Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Fate has a way of working miracles. I wish them the very best.”
“And I do the same for your daughter.”
Well, what do you know. Qhuinn still looked fierce as hell, especially with all the metal in that ear—oh, and his eyebrow was pierced, too. But it was amazing how bringing up young could level all kinds of playing fields.
And now there was nothing awkward in the pause: As the maid looked over at Tohr, it was clear she was ready to talk.
“I’d like to show you a picture of someone.” He put his hand up. “There’s no pressure. I just want to know if you’ve ever seen them before?”
“Of course.”
He already had the still snapshot from the waiting room at the Audience House up on his phone, and he turned the screen around.
As Petrie’s eyebrows pulled together over the bridge of her nose, he motioned forward with the Samsung. “Here, take my cell.”
She nodded absently and they met in the center of her area rug for the exchange. The female eased back slowly, concentrating on the image.
“Am I supposed to know her?” she asked as her eyes lifted.
“So you don’t recognize the female.”
The maid slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never seen her before?”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Have you ever heard of anybody by the name of Candice, daughter of Meiser?”
“No?” She glanced back and forth between him and Qhuinn. “Should I have?”
“Not at all. I’m just following up on possible leads.”
Tohr was aware of an acute disappointment as he took his phone back, but come on. Just because it wasn’t every night that a member of the aristocracy was murdered in an apparent hit after someone left a bunch of mysterious paperwork in the damn waiting room . . . did not mean that the two things were connected.
Sometimes the mind made ties out of thin air.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she settled back in her chair. “Who is she? Do you think she’s connected to . . . what happened to Master Broadius?”
Tohr shrugged and got to his feet. “We’re investigating all kinds of leads and this was a long shot. So no, I don’t. We thank you for your time.”
The maid got up, too. “I’m here. For anything, for any way I can help—”
“Wait,” Qhuinn cut in. “You said you were going to call us?”
“Oh, yes.” Her worried eyes seemed to cling to the brother’s mismatched stare. “But I don’t know . . .”
“It’s okay,” the brother said softly. “Whatever it is. And if you’re worried about discretion, be assured that anything you tell us will not be shared widely.”
“Thank you.” She nodded. “I only worked for Master Broadius for about a year. I think I was among his first domestic help? There’s a cook and a chauffeur, too—you must talk to them as well?”
Tohr nodded. “They were contacted last night just before dawn and they’re being interviewed right now.”
“They had been given the week off.”
“Because Broadius was leaving,” Tohr murmured. “On a trip, wasn’t he.”
“Yes, that was on his schedule.”
There was a long silence. Then she glanced at Qhuinn again. When he inclined his head, she squared her shoulders and leaped.
“I never understood where the money came from.” She put her hands up. “I didn’t judge him. I needed a job and it paid well so I was grateful. But I never understood—I mean, he didn’t seem to work, and yet he made a big deal about how he was a self-made male. How he didn’t come from a Founding Family. He didn’t have a desk or a computer, though, and he never talked about an office or a profession, had no associates over for dinners or social events. I’m not a sophisticated female, but . . . I mean, all he did was buy things for the house. Paintings, art, furnishings. It was a churn of deliveries all the time, so he had to have income of some kind . . .” The maid seemed to retreat into herself. “And then one night, about a month ago? I found the guns.”
“Guns?” Tohr tilted his head. “Like for his personal security?”
The maid shook her head and focused very, very clear eyes on his own. “Crates of them. An entire U-Haul truck full.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
How did you know where this supermarket was?”
As Mahrci spoke up from the SUV’s passenger seat, Mayhem put things in park and killed the engine. Even though locating the store hadn’t been rocket science—all he’d done was Google “24 hr grocery stores in Plattsburgh, NY”—he took a certain satisfaction in the female next to him thinking he was a fucking genius.
A lot of people thought a lot of things about him. “Genius” was usually not it.
“Just like magic,” he said. “And honestly, I think we need some real food, and I like to cook.”
Bullshit. All he really cared about was getting her to hang around a little longer and he was willing to leverage anything he had. Even if it was her own digestive tract.