Page 38 of The Highland Heist
“You were selling something yesterday morning? Is that where you were?” Frederick asked, his tone gentler now.
He’d heard it too—the fragility in Lillias’ admission, the grief beneath her bravado.
It explained so much. The highly ornate rooms for guests’ visibility, the barren ones hidden from sight. She’d been selling things for who knew how long, clinging to appearances.
Relief washed over Grace. At least Lillias wasn’t a murderer.
“And you couldn’t ask Father for help because of his financial troubles?” Grace asked.
Lillias’ gaze snapped to hers. “How did you know that?”
A tiny pang of hurt renewed in Grace’s chest—how many secrets had been kept from her?—but she pressed forward. “Frederick and I went to Rutledge House before coming here. Perkins told me. He also delivered some mail we should have received over a month ago.”
“We?” Lillias gave her head a shake. “What do you mean, we?”
So her sister didn’t know about the inheritance?
Grace looked over at Frederick, and with a smile of encouragement, she divulged what she knew so far about the inheritance, showing Lillias their mother’s letter as well as informing her about the upcoming visit from Mr. Barclay.
Her sister’s face shifted through myriad emotions from skepticism to shock. As Grace finished the tale, Lillias laughed. “This fixes everything, doesn’t it?” She stood, pacing away from the chair. “Of course, Mother would fix things. Even from the grave.”
Grace had read enough gothic novels to recognize the signs of a potential breakdown. Was her sister careening toward a wife-in-the-attic scenario? Surely not. Poor Thomas needed his mother intact.
“We don’t know enough about it yet to say anything for certain,” Grace cautioned.
“But don’t you see? It’s perfect.” Lillias whirled toward her. “I can’t keep living in Harrington after all that’s happened. And I don’t have the money to leave. But this—this could be a fresh start. A new place for me and Thomas. With an estate and funds and—”
“But we don’t know what it entails yet, Lillias.” Grace found herself playing the voice of reason, a role her sister had once claimed. It felt almost unsettling. “Mr. Barclay should make things clearer this afternoon, but there’s no way we can claim the inheritance if you’re under suspicion of murder.”
Lillias sobered, her hands trembling as she gripped the back of a chair. “But I didn’t kill him. And I can prove it.” Her breaths came in short bursts. “I’ll tell the police everything. Whatever they need. We—we can’t let this opportunity slip away. It’s the last piece of family land we can hold onto.”
Family land. The phrase carried weight. Rutledge House might be gone, but the idea of securing something—anything—still mattered deeply, especially for women like them. And for Lillias, it seemed to mean even more.
“Oh, I wish I’d known about this before.” Lillias pressed a fist to her chest. “If Tony had known, maybe …” Her voice faltered as she gazed out the window, visibly fighting for composure.
“I don’t want the inheritance to slip away either, but there are very real dangers right now that we must address. And we’ll know more about the inheritance this afternoon. Mr. Barclay is supposed to meet us at noon and go over more particulars.”
“I’ve kept the very best things from Rutledge House, and they could certainly decorate a new estate. And Scotland? Tony had never traveled.” Lillias’ smile wavered but then brightened. “Mother would have loved knowing we would end up there, wouldn’t she? Home of her grandfather and his family.”
“We hope it all will work out in your favor, Mrs. Dixon, but you and Grace must both arrive together to claim the inheritance, and that will all depend on clearing your name.” Frederick studied her before turning back to Grace. “The sooner we can have direct answers and clarity, the better.”
Lillias sobered and returned to the chair, her body almost shaking. “What do you need to know? If I have a chance for this freedom, I’ll tell you anything.”
Grace and Frederick pressed for details: the collectors she’d dealt with, Tony’s debts, his habits.
“Did he have any particular places he frequented for gambling?” Frederick asked, his chin tilted with a purpose that made him look like one of those detectives in Grace’s mystery novels. All he needed was a fedora tipped just so and a notepad for his observations.
“The Lucky Coin was where he spent most of his time lately,” Lillias admitted, her perfect brow creasing. “There was also mention of a place called the Captain.”
“Are those in Harrington?” Grace asked.
“Yes, but on the far side of town.” Lillias offered a weak smile. “At least, in that way he tried to remain more discreet.”
“Did he ever try to harm you, Lillias?” Grace’s question landed heavily.
Lillias turned sharply to meet her gaze, her pale blue eyes swimming with sudden tears. “No. Of course not. You knew him. He wasn’t the sort.”
Ah. There it was. Grace hadn’t considered it—though she should have, as both a sister and a self-proclaimed sleuth: Lillias hadn’t stopped loving Tony. For all her misplaced priorities and shallowness, her sister had genuinely cared for him. Not enough to alter her behavior or curb her desires, but love, in its flawed, messy way, had been there. And maybe that hurt more than not caring at all.
