Page 9 of When You're Forgotten

Catherine gave a short nod.“Yes, Mrs Hughes said you arrived.We appreciate any answers you can give us, though… I’m not entirely sure there’s a murderer to be found.I do wonder if this was a simple heart attack.I hate to even consider that someone felt they had to murder him.”

Amelia stepped forward.“We’d still like to ask a few questions about James leading up to that night.”

Catherine folded her arms, gaze drifting over the panic room.“Go on.”

“Did your brother have any enemies?Anyone who might want to hurt him?”Finn asked gently.

She shook her head, mouth drawn.“Not that I know of.James was always very composed, almost distant.Lately, though, he grew… tense.I don’t deal with family business much, so I’m not certain what was the cause.He was anxious in a way I’d never seen.”

Amelia exchanged a look with Finn.“Was he worried about money?Enough that it could cause a heart attack?”

Catherine exhaled, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.“Potentially.He did speak of selling off assets, or letting go some staff.The estate and house are very expensive to run.Then, bizarrely, he sent all of the servants and others away the night he died.Including Mrs Hughes.He said it was just for the evening, that it was a trifling matter, but… well, you saw how that ended.”

Finn frowned.“Do you think James expected trouble that night?”

Catherine’s eyes flickered with a weary sorrow.“It’s possible.Or maybe he just wanted privacy.I do wonder if something or someone spooked him.”

Amelia glanced at the metal walls of the panic room.“Did he ever mention being followed, or threatened?”

Catherine considered.“No direct threats, at least not that he told me.But he was definitely secretive these last few weeks.”

Finn nodded, scribbling a quick note in the file’s margin.“Where are James’s wife and children now?”

Catherine’s lips thinned.“They’ll be arriving within the hour.They were still in Devon when this happened.They’re—devastated, of course.”

He cast a quick look at Amelia.“We should speak to Mrs Penrose, see if she has any insight into who might have meant James harm.Or if she noticed any suspicious behavior.”

Catherine lowered her gaze.“Please do.She might know more than I do.”

A hush fell over the corridor.Finn and Amelia exchanged a determined look.They had more pieces to gather—family perspectives, staff observations, forensic details.If James Penrose’s death was murder, they needed to uncover that motive.And if it was something simpler—a heart attack brought on by fear— they owed it to the family to confirm.

“Would it be possible to have a room where we can set up our laptops and a few things we might need?”Amelia asked.

“Of course,” Catherine replied.“I’ll have Evan direct you to one of our sitting rooms that isn’t often used.”

“Thank you,” Finn said quietly.“We appreciate your help, Ms.Penrose.”

She dipped her head.“Anything you need, you can ask me or Mrs Hughes.”With that, she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the ancient hallway.

Finn watched her go, mind spinning with questions.Amelia’s brow knitted, presumably matching his thoughts.

Finally, he pulled the door of the panic room shut, slipping the file under his arm.“Should we get properly unpacked and go meet the family?”

Amelia nodded, but a small frown tugged at her lips.“Yeah.Let’s see if they suspect something that Catherine doesn’t.”

Side by side, they headed back along the corridor.Outside, a sudden gust of Welsh wind rattled the old windows, but the house stood firm, for now.

CHAPTER FIVE

Finn sat in the warm glow of a table lamp inside a sitting room on the ground floor of Brynmor Hall, the late afternoon sun slanting through tall windows.The room felt comfortable yet dignified, with an ornate fireplace at one end—a small fire crackling within—while thick drapes of a deep burgundy bordered each window.A few well-stuffed armchairs and a floral sofa encircled a low wooden table.On that table lay a pot of steaming tea, mismatched cups, and Finn’s open case file.

He leaned forward in one of the armchairs, flipping through typed pages and crime scene photos of James Penrose’s final moments.He frowned at a line about “possible signs of a struggle,” lightly drumming his fingers on the paper.A hush filled the room except for the soft crackle of fire and occasional rustle of Amelia’s teacup.

Opposite him, Amelia perched on the sofa near the window.One leg tucked under her, she sipped from a porcelain cup.A patch of bandage still showed on her right hand, a physical reminder of her recent misadventure with Wendell Reed’s decoy.She hadn’t spoken much for the last few minutes, simply gazing outside where well-tended lawns rolled toward the distant tree line.

After a stretch of silence, Finn couldn’t resist nudging her thoughts.“Penny for them?”he asked, setting the file aside.“You’ve been quieter than normal.”

Amelia lowered her cup, letting out a thoughtful sigh.“It’s just...how a person’s world, no matter how rich and influential, can come to an abrupt end without warning.Places like this estate appear calm, wealthy, and untroubled.But you peel back a layer, and there might be murder, conspiracy—who knows?”

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