A Devious Lot (Antiques & Collectibles Mysteries Book 5) (11 page)

“I came to offer my condolences.”

He crossed his arms. “Thank you. Now that you’ve done that, I’d like you to leave.”

Molly wanted to ask him about his relationship with Tiffany, but knew from his annoyed stance he wasn’t going to tell her anything. “I’ll be going now,” she said. “But may I give you a word of advice? If you want Bits & Pieces to be successful, you need a better business model. Nobody likes to shop in a store that looks like a warehouse.”

Chapter 11

Molly got in the car and buckled her seat belt. She felt angry with Giles, and with herself. She hadn’t found out anything useful. She put the key in the ignition, but before she could turn it, her cell phone rang. Digging it out of her purse, she saw Detective Tony Lombardi’s face flash on the screen. He was using Apple’s FaceTime, and without thinking, she patted her hair before she answered.

“Hi, Lombardi. What a nice surprise. How are you?”

“Molly, great to see you! All’s well here, but I miss you and Matt.” With his jet black hair, olive skin and seductive brown eyes, Lombardi was the hunkiest cop in Vermont, if not all of New England. “Looks like you’re in the car. Are you driving?”

“No, I’m parked at the curb,” she said.

“I saw your mother at Java Jitters this morning,” he said. “She told me she’s flying to England, and about the murder, and she asked me to check up on Inspector Devon Boyle.”

“She did?”

“She worries about you.”

“This, I know,” Molly said and laughed.

“You’ll be glad to know he’s a decorated detective with a long and successful career.”

“He’s retiring the first of December,” she said. “That’s why he asked for my help. He wants to solve the case before he leaves.”

“Well, he certainly asked the right person,” he said. “Is there anything I can do for you at my end?”

“I don’t know, what can you do?”

“Why don’t you bring me up-to-date on what’s going on, and I’ll tell you what I think.”

“Okay,” Molly said. She told him everything—starting with the tea party and ending with the conversation she’d just had with Giles. “He doesn’t look sad at all about Tiffany, and even Penelope being gone doesn’t seem to have fazed him. He thinks she’s cooling her heels off somewhere and she’ll be back. When I told him innocent people don’t run away, he got angry and practically kicked me out the door.”

“What do you know about Penelope?”

“Nothing, nada. Boyle hasn’t told me a thing about her.”

“I’ll run a background check.”

“Can you do that on a British subject?”

“Hey, my magic computer has been known to work miracles. But if I have any trouble, I’ll make a call to a friend of mine in New York. His cousin is a cop in the U.K. I can ask him to dig a little deeper.”

“That would be great,” Molly said. “On a lighter note, tell me how things are going with Linda.”

“Linda?” His forehead creased. “You mean Lena?”

“Sorry, Lena,” she said. Why couldn’t she get her name right? “Are you two still dating?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I suppose I should call her and find out.”

Molly could hear her mother’s voice in her head telling her to encourage him.

“I only met her briefly,” she said, “but she seemed nice, and smart, too. You should definitely call her.”

“Yeah, she’s okay,” he said noncommittally.

Molly frowned. “Is that all you have to say about her?”

“What do you want me to say? I’m madly in love with her?”

“Well . . . are you?” His eyes narrowed, and Molly knew she’d touched a raw nerve. She quickly backpedaled. “Ignore me,” she said. “Your love life is none of my business.”

He loosened his necktie and his expression softened.

“No, it’s fine that you asked,” he said. “You know me too well, Molly. I have trouble with long-term relationships.”

“Mom says it’s because you haven’t met the right girl.”

“Yeah, well, your mother is wrong. I did meet the right girl, but she belongs to someone else.”

He looked embarrassed and averted his eyes from the phone. Those dark eyes that were mesmerizing. A woman, Molly thought, could get lost in those eyes.

She cleared her throat. “Hey, when I get home, Matt and I will have you and Lena over for dinner, okay? In the meantime, call her and ask her out. You’ve got to keep things moving to see where it goes.”

“What if I don’t want to call her?”

Molly sighed. “Do yourself a favor,” she said, and silently to herself:
Do me a favor!
“Give her a chance.”

Whitechapel, London, England

July 14, 1851

“It’s not a bad idea, but you’re not the one to do it,” Percy said. “Let me go instead.”

Julius shook his head. “I’m capable of doing this alone.” They were at the Royal, an upscale pub frequented by wealthy patrons. They’d been there for an hour, sitting in a quiet corner, trying to think of a way to save Lillian from marrying Lord Victor Henson. “Lillian told me he’s a member of the club her father belongs to. I’ll go tonight.”

“Do you even know what Henson looks like?”

“Well, no, but I can ask someone to point him out once I get there. Then I’ll talk to him man to man, and tell him I’m in love with Lillian, and he should do the honorable thing and cease all efforts to marry her.”

“Julius, my lad, you know so little about the aristocracy. He’ll laugh you out the door. Besides, what club would you go to? There’s not just one. My father belongs to four clubs, and so does Lillian’s. There’s the sporting club, gaming club, political club, and social club. Where do you think you’ll find Henson on any given night? And why do you think a non-member like yourself would be allowed in to look for him?”

Julius felt his spirits sink. “I admit, I need your help. What would you suggest?”

“Today is Monday. Monday one goes to one’s social club. I suspect we’ll find him at White’s on St. James’s. It’s the crème de la crème of gentlemen social clubs, and Henson is a longtime member. And as luck would have it, my father gave me membership as a gift when I turned twenty, so I can go in and talk to him. And giving my father the respect he’s due, Henson might at least listen to me.”

“May I accompany you as a guest?”

“Someday, yes, but not tonight.” Percy paused. “You must know the chances of this working are slim. Henson’s a very rich man, and he’s used to getting his way. Appealing to his heart probably won’t do any good. I’m not sure he even has a heart.”

“What else can we do?”

“Let’s see how he reacts when I speak to him. If he’s unwilling to give up his pursuit of Lillian, we’ll have to think of another way to stop him.” Percy slugged back the rest of his beer. “I hope we don’t have to shoot him,” he said, and grinned.

They walked to White’s on St. James’s Street. The club was one of London’s most fashionable addresses. Just standing outside the building intimated Julius. He was glad he’d taken Percy’s advice to let him go in alone. The club was so exclusive, he never would have made it past the front door.

“Wait for me across the street,” Percy said.

Julius did as he was told, standing in the shadows, as far away from the bow window of the club as he could get. In a little while, Percy came out and Julius hurried over to join him.

“We must be quick,” Percy said. “Henson was at the club, but left about fifteen minutes before we got here. A very drunken gentleman told me he has plans to go slumming tonight. If he’s gone home to change clothes, we might be able to catch him on his way out.”

Julius knew about slumming but had never known anyone who’d actually done it. His father had warned him it was a hedonistic pursuit of sinful pleasure, popular with some in the aristocracy. These were wealthy men (and even women) who would dress “down” to visit the slums, sometimes staying for a day or two, blending in, living out their fantasies. The very thought of Lillian marrying a man who lowered himself to such debauchery made Julius feel ill.

They walked four blocks to Henson’s townhome, and when they arrived at the address, Julius realized what he was up against. The house occupied an entire corner lot in one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in London. Henson was filthy rich.

“There are lights on,” Percy said. “That’s a good sign he’s still at home.”

“Are you going to knock on the door?”

Percy turned to him slowly and looked at him under the brim of his hat. “Julius, don’t you see what this is? It’s an opportunity to gain knowledge. What I propose is that we follow him to the slums and witness his reason for being there. No doubt it’s for nefarious reasons. Then I can give that intelligence to Lillian’s father. Let’s hide in that little park down the street and hope he comes out soon.”

The park was the perfect hiding place. The trees and shrubs were thick, and in the dark, Julius knew Henson wouldn’t see them. He kept his eyes glued on the front door, and was so intent on watching the house he didn’t notice when a stiff breeze turned up the lapel of his frock coat.

Percy noticed, and pointed to it. “What’s that pinned to your coat?” he asked.

“What?” Julius quickly flipped the lapel down, but it was too late. Percy had already seen it. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“It looked like an eye miniature. Let me see it.”

Julius sighed and flipped the material back over. “Happy? You’re right again.”

Percy leaned in to get a closer look at the brooch pinned to his coat. “I believe it’s Lillian’s eye.” He grinned at Julius. “We have a friend who paints eye miniatures. She must have commissioned him. When did she give it to you?”

“At Harriett’s birthday party,” Julius said. “She gave it to me with a note that said she feared we would never see each other again, and she wanted me to have a portrait of her eye so I would never forget her.”

“Sweet, Lillian . . .” Percy glanced back at Henson’s house and his eyes narrowed. “We must do what we can to protect her from him.”

They said nothing more about the eye miniature, but waited in stony silence. After a while, Julius began to think Henson had already gone and they’d missed him, but the front door suddenly opened and a short, pudgy man in a working man’s bowler and jacket came down the steps.

“That’s him,” Percy said. “I’d recognize that pear shape anywhere.”

They waited for Henson to round the corner before they came out of their hiding place. Away from the residential street, the roads bustled with Londoners on their way home from work. Henson strode among them with purpose, until he eventually stopped at a taxi stand and got into a horse-drawn cab.

“We better hurry or we’ll lose him,” Percy said. They climbed into the next carriage in line and Percy told the driver, “We need you to go after the cab that’s just left.”

Julius was anxious and ready to go, but the carriage didn’t move. The driver looked down at them through the trap door in the roof. “I need money up front, and a destination, sir,” he said.

Percy blew out his breath. It was typical to pay the cabbie when arriving at a destination, but their driver seemed to have his own rulebook. He wasn’t going to leave without knowing where they were going, and being paid for it. Percy took a handful of coins from his pocket and handed them to the driver through the opening. “We kindly request you follow that cab, and do so immediately. I’ll pay you more if it’s needed when we reach our destination. All right?”

“Right-o, sir, thank you very much,” the driver said, tipping his hat and pocketing the coins. He flicked the reins and the carriage jerked to a start.

As soon as the horses increased their pace, the door popped open. This was a common occurrence, and one that always annoyed Julius. He grabbed the door handle and held it shut as the horse increased its speed, kicking dust into the air from the dirty road. It floated in through the open window, making Julius cough. He hated cabs. The seats were hard and uncomfortable, and the bumpier the ride, the more his teeth rattled in his head.

Percy watched out his side window, occasionally announcing where they were. Eventually he said, “We’ve arrived in Whitechapel, Julius. Henson’s definitely slumming.”

Julius was appalled by the sights passing by his window. Decayed buildings and dark alleys appeared sinister in the dim moonlight, and ditches smelled as rotten as death. He wondered about the people who lived behind the broken windows and how they stood it.

The cab finally came to a halt on a noisy, busy street. Julius spotted Henson crossing the road ahead of them on foot. He wished they’d had time to change into slumming clothes themselves, for as soon as they stepped out of the cab they were descended upon by merchants hawking cheap trinkets and feral children begging for money. It was a depressing sight, but Julius had no time to ponder the consequences of such dire poverty. Henson rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

Pushing past the crowd, they went down the street after him. He walked ahead jauntily swinging his arms, and Julius thought he heard him whistling a tune. He stopped suddenly in front of a shabby building, then turned and went up the steps.

“Keep walking,” Percy said, and they passed the building. “He’s gone into a rooming house.” They reached the end of the street, and Percy turned to him. “In the slums, there are rooming houses that allow prostitution. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Julius closed his eyes as the words sank in. There was so much more at stake here than Lillian marrying a man she didn’t love. Henson’s visits to Whitechapel could affect her health. She could be sickened and die. The thought occurred to him it could be how his first wife had died. No wonder no one knew the truth and rumors swirled.