Page 50 of The Highland Heist
“Oh, he’s already been there. Officer Todd informed me.” Johnson finished off his glass. “Curious timing, wouldn’t you say?”
The thought hadn’t strayed too far from Frederick’s mind, but he kept quiet.
“A Scottish pin found at the murder site. A foreign stranger who had an altercation with the victim before his death. The sudden arrival of a Scot to deliver an inheritance which conveniently resides in Scotland?” He stood and tossed a few bills on the table. “Curious.” He tipped his hat. “I’d keep a very wary eye out, Lord Astley.”
Grace walked to her room, envelope in hand, ready to delve into the photos Mr. Barclay had left, when a small shadowy figure down the hallway stopped her.
Zahra stood by the tall window, her long dark hair falling down the back of her pale pink dress, her body half hidden behind the curtain as she looked out. The same sweetness Grace always felt when she realized the little girl was theirs burgeoned through her, and she walked over the simple carpet toward her.
But just before Grace reached the window, Zahra turned and held out her palm to stop Grace’s forward movement. “Keep hidden, Sayyida. It is the false Clark.”
The warmth in Grace’s chest crashed into a chill, her pulse ratcheting up as she crouched and slid closer to the wall, keeping her body away from the window’s visibility.
Grace peered over the top of Zahra’s head, which overlooked the back garden where the houses all stretched out around the large, wooded park area she’d seen yesterday. In daylight, it didn’t look as foreboding, but the thickness of the trees not only offered shade from the sun but a cloak for more villainous options as well.
“He has no mustache,” Zahra whispered, gesturing to her own upper lip with a gravity that would’ve been comical under any other circumstances.
Near the edge of the wood stood a very transformed Officer Clark, or what she could see of his profile at such a distance through a dirty window on an overcast day with a tree blocking part of his person. He gave off the same impression as the fake Officer Clark. He was tall, that much she could tell. With a sturdy body shape very similar to the man they’d seen rush into the house claiming to be the false officer. And his swath of brown hair matched her memory of the man too.
He stood apparently talking to someone, but the someone was shaded by trees. From where she stood, Grace couldn’t quite make out his eye color or see if there were any facial scars, a very important tidbit of information for any sleuth to recognize, but his stature cut a memorable figure among the forested area. He wore a summer suit, well trimmed and, if she guessed right, rather stylish, but of course, her knowledge in such matters was always lacking refinement.
“Are you certain it’s him?” Grace whispered.
Zahra shot her a look of withering offense.
“Well,” Grace amended quickly, “I thought so too. But it’s good to confirm. You are new to sleuthing, after all.” She paused, softening. “But your instincts are remarkable.”
Zahra’s expression eased, and she nodded toward the window. “He is not as handsome as Sayid.”
Grace nodded. “Very few are, you know.” Common knowledge, of course. She narrowed her eyes, trying to decipher the man’s movements—or better yet, his lips. Was he talking about … elephants? Or chairs? Wind chimes? None of it aligned with villainous scheming—or logical conversation, for that matter—but Grace made a mental note to add lip-reading to her burgeoning detective training regimen. “Detective Miracle says a good detective looks beyond the typical,” she murmured, leaning closer to the glass. “Can you see who he’s talking to?”
Zahra shook her head, the motion releasing a faint trace of rosewater perfume. Grace’s lips curved into a faint smile. Brushing Zahra’s hair each night was a cherished ritual, a fragrant moment that reminded her of her own mother.
“Stay here and keep watch.” Grace placed her palm on the girl’s shoulder. “I’m going to the lower level to see if I can get a better view.”
She moved quickly toward the stairs but nearly collided with Frederick halfway up. His smile—oh, that devastatingly charming smile—momentarily erased all thought. Zahra’s earlier remark about his handsomeness floated back with new vigor. Handsome? No. The man was positively Byronic.
Even with a snore.
Grace rushed forward and his smile slowly faded.
“What is it?”
Grace grabbed his arm and tugged him down the stairs, her words a hurried whisper. “It’s Officer Clark. Or rather, the false Officer Clark. Zahra spotted him in the back garden, skulking near the woods.”
Frederick’s expression sharpened instantly. “Where exactly?”
“Near the park. I couldn’t make out the details of his face because of his hat, the dirty window, and the distance, but I feel certain it’s the same man.” She sent him a look as they rounded the doorway into the library. “How curious he would be here just after Mr. Barclay left.” Her attention shot to him. “Do you think he knows about the inheritance?”
Without answering, Frederick took her and pulled her across the unlit room to the back window.
“Oh, Frederick,” Grace breathed, spotting the man slipping deeper into the wooded park. “He’s getting away.”
Frederick’s gaze flicked from the window to her face, then back again. Without a word, he turned and bolted from the room. A moment later, the back door slammed shut, and Grace watched through the window as her husband sprinted across the lawn after Tony Dixon’s possible murderer.
It had to be him.
Frederick squinted against the hazy sunlight, the man’s retreating form darting between trees just beyond the garden wall. The height, the build—they matched what he and Grace had seen the day before. Disguise or not, this was their man.
