Page 6 of When You're Lost

Eleanor stepped away from them, calling an instruction to a nearby officer to get more photographic angles.Rob gave Finn a sideways look.“She’s quite brilliant, I’d say.”

Finn blew out a breath.“Fantastic.So we’ve got a killer staging murders to resemble classic paintings, my partner is chasing a psycho named Wendell Reed, and I’m stuck being tested by an art scholar.”He planted his hands on his hips.“Should be fun.”

He sighed, letting the weight of the situation settle.This was a different kind of puzzle—one steeped in references he’d have to learn.And with Amelia absent, he felt a twinge of loneliness, offset only by the flicker of challenge that always sparked in him at a new case.In an area out of his depth, Finn was going to have to rely on the expertise of Doctor Eleanor Matthews.

Fun, indeed.

CHAPTER THREE

The morning light above was stark in the gray sky, and Amelia paused just inside the front door of the small jewelry store, trying not to frown at the chemical smell of recent disinfectant and glass cleaner.The proprietor, a wiry man in his late fifties, hovered behind the display counter, looking as though he regretted ever calling the police.But given the circumstances—Wendell Reed’s visit—he’d had no real choice.

Right next to Amelia stood Inspector Harris McNeil, posture rigid, a severe expression on his face that barely masked his annoyance.He glanced at her with thinly veiled disapproval, then returned his attention to the jeweler.To Amelia’s other side was Detective constable Clint, younger, friendlier, and apparently more at ease with her presence than McNeil was.Clint even offered Amelia a brief, sympathetic nod as if to say,I know this is awkward, but let’s make it work.

“It’s unfortunate we had to trouble you again, Mr.Turner,” McNeil said in a flat tone, “but we need every detail about Wendell Reed’s time here.The Home Office wants us to examine the scene thoroughly.”His voice caught slightly on the wordsHome Office.Amelia resisted the urge to sigh.She knew exactly how McNeil felt about her involvement—and that it wasn’t his choice.Mandates were mandates.

“Yes, Inspector,” Alfred Turner, the owner, replied.He wrung his hands, shifting from one foot to the other.“As I mentioned on the phone, he came yesterday around midday.I didn’t realize who he was until later when I saw a picture of him on the television, or I’d have—”

McNeil lifted a hand, cutting him off gently but brusquely.“We understand.Let’s not dwell on that.We’d like to see the security footage you mentioned.”

Turner’s gaze slid to Amelia nervously, as though seeking validation.“I—I have it queued up in the back.”

Amelia offered him a small nod.“We’ll follow you.Lead the way.”

They trailed him behind the counter, stepping through a narrow door into a cramped office space.A modest desk overflowed with receipts, watch catalogs, and business documents.Near the far wall, a small computer monitor sat on a battered table, cables snaking behind it.Turner approached the monitor and gestured for them to gather around.

“Here,” he murmured.“I’ve got it paused at the part where he asked to see a specific watch.”

Amelia leaned in, focusing on the screen.The black-and-white footage showed Wendell Reed—hair cropped short, wearing a worn jacket—standing on the customer’s side of the display case.Turner, visible from behind the counter, slid something across: presumably a high-end watch.Wendell reached for it, then the footage caught him dropping it.He bent to pick it up, rummaging out of view for a moment.Then, a second or two later, he straightened, handing the watch back.

“There,” Turner said, pointing at the figure.“He apologized for being clumsy.Seemed genuinely sorry.”

Amelia frowned.“Wendell Reed never does anything by accident.He’s not clumsy.”

McNeil threw her a sideways glance, lips pressed in disapproval.“People slip up sometimes, Winters.Even criminals.”

She shook her head decisively.“Not him.There’s always a reason.He never does anything randomly.”The evidence on the screen validated her suspicion: Reed had stooped out of camera range for a moment—time enough to do something else.

Clint, looking at the short replay, gave a thoughtful hum.“He’s down there for about three seconds, at least.Could be he slipped something under the counter or tampered with something.Hard to see from this angle.”

Amelia turned to the shop owner.“Where is that watch now?”

“Back out in the front display,” Turner said.“I couldn’t find anything wrong with it.It’s not damaged or missing parts.”

“Could you show it to us anyway?”she asked gently.

“Of course.”Turner clicked a key to pause the video, then led them back through the office door and around the display cases.The shop’s overhead lights gave off a yellowish hue, reflecting off polished glass and silver.Through the front window, faint midday light seeped in but didn’t do much to warm the sterile interior.Amelia spotted the watch in question, resting on a velvet pad, center of a row of similar high-end timepieces.

With a trembling hand, Turner unlocked the case and plucked it out, offering it to Amelia.She slipped on a pair of latex gloves—she’d brought a few pairs for evidence handling—and accepted the watch.She turned it carefully, checking the dial, the casing, the strap.Nothing indicated any unusual additions.

“I don’t see anything,” she muttered, handing it to Clint for a second look.“What about you?”

Clint squinted at it, tested the clasp, weighed it in his palm.“Feels normal.If Reed sabotaged it, I’m not sure how.”He passed it to McNeil, who barely glanced at the face before returning it to Turner.

McNeil cleared his throat.“Seems like a dead end.”He faced Amelia, eyes narrowed.“Let’s not waste more time.If there’s no sign the watch was tampered with, we’ll note it.Unless you want to examine every last item in the store?”

Amelia bit down on her impatience.She understood that McNeil resented being forced to work with her.She was also aware that, from his perspective, she was an extra complication, courtesy of higher-ups who thought her personal history with Wendell might be relevant.Amelia suspected she was some sort of bait.

“No,” she answered calmly, turning to survey the store.“But you said you didn’t realize who Wendell was until you recognized him on the news later, right, Mr.Turner?”

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