Page 65 of The Highland Heist
“She has an angry face, and she does not like the baby,” Zahra said, not looking up from her page.
“That alone raises enough red flags,” Grace muttered, tapping the pen again. “What kind of person doesn’t like babies?” She raised an eyebrow at Frederick. “What do you think?”
Before he could answer, Grace moved on:
3. Whoever hit you on the head, presumably Mr. Clark, has ties to Scotland. And I’m afraid his disguise—specifically the fake mustache—was as poor as his American accent.
Frederick couldn’t help chuckling. “Indeed. A man who fails both at facial hair and accents is hardly a criminal mastermind.”
His comment paused her response for a moment, just long enough for her to reward him with a grin.
“4. Mr. Barclay wasn’t attacked until yesterday, so our murderer didn’t know about the will—or who the solicitor handling it was—until then. They must have come to Virginia to stop us from getting to Scotland, and when they found out about the will, they decided to destroy it, hoping to end the matter once and for all.”
Frederick stepped closer, a thought forming. “Unless,” he interjected, “they—or their spy—overheard something that suggested there was another copy of the will hidden at Mosslea.”
“Which should then send him directly across the pond, shouldn’t it?”
“Unless they feel there is other information to clarify where the will is or—” He stopped, a sudden and unwelcome thought coming to mind.
“What?” Grace lowered her pen.
“They plan to eliminate any chance of you or Lillias getting to Scotland at all.” He held her gaze, hoping his vague explanation would convey the gravity of the threat.
Grace was quiet for a moment before she leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen thoughtfully. “That’s curious, Frederick. Detective Johnson mentioned Tony’s wound wasn’t made by a skilled hand. But it doesn’t take a great deal of practice to come up behind someone and clonk them on the head.”
“Do you have experience on that score?”
Her lips tipped at his teasing. “No, but I’ve imagined it, and I feel with the proper incentive, my aim could prove very accurate.” She frowned. “Though I’d hate the idea of hearing someone’s skull crack.”
“It is not a loud sound,” Zahra added. “Like a melon getting hit by a stick.”
Grace’s eyes widened as she glanced at Frederick. The casualness with which Zahra described that sound hit him with a pang. The very idea she even knew what it sounded like …
“Thank you for the clarification, Zahra.” Frederick offered a tight smile, and the little girl looked up at him with a whisper of a smile on her face.
“So we need to make sure the murderer—Clark, or whoever it is—doesn’t find out about the other will,” Grace continued, writing a few more notes before standing. “I should speak to Lillias. I don’t think she fully grasps the danger we’re in, and I need her to be on guard, especially around Mrs. James.”
“I’ll go and see about Mrs. Lindsay.” Frederick said, gesturing toward Zahra. “Would you like to come along, lamb?”
Without hesitation, Zahra placed her paper and crayons aside and skipped to Frederick’s side, taking his outstretched hand. He drew in a deep breath, embracing the moment. It was a sweet feeling. One he’d known with his daughter, Elizabeth, but he’d not allowed himself to embrace until now. Until Grace.
As they walked from the room, he cast a glance over at Grace, his heart swelling with a strange mixture of hope and determination. Once they were back in Havensbrooke, things would change.
And hopefully, he’d have a chance to make it right.
Grace’s mind swirled with questions about the entire case.
Too many things.
Why did Clark seek out Tony instead of Lillias if he truly wanted to stop them from claiming the inheritance? Why incapacitate Mr. Barclay but not kill him outright? Did he have another motive—or was he simply bad at murder?
She rapped on Miss Cox’s door first, assuming Lillias may very well be in there since she’d chosen to sleep there for the night. When no one answered, Grace pushed the door open. With the darkness of the sky, only the faintest afternoon light shone through the lace curtains to reveal an empty room. Grace turned the switch on the wall and illuminated the room with electric lights.
The beds had been made already.
By whom? Mrs. James?
Come to think of it, Grace hadn’t seen Mrs. James all morning. Her pulse shifted up a little. The crib stood in the corner, as usual. The dressers waited on each side of the two beds in the room, so why did her scalp tingle with warning.
