Cat Burglar in Training (5 page)

“I thought anyone who married into the Moning dynasty would produce the requisite heir and a spare.”

Beauchamp sank onto a barstool with a loud sigh. “Perdita had several miscarriages. The baby she managed to carry to term died when he was a toddler.”

God. Sympathy stirred within me. I’d give my right leg and arm up in exchange for Amber’s safety, even though the circumstances of her conception made my gut churn. “And then she was murdered. The lady didn’t have much luck.”

A strange look passed over his face. Secrets. The man wasn’t telling me everything.

“Morbid subject, murder. Let’s talk about us, Lady Evelyn. Eve.” Lowering his voice, he edged closer. “Your father owes me money. I intend to collect, one way or the other.” His gaze came to a halt on my breasts.

Once again, sex reared its ugly head. “That would be blackmail. Go see my father. He’s the one who owes you money.” I glimpsed Selena Gibson across the dance floor. She’d be a good source for gossip. Let Beauchamp do his worst. I slid from my stool and stalked off, ignoring the whispered threats that slithered after me.

At least I didn’t need to play dumb for Selena. We’d met each other as nervous five-year-olds on the first day of school. Our friendship had endured through the years even though we went for stretches without seeing each other.

“Selena, how are you?” We air-kissed before stepping back to smile broadly and study the changes since we’d last met. “Got time for a chat? Catch up on a bit of gossip?” I silently admired her solid gold earrings. Each time Selena moved, the Egyptian emblems glistened in the light.

Selena tossed her head, making the earrings dance against her Cleopatra wig. “Sure have. Fancy a quick turn about the garden? I could do with the peace and quiet. It’s been hectic all day.”

I caught sight of Jemima across the other side of the room and waved hello before Selena and I wandered through a pair of open double doors. We paused on the patio. A soft breeze ruffled the leaves of an ornamental orange tree. Five steps led down to a floodlit garden where a fountain danced, the tinkle of the water musical and relaxing.

The exact thing I needed to soothe my fractured nerves after my latest meeting with Kahu “The Hawk” Williams. The man certainly took after his name. Saw everything. Noted it all. I’d have to remember to take extra care at our next meeting. The blonde-bimbo image needed to stick like elephant-strength superglue.

We wandered aimlessly until we came to a secluded seat amongst the hedges. The low drone of traffic was the only discordant note in the garden.

“I saw you on the dance floor.” Selena sank onto the stone seat.

“That wasn’t me,” I said promptly.

“I know. That’s why I’m so intrigued. Who is that cowboy?”

“No one important.” People were used to seeing me with Seth since I’d arrived back in England. “Let’s talk about something juicy instead. Did you know the Monings?”

The humor bleached from Selena’s face. “Terrible, isn’t it? They’re saying it was a burglary gone wrong. I’d hand over my jewels to thieves plus the key to the safety-deposit box with instructions to take the lot. Life’s too important to risk for material possessions.”

I opened my mouth to say the murder had nothing to do with theft, then snapped it shut. The report of the gunshot echoed in my head, reinforcing my decision. If I tripped over clues while I searched for the child, I’d ring the cops with an anonymous tip. Until then, I intended to keep the info to myself.

“I suppose they had children,” I said.

“I didn’t know them well. The funeral should be soon now that the police have finally released her body to the family. I guess if they had kids they’ll be there.”

Good point. I made a mental note to check online for the time of the funeral. So far my searches in the social media had yielded zilch—only gossip instead of useful info. Most frustrating.

“Oh, hell. I should’ve worn my glasses.” Selena clutched my forearm. “Eve, is that Henry the Eighth heading this way?”

I checked the direction she indicated. “Yep, I’d recognize that stomach anywhere.”

“No way do I want another of his oily propositions. I’m outta here.” She jumped to her feet. “Detain him for me, will you? Give me time to escape.” She flew down the gravel path in the opposite direction, leaving behind nothing but a whiff of Chanel No. 5.

Darn, I didn’t want to see the man either. I darted in the same direction as Selena but turned left where she’d turned right. I brushed past a pot of roses and ducked down another path, entering the hedge maze with the intention of lingering until Beauchamp disappeared.

It was much darker in the maze. I slowed, letting my night vision adjust. A series of high giggles alerted me to proceed with caution. I caught a glimpse of a couple groping each other. The man had his hand up the skirt of his partner’s maid costume. A lot of heavy breathing punctuated the giggles. Averting my eyes, I tiptoed past.

The sound of gravel crunching underfoot alerted me to a presence ahead. I stepped off the path onto a section of grass, cursing softly when my heels sank halfway to China. I yanked free of the grass while debating which direction to head. A man’s voice made me hesitate. Damn and blast! Not another clandestine tryst.

A second man replied, and I froze. I knew that voice.

“What are you doing out here?”

Bloody hell. I knew that voice too. What were Kahu Williams and Richard Beauchamp doing out here together? Curious, I edged closer and settled in to listen.

“I needed a breath of fresh air.” Kahu’s tone was mocking, and I sensed he wanted to provoke Beauchamp.

“I’m meeting someone,” Beauchamp snarled.

“I won’t take up much of your time.”

Beauchamp must have registered the determination underlying the antipodean accent. “What do you want?”

“Do you know Ihaka Morrison?”

A beat of silence played out. “Never heard of the man.”

“Liar.”

I sucked in my breath at the grit in Kahu’s voice.

“For God’s sake, quit the games and tell me what this is about.” Beauchamp was becoming impatient.

I imagined him glancing at his watch. Who was he meeting? It wasn’t me, and Selena had fled the second she saw him. His confident manner implied the meeting was prearranged.

“Ihaka Morrison is dead.”

This time the silence was longer and preceded by a shocked intake of air. Yep, Beauchamp knew this Ihaka Morrison, whoever he was. Now Kahu knew it too.

“I don’t know any
Ihaakar
Morrison.” Beauchamp drew out the name, making it sound different from the way Kahu pronounced it.

Intrigued, I crept closer. I wanted to see Beauchamp’s face. Kahu’s too, although if I was a betting kinda gal, I’d lay odds Kahu Williams had a hell of a poker face. As I slid to the end of the hedge, I caught the blur of movement when Kahu grabbed Beauchamp by the shoulder. He thrust his face right in Beauchamp’s and shook him like a dog shakes when it’s wet. Hard and vigorous.

“That’s a lie. You knew my brother. He worked for you and now he’s dead. Talk, damn it. I want answers. I want to know what happened.”

I heard voices behind me. So did the two men. Kahu let go of Beauchamp with a muttered oath. “Keep watch over your shoulder, Beauchamp, ’cause I’ll be there until I learn the truth about my brother.” He stalked away, luckily in the opposite direction to where I lurked.

Beauchamp appeared shaken and stirred like the proverbial James Bond special. He smoothed his crumpled satin outfit before slinking along a third path I hadn’t noticed. The man looked furtive, and the trainee cat burglar in me grew curious. I sneaked after him. About halfway down the path, a slender shadow separated from the hedge. A woman. The deluded soul threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Beauchamp didn’t object. Two shadows melted to one. Yuck!

“Hello.” An arm snaked around my waist. “Fancy finding you out here.”

Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Clichéd but oh so true.

“Doing a little spying?” Kahu whispered.

His sexy drawl got me every time and melted the heck out of my willpower. I turned, and my hand reached out to touch him before warning bells even whimpered. Bloody hell. I snatched my hand away only millimeters before I touched warm masculine skin.

“Just out for some fresh air,” I said.

“A lot of that going ’round.”

I bit back a grin. “I wanted some quiet, but I keep tripping over amorous couples. You’d think they’d prefer a soft bed.”

“Never fancied adventure?”

Oh, boy. One conversation detour coming right up. “I need a drink.”
Lame, very lame.

“You know, variety is the spice of life.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I whirled about and headed directly for the steps leading to the ballroom.

A soft chuckle followed me, but I restrained the impulse to look over my shoulder. Sometimes strategic retreat is the wisest course—the only path.

The funeral was scheduled for the Wednesday after Selena’s ball, in the Monings’ hometown of Kinnell Green, Lancashire. My Mini rattled up the M6, shaking and shuddering theatrically each time a truck flew past. I eyed the temperature gauge with misgiving, but the needle hovered in the middle of hot and cold. I sighed, but softly so I didn’t tempt the gods to hammer me for smugness.

Apart from a childhood foray to Blackpool, I’d never visited this part of the country before. To tell the truth, I was relieved to leave Oakthorpe. I’d let my destination slip to my father and been called upon to defend my reasons for traveling north instead of heading for the jewel-rich mansions of London. Evasion and lying without blinking an eye was becoming second nature to me, but I hadn’t quite got the impassive expression down because Father, backed up by Ben, demanded details. Of course, I’d refused, digging in my heels, stating again for the record that I didn’t like stealing. The argument had heated up to shouting and cursing, and things headed downhill from there.

A bright flash of lightning zipped through the sky. Thunder boomed scant seconds after the lightning. The black clouds had hovered in the distance for the whole journey, and now they were about to unleash nature’s wrath. Rain lashed my windshield. I flicked the window wipers on and resigned myself to getting wet since my Mini leaked like a fishing net.

I peered through the rain and finally spotted the turnoff. Half an hour later, chilled and damp, I pulled up outside the church and parked behind a dark blue Mercedes.

Two men climbed from the saloon. Although I could only see the back view of both men, my heart sank. One of them was Kahu Williams. I’d stake my left leg on it. My pulse rate kicked up. Drat. I’d hoped to sneak in and peruse the attendees without any messy entanglements. Kahu Williams was the definition of
messy,
and judging by the nerves dancing a jig in my stomach,
entanglement
as well.

Aghast at my reaction, I dawdled. I had no idea why I was attracted to danger. “Maybe it’s genetics catching up on you,” I muttered in disgust.

The second the two men disappeared inside the church, I opened my door and stepped from my Mini. My black jacket and knee-length skirt didn’t look too bad despite the dampness.

I strode to double wooden doors that looked old enough to date from medieval times, opened them and slid inside the church. Before I could close them, a gust of wind ripped the handle from my grasp. The resulting crash had every head turning to stare. Most wore disapproval, although I did catch a couple of snickers from two teenage males.

“Sorry,” I said, desperately searching for an empty pew to duck into and hide.

“Eve, over here.” The masculine voice held a trace of amusement beneath the huskiness.

After a quick nod of greeting, I slid onto the hard wooden pew and stared straight ahead. Beside me, Kahu moved slightly, his hard thigh cozying up to mine.

“You’re wet.” His warm breath stirred a tendril of hair at my temple.

I turned to face temptation in spite of my inner qualms. “It is raining outside.” The heart palpitations should have forewarned me, but his masculinity struck me afresh. Tanned skin, dark intelligent eyes that held laughter at the moment, and a lean face combined together into a dangerous package. Briefly, I prayed for fortitude.

“I didn’t know you were coming to the funeral,” I said.

“Standard procedure these days. You’d be surprised how many murderers attend the funeral because they knew the victim.”

My brows rose at the subtle implication. “Family? Do you think one of her family murdered her?” Guilt made the words at the end of my sentence rise. I was reasonably confident the murderer was no relation to Perdita Moning because my discreet inquiries beforehand had told me her husband had flown to Brussels on important company business. It was more likely a crime of passion.

“Surely that doesn’t surprise you,” Kahu said. “A lot of victims know their murderers.”

I bit my lip and debated how to answer. Forensic tests would show Perdita Moning’s sexual activities prior to her death. No doubt the cops would check the husband’s alibi closely. Finally, I settled for something generic. “I guess you’d know from experience.”

I turned my attention to the minister’s sermon, listening to the friends and family members who read from the Bible or related personal memories of Perdita, and filed away impressions to drag out later. It was hard not to get emotional. A young woman snuffed out before her prime. I wasn’t the only one attempting to hold back tender sentiments. A lone tear spilled down my cheek. If I didn’t do something quick, there’d be more. I groped in my jacket pocket, searching for the handkerchief I’d put there this morning, and came up empty. Seconds later, a large white handkerchief floated in front of me. Accepting it gratefully, I dealt with the tears. Hopefully I wouldn’t end up looking like a panda bear.

There were a few familiar faces at the funeral. Richard Beauchamp was in attendance, thankfully on the far side of the chapel. I squeezed closer to Kahu and hoped like hell the man didn’t see me. Jemima Cameron, the new friend I kept running into at balls and charity functions, sat a few pews in front of us. I decided to ask her a few questions later.

Also present were a few acquaintances from school. I hadn’t kept in touch with many and wasn’t looking forward to the “what are you doing now?” conversation or the subtle games of one-upmanship, but I’d suck it in and deal. Discovering the identity of Amber’s father was more important than false pride.

While I listened, I took lots of mental notes. I’d tried to keep up with case developments via the net, but the police weren’t releasing much info and most of what I found was supposition on the part of the reporters.

An hour passed. My damp suit started to feel distinctly uncomfortable, the crop of goose bumps pebbling my skin growing by the minute. A shiver worked its way through me.

“Won’t be long now,” Kahu murmured. “It’s stopped raining so it won’t be bad outside.”

The minister wrapped up the service, and everyone stood as Perdita made the final journey to her resting place.

I waited until most people filed from the church, taking the chance to see exactly who’d come to pay their respects. There were several children present, but it was difficult to know if they belonged to the Monings or were related to other attendees. None of them looked remotely like Amber. The funeral notice had been brief with nothing apart from pertinent info relating to the service and burial.

Behind me, Kahu and his fellow officer murmured to each other, no doubt discussing a plan of attack. An arm curled around my waist, making me start. Kahu bent closer to whisper in my ear. “Ready to go?”

“Ah, sure.” With my mind in a pleasant haze, suffused with his citrus aftershave, I wasn’t sure if attending the graveside in police presence would prove helpful or not. My usual lightning-quick thought processes were decidedly foggy. I felt a slight pressure from the arm around my waist and stepped into the aisle.
Try and ignore it.
I unsuccessfully suppressed another shiver.

“Still cold?” Kahu’s husky voice massaged my skin and hiked desire with a suddenness that took me aback.

“No, I’m fine,” I said, hoping the rain would start again. Another dousing with cold water might benefit both me and my hormones.

“I need to talk to a few people.” Kahu paused to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. The move was intimate and smacked of possession. My stomach roiled but there was no distaste involved. My frisky hormones frolicked like spring lambs as I stared into his eyes. “Will I see you later?”

“Ah…probably not. I have to get home. My father isn’t well, and if I’m not there to supervise, he overdoes things.” I comforted myself with the fact I spoke nothing less than the truth. Father and Ben
would
attempt a job without my approval, especially if they couldn’t wear me down again. So far it was a standoff.

Kahu nodded.

“Coming?” his partner asked with a trace of impatience.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” Kahu waited until the other man moved out of hearing range. “Can I ring you?”

I started to nod before my brain fully engaged.
Oh, boy
. “No,” I said. Of course, I ended up making a total fool of myself, but that was nothing new where this man was concerned.

Kahu grinned, a flash of white teeth. “I’ll give you my card,” he said, amusement shading his words. He whipped a plain white business card from his pocket and pulled out a pen to jot another number on the back, while I stared in helpless horror. My only excuse—the man looked
really
sexy when he smiled. “My private number. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

My head nodded even as I thought,
no way!
It was obviously something in the air. A drug. I needed to seek fresh air, and quickly, before I did something stupid.

“Don’t get too cold, sweetheart.”

Before I could unravel my brain, he kissed me. Right on the lips.

Short. Sweet. Confusing.

My gaze lingered on the man’s butt as he sauntered away. My hand crept up to touch my tingling lips the moment he exited the churchyard.

“I thought you were going out with Seth.” A disapproving voice interrupted my Kahu-fueled fantasies.

I turned to face my accuser. “Hi, Jemima. I haven’t seen you since the Gibson ball.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

My eyes narrowed at her tone. Who did she think she was—my mother? I remembered the chocolate episode and amended
mother
to
conscience.
“Seth and I are friends.”

“Good friends or friends with benefits?”

For Seth’s sake, I tiptoed around the question. “You interested in Seth?”

“Only if he’s not taken,” she said with a prim note that pressed my humor button. “I don’t like to steal.”

“You’ll have to check with Seth,” I said, my mouth quirking in the beginnings of a full-out grin. “But I don’t think he’s in the market for a relationship at the moment.”

Jemima nodded and jerked her head in the direction of the cemetery. “You coming?”

“Yeah. Do you know the family well?”

“My brother went to school with Perdita. She used to spend time at our house.”

I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “I met Perdita not long before the murder. I didn’t know her well but…” I shrugged and trailed off, hoping Jemima would add information without prompting on my part.

“They haven’t arrested anyone yet.”

“No. The police seem very tightlipped. There hasn’t been much in the news. Perdita was so young.”

“At least there were no children,” Jemima said as we headed for the group of people loitering in the cemetery.

So who were the kids? Frustration slammed me. How did I learn more about those photos in Perdita’s bedroom? It wasn’t as if I could come straight out and ask without someone surmising I’d been in her bedroom.

“Are you going to the Harlequin Ball?”

“Seth asked me to go with him a few weeks ago.” And the creditors were banging on the door again. The casual job with Seth’s mother was paying for groceries and petrol and that was all. Despite my qualms, I needed to consider putting the Shadow to work again.

“I’ll see you there,” Jemima said. “I want to talk to Perdita’s brother.”

My spirits brightened upon hearing Jemima’s words. “See you there,” I echoed with a bright smile. If the child wasn’t Perdita’s perhaps she was a niece.
Or a godchild.
Heck, that was going to make my investigation more difficult. I frowned and scanned the faces of the children still present. None of them was the child I sought. I’d have to think of some other way of obtaining the information I required.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing with such a big frown?” An arm slid around my waist then immediately disengaged. “Ugh. You’re wet.”

I turned to regard Richard Beauchamp with a cool gaze, one designed to freeze at six paces. “That would be because it’s been raining.”

“I know a cozy hotel not far from here. The owners are discreet.” His hand trailed down my cheek. “No one will know we’ve been there.”

I jerked from his touch, suppressing my distaste as I took in the heavy and expensive gold band on his ring finger. “I would appreciate you keeping your hands off.” The temptation to relieve the pompous man of some of his wealth took flight. Perhaps I’d do a little research.

Beauchamp’s ruddy face firmed with a determined look, one that told me he wasn’t going to give up on having me. “I’m sick of getting the runaround from your father. He owes me money, and I intend to collect. You can take the time to talk to me now or face the consequences.”

The underlying threat made the fine hairs at the back of my neck prickle. “I’m listening.”

“Richard!” A woman waved with an elegance that spoke of a finishing-school education.

I studied her with interest, especially when I caught Beauchamp’s wince. To test the theory that flashed through my mind, I said, “Let’s walk.” I indicated the far end of the graveyard with a jerk of my head. “It’s quiet over there. Only the ghosts to witness our conversation.”

“Not here. Meet me at the Rose and Crown in the village.” He checked the Rolex on his left wrist. “Four o’clock. And I’m warning you. Be there or you’ll be sorry.”

“Richard!” the woman called again. Up close, she appeared older than my first estimate—probably late forties. Her fur coat and diamond earrings put her in a higher income bracket than mine.

“Hello,” I said, extending my hand in greeting. “A terrible business, this. I feel so sorry for James.”

The woman, who I assumed was Beauchamp’s wife, raised well-tweezed brows and glared at my hand so hard you’d think I carried anthrax. I glowered back, raising my own brows in a silent stare-down contest. Finally, she grasped my fingers for a millisecond. It was a wet-fish handshake, the sort that makes me want to run off and wash my hands.

“Millicent, this is Lady Evelyn Fawkner. Evelyn, my wife Millicent Beauchamp.”

The woman inclined her head, the light catching the diamonds in her earrings. Her mouth didn’t sneer but she might as well have hired neon signs in Piccadilly Circus. The woman had pigeonholed me as a threat to her hold on her husband. “Lady Evelyn.”