Stolen (5 page)

Paddington grinned coldly. “Trust me. If I'd wanted you around here longer, it would have happened. I could have arrested your husband, your housekeeper and your caretaker for trespassing and interfering with a police investigation—just for starters. I'm choosing not to do that as an exercise in good judgment. I'm hoping for reciprocity from you and the documentary crew. I don't want you trying to mix this into your little fable.”

“Of course not.”
Unless it
does
tie into the story.
Molly considered the possibility, but it seemed far too weak at this point. Testing the waters, she stood and picked up her coffee.

Paddington made no move to stop her.

“What about the other survivors?” Molly felt guilty that she'd been primarily concerned about Iris. She'd gotten to know the other six people somewhat over the last few weeks.

“You already know about Mrs. Dunstead and Rachel Donner.” The inspector slid his small notebook back into his jacket pocket. “The other four are safe, as well.”

Some of Molly's tension went away. “Good. I'm glad.”

“Is there any reason I should worry about the rest of them?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“I'll keep an eye on them anyway. For a while.” Paddington stood. “If I have any more questions, Mrs. Graham, I'll be in touch.”

“Of course.” Molly walked through the door at his invitation, but her mind swam with her own questions.

M
ICHAEL SAT WITH
I
RWIN
and Iris out in the small waiting area of the police station. Rachel Donner had been picked up and brought in to give her statement. She was currently in an interview room. A dozen people, most of them Simon Wineguard's film crew, sprawled tiredly in uncomfortable chairs. All of them looked as though they'd just been through combat.

Wineguard sat nearest the door of the room. Joyce Abernathy, oddly, was sitting as far from him as possible. Simon glanced up when Molly walked in and smiled without any enthusiasm. “We're off to a rather auspicious beginning, my dear. Don't you agree?”

Molly nodded. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not that I know of.” Wineguard flicked his gaze to Paddington. “I assume the inspector has some questions he'd like answered. Not that I have many of the answers, I'm afraid.” Then he smiled. “But on the bright side, I hear that the BBC has a news team en route.”

Towering over the director, Paddington scowled.

“So I heard.” Molly took out her iPhone and started composing a list. “I'll see what I can do to help with that.”

“Whatever you do, be a dear and don't make them go away. We couldn't pay for this kind of publicity.”

Molly acknowledged that fact, and she felt guilty that both of them were already looking for the silver lining in Abigail Whiteshire's murder.

“You go along, my dear.” Wineguard shooed her away with a hand. “I'll keep the inspector company tonight. We'll meet tomorrow—I'll call you—and we'll timeline our operations given our new circumstances.”

Molly nodded and left, collecting Michael, Irwin and Iris from the waiting room. As they all climbed into the car, she slid her hand gratefully into Michael's and found his flesh warm and reassuring. She had to get home where she could think and plan.

 

“A
RE YOU ALL RIGHT
?”

Molly glanced up from the hastily constructed notes on her iPhone and saw Michael watching her. Worry darkened his eyes. “I'm fine.” She even smiled a little for him.

They sat in the back of the limousine on the ride to their manor house, Irwin and Iris in the front. They lived just outside of Blackpool proper and usually enjoyed the drive. Forest filled the roadside to the west and the bay lay sparkling to the east. Glower Lighthouse glowed to the north as it stood guard over the treacherous waters filled with broken rock.

“Were you friends with…” Michael hesitated, but Molly knew what he was trying to ask.

“Abigail Whiteshire?”

Michael nodded. “Sorry, love. I had to ask.”

“Iris knew her more than I did. She introduced us after she found out what I was working on. She and Abigail were childhood friends. As they got older, they grew apart. Iris didn't stay around Blackpool like Abigail did.”

That had been the first inkling Molly had gotten that their housekeeper had had a life outside of the town. Iris had never before offered such information.

“Do you think her death had anything to do with the documentary?” Michael gazed at her with concern.

Molly smiled at him reassuringly. He wasn't a worrier by nature. That was one of the things she loved about him. Michael took everything in stride. But he was innately curious; he didn't like situations he couldn't fathom, and he didn't like puzzles he couldn't solve. He was also protective of her. She loved that about him, as well.

“No.” Molly leaned her head against his shoulder and felt the solid weight of him. “Nothing at all. This was just a sad thing. Probably a robbery gone badly wrong.”

“Perhaps. But why go to her house after they killed her?”

“Iris said they didn't find whatever they were looking for. Maybe she didn't have any money on her and they thought they could find some at her home. If they took her handbag and the keys were inside, they likely thought they had more time to steal whatever might be there.”

“They seemed to make that decision awfully quickly.”

Molly looked at him and lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“These blokes were ruthless, determined and selective. Like Iris, I don't think Abigail Whiteshire was a victim of casual misfortune.”

“You mean they specifically targeted her?” The thought chilled Molly.

Michael nodded. “Yes. As you said, they were looking for something, love. And Abigail Whiteshire didn't have much more than that tabby Iris is doting on, so why go to her house?”

“You think she had something they wanted.”

“I do. Unfortunately, I don't know what it was.”

“Something small enough to carry on her person.”

“And something they thought she'd have with her tonight. Otherwise they'd have burgled her flat first.”

“The inspector seems determined to blame the documentary crew, and Simon Wineguard in particular.”

“Any idea where he was tonight?”

Molly slapped her husband's broad chest. “Not you, too. Simon wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“Maybe you should be open to a little more cynicism.”

“Thanks, but no. One cynic in the family is enough.”

“I thought I was more often accused of being the optimist.”

Despite everything that had happened, Molly smiled. She felt safe in Michael's arms. “You're usually the optimist. However, I've seen you be quite cynical on occasion. If circumstances warrant.”

“These do.”

“Paddington may have the men responsible for the murder locked up by morning.” Molly hoped that would be the case, but she honestly doubted it. The particulars surrounding Abigail Whiteshire's murder were too strange to believe an easy solution could be found.

“There's a cheery thought. Unless he locks up Simon Wineguard. Or someone else from the documentary crew.” Michael paused, looking amused. “Did I tell you that Miss Abernathy is a strange little bird?”

“I already knew that, but that woman is indestructible. She worked me to death the one time I agreed to do Pilates with her. She was like Arnold Schwarzenegger in
The Terminator.
” Molly closed her eyes and concentrated on enjoying the rest of the trip home. She willed her mind to relax and stop lunging into dark thoughts, but that didn't happen.

Her iPhone rang at the same time as Michael's. In the driver's seat, Irwin pulled his cell phone from his jacket, as well.

Molly tapped the screen with practiced ease, answering the call before Michael could pick up. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Graham, this is Holdover Security.” The voice was polite and male, totally professional and calm. “We just recorded a break-in at your house and wanted to make sure you and your family were all right.”

 

M
ICHAEL FORCED HIMSELF
to sit quietly in the seat beside Molly as she called the Blackpool Police Department. From the exchange, he gathered that DCI Paddington wasn't gracious about being directed from his homicide investigation. He became even less gracious when Molly told him about the security company alert. After a brief conversation, heated at the inspector's end, Molly punched off the connection.

“He wants us to stay away from the house.” Molly put her phone back inside her purse.

“Of course he does. But it's not his bloody house, is it? By the time he gets a patrol car out here, we could have lost all our things.” Michael hated the helplessness that coursed through him.

“They're just things, Michael.” Molly stroked his temple. “Whatever is lost, we can replace.”

For her sake, he tried to be calm. If they were indeed robbed, he would feel more violated than she did. Molly didn't put a lot of value in material possessions. She'd grown up with them. But he had worked for everything he had, and he'd started out with precious little in life.

“I know, love.” Michael captured her hand and kissed her palm. But silently he urged Irwin to greater speed as they careened down the two-lane highway.

Just before he reached the gated entrance to Thorne-Shower Mansion, Irwin doused the limousine's lights and glided to a halt. The decision surprised Michael. He'd only
just considered switching off the lights, but Irwin seemed to have done it instinctively.

“Sir, if I may.” The caretaker spoke without turning around. He also reached up and turned off the interior lights before they came on.

“You may.” Michael opened the door and started to get out.

“I'd suggest the ladies stay with the car. They'll be safer here.”

“Maybe the ladies don't want to be left behind.” Molly opened the door on her side. Iris obviously agreed, as she was out of the car just as quickly.

“As you wish, Mrs. Graham.” Quietly, Irwin eased from his seat. He had the tire iron in hand once more.

“Molly.” Michael kept his voice soft.

Her eyes flashed as she glanced at him. “No. If you're going, I'm going. Otherwise we can wait together.”

Michael sighed unhappily. Waiting wasn't something he was good at. Of course, he wasn't crazy about the idea of catching burglars in the act, either.

“All right.”

Iris trailed after them.

At the gate, Irwin pulled a large key ring from his coat, sorted through the collection, made a selection and inserted it into the small wrought-iron gate beside the larger one. They passed through without speaking.

When Michael had first seen Thorne-Shower Mansion, he'd almost walked away from it. The three-story home was close to two centuries old and stood like a Victorian monolith among a wilderness of trees. The “road,” though it could hardly be called that, that led from the rusty gates to the house had been overgrown with grass.

The mansion hadn't been entirely deserted. Iris Dunstead had lived there as housekeeper, and one of the conditions
of sale had been for her to continue living there. Michael still didn't know what arrangements had been made to assure that, but the stipulation was nonnegotiable. And, in the end, it had proven moot because the older woman and Molly had gotten along brilliantly.

Now, after extensive repairs and upgrades to the interior, Michael loved the house. The location, only minutes from the bay and less than half an hour from Blackpool, was ideal.

Michael peered through the darkness. He'd grown up outside London, but he'd been a metropolitan dweller most of his life. Forests were all well and proper during the daylight hours, but he didn't care for them at night. Too many things tended to be lurking within the darkness and shadows.

Only a few minutes later, they stood outside the main house. Security lights lit the mansion. Michael watched the windows, trying in vain to discern movement.

“Seems bloody stupid to be standing outside, afraid to go into your own house.” He snorted angrily.

“Mr. Graham, I believe it would be as stupid to blindly charge in while not knowing what awaits us.” In the darkest shadows, Irwin was almost invisible.

For a moment the idea that the man might not even be flesh-and-blood crossed Michael's mind. He dismissed it and silently chuckled at himself.
You are spooked, mate. Lighten up.

“Actually…we can see what's going on in the house without going in.” Michael took his iPhone from his pocket and brought up the Internet. After a couple entries, he logged on to the Holdover Security site. “I can access the security cameras inside the house.” When he had decided on a security system, he'd put in the best one money could buy. Molly had teased him about his love of technology,
but the system wasn't much more expensive with the video access upgrade.

Molly leaned in over his shoulder. “I didn't know you could do that.”

“I showed you. Your phone can do the same thing. Obviously you weren't listening that day.”

“I always listen. It's just that some of the things that you find so fascinating about technology…aren't. At least not to me.”

“So kind of you to mention that.” Michael flipped through the menu and checked the rooms. The different camera views only took a few seconds to load. The ability to examine every room made him feel more in control of everything that was going on.

“Doesn't appear to be anyone inside.” The cold night air fogged Molly's breath as she spoke, but the vapor vanished almost as soon as her words escaped her lips.

Michael peered at the road that wove through the landscaped grounds. The trees came to a stop within forty feet of the main house.

The drive circled in front of the manor, then wound out around the garage and the small house where Irwin and Iris lived in separate quarters. Lights were on in those buildings, as well.

Michael glanced to Irwin. “The cars, do you think?”

“They would be the most valuable asset to seize, sir, but they would also be hard to escape with, given the road conditions around Blackpool.”

That was true. Blackpool remained somewhat removed from other cities and towns, and the highways and roads definitely lacked hospitality.

“Unless the thieves intended to get them away by boat.”

Michael frowned at the caretaker. “It bothers me that you're so quick with that answer.”

Irwin permitted himself a sliver of a grin. “One's mind does tend to wander while polishing an auto, sir.”

“True.” Michael gripped the iPhone and took a breath. “I'm going to assume that whoever was here has already gone. And found a way out. Let's have a look at what they did.”

Thankfully, Molly stayed slightly behind him as he and Irwin headed toward the house. Michael's stomach lurched as he crossed the distance to the main door. Surprisingly, it was locked. He reached into his pocket.

“Permit me, sir.” Irwin stepped forward with his key ring and quickly unlocked the door. The mechanism clicked hollowly and echoed in the large room beyond.

Cautiously, Michael entered the house.