Cat Burglar in Training (6 page)

Suppressing a cringe at my full name, I pretended not to notice the woman’s rudeness but suddenly I was seriously considering relieving the Beauchamps of their jewelry.

“I see an old school friend I must catch up with. It was nice to meet you,” I said to Millicent Beauchamp. I walked away, only acknowledging Richard Beauchamp with a clipped nod. The man was a worm, but he’d piqued my curiosity. I’d meet him at the Rose and Crown and take things from there.

After a quick glance at the groups of mourners, I headed for the biggest one. I knew a few of the people on the outskirts and hoped to eavesdrop on the ones I didn’t know—the mourners who stood beside James Moning.

“Hi, stranger.”

I found myself scooped off my feet and wrapped in the arms of a blond man. Before I could even take a breath, he kissed me. His tongue snaked into my shocked mouth.

“My turn,” a masculine voice said.

I was handed over like a parcel at a kid’s birthday party and thoroughly kissed once again. This time without tongue, for which I was truly grateful.

“Put me down,” I gasped.

Tristram’s eyes glowed like those of a friendly puppy. “How are you, Eve? I haven’t seen you for years. My sister told me you were living in France. Are you back home?”

“Give the girl a chance to catch her breath,” said the blond who’d stuck his tongue halfway down my throat.

Well, he was certainly in a position to know I needed some air. I stared at him with attitude before turning back to his friend. “Hi, Tristram. Yes, I’m back home from France for good.”

Tristram grinned in an affable way. I remembered him as a bumbling young man with good intentions. He hadn’t altered, in either temperament or bad judgment regarding his friends…Simon Grenville. Yeah. The Honorable Simon Grenville. He hadn’t changed much either, still full of slimy moves that left a girl feeling dirty.

“So, you’re living at home with your father?” Simon asked.

“That’s right.” My reply was short and not far from rude.

“You have a daughter, don’t you?”

I went on high alert. Although I didn’t keep Amber a secret, I didn’t go out of my way to tell people about her either. It was a form of self-protection for both of us. Even now, in my world, an unmarried mother was treated as something dirty. Abortion was an acceptable means of contraception, especially if it meant keeping the gene pool free of undesirables. That was part of the reason I’d resisted returning home. In France, no one judged me.

“That’s right.” I left my answer short, keeping to the facts.

“What were you doing in France?” Simon asked.

“Looking after my godmother.” I shrugged in dismissal. “This is a terrible business. I hope they catch the murderer soon.”

“I haven’t seen you for years, not since the Christmas ball. Your godmother must have been very sick.” Simon persisted with his questions.

“That’s right.” A casual glance across the surrounding area made the breath freeze in my lungs. Kahu’s displeasure seemed to leap across the distance separating us. I was left in no doubt he’d witnessed the kisses. Fury followed swiftly on the heels of shock. Kahu didn’t own me. No man owned me.

Breaking the connection, I turned back to Simon and Tristram. One look at Simon’s blond hair and blue eyes and my brain jolted into fifth gear. Exactly why was Simon so interested in my missing years? I wasn’t so bigheaded to think I was truly that memorable. In heart-stopping horror, I tried to superimpose my memory of Amber’s features over those of Simon Grenville. The hair was a different color. But the eyes were right.

No, it couldn’t be.

But the facts remained. It was highly possible. Shoving aside distaste and loathing, I placed Simon Grenville on my list for future investigation. It felt good to have a name, but I didn’t intend to go off half-cocked with my revenge. I’d waited years—a few more days or weeks made little difference in the scheme of things.

The Rose and Crown is your traditional English pub, set in the middle of the mainly Victorian village. As befitting its name, the pub had a royal theme with low beams and lots of paraphernalia to attract dust. I frowned when I stepped into the main bar and debated where to sit. I’d decided to arrive early to scope out the place and jot down my thoughts on paper while the funeral was fresh in my mind. After ordering a latte, I chose a recently vacated seat in a small alcove facing the door.

If Beauchamp wanted privacy, he’d chosen the wrong place for our meeting. The pub was doing a roaring trade since market day fell on Wednesdays. I’d had to fight my way past men three deep at the bar.

I stirred a sachet of sugar into my coffee while I organized my thoughts. The teaspoon clinked against the thick white china mug when I dropped it on the table. I rifled through my handbag searching for paper and a pen. My bank statement was the only thing at hand in the paper department. The money in my account came to ten pounds, fifty-three pence. I figured I didn’t need the reminder.

I wrote,
1. No children. Niece or godchild? Need to search archives at library.

I chewed the top of my pen, and the plastic taste fueled a brainwave.

2. Search the archives at St. Evelyn’s House.

3. Find out if Perdita or James Moning have brothers and sisters. Do they have children?

At this point, I bashed the side of my head with my right palm. I’d been that rattled about finding the photo I hadn’t taken it from the frame and looked at the back. Stupid! It might bear an inscription, or at the very least, I’d learn which photographer had taken the portrait. With this information, I could question the photographer or, if he or she proved stubborn about privacy, search their premises after hours.

Under point
4,
I wrote,
Suspects
.
Simon Grenville
.

The slimy man deserved a place on my list. I tried to recall the Christmas party and attempted to picture the faces of the men who’d been in our group. My mind came up blank. I suspected I didn’t want to remember.

“There you are.” Beauchamp slid into the seat beside me, an accusing note in his voice.

I calmly folded up my bank statement and thrust it inside my handbag, zipping my bag closed to keep the list safe. “I didn’t hide on purpose.” Beauchamp would need to be both blind and deaf to miss my annoyance. “It’s busy here today. I need to get home. Can you say whatever it is you need to say so we can leave?”

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked abruptly. “I sure as hell need one.”

“No, thanks,” I said, although I understood his need. Millicent Beauchamp didn’t strike me as a woman who stood for nonsense.

Beauchamp stood and brushed against me—on purpose, I’m sure. “Won’t be long.”

“Take your time.” A niggling instinct screamed the man wanted to tell me something I’d rather not hear.

Beauchamp returned and moved his chair nearer to mine. He took a sip of his drink, whisky by the scent, before setting it on the table. “Your father owes me money.”

“So you’ve said.”

“He’s told you?” Beauchamp’s eyes narrowed on me in expectation.

“Stop playing games and tell me what you want so we can both go home.”

“Your father owes me half a million pounds.”

The blunt answer stole my breath. I stared at Beauchamp, not pretending anything other than shock. “Half a million pounds?” That sort of money deserved reverence. Heck, I’d never seen that amount of money, let alone borrowed it. “Are you sure?”

“I take it you didn’t know?”

I shook my head, having difficulty forming words, and my thoughts whirred at breakneck speed. No wonder Father and Ben were pressuring me to do another job. They were up to their necks in trouble, but did they tell me—their innocent stooge? Oh, no.

I picked up my handbag and stood. Heads were about to roll.

“Where are you going?” Beauchamp scowled. “I haven’t finished yet.”

“We don’t have the money.”

Beauchamp’s voice cracked out sharp and determined. “Sit.”

Like a well-trained dog, I sat. “What did you want me to do about the debt?” I asked through clenched teeth. Already, my mind was skipping ahead trying to calculate how many jobs it would take to earn a cool half million.

“The way I look at it is that if your father can’t pay, you’ll end up fronting the cash.”

“I don’t have it.”

“That’s what I figured,” Beauchamp said.

No mistaking that tone for anything but smug.
I waited for the bomb to drop.

“We can work out a deal.”

“What sort of deal?”

Beauchamp’s hand closed over my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I like you. We could help each other.”

For a moment, I thought I was going to throw up.
Deep breaths. One. Two. In. Out.
I worked my way through the nausea before I risked a glance at his bloated face. “How can I help you?”

He moved his chair closer. “I can be very generous with women I like.”

A momentary twinge of sympathy for other women caught in a Richard Beauchamp snare struck me. I needed to concentrate on extricating myself from this mess I’d found myself in through no fault of my own. One thing was for certain—I was going to do some physical damage when I arrived back at Oakthorpe. I forced my mind off the pleasurable thought and back to dealing with Beauchamp.

“Are you saying if I become your mistress the debt will be repaid in full?”

Satisfaction flooded him before an affable smile curved his lips. “I’m afraid I can’t let you off that easily. No woman is worth half a million. Your father will still owe me the money, but I’ll waive the interest charges. How does that sound?”

Words failed me. Many tingled on the tip of my tongue, but I was pretty sure they weren’t the words he wanted to hear.

“I need to talk to my father. I take it you have proof of the debt?”

“I thought you’d require proof.” Beauchamp’s hand slid into the inside pocket of his jacket and he pulled out a wad of papers. “It’s all there.” His gaze burned into me for long seconds. “I’ll give you a week to make your decision.”

“Hi, Evie. Any job prospects?” Hannah asked.

Despite the anger that had bubbled and grown during the drive home, I had trouble suppressing a spurt of humor. Hannah made it sound as if I’d been out job hunting, similar to a normal person. The sooner I confronted Father and Ben, the better. “Is Amber home from the birthday party yet?” I knew Hannah was taking extra care of Amber’s security but wanted to see her myself.

Hannah wiped her hands on a towel and checked the clock on the kitchen wall. “She shouldn’t be far away. Josh Green volunteered to drop the children off at their homes afterward. I thought that would be okay.”

I nodded, having known Josh since I was a child, but I’d feel better once I could cuddle my daughter.

“She’ll be hyper from the sweets and fizzy drinks, no doubt. If she doesn’t toss her cookies. Just like her mother, that one,” Hannah added in a gruff tone that disguised a heart as big as England.

“True.” I’d need cunning and guile to corner the terrible trio. I wasn’t under any illusions. Hannah knew exactly what was going on and was up with the play. If I showed the slightest hesitation, the three would trample me. My daughter’s future was at stake here. If there was one thing I wanted for Amber, it was a life with a normal job in her future, one that didn’t involve skirting the law.

The terrible trio would gang up on me, but since this was my life, my freedom on the line, they’d better produce answers. Pretty damn quick.

“Are Father and Ben around?”

“No.”

Was it my imagination or had Hannah hesitated? “Where are they? I need a family meeting. Today,” I added in a firm, no-nonsense voice.

Hannah fumbled with the bag of potatoes she’d picked up, and her head jerked in my direction, her eyes round behind the lenses of her glasses. “Is something wrong?”

Good try
. “I want to speak to everyone together. No sense repeating myself.”

“But if the topic is serious enough to warrant a family meeting, I might need to give the matter some thought.”

No flies on Hannah. “After dinner, once Amber’s gone to bed. You never told me what Father and Ben are up to. Will they be long?”

“They’re at the…farmers’ market,” Hannah said.

Apart from the hesitation, the answer was pretty smooth, but my suspicions grew. “The farmers’ market? Why?” I felt a little mean cornering Hannah like this but the practice would come in handy for tonight.

“They’re…ah…doing research. We have excess produce in the garden, and they wanted to know if we could sell it to bring in extra money. Lord knows, we could use it to pay bills,” she said, doing a cross over her heart.

Humph!
And the moon was made of tasty cheddar. “Good idea,” I said, making a mental note to nab Father and Ben before they could get their story straight with Hannah. If the situation wasn’t so serious, I’d be looking forward to the verbal skirmish ahead.

Unfortunately, Father and Ben arrived home while I was giving Amber a bath. I read her a bedtime story and, thanks to the running around she’d done with the other kids during the party, she dropped off to sleep quickly. I tugged the covers over her, buzzed a kiss over her forehead and stepped out of the room.

I was aware of voices in the room we used to watch TV and relax in the evenings. A wry smile curved my lips. The terrible trio was ready for me. I opened the door, and their chatter halted mid-sentence. Three sets of eyes looked in my direction. They visibly squared their shoulders.

“It’s time to do another job.” Father fired the first salvo.

“We need the money,” Hannah seconded.

“Oh,” I said sweetly. “Didn’t you make much money at the farmers’ market?”

“We went for research,” Ben said.

Father nodded in agreement.

I nipped in for the kill. “How much money do you owe Beauchamp?”

My father ruffled up like one of Hannah’s bantam roosters. “Not much. I told you that. Has someone been telling you lies?”

“That would be half a million pounds’ worth of lie? Pretty expensive fib.” My scorn sliced through Father’s bluster. “You weren’t honest about the amount.”

“But…but,” he spluttered before glancing from Hannah to Ben and back again.

“It’s no good looking at them. I have copies of the paperwork with your signature at the bottom.”

“We were going to tell you.” Ben shuffled from foot to foot.

“They’re not going to the casino anymore,” Hannah said. “They promised me.”

“Casino!” I’d been so shocked by the amount of money owed I hadn’t asked the how or wherefores. “You have me running through hoops stealing—”

“It’s not stealing,” Father said hastily. “It’s redistribution of wealth.”

“You have me risking my freedom to cover your gambling debts. You’re putting Amber in danger.” My fists clenched and unclenched, the urge to hit someone or something a siren lure in my brain. I ended up hitting the wall. “Ouch!”

My tantrum didn’t do the wall much good either, and I glared at the hole I’d made while cradling my right hand.

Hannah bustled over to me. “Let me see. A right mess you’ve made. Hold still. You’re dripping blood.”

“How am I supposed to fix that?” Ben asked, gesturing at the hole I’d made.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “One more bill added to half a million is nothing.” I sucked in a deep breath, suppressing the urge to strike out at something else. “I want to know the exact total we owe—everything from household bills to gambling debts. Right to the last penny.”

Father slumped back into his recliner chair. “All right. We’ll sort out the paperwork tomorrow.”

“Now,” I said firmly. “If I have to steal—wait—redistribute wealth, I want to know the exact total. Once you’re done, you can tell me how much we can expect to earn at the farmers’ market if we attend every one.”

“But we didn’t go to the farmers’ market to—”

“I know,” I interrupted. “But it’s a good idea. Besides, it’ll keep you out of mischief.”

“Perhaps the girl has a point.” Ben parked his arse on the settee. “Our vegetables are bigger than John Cowan’s. Did you see his pumpkins?”

Father scratched his ear. “Yeah, his carrots were scrawny too. Looked anemic to me.”

Okay, call me a masochist, but I had to know. “If you didn’t go to look at the vegetables, what did you go for?”

Hannah huffed. “They went to gossip.”

“Did not,” Ben fired back.

“Did.” Hannah planted her hands on ample hips and glared at her husband.

“Market research,” Father said with quiet dignity.

I snorted an inelegant sound that stopped the argument short.

Ben shook his head. “That is not attractive.”

My eyes narrowed. I was on to them. “Don’t change the subject. Market research? What sort of market research?”

“Yes, I’d like to hear the local gossip.” A wave of familiar lavender water wafted from Hannah as she squeezed onto the settee next to Ben.

“Well, aside from learning our vegetables are a sight better than those at the market, there was a bit of a to-do about Sid’s goat. Mabel got loose and wandered into Marian Alexander’s rose garden. Helped herself to some prize specimens.” Father smirked during the retelling.

“That would be Mabel you’re talking about,” I said, fascinated in spite of myself. Village life was the same everywhere, be it France or England.

“Yeah. Serena and George McKenzie had their garden professionally landscaped. Cost them a bomb, to hear George talk. Don’t think he was in favor of the idea, but you know Serena.”

When Father paused, I had to restrain myself from shaking the story from him.

Ben shook his head, the light catching his bald spot. “Glad I’m not married to Serena.”

Hannah beat me to the question begging an answer. “What happened?”

“Last night, someone stole the lot.”

“Every stone, every fancy statue and most of the plants. I thought George was going to cry,” Ben said.

“Serena did cry,” Father said. “The cops don’t have a clue. Gossip was running hot about who did it and why.”