“Who?”
He didn’t answer as he moved off to greet a new arrival.
Goliath, standing beside a trolley loaded with luggage near the check-in desk, signaled me with a jerk of his head. “There’s someone waiting to see you in Mr. Hobart’s office.”
“Who?”
He didn’t have an opportunity to answer, however, as the guests whose luggage he carried collected their key from Peter and headed in the direction of the lift.
“Room five-twenty,” Peter told Goliath.
The porter pushed the trolley towards the service lift.
“Who is waiting for me in Mr. Hobart’s office?” I asked Peter. “Is it Lord Wrexham?” Hopefully he’d been intrigued by my calling card. But why wait for me in Mr. Hobart’s office when he could have enjoyed a cup of tea in the sitting room? Perhaps his disfigurement made him shy away from public spaces.
“Finally,” said a familiar deep voice behind me.
I turned to see Mr. Armitage striding towards me. “You’ve been waiting for me? Why?”
“To see how you fared with Wrexham.”
“Is that a suspect?” Peter asked, leaning on the counter in a most uncharacteristic casual pose. “Are you getting closer to solving the case?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “Progress has been slow.”
Mr. Armitage joined us. “Were you with Wrexham all this time?”
“I was watching his townhouse.”
His lips curved into a smile. “He wouldn’t see you?”
“Given I’m a stranger, that’s understandable.” I eyed Terrence, manning the post desk. “When I saw him depart, I left too. Perhaps he came here and left a message for me.”
“He didn’t,” Mr. Armitage said.
“How do you know?”
“Terence told me.”
I bristled. “You made him give you my messages?”
“No, I simply asked if you had any and he said no. That’s not the same thing.”
“It almost is.”
“But it’s not.”
We both looked to Peter. He straightened, hands in the air in surrender. “Don’t expect me to referee your match.”
Mr. Armitage’s gaze suddenly lifted to a point behind me and he stiffened. His lips pressed together.
I turned to see Uncle Ronald striding towards us. My heartbeat quickened. The last time these two men had met, Mr. Armitage had just helped arrest a murderer, but not even that service was enough for my uncle to forgive him for lying about his criminal record. My uncle felt he’d been betrayed. He’d forgiven Mr. Hobart, in a fashion, but he couldn’t bring himself to forgive Mr. Armitage.
Mr. Armitage had never once begged to be reinstated to his former position of assistant manager, and I suspected that was part of my uncle’s problem with him. He now knew Mr. Armitage was a formidable character, someone who stood up for himself on principle, and that was something my uncle didn’t like in an employee.
He marched up to me, eyes flashing, his jaw set just as hard as Mr. Armitage’s. “Cleo. A word.” He moved into the center of the foyer, expecting me to follow.
With a glance at Mr. Armitage and Peter, I did. “Yes, Uncle?”
