Copy Cap Murder (25 page)

I paused at the back door. I had no idea what I would find. Had both Vivian and Harrison been strangled like Win? I couldn't bear it. I steeled myself for whatever horror awaited.

I opened the door and stepped inside to find the workroom—empty. I'm not going to lie that was a bit of a letdown. I had been gearing up to kick some booty and here I was standing in an empty room. I listened for sounds from the shop; there was nothing.

How could this be? It was almost midday, Viv was supposed to have opened the shop hours ago. How could it look like it had never been opened? Even if Carson or Franks had beaten us here, would they really have pulled the shades to make the shop look closed?

My heart was thudding hard in my chest. I crept through
the workroom. I heard nothing, not the muted sound of voices, or whimpers of fear and pain, or even the sound of a body being dragged. Yes, I have a dark side.

At the doorway, I hunkered low and peered around the doorjamb. The store was dark. I could see the hat stands in the shadows holding up Viv's creations as if an audience of heads were watching the unfolding drama. Clearly, my dark side was getting downright creepy.

I stepped into the room, aiming for the door which led upstairs. It was closed, which I thought was odd because why wouldn't whoever raided our shop and house just leave the door open? I should have thought it through.

The lights in the shop snapped on and I blinked against the sudden brightness.

“Come in, Scarlett, we've been waiting for you,” Tyler Carson said.

He was standing in one of our seating areas and on the blue chair in front of him was Viv, tied up and gagged with some of her own velvet ribbons. Sprawled on the floor at her feet was Harrison, and he was unconscious.

“You have been quite the busy little bee, making trouble for me,” Tyler said.

I often hear people say that redheads are crazy, prone to temper, you know, all the old clichés that can't be attributed to the color of hair really. And yet, when I saw two of the people I care for most in the world at the mercy of a man that I knew to be capable of murder, well, I went a little loco.

One minute I was blinking against the light and the next thing I knew I had launched myself claws fully extended right at Tyler at top speed and full force. I planned to give him a good thrashing, as they say.

Unprepared, Tyler went down hard, taking a display of Viv's new caps with him. I landed on him hard with an unintentional elbow to his sternum, which looked like it hurt him pretty badly. Yay me.

“Stay away from my friends!” I shouted in his face. I am a much better yeller than a fighter.

Carson tried to shove me off, but I clung like a burr hoping that Simms would charge in and help me, but it wasn't Simms who lifted me off Carson and planted his foot on him, pinning him to the ground. It was Harrison.

“Ginger, you are amazing!” Harry hugged me tight and I returned it in full, I was so relieved that he was upright and not, well, dead.

“You're making a mistake, Harrison,” Tyler said.

“No, you did,” Harrison said. “You were my mentor. I had nothing but the highest regard for you and look at you now. A broken man, a killer, what did you think you were going to do? Kill us all?”

“No,” Tyler protested. “I swear. I just needed the evidence. Let me up, I promise you, I would never have harmed you.”

“The knot on my head begs to differ,” Harrison said. “And the ribbons cutting into my friend's skin prove otherwise.”

“You have to listen to me,” Tyler said. He began to thrash and Harry put more weight on him holding him down.

“Ah, but you see, I don't,” Harrison said. Then he punched Tyler right in the temple, knocking him out. His shoulders relaxed and I realized how angry Harry had been.

“Help Viv,” he said. “I've got him.”

“Simms has my phone,” I said. “Call him.”

On wobbly knees, I hurried around the couch and began to work on untying Viv while Harrison took his phone out of his jacket to let Simms know what was happening.

“Are you all right?” I asked as I worked on the knots, knowing full well that she couldn't answer me but asking anyway. “I'm so sorry, Viv.”

“Not your fault,” she said as I loosened the tie from her mouth. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” I said. Her long hair was caught in the tie. I dropped the ribbon and hugged Viv close. “Thank goodness you're all right. I was so afraid!”

“I'm fine.” She hugged me back. “And now that I know you're safe, I'm even better.”

“Your husband is a politician, isn't he?” I asked.

Viv barked out a laugh. “Oh, Scarlett, you're trying to get me when I'm vulnerable, aren't you?”

“Is it working?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Why not?” I cried. I pulled her to her feet. “If you had been killed I wouldn't even have been able to contact him. Viv, you have to tell me who he is.”

She began to cry and I put my arm around her shoulders to comfort her. “Come on, sweetie, it can't be that bad.”

“Oh, but it is,” she said. “His name is William Graham and, oh bother, he's an insurance man in France!”

This last bit was said on a wail. I can honestly say of all the things I had expected, that was not it.

“So he's employed!” I said. Always looking on the bright side, that's me. “Yes, but
ew
,” she said. “Insurance!
It's so boring. He might as well be a telemarketer or a used car salesman.”

“Viv, seriously, that's incredibly shallow of you.”

“No, it's a compatibility issue. I'm a creative type,” she protested. “We have nothing in common and we'd never get on in the long run. Don't you see? That's why I left him. We're doomed.”

“Girls, I appreciate the moment, really, but—” Harrison began but I interrupted him.

“Not necessarily, Viv,” I said. “Opposites attract for a reason, maybe the two of you would balance each other.”

Viv shook her head, not just a little bit but in a frantic motion back and forth.

“Do you really feel that strongly about it?” I asked. “It seems to me you're not really giving it a chance.”

“No, Franks,” she croaked. My stomach fell into my feet. I knew what she meant with just one word. I turned to look over my shoulder and there he was.

Inspector Franks stood in the doorway to upstairs. When Harrison would have charged forward and thrown a punch, Franks held up a very large knife. I recognized it from our kitchen; since neither Viv nor I cooked, it looked wonderfully sharp and terrifyingly lethal.

“Back up,” Franks said.

We stumbled backward. Harrison moved in front of me and Viv, obviously trying to shield us.

“How could you fall in league with Carson?” I asked Franks. My sense of betrayal was acute. I had thought Franks and I had a sort of bond over his liking country music from the States and me being from the States. “How could you?”

He cringed and I knew I'd made a direct hit. There was weariness in the sagging flesh around Franks's eyes that made me realize he was tired, exhausted in fact. I had no sympathy. None. He had chosen his path and now he had to live with it.

“Just give me the invoice,” he said. “Everything else can be managed, no one will be harmed, but I have to have that invoice.”

“Why?” Harrison barked. “Because Tyler is lining your pockets with gold?”

Franks shook his head. A look of raw pain flashed across his face. This was personal. The only reason Franks would have helped Tyler cover his crime was for personal reasons, and for Franks, personal meant family.

And then I remembered that the very first night I had met Ava Carson, she had told me her father liked country music. I had thought little of it at the time, but now . . .

“Oh, wow, she's your daughter, isn't she?” I said. “Ava Carson is your daughter.”

I heard both Viv and Harrison gasp and Franks nodded. I didn't think it was possible but he looked even wearier than before; it was as if he was aging right before my eyes.

“She was such a beautiful girl,” he said. He looked rueful. “She takes after her mother that way. She left us for the high life, said we were too low class for her, then she married
him
. He kept us away from her, never allowed us to visit or make contact. Then he called, he needed help, he promised he'd give us our daughter back. My wife . . . I . . .”

Franks broke down, and I couldn't help it. I felt my eyes fill up with tears for the man who had been trying to get his daughter back. Then I remembered that getting his
daughter back had almost cost me and my friends our lives. My tears dried up.

“It's too late,” I said. “You can't save Tyler from what he's done.”

“But—” Franks protested.

“Simms has the invoice,” I said.

Franks dropped the knife as his knees gave out and he caught himself on the edge of a chair. Harrison jumped forward and snatched up the knife from the floor. Just then the back door slammed open and Simms arrived with several constables.

I watched as Franks and Simms faced off. Franks looked distraught.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Simms jerked his head toward the door. “We'll discuss it at the station. Where's Carson?”

“Behind the couch,” Harrison said. “He's having a bit of a lie-in.”

Simms's unibrow rose up and he gestured for his men to go and gather Carson.

“I'll need you lot to come to the station and give your statements,” he said to us. Then he turned to me. “I'll need the evidence.”

“You already have it,” I said. “It's in the back of my phone case.”

“Brilliant,” he said. He took my phone out of his pocket and took the invoice out of the back. As he glanced at it, I could see his heart grow heavy. I could tell that just as Harrison was struggling to accept Tyler's betrayal, Simms was doing the same with Franks.

“I'll drive us in,” Harrison said. “As soon as we've all calmed down.”

Two constables trudged back into the workroom, carrying a very groggy Carson between them. We stood witness as Simms made a formal arrest of Tyler Carson for the murder of Winthrop Dashavoy.

There were more police cars and officers outside. It didn't take long for Carson and Franks to be put into separate cars and whisked away.

The three of us stood staring stupidly after them. I don't know if it was the aftermath of the horrific morning, or the relief of finally getting the truth about Viv's husband, but I suddenly felt the need to get my British on to restore my nerves.

“Spot of tea, anyone?” I asked. I didn't wait for the others but headed straight for the kettle.

It was the fourth Thursday of November. I was lying on my bed, thinking about pumpkin pie and feeling pathetically homesick. I turned on my tablet and looked for a live feed of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but of course, due to the time change the city of New York was still asleep, which bummed me out even more.

It had been a little over two weeks since Simms had arrested Carson. Harrison and Reese were trying to salvage the business, but it looked like it was going to be an uphill battle. It is hard to trust your money to a company where the CEO murders his staff.

Harrison seemed up to the challenge, and I had no doubt that he could do anything he set his mind to. However, the hours he was putting in, and with that awful Tuesday Blount,
were a bit worrisome. I had seen him only once since we had given our statements at the station following Carson's arrest, and he had looked exhausted all the way down to his shoes.

This was another reason I was not feeling up to the day. I was afraid I was losing Harrison to his work and his life with Tuesday. She had said I wasn't cutthroat enough to survive in Harry's world. Maybe she was right.

The two women who had been in the shop a few weeks ago, Carol Landers and Mary Tavistock, had called me twice to tell me that Lucas Martin, their friend who ran an art school in Paris, was very interested in having Viv come and teach. One part of me loved this idea as it was an excuse to go to Paris, but another part of me was too tired to even think on it. I wondered if Viv would care if I had a mental health day.

A knock on my door roused me enough to grumble, “Come in.”

Viv stood in the doorway, looking terrific in a blue cashmere sweater dress and knee-high black suede boots. It was much dressier than we usually looked for the workday.

“Are you being a layabout?” she asked. “Come on, time to get up and face the day.”

“I'm calling in sick today,” I said. “I have a fever or a rash or something and it might be contagious. I'd steer clear if I were you.”

“What you have is an advanced case of homesickness,” she said. I looked at her in surprise. “What? You didn't really think you were hiding it that well, did you?”

“I did try,” I protested.

“I know,” she said. She looked very sympathetic, which
did help but not enough to make me get out of bed. “Let's go shopping; that will perk you up.”

So that explained the pretty dress and boots. She wanted to shop. It was tempting but no.

“I can't,” I said. “I'm too weak.”

“Well, now I am worried,” she said.

I refused to be moved by her concern. I pulled the covers over my head and burrowed deep like a badger.

“Fine,” she said. “I'll bring you some tea and toast, all right?”

“Coffee,” I corrected her. “And a muffin, thank you.”

I didn't remove the covers until she left. I went back to my tablet, looking for something, anything that would fill the gaping hole in my chest. I wasn't sure how much time passed. I played several rounds of solitaire and read the
Daily Mail
online, trying to distract myself or numb my brain, hard to say which.

Once my parents were up and about in Connecticut, I supposed I could video chat with them, but it wasn't the same and I was afraid it would only make me feel worse.

I felt my throat tighten. I shut off my tablet, knowing there was nothing that would help. I figured I might as well wallow. The tears were just brimming my lower eyelids when there was a knock on my door again. Viv with coffee, well, that was something.

I took a second to pull down on my lower lids, which made the tears recede, and then I coughed and called out, “Come in.”

The door pushed open but it wasn't Viv who stood there but Harrison.

“Ah!” I cried and yanked the covers up over my head.

“Good morning, Ginger,” he said. “Or should I say afternoon?”

“Go away!” I cried. I was not at my most hospitable before coffee or a hairbrush.

“Viv said you're feeling under the weather,” he said.

He sounded as if he was getting closer. I poked my face out from under the blanket.

“Do you always enter a woman's bedroom when she specifically tells you to go away?” I asked.

He smiled at me and I felt like maybe I needed to lie down. How can one man's smile do that to a girl? Then I noticed the cup and bag in his hand.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Especially when I've been demoted to delivery person, I believe you requested coffee and a muffin.”

I shoved one hand out of my blanket and took the coffee. “Thank you,” I said. “You can just leave the muffin on the desk on your way out.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Are you giving me the bum's rush?”

“No, I'm merely encouraging you to go on with your day,” I said. He was in a suit. It was obvious he had business to attend and I didn't want to hold him up.

“Too bad,” he said. He took a long flat rectangular case out from under his arm and dropped it on the bed. I glanced from it to him as he made himself at home on the foot of my bed.

“Present?” I asked.

“Backgammon,” he said.

“I don't know how to play,” I protested.

“I'll teach you,” he said.

I eyed him warily. Shouldn't he be at work? He still
looked tired. Maybe he needed a break from the chaos that had consumed him since his boss had been arrested.

“All right,” I said. “Can I at least clean up?”

He cocked his head to the side as he studied me. “No, I like you this way.”

Yeah, that was probably one of the nicest things a man has ever said to me. I let the bedcovers fall off my head and ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to smooth it.

He watched me with amused eyes and I realized I wasn't even embarrassed to be seen in my thermal top and flannel pajamas. I would have been mortified if it had been anyone else, but Harry had seen me in my pajamas before and I realized that even though we weren't dating we shared the sort of intimate knowledge about each other that only a true friend knows, such as how you look in your pajamas or when you're asleep, what your favorite cocktail is or how you like your steak cooked, or what sort of things make you laugh or make you low.

“You're here because I'm homesick, aren't you?” I asked.

“Viv might have mentioned it,” he said. “But also, I thought you'd like an update on Inspector Franks.”

“Oh, I would,” I said. “I still have a lot of mixed feelings about him.”

“DI Simms said there is an internal investigation pending to see if Inspector Franks actually impeded the case or not,” he said. “In the meantime, he is not under arrest. And on a happier note, he and his wife have reunited with their daughter, Ava. She is being treated for her drug addiction and the three of them are planning to leave London to go and live in York, assuming Franks is cleared.”

“I know he made a bad call in his attempt to help Carson,” I said. “But I can't really fault him given the circumstances.”

“Carson could have killed you, first in the phone booth and then in the stairwell. I can't forgive Franks for endangering you like that, not even if I understand his concern for his daughter,” Harrison said. His jaw was clenching and I could see he was angry, so I decided to change the subject.

“So you think you can school me in backgammon, do you?” I asked.

The grin he sent me was pure joy. “Oh, I know I can.”

He wiped up the board with me in the first game, but I rolled several doubles in the next and trounced him.

“How is that possible?” he asked, bewildered. “Were you fibbing? Are you really a backgammon shark in disguise?”

“Let's play a tiebreaker and see,” I said. It had been sheer dumb luck on my part but there was no need for him to know that.

“I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don't you get dressed and I'll take you out for an early dinner.”

I glanced at the clock. It was past three. Where had the day gone? But then, I knew. I'd spent it laughing with Harry and had forgotten all about my homesickness. I waited for it to kick in again with the realization but it didn't. I was okay, still missing my folks, of course, but okay.

“All right,” I said. “Give me five, er, twenty minutes.”

Harry packed up the board and left my room. He was in a suit so I wanted to look equally presentable. I snagged a heather green sweater tunic, a long plaid skirt and my brown boots and dashed into the bathroom across the hall
to do a quick overhaul. I was back in fifteen minutes, mostly because I realized I was starving, always a motivator.

Harry was sitting on the top steps, tapping on his phone. He looked up with a smile when I burst out of the bathroom door. His dark wavy hair hung over his forehead and his bright green eyes sparkled at me.

“You look lovely, Ginger,” he said.

My heart did that ridiculous fluttery thing and I felt my face grow warm. “Thanks, Harry, you're not so bad yourself.”

He led the way down the stairs, and I felt my nose twitch. Something smelled amazing, more than amazing, something smelled like a turkey roasting. I shook my head. I must have Thanksgiving on the brain if I could pull that smell out of my mind, either that or I was so hungry I was starting to hallucinate.

We walked through the doorway into our flat and I stopped short with a gasp. Standing in the middle of our flat, wearing a Native American headdress and a Pilgrim's traveling hat, were my mom and dad.

“Happy Thanksgiving, pet,” my mom said and she opened her arms wide. I didn't hesitate. I ran right into her hug.

“Happy Thanksgiving, princess,” my dad said and he wrapped his arms around both of us.

I cried big, hiccuppy, gulping sobs of ridiculously happy tears as I clung to my parents in a hold that I'm sure mooshed their middles although they were too polite to say so.

“How did you . . . why didn't you tell me . . . what are you doing here?” I babbled.

Mom handed me a tissue. “Viv and your friends arranged it all as a surprise.”

“You did?” I whirled around to find Viv standing with Fee, Nick, Andre and Harrison.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Cuz,” Viv said. She hugged me tight and I was sure I was going to puddle up all over again.

“But how?”

“Andre picked them up from the airport yesterday and they spent the night at their place,” Viv said. “You and I were supposed to be out shopping while Nick cooked the turkey this morning, but you ruined that so I had to call in Harrison to babysit you and make sure you didn't leave your room.”

“You were alone with her in her room?” my dad asked Harrison. He looked very stern.

“Playing backgammon, sir,” Harrison said. “I swear.”

My dad laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just joking, son, but good answer.”

“Andre, you picked up my parents, and Nick, you made the turkey,” I said. I felt myself bubble up again as I hugged them.

“And I made sure we had the right cranberry sauce from a can,” Fee said. She blew an orange curl out of her eyes as she proudly held up a can of jellied cranberry sauce.

I'm not quite sure why but that gesture did me in and I blubbered as I hugged her, too. There was nothing pretty about it. I was sure my nose and eyes were red as the tears coursed down my cheeks. This was what it meant to be truly loved, and I felt it all the way down deep.

“Thank you all so very much,” I croaked. My throat was tight and the words hurt on their way out, but it was
okay because I was enfolded in a group hug that quite simply meant the world to me and let me know that I was truly home.

*   *   *

Nick outdid himself with the turkey and the trimmings. After the meal, we sat in the sitting room and talked and laughed and joked until my parents, still jet-lagged, called it a night. Nick and Andre followed shortly thereafter, taking Fee home with them.

Harrison stayed and helped Viv and me clean up. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but I didn't know where to start. I think he understood because when I walked him to the door, he hugged me and didn't let go. We just stood there, wrapped around each other as if imprinting the moment on our hearts and minds.