my command.”
She groaned. “Is he always this insufferable, Professor?”
I smiled. “Only when he’s trying too hard to impress.”
“You’ve seen him like this before?” She pouted. “And I thought I was unique.”
Oscar shot me a frosty glare.
I bit my lip at my bumbling mistake. “Oh, I…er, yes of course you are, Miss Wheeler. You are a most singular woman. Please forget what I said.”
She hugged my arm. “I think we should all refocus on the task at hand. The station is just over there.”
The first porter we spoke to did recall the paintings, but suggested our questions would be better answered by the freight company tasked with packing and transporting them. A representative of the company was currently on the furthest platform, overseeing the unloading of packages from a freight carriage. The fellow was happy to talk to us, but only after Miss Wheeler slipped him some money.
“Aye, I remember Kinloch’s paintings.” He removed his clipboard from under his arm and flipped over the top page. He ran his finger down the columns, stopping at an entry near the bottom. “Here it is. Six in total, all framed. Sent tae Christie’s in London.”
The auction house!
We all kept our features schooled as we thanked the fellow. It wasn’t until we’d left the station altogether that Miss Wheeler broke the silence.
“Kinloch lied.”
“As did Redmayne,” I said. “He would have known the paintings were destined for auction. It would seem Mr. Kinloch is in financial difficulty, after all.”
“Then why not sell the book to Defoe for more money?” Oscar asked.
“Because he was sincere when he said he wanted it housed in a public library, not hidden away in a private collection. Forgive me if I’ve cast your employer in a poor light, Miss Wheeler.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Professor.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Is anyone else parched? Shall we discuss this over a cup of tea and sandwiches?”
We asked a shoeshine lad if there was a teashop nearby that made good sandwiches, and he gave us convoluted directions that led us down one alley after another. We managed to find it, however, and sat at a table away from the window at Miss Wheeler’s insistence.
“What shall we do about Kinloch and Redmayne’s lie?” she asked while we waited for our refreshments to arrive.
“It was clearly done to hide Kinloch’s financial problems,” Oscar said. “Problems that have risen because his rivals have improved their fabrics.”
“Thanks to magicians who possess the same magical craft as Mary and Juliette. So, either Kinloch or Redmayne killed them out of anger over Kinloch’s floundering business, or kidnapped them because they want to use them to improve the quality of the fabrics Kinloch’s factory produces.”
Both theories were heinous and stole my appetite, but I didn’t believe the latter one. “If he wants to compete with magician-owned factories, he could just employ a magician. There’s no need to kidnap them and force them to work for him.”
“It is rather an extreme motive,” she agreed. “But so is the alternative. That he has killed them out of misguided jealousy or perceived rivalry. Mr. Barratt, you claim to be such a good judge of character, do you think Kinloch is disturbed enough to go to such lengths to save his own business?”
Oscar watched the waitress as she carried a tray of tea things toward us. “Not Kinloch. But I could see Redmayne being that disturbed.” He waited for the waitress to set the tray down and distribute cups. Once she was gone, he continued in a low voice. “Remember that his deceased lover claimed to be a magician. If her claim led to them falling out, he could have been upset enough to kidnap and kill her. Then, years later, Mary moves into his neighborhood. She also claims to be a magician, triggering some dark, twisted part of him that is compelled to remove her. Juliette, too.”
I stared at him, horrified. What dark, twisted part of Oscar had conjured up that theory?
Miss Wheeler seemed less disturbed than me by this side of him. “It’s certainly a possibility,” she said as she poured the tea into our cups. “It’s more viable than Kinloch doing it.”
“No!” I looked from one to the other, incredulous. “It isn’t a possible theory. Surely not. Redmayne isn’t the friendliest fellow, but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.”
“We have to keep an open mind,” Oscar said.
“Do we?” I shook my head. “I just don’t see it. Not kidnap. Or murder, for that matter.”
