Page 29 of One Last Whisper

“If he’s covered it up, then by definition, there will be no evidence.”

“No one can completely cover up such an action. Dig deep. Talk to people. Find people who have the courage to be honest.”

“I can find conspiracy theories everywhere. I can’t guarantee evidence.”

I sigh in irritation. “Find what you can, Sean.”

He returns a frustrated sigh of his own. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to just leave this alone and let the authorities handle it?”

“Did the authorities find Lady Evelyn’s murderer? Or Lady Alivia’s? Or were they both brushed under the rug because of Lord Edmund’s influence?”

As I say that, I think of Inspector Hargreaves. He clearly has no intention of brushing anything under the rug. I don’t say that to Sean, though. Best not to give him more ammunition.

He sighs again. “I’ll do what I can. Please be careful. I’m not there to save your life like I was the past two times.” He pauses, then asks, “Should I fly out to you?”

“No. The last time you did that, the killer deduced that the two of you and I were together. I would rather keep you as an ace up my sleeve in case of emergencies.”

“Very well. But be careful,” he insists. “I don’t know if Lord Edmund is behind what’s happening in that house, but whatever it is, it’s still happening. I don’t want to find out that you’re the next one missing.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Good.” He pauses for a moment. “I miss you.”

A touch of warmth cascades over the ice in my chest. “I miss you too.”

We hang up, and I take a deep breath and release it slowly. It seems this family has a history.

Now, we must determine how far the apple fell from the tree.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Oliver remains in bed for the rest of the day. Theresa makes him chicken soup for lunch and a hearty beef stew for dinner with liberal amounts of tea made with lemon and honey. The warm liquid keeps his cough at bay, but he is still tired.

During one of his periods of wakefulness, I ask him how he likes living with his aunt and uncle.

He shrugs and says, “It’s all right. They take good care of me, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

He shrugs again. “It’s lonely sometimes being here all the time. I miss my friends at school. They send me emails, but it’s not the same as being able to see them.”

“They don’t visit?”

“They aren’t allowed to. Uncle Edmund doesn’t want his house overrun with children.”

I stifle a frown. “Perhaps your uncle will allow you to visit some of them over the summer.”

He brightens a little at the thought. “I hope so. It’ll be warmer then, and Aunt Cordelia says that warm fresh air is good for my lungs. Uncle Edmund doesn’t agree, but I do feel better when I’m outside.” His brow furrows in concern. “Is Aunt Cordelia really all right?”

“Of course she is,” I tell him, hoping the lie sounds more genuine to him than to me. “Just like you, she’s tired. She needs rest.”

He looks down and plays with his fingers.

“What is it, Oliver? What’s wrong?”

He shrugs again. “It’s just… He told me mum went crazy before she left.”

“Who?”

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