Cat Burglar in Training (24 page)

Righteous indignation sprang to the fore. “I’m not a tart.”

“You could have fooled me.”

No mistaking her tone for anything but snide. The woman could speak how she liked to her husband, but I didn’t have to take her insults. I debated stalking off, but I really needed to speak with Richard about Matthew.

“You knew I wanted to leave early. I have a headache!” she snapped like a heroine out of a regency novel. She glared at me, her thin aristocratic nostrils twitching in disdain.

“Don’t let me keep you.” My smartass words were probably not the wisest course, but at this point I didn’t care. The woman was accusing me of sleeping with her husband, of getting my greedy hooks into his fleshy body. I’d rather eat a plate of worms from Father’s vegetable garden.

“Let me call you a cab, Millicent,” Richard said in a soothing voice.

She puffed up like an indignant snake. I swear I heard her hiss as she prepared to strike. “Leave you with this scheming hussy? Give me a little credit.”

“I’m outta here.” As I strode up the narrow concrete path to the ballroom, the couple started to snarl at each other in earnest.
Here’s hoping Hannah scores with the internet research because I’ve discovered jack at the ball.

Inspiration struck before I stepped back into the crowd. The Beauchamps were both at the ball. I could leave now and hit their house. As soon as the thought occurred, I discarded it. But the idea wouldn’t leave me alone. I retreated to the hotel foyer to ring Hannah.

“Hannah, it’s me.”

“Has something gone wrong?” Alarm rang down the line.

“No, but talk quick because I forgot to charge the battery. I’ve had an idea about moving my
visit
forward.” Mindful of eavesdroppers, even in this quiet corner, I framed my words with care.

“Oh. Okay.” I heard the rustle of papers and the thud of something dropping to the floor. “Won’t be a moment. I did a search on the brother. Not much on the net. I rang an old friend who used to temp as a housekeeper to see if she knew of the family. Bad news, according to her. The man’s a skirt-chaser.”

“I already knew that.”

“They have three children. Their marriage was pretty much on the rocks when she covered their regular housekeeper’s holidays.”

Children.

The word was like a kick to my gut. I cleared my throat. “Boys or girls?”

“Why?” Hannah demanded, obviously alerted by something in my voice.

“I can’t talk. Gotta go.” Richard and his wife were moving toward me.

“I am not ready to leave,” Richard said.

“I refuse to take a cab,” his wife spat.

“I have business to attend to. I told you attendance at this ball wasn’t for pleasure.”

“I’m not leaving you with that hussy hanging around.”

“Well, it seems you’ll be staying then,” Richard snapped.

Sounded like a stalemate to me. And this hussy was going while the getting was good. Ever the opportunist, I decided I might manage to gain entry to the property while the fight raged on here.

Inside the crowded ballroom, I searched for either Father or Ben. When I couldn’t find them, I collected my coat. I’d contact Hannah from Seth’s flat. Mindful of the shooting at the last ball, I scanned the hotel foyer, frontage and the area across the road for anything out of place. Apart from a higher police presence than normal, nothing raised my alarm.

In the hotel forecourt, I signaled a black cab. The driver pulled up and waited while I climbed inside.

“Where to, love?”

“Knightsbridge. Brompton Road, near Harvey Nichols,” I said, giving the address of Seth’s flat. I’d packed a change of clothes in my bag along with a set purely for cat-burglar outings. A bit of forward planning.

My mind whirred with plans and the possible scenarios I might find at Richard Beauchamp’s Chelsea residence.

“This all right, love?”

I glanced out the window to see the well-dressed mannequins in Harvey Nick’s window. Thick winter coats and furs reminded me of the frigid weather to come.

“Just around the corner please. Yes, that’s fine,” I said when he pulled up outside Seth’s home. I paid the driver and watched him drive away.

I clattered up the stairs, ignoring the lift because I wanted to ease the adrenaline arcing through me. Five minutes later, I rang Hannah to let her know my plans, then changed into suitable cat clothes. I stuffed my ski mask in my pocket and, good to go, I took the stairs to avoid any night-owl residents. I headed directly for the Knightsbridge tube. Although time was of the essence—I wanted to arrive before the Beauchamps—the tube to Chelsea wouldn’t take long at this time of night.

My luck was in. I arrived at Kings Road quicker than I’d envisaged. I walked toward the Beauchamp residence full of gritty determination to get the job done. When I reached the end of Gardonne Place, where the Beauchamp residence took up a goodly portion of one side of the road, I slowed my steps. The Thames flowed past the back of the house, creating another boundary. From my research I’d ascertained that a towpath ran between the river and the fence enclosing the Beauchamp property. I’d approach that way. Less chance of being seen by neighbors peering out their windows.

Now that the Beauchamp property was in sight, calmness descended on me. A part of me wondered why I hadn’t done this before.

I reached the end of the street and turned left. Although I couldn’t see the river, I knew it was there. I found a property with no lights burning and a low fence. If there were pets in the family, they were inside because the fence wouldn’t contain much. I stepped over, and skulked through the shadows cast by a bushy shrub. I skirted a vegetable plot where the weeds grew wild.

Exiting the property was a more difficult proposition. I had to scale a fence with vicious pointy bits on top. I scrambled over with a distinct lack of grace, escaping injury or death by impalement. I checked my watch under a handy lamppost. Behind on my self-imposed schedule, I sped up to a trot, the dirt towpath dulling the sound of my footsteps.

There it was. The Beauchamp residence. Oh joy. Another bloody fence to scale. Taking a deep breath, I shimmied up like a well-trained monkey, mentally thanking Ben and Father for their insistence on constant training.

The mansion was huge, a U in shape, and although the building was old, it appeared well maintained. I crept through the manicured garden and hoped like hell no one was looking out a window. Although I’m sure it looked breathtaking during the day, the lack of large trees and shrubs made my life difficult.

I scrambled for cover. When I reached the building, I flattened against the brick wall, panting lightly, a fine sheen of sweat coating my body. The hot day had transformed into a muggy evening. Only my goal of separating the Beauchamps from some of their wealth—and my yen for revenge—stopped me from retreating and heading for the nearest cold shower.

Once my rapid breathing dropped to normal, I circled one wing of the building to decide on an entry point. The open window didn’t register at first. My gaze scanned the entire wall before snapping back to the white window frame with a sense of shock. Surely, it couldn’t be that easy?

I climbed up a drainpipe and edged along the window ledge to peer inside. It was a bedroom, complete with slumbering resident—an elderly gentleman who snored loud enough for the French to hear on the other side of the channel. Let’s hope he was on the deaf side too because I was going inside.

Keeping an eagle eye on the slumbering man, I crawled through the window and eased to my feet. I waited to let my eyes adjust to the different light level and headed for the closed door. I couldn’t wait to learn if the bloody thing creaked.

A trickle of sweat ran down my neck and seeped between my breasts. No wonder he’d left the window open. It was awful hot in here.

I turned the handle. As I suspected, it let out a sharp protest. I froze. The snoring halted mid-trumpet.

Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up
.

A long snore-free pause ensued. Was he awake or not? I waited a bit longer before I risked turning the knob a full rotation. Without waiting to see what happened, I whisked the door open wide enough for me to fit through and ended up in a dimly lit passage. At the far end, a light burned in a wall sconce. The carpet was plain—a serviceable dark blue. Light blue paint covered the walls and not a single piece of artwork relieved the long expanse. I’d definitely entered the servants’ wing. I carried on, moving cautiously, ready to run should the need arise.

The passage turned to the left, and a flight of stairs led to the floor below. I hesitated before carrying on down the passage. It continued for what seemed like miles, and I realized I was heading for the other wing. The surroundings changed from spartan to luxurious. The carpet thickened miraculously. Perhaps it had eaten a hair tonic and bloomed. Silk wallpaper covered the walls. A group of three watercolors depicting seaside scenes enlivened the plain color. A marble urn filled with sunflowers stood in an alcove. Bingo. This portion of the house was where I would find the Beauchamps’ rooms.

I paused at a door that stood slightly ajar and decided to risk entering. Just inside the door, I stopped to listen. Nothing alarmed me, so I stepped farther inside and slowly let my eyes adjust. I felt for the torch I carried in an outside pocket of my pack. Taking a deep breath, I switched it on.

The beam hit an empty double bed. The tension in my shoulders eased, although a low level of anxiety remained. Shaking away my disquiet, I played the torch over the room. I tugged open a wardrobe door. Empty. A guest room.

I switched off my torch and peered out the door into the passage. The door of the next room was firmly closed. I watched my hand reach for the brass knob. Inexplicably, trepidation slithered through me. Butterflies scurried about inside my stomach. Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus. Listened. Sweet silence greeted my ears.
Stupid. Just do it, before the Beauchamps return.

I entered the room, my footfalls soft yet decisive. Another bedroom, but not for a guest. This one smelled faintly of roses and a floral perfume that reminded me of lily of the valley. The beam from my torch confirmed my guess. I’d struck gold. Millicent Beauchamp’s room. I started my search with the bedside cabinets. A thick romantic suspense novel and a watch lay on top. Nothing worth my while. The torch beam played over a bunch of apricot roses, a combination of buds and full blooms arranged in a crystal vase. Next a brush with a mother-of-pearl back and a matching hand mirror came into view. Picture frames. A selection of formal and casual photos featuring children. Surely the woman had left something interest—my sudden gasp broke through the silence like a stone through glass. Unsteady hands swung the torch beam back to one of the portraits, housed in a tasteful gold frame. I picked it up and sank onto the lace-covered bed, my legs as unsteady as my hands.

A copy of the same picture I’d found at Perdita Moning’s house.

I traced my forefinger over the girl’s face. Inside, I felt… I shuddered. I wasn’t sure what I felt. Anger. Betrayal. This time I didn’t intend to creep around the truth. Richard and Millicent Beauchamp knew the child. Answers clicked into place, but I wanted—needed—to know for sure.

I exited the room, not bothering to shut the door after me. At the top of the stairs, I hesitated again. A split second later, I headed down the stairs. I chuckled without much humor. Too bad if I triggered the alarm. At this point, I didn’t give a damn. The need to learn the truth burned strong in me.

I marched into a formal lounge near the main entrance to the house and shrugged off my pack. Picking a chair at random, I perched on the edge and prepared to wait, the photo clutched in my hands.

I’m not sure how long I lingered before I heard a car outside. My stomach muscles clenched. My eyes narrowed while I waited for my victims to walk through the door.

I heard the door unlock and open. A light flicked on. Footsteps sounded, moving toward me. I eyed the doorway, curious to see which Beauchamp I’d have the pleasure of questioning first.

I caught a flash of black. Richard. For a moment, I thought I’d have to chase after him. I half stood, prepared to do just that. Then he wheeled abruptly and walked back right into the room.

“Hello, Richard,” I said coolly. “Nice of you to drop in.”

“Eve? What the hell are you doing? Millicent will arrive home at any moment. She can’t see you. She went ballistic outside the hotel, and we took separate cabs.” Richard’s eye twitched, and a shiny film of perspiration coated his face. He glanced over his shoulder and winced when I kicked a footstool standing in my way. The man looked…terrified.

“Anyone would think Millicent scares you,” I said tartly.

“You’ve broken into my house. That tells me the reason you want to see me is important. Spit it out and leave.”

I agreed, so I came straight to the point. “The girl in the photo. Who is she?” I held out the photo I’d taken from the bedroom.

Before Richard could answer my question, the front door slammed.

“It’s Millicent. Hide!” Richard said with clear panic.

I balanced lightly on the balls of my feet and hesitated.

“Eve,” he pleaded. “Please. She’s not well.”

He should tell someone who cared. I wanted the truth and, after all this time, I wanted it now. “No. If you won’t talk to me, I’ll talk to your wife. I’m not leaving without answers.”

“But I—”

“Who are you talking to Richard? Who’s there?” Staccato footsteps sounded on the marble entrance tiles, and seconds later Millicent Beauchamp appeared in the doorway. “You,” she said, pointing a dramatic finger at me. Her black leather bag dropped to the floor at her feet.

I stared.

Richard’s jaw dropped.

Red splotches covered her silver-gray dress. Was that blood? Earlier in the evening, she’d appeared immaculate. Now, locks of hair drooped from her chignon, and smears of mascara colored one cheek. A closer look at the red had me taking a hasty step backward.

It
was
blood.

Richard must’ve come to the same conclusion as me. At any rate, he looked distinctly uneasy. “Are you all right, Millicent? Have you had an accident?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I told you earlier. I’m sick of your extramarital affairs, and I refuse to put up with them any longer.”

“I’m not having an affair with Lady Eve. You tell her, Eve.”

“It’s true,” I said.

“Then why is she here?” Millicent screeched. “I don’t believe you.”

A car door slammed outside. The doorbell chimed in an exact replica of Big Ben’s majestic tones.

“Richard, the door,” Millicent said without taking her gaze off me.

“I’ll get it,” Richard said.

Probably my cue to leave too, but I hadn’t received answers yet. I remained rooted to the spot, keeping a wary eye on Millicent. I’d picked up on Richard’s panic and inner alarm bells clanged, doing a real number on my nerves.

“Now isn’t a good time,” I heard Richard say to whomever was at the door.

“Veronica’s kicked me out.”

Veronica? Sure enough, Matthew Beauchamp entered the room, an overnight bag held in his left hand. A feral grin bloomed on my lips. All the players in the same place. How provident. I couldn’t have planned better if I’d tried.

Matthew stepped farther into the room. “How about a whisky, old boy? I could do with one. Millicent, you’re looking…” A transparent expression of astonishment passed over his face when he studied his sister-in-law at closer quarters.

I couldn’t prevent a snicker.

Matthew whirled, his brows rising when he saw me. “Well. Fancy meeting you here.”

I studied his face in light of my new knowledge. Maybe the look around the eyes was similar. Niggling doubts nipped at me. Was he or was he not Amber’s father?

“Veronica finally woke up and kicked you out,” Millicent said. “Clever lady.”

“She’ll take me back.” Confidence oozed from Matthew, and he sauntered over to sit on a leather couch, full of masculine bravado. “Make that a double, old chap.”

“I could do with one myself.” Richard scurried from the room, leaving the three of us in a prickly silence.

“I won’t overstay my welcome,” Matthew said. “Veronica will come to her senses.”

“Damn right you’ll be leaving,” Millicent snarled. “Tonight.”

Something in her tone made me edge away. I put the leather couch and a matching oversized chair between us.

“I say, that’s not very hospitable. I’ve nowhere else to go,” Matthew protested.

Millicent’s face hardened so much it was a wonder her jaw didn’t crack. “You’re not welcome here.” She bent to pick up her bag and pulled a black object from inside.

Holy shit. A gun.

“I say, Millicent. There’s no need to wave your gun around.”

She glared at Matthew. “I don’t like you, and I want you to leave.”

My gaze darted left and right as I worked out which way to jump. The woman clutched the gun without a tremor. It wasn’t a case of if she’d shoot. It was when.

“What?” Matthew laughed uneasily. “If I refuse to leave, you’ll shoot me?”

“Men like you make me sick,” Millicent said, and she calmly pulled the trigger.

Shock took me in a stranglehold, paralyzing me for precious seconds. She pointed the gun in my direction and fired again. I dived behind a chair and dropped to the floor. My heart thudded loudly, reassuring me I was alive. The truth stared me in the eye. It hadn’t been my quick reaction that saved me. I could chalk my survival up to pure, dumb luck. But what about Matthew? He’d been much closer to Millicent—an easy shot.

Footsteps approached at a run. I wanted to shout for Richard to stay away. The words jammed in my throat and nothing emerged but a terrified croak. The photo frame was digging into my hand, and I released my grip.

“My God! Millicent. What have you done?” The horror in Richard’s voice told me she’d hit Matthew.

“Pest control.” Millicent sounded in total control. “Someone had to do it.”

The distinct sound of the hammer pulling back on the gun pulsed a fresh wave of shock through my traumatized body.

“Don’t shoot, Millicent. It’ll be murder.”

The gun fired.

I heard Richard fall. A groan. Then nothing.

“Good,” I heard Millicent say. “I think I’ll have tea. Now where is the wretched housekeeper? She’s never here when I need her.”

God, she wouldn’t shoot the staff as well, would she? The mansion was big, but surely the gunshots would have woken them? I heard nothing for a time, then the tap of high heels on the marble tiles. Finally, I risked a peek around the corner of the leather chair. Matthew Beauchamp lay slumped on the leather couch, a pool of blood forming under his head. I forced myself to go to him, forced my trembling legs to work.

No pulse. The man was dead.

Horror rose up my throat. The pungent, coppery scent of blood made me want to vomit. Where was Richard?

I found him behind a black two-seater. This time, I felt a pulse.

“Richard,” I whispered. When he didn’t answer, I fumbled for my mobile and headed for the nearest window, taking a brief second to grab my pack. No way did I intend to stay inside the house with Millicent Beauchamp.

Security bars blocked the first window I found. A sob ripped from my throat. I heard footsteps. Wheezing pants squeezed from my lungs. I fumbled with a set of French doors. They refused to budge.

The footsteps came closer. Frantically, I searched for a hiding place. At the last minute, I scrambled behind a curtain. I trembled, my hands shaking so much I almost lost my grip on the phone.

“Now where did I leave my bag?”

I froze, scarcely daring to breathe.

“Ah, there it is.” I heard a satisfied sigh and the click-click of a retreat. I slumped against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, relief and lack of oxygen making my legs tremble. I had to get away. And Richard, he needed medical help.

I tried the French doors again. This time I noticed the security bolts on the top of the door. Seconds later, cool night air drifted across my face.

I opened the mobile and dialed 999 for emergency-services. With one eye on the house, I relayed the details. “Police and ambulance.” I answered the operator’s questions in a detached voice.

“Stay on the line,” the operator said.

A chill ran down my spine. No. I wasn’t going to chitchat with the operator. I hung up and dialed Kahu.

He answered almost immediately.

“Kahu, it’s me. Eve.” My entire body trembled. I swallowed again in order to get my plea out. “Can you come? I need you.”

“Where are you?” Even though it was late, the man sounded alert.

I rattled off the Beauchamps’ address. “I’ll wait for you out on the road.”

Easier said than done. I staggered down the driveway, trying to keep out of the light. I wished he’d hurry. The desire for a comforting pair of arms was like a fever in my blood. Not any pair of arms, but someone I trusted. I needed Kahu.

After pacing back and forth several times, my gut in turmoil, I sank down on my haunches. I removed my pack and leaned against the low stone wall that separated the footpath and the Beauchamp property. Immeasurably weary, I hunched up in a ball and hoped like hell Millicent Beauchamp didn’t come after me with her gun. Cold from the stone wall crept through my black long-sleeved T-shirt, sending a shiver goose-stepping across my skin. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since I’d rung the police. I hoped the ambulance would arrive soon. Although I didn’t think much of Richard, he didn’t deserve to die.

Finally, the wail of the siren rent the air. A plain car was first on the scene followed by two pandas.

Kahu jumped out of the first car and hurried over to me.

I hurled myself at him, desperate for human contact. His arms closed around me, giving me a hard hug before he pushed me away to arm’s length.

“Are you hurt?” He rubbed his fingers across my cheek, his eyes full of concern. “Where are you injured?”

I stared up at him blankly until I saw the blood-smeared fingers that came away from my face.
Eew.
Nausea rushed up my throat and I gagged. Kahu spun me around just in time for me to throw up in the gutter. He waited until I’d finished retching then turned me to face him.

“We need to know what we’re going to face in there. You told the…” An ambulance siren drowned his final words out. The siren switched off mid-roar.

“Millicent Beauchamp shot them,” I said, shock at her weird behavior ricocheting through my mind. “She shot Matthew and then she shot Richard. Matthew’s dead.”

“And Richard?” Kahu asked in an urgent tone.

“He was still breathing, but he didn’t look too good.”

“Okay. Wait here.” Kahu strode over to a group of policemen to relay orders, then returned to question me further. “Does she still have the gun?”

I thought back, trying to remember. “I don’t know. Yes, probably. Sorry.” All I could think of was the pool of blood around Matthew. I twisted away abruptly, my hand jammed up against my mouth as I dry-heaved.

“I’ll call the armed defenders,” a voice said.

I caught Kahu’s nod. “We’ll wait until they arrive.”

“What about Richard? He might die if he doesn’t get help.” Strain filled my voice, and I noted the exchange of glances between several of the men.

A young woman police constable walked up to Kahu. “Sir, I’ll look after her.”

My gaze swung to Kahu, words of protest trembling at my lips. I didn’t want to be foisted off on someone else.

Kahu’s glance speared through me. Suspicion. He thought I was involved with the Beauchamps. The conclusion hurt but, since he’d seen me with Richard and knew I’d spent the weekend with him in Edinburgh, maybe he had reason.

Fifteen minutes later, the armed defenders arrived and advanced on the house. The ambulance staff hovered near, waiting for the all-clear.

Time for me to leave. I walked away, intending to head back to Seth’s flat.

“Wait!” The WPC grabbed my elbow. “You can’t leave.”

I glared at her, and she took half a step back. “Am I under arrest?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t have to stay here,” I said and kept walking.

It was five in the morning when I pulled up in front of Oakthorpe. Never had home looked so welcoming. I dragged myself out of the car and up the front steps. The door opened before I reached it.

“You’re home,” Hannah said. “Thank goodness. I was starting to worry. The boys arrived home ages ago.”

I stepped past Hannah, feeling bone weary. Yesterday was a day I never wanted to repeat.

“You’ve got blood on you!” Hannah shrieked right next to my ear.

“Yeah. So I’ve been told.”

Hannah closed the door and put an arm around me. “Your smartass attitude is present. You can’t be badly hurt. Come into the kitchen. The light’s better there.”

She propelled me along the passage. Not that I put up much of a fight. I was tired, yes, but what I wanted more than anything was the sense of family.

Father and Ben were sitting at the kitchen table when Hannah and I entered. The china teapot with its ridiculous wooly cozy sat in front of them along with a plate of toast and two blue, china mugs. The scene appeared so ordinary after what I’d witnessed. With emotions to the fore, I squeezed my eyes shut, but a tear trickled down one cheek.

“What’s wrong, Evie?” Father stood so abruptly his wooden chair toppled over and hit the floor. “Is that blood?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab a shower in a few minutes.” I’d had a cursory wash at Seth’s but hadn’t dallied long. I’d just wanted to go home.

Hannah pulled out one of the empty chairs, and I subsided onto it gratefully. Father righted his chair, and Hannah bustled about getting a mug and pouring me a cup of tea.

“Matthew Beauchamp is dead.” There was no other way to spill the facts. “And Richard was shot too. I don’t know if he’s still alive. He was when I saw him last.”

“Dead?” Ben asked.

“Who shot them?” Father demanded.

“Not you?” Hannah’s brows arched to emphasize her question.

“You know I don’t have a gun,” I said indignantly. “Millicent Beauchamp shot them.”

The doorbell rang insistently before they could ask more questions.

I sighed. “That will probably be Kahu. Can someone let him in? I don’t think I can move.” A flash of pure misery shot through me to settle in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t looking forward to this interview.