11. Winnie

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WINNIE

Mum: Would you believe that Ken picked up one of my boxes of magazines from the front walk and put them out in the recycling! How DARE he? Is it too much to ask that neighbours respect each other’s property? It was a box of TIME issues I found in the charity shop. I’ve been saving them for you because I know how much you love the articles on archaeology. And now they’re gone forever thanks to Ken!

To make it up to you, I bought you another sundress. This one has dancing peanuts on it! You love peanut butter sandwiches so I thought it would be perfect!

“ M y lord, you have a visitor!”

Reginald yells over my music. Alaric’s head snaps up from a box of locomotive wheels he’s sorting. He has a piece of cobweb stuck to his unruly dark curls. “Reginald, if this is your attempt at a joke, I’m not amused.”

“I’m a little amused,” I say. “Why would a visitor be a joke?”

“Lord Valerian doesn’t have visitors at the castle,” Reginald explains. “Apart from delightful London organisers with appalling taste in music. But I’m afraid these visitors are quite insistent on seeing you. It’s the police.”

I turn down the volume on my Get Shit Done playlist. My heart stutters. Why are the police here?

My mind immediately swings to a memory of five years earlier, when the police showed up at my flat to explain to me that my mother’s hoarding, her screaming fits at the neighbours, and her reluctance to let council inspectors into her home constitute anti-social behaviour. Has something happened to my mother?

Surely, someone would have rung me instead of coming in person to a remote castle to tell me that Mum’s in trouble again?

But then, what’s the alternative – is Alaric in trouble?

The dent between Alaric’s eyes becomes a chasm through which intrepid hikers might be lost forever. “What’s a police?”

“They are marshalls who enforce the laws of the land, sir,” Reginald explains as if Alaric has no idea what a police officer does.

“I know that,” Alaric snaps. “Send them away.”

“You can’t send them away without talking to them. They’re here to ask you about the murder in the village.”

What?

“Hang on, someone was murdered in the village?” I leap to my feet. “How did I not know this?”

Being at Black Crag is like stepping out of time. I’m still getting used to all the normal, everything things (like police officers and Netflix) that Alaric has absolutely no clue about. My phone reception here is so bad (and the castle wifi rather temperamental) that I haven’t been checking the news. Or my emails. Or my mother’s texts, although that last one is more about self-preservation than shoddy internet service.

“A man’s body was found in the alley behind the Rose & Wimple,” Reginald explains.

At the mention of the pub, my treacherous brain immediately replays my memory of Alaric’s cool lips against mine, his long fingers pressed protectively into the small of my back as he tilted my head back…

My cheeks flare with heat, and my hand flies to the small graze on my neck from his teeth. What might’ve happened if he hadn’t run away? “The same night that we…”

“Yes,” Alaric says stiffly.

It’s as close as he’s come to acknowledging that night. I search his face for a reaction, for any sense that he too is remembering our kiss, but Lord Alaric Valerian is made of stone.

So I guess if I was wondering if he felt anything when he kissed me or wanted to do it again, I have my answer.

Not that I was wondering. At all.

Because he’s a client. And I don’t have inappropriate relations with clients. That’s not who I am. I like everything to be neat and tidy and predictable…

…except for everything that’s happened since I set foot in Argleton.

“Should I show them to the sitting room?” Reginald asks.

“They’re not coming in. If they insist upon intruding, they can stand in the hall. And don’t you even think about offering them tea.” Alaric shoves the box and unfolds himself from the floor, unfurling like some kind of dark, exotic plant. I dust off my favourite jacket and follow him and Reginald to the Stabby Chic hall. Two detectives stand in the doorway, peering at the weaponry and teddy bears with pursed lips and wide eyes.

An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes holds up his warrant card. “Lord Valerian, I’m Inspector Hayes, and this is Sergeant Wilson. We’re grateful you can give us some of your valuable time. We’re investigating an unfortunate crime in the village and we’d like to ask you about your movements on Sunday evening.”

“If you must.” Alaric lets out a beleaguered sigh. “My personal secretary, Reginald, drove me into the village so I might have dinner at the Rose & Wimple. I went inside. Nothing on the menu took my fancy so I had a glass of wine and left. That is all.”

He whips around on his heel and storms off down the hall.

“I did have some more questions,” Inspector Hayes says.

“I think what Lord Valerian means to say is that he didn’t see or hear anything strange at the pub, but he’ll be happy to assist with your inquiries,” Reginald squares his shoulders. “However, now’s not a good time. Perhaps an appointment?—”

“I’d like to make it a good time. I have eyewitnesses who saw Lord Valerian speaking with a woman at the bar?—”

“I might be able to help.” I give a little wave. Wilson’s eyes snap to mine. “I’m Winnie Preston. I was the woman Alaric—er, Lord Valerian was talking to at the Rose & Wimple.”

She raises a slightly bushy eyebrow. “Eyewitnesses report that you were doing more than just talking.”

“Er…yes. Lord Valerian kissed me,” I mumble.

Reginald’s eyebrows shoot waaaaay up.

Wilson scribbles on her pad. “You and Lord Valerian were on a date?”

“N-n-no. He was sitting at the end of the bar, and I was in the middle. I was having a drink when a guy came over. I think he said his name was Danny?—”

“Danny O’Hare?”

“That’s him. Danny was getting too close, making suggestive comments, just making me feel uncomfortable. Lord Valerian pretended to be my boyfriend so that Danny would leave me alone. Danny didn’t believe him, so Lord Valerian, er…” I rub my lips, my cheeks flushing with heat as Reginald studies me. “The bartender, Lilac, can confirm that story. She saw the whole thing.”

“We’ll check with her.” Wilson scribbles frantically. “And what time did you and Lord Valerian leave together?”

“No!” I shout, my cheeks burning. “I mean, no. I’m not here because…I’m a professional organiser. I’ve come down from London to help Lord Valerian clean out his castle. I didn’t know he was my client when I…um…when we…”

This is the universe punishing you for moaning against your client’s lips.

“I drove Lord Valerian back to Black Crag. We left the car park at 9:15 PM. He was alone,” Reginald says.

DS Wilson scribbles this down in her notebook.

“Who was killed?” I ask. “Please tell me it wasn’t Lilac. She knew I was having a bad day and made sure my G&T was eighty percent G. The woman deserves a knighthood.”

“We’re not sharing any further information at this time.” Wilson hands me a card. “If you remember anything else about that night, anything unusual that occurred after your amorous liaison with Lord Valerian, you let us know.”

Well, he did disappear into thin air, but I’m sure that was just the eighty percent gin making me miss his graceful exit.

Right?