Mischief in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #2)(75)
“That’s fine, Adelaide. We’re ready to go to our rooms now,” Sabine said, and she took the lantern Adelaide held out to her.
“There’s another in Mr. Villeneuve’s room,” Adelaide explained as they walked down the dark hallway and into the west wing of the house.
Beau committed every step of the hallway, every turn to memory. Knowing exactly where everything was located was key, especially if they needed to leave in a hurry. Adelaide stopped at the first room and motioned to Beau. “This one is yours, Mr. Villeneuve. There are some spare clothes on the bed, if you’d like to change. It’s just a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, but it will likely be more comfortable than what you’re wearing.”
Beau smiled at the anxious housekeeper. “It’s all fine, Adelaide, and I really appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to.”
“Oh, well,” Adelaide said, apparently at a loss for not only being thanked but complimented as well. Even in the dim light, the flush on her face was evident.
“If you ladies don’t mind,” Beau said, “I’m going to follow Mr. Alford’s example and check on my truck before I turn in.” He looked at Sabine and inclined his head toward Adelaide, hoping she took the cue to try the Helena scam on the housekeeper once they were alone in her room.
“Mr. Villeneuve,” Adelaide said before he could leave, “there’s a big urn next to the front door that has some umbrellas in it. You help yourself.”
“Thanks, Adelaide.” He took the lantern off the dresser and headed down the hall, weaving his way toward the main entrance of the house.
He plucked a small umbrella from a large ceramic pot next to the door and stepped out into the hurricane. The wind and rain blew at an angle, making the umbrella more of a hindrance than a help, so he tossed it against the door and ran for his truck, holding one arm over his eyes to shield them from the worst of the pelting raindrops. Once in his truck, he tested his cell phone but wasn’t surprised to find it had no signal.
He retrieved his spare revolver from the glove box and grabbed a backpack from the backseat. He pulled a pair of walkie-talkies from inside and checked the batteries. He didn’t think the reception would be great, but the walkie-talkies might provide enough communication for him to stay in touch with Sabine. Despite Sabine’s reassurances and Helena’s dedication, Beau still wasn’t convinced that the ghost was the best possible protection. But if she could shoot a gun, then his spare revolver might just come in handy.
He squinted in the darkness but couldn’t make out the attorney’s car anywhere in the front drive. Lucky bastard probably had an indoor parking spot. Although he didn’t think it possible, the rain was coming down even harder now than before. He tucked the revolver in the waistband of his pants and slung the pack over his shoulder, then ran for the house, using the meager light of the lantern to help guide him.
He took a second to retrieve the umbrella and hurried inside, pausing only long enough to shake the water from his hair. He’d noticed earlier that the room Adelaide had prepared for him had an attached bathroom. Hopefully, the bathroom would have towels. After running in the monsoon, he was going to need one or two. Taking a right turn from the entrance, he stopped short at a door right at the edge of the hallway.
Figuring he could snoop as well as Helena, he peered both directions in the darkness. Deciding the coast was clear, he eased open the door and held his lantern close to the opening. A bevy of jackets and boots filled the tiny closet. He rifled through at least ten women’s jackets, all too large for Frances, but then if you rarely left the house, Beau guessed you rarely needed a jacket. He searched the pockets for anything interesting, but Catherine Fortescue was apparently not the type of woman who carried miscellaneous items in her jacket pockets. It didn’t really come as a surprise.
At the back of the closet, he found a men’s navy blue raincoat, likely William’s. Beau stuck his hand in the two outside pockets and came up with a key. It looked like a door key and fairly new, but there was no indication what door it was to. He placed the key back in the front pocket, then slipped his hand inside the interior pocket. He felt something round and plastic, but couldn’t even guess what it might be. He pulled the object from the pocket and lifted the lantern to see his bounty.
His heart skipped a beat when he realized he was holding a bottle of peanut oil.
He reached back in the pocket again and drew out a syringe. Beau slipped the peanut oil and the syringe in his pocket and started to close the door when he remembered the key. He’d seen that key before. Reaching into the front pocket, he located the key and pulled it out again. He lifted the lantern so that he could get a good look at it and in a flash, it hit him—it was just like the key Sabine had used to open her shop—the locks that had just been replaced by the property manager who worked for the estate that owned the building, which just might be the Fortescue estate for all anyone knew. Why hadn’t anyone considered that before?
With a clear idea of exactly how Sabine was poisoned despite drinking from an intact bottle of wine, Beau closed the closet door. As he walked silently back to his room, his mind worked to make sense of what he’d found. Unfortunately, the only part that made sense was how William Fortescue had managed to poison his granddaughter. But why? Something to do with the DNA test results? Someone in the Fortescue family knew the truth about Sabine’s parents, maybe the whole family, and for whatever reason, they were determined to keep that truth a secret.