Page 11 of When You're Forgotten

Finn carefully kept his expression neutral.He wasn’t here to judge family dynamics, only to uncover the truth.“Did he mention any threats against him, or was there anyone he argued with frequently?”

She shook her head.“No direct threats.Just tension over the estate’s costs.He was obsessed with solutions to our financial issues, but no one threatened him that I know of.”

Amelia glanced at the house behind them.“When you left for Devon, was it James’s idea that you and the children go away?”

Marianne frowned slightly, recalling the memory.“Yes.He insisted.Said he needed time alone, no distractions.I assumed that meant staff would be kept to a minimum, but I had no idea he actually sent themallaway, too.That’s… very unlike James.He relied on them constantly.”

Finn’s mind clicked through possibilities.“Might he have been expecting a private visitor or business partner that he didn’t want people knowing about?”

She folded her arms, clearly drained.“I wish I knew.But I’m sorry—this journey has been exhausting.Could we continue tomorrow?I need to rest and check on my children.”

Amelia placed a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.“Of course.We’re not in a rush.We just wanted to express our condolences and gather a few initial details.”

With an appreciative nod, Marianne turned and moved inside, footsteps echoing on the stone entry.The door closed gently behind her, leaving Finn and Amelia in the late-day hush.

Finn turned to Amelia, noticing how the setting sun cast long shadows across the gravel driveway.“So.We have conflicting clues: James was apparently tense about money, but did that lead to someone wanting to harm him, or did it push him to do something reckless that put him in jeopardy?Plus, there’s the question of who might’ve come to see him that night, or if he was meeting anyone at all.”

Amelia folded her arms.“We should talk to the staff individually—people who come and go around the property.There could be ex-servants, relatives, business partners.Anyone he’d have a reason to meet privately.”

He tilted his head in agreement.“And maybe go through visitor logs, if they keep them.”He paused, scanning the old manor’s facade.A subtle movement near the upper eaves caught his attention—some small dome or lens nestled among the stonework.“Look at that camera,” he pointed out, eyebrows lifting.“Could give us a vantage of who arrived or left.”

Amelia followed his gaze, eyes narrowing.“If it actually works.”

Finn exhaled, picturing the swirl of leads they already had.“So far, we have staff interviews, possible camera footage, and at some point we’ll want to search James’s study or personal office.We can’t assume it was just a heart attack.”

A faint smile touched Amelia’s lips.“Well, I guess we’ve found our next steps.”

He gave a mild shrug, flipping the top folder in his hand closed.“My next step is straight into a kitchen to find something to eat.”

Amelia laughed softly.“Focus, Finn.Not everything’s about your stomach.”

“It’s about my brain power,” he teased.“Feeding it is crucial for a thorough investigation.Besides, we might be able to question the cook about what’s going on around here.”

She smirked and gestured toward the door.“C’mon then, detective.”As they crossed the threshold, the shadows of dusk began to make themselves known, stretching out across the lawn until they soon swept over the house itself like a black tide.

CHAPTER SIX

Finn felt a distinct hush settle over Brynmor Hall as evening descended upon the estate.The corridor lamps, turned low, cast soft halos of light against the paneling.Shadows stretched along the walls, and a stillness, tinged with the faint scents of varnished wood and old upholstery, clung to every corner.He and Amelia made their way toward the kitchen, guided by a subtle glow deeper in the hallway.Donald Jones, the cook, was supposedly inside, and Finn was keen on hearing the man’s perspective on James Penrose’s final night.

As they approached the kitchen door—a sturdy wooden affair with a wrought-iron handle—Finn caught a whiff of something both savory and buttery.He swung the door open for Amelia and stepped in behind her, taking in the scene:

The kitchen was large, reflecting the manor’s old-world grandeur.A looming, iron-enamel stove occupied one entire wall, its surface cluttered with pots, some still warm from the day’s cooking.Rows of copper pans hung overhead from a pot rack.A broad wooden island dominated the center of the space, scoured clean but scarred with the marks of countless chopping sessions.Along the far side, two ample sinks and a marble-topped counter gleamed under the gentle overhead lights.A few herbs in tiny pots stood on the windowsill, faintly silhouetted against the dark outside.

A heavyset man in his late twenties—a round, ruddy face and thick arms—stood behind the island.He wore a plain white chef’s jacket stretched over a solid belly and had a dish towel flung over one shoulder.At the sight of Finn and Amelia, he stiffened, setting aside a knife he’d been wiping.

“Evening,” Finn began, offering a disarming nod.“Are you the cook here?”

Donald bobbed his head, eyes flicking from Finn to Amelia.“Yes.That’d be me.Donald Jones.Usually just ‘Don’ is enough.”

Amelia, stepping forward, gave a polite smile.“I’m Inspector Amelia Winters, and this is Finn Wright.We’re investigating Mr.Penrose’s death.”

Donald’s gaze dropped to the floor for a beat.“Right.Heard folks say they were bringing in experts or something.So… how can I help?”

Finn took a moment to note the man’s posture.He seemed nervous, shoulders hunched slightly, brow damp with perspiration.“We’d like to know where you were two nights ago,” Finn said softly, “the night James Penrose died.”

Donald set down his dish towel, glancing away.“I—I was out.Not here.Went to Myrlin’s Nook.”His voice wavered just enough for Finn to sense tension.“It’s a pub in the nearest village, about seven miles down the main road.”

“People saw you there?”Amelia prompted, crossing her arms loosely.

---