Page 11 of When You're Lost

Finn folded his arms.“So you’re aware the stakes are high, yes?Your gallery’s reputation… finances.If Victoria was right, that means you wasted a fortune, or perhaps risked a scandal.”

Harrison’s eyes flashed.“Are you insinuating I’d harm her to cover embarrassment?Please.I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Eleanor gave a faint snort.“Unless your gallery’s reputation were under threat.People do desperate things when money and image are on the line.”

That seemed to push Harrison over the edge.He turned abruptly, stepping away from the painting."You're both done here.I've answered your questions enough.This is harassment."

Finn raised both palms.“We’re just trying to figure out if Victoria’s suspicion caused friction.That friction could be motive for—”

Harrison cut him off.“Out.Now.I have real work to do.”He waved his hand, nearly dismissing them.

Mary, hovering in the background, appeared anxious, stepping aside to let them leave.Finn caught her eye—she looked torn but said nothing.

Eleanor turned on her heel without a word, heading out the door.Finn lingered an extra moment.“We’ll be in touch, Harrison,” he said quietly.“For now, good day.”

Harrison responded with a tight, forced smile.“Yes, good day.”Then he turned back to the painting, ignoring them.

Finn followed Eleanor down the hallway and past a set of modern sculptures.She didn’t speak until they were outside in the crisp afternoon air.The gallery door clicked shut behind them, leaving them on the sidewalk once more.Cars passed by, a few pedestrians bustled.Finn inhaled, shaking off the confrontation.

“He’s on edge,” Finn muttered.“As if we scraped something raw.I’m guessing he knows more than he’s letting on.But it might be worth not pushing people's buttons unnecessarily.”

Eleanor set her jaw.“But it's okay when you do it?He obviously despises the idea that his expensive painting might be fake.But would he be desperate enough to murder Victoria?That’s the question.”

Finn nodded, stepping toward the Corvette.“True.We should look into him.His background, his finances.See if he had motives beyond bruised pride.”

She glanced up at the gallery’s tall windows.“Agreed.”Her gaze dropped to meet Finn’s.“Let’s not dismiss it.”

Finn ran a hand over his hair, still bristling from the tense exchange.“We’ll dig deeper.Let’s give Rob a heads-up.”

He unlocked the car, Eleanor slipped into the passenger seat, and he settled behind the wheel.As the engine roared to life, he cast one last look at the gallery’s facade.Something about Harrison’s controlled fury made him suspect that beneath the polished exterior, there was a man capable of doing quite a bit to protect his status.

He shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb, thoughts churning.The memory of Victoria Palmer’s decapitated body lingered in his mind, and now the added complication of a potentially forged painting.He knew how greed and reputation could drive people to extremes.If Harrison was hiding a secret, Finn intended to find it, no matter how carefully it was concealed behind the gallery’s sophisticated walls.

As they merged back into the main road, Eleanor said nothing, lost in her own thoughts.Finn respected the silence this time.In their own ways, they were both steeling themselves for the next steps in this case, uncertain just how many twisted turns they’d take before uncovering who had truly cut Victoria’s life short.

CHAPTER FIVE

Amelia stood on the lone platform of Ludgate Station, cradling a takeaway coffee in her gloved hands.The sky was bleak overhead, and a thick mist had gathered across the tracks that stretched out in both directions.Through the haze, the station's modest sign—white letters reading “Ludgate”—was barely visible.If it weren’t for the occasional crackle of voices in her earpiece, she might have believed she was entirely alone.

In the thin afternoon light, she scanned the limited structures along the platform: an old wooden bench, a small enclosed ticket office, and a metal shelter for rainy days.There were no large boards or bustling crowds here—just a handful of passengers, a few of them reading newspapers or checking their phones.The place felt remote, an odd limbo between farmland and commuter lines, as though it couldn’t decide which it belonged to.

Amelia drew her coat tighter around her.The chill seeped through the mist, making the entire scene more eerie.She found herself thinking it must be what standing in purgatory felt like: suspended between two worlds, waiting for something to happen.The swirl of fog across the tracks only deepened that sense of unreality.

A voice crackled in her earpiece: Inspector Harris McNeil “Any sign of Wendell yet, Winters?”

Amelia pressed a finger discreetly to her ear.“Negative.I see a couple of local travelers waiting for the two o’clock train, but no one matches the description.This won't be simple.If he is here, it's only because he wants us to find him.”

Static hissed momentarily before McNeil spoke again.“Stay sharp.The second we see him, my officers will storm the platform and grab him.”

Amelia exhaled, resisting the urge to pace.She’d positioned herself near a small station bench, far enough from the ticket office to avoid drawing attention.Two other figures leaned against a distant railing, chatting softly, neither looking suspicious.She wondered if they were undercover members of the task force or genuine locals.Hard to tell in all this mist.

As she took a step forward, the sound of footfalls on the concrete platform alerted her.A man with short, sandy hair and a lean frame strode past—Detective Clint, wearing a plain jacket and carrying a folded newspaper under his arm.He didn’t meet Amelia’s gaze, just continued on and settled onto a bench about fifteen feet away, opening the paper as though uninterested in his surroundings.

Through her earpiece, she heard Clint’s low mutter, “I don’t like this at all.Too quiet.I think you're taking a risk, Amelia.”

She responded just as quietly, lips barely moving, “Your concern is noted, Detective.But I’m certain the note left in the jeweler’s was for me.Wendell wouldn’t pass up the chance to toy with me.”

“McNeil thinks so, too,” Clint murmured, ruffling the newspaper as if turning pages.“We just need to be sure we’re not being lured into a dead end.”

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