Perfect Scoundrels (Heist Society #3)(14)

Kat watched her weigh the words, consider her options, then slowly push the door open and gesture for them to follow.

Kat and Gabrielle sat on the floral sofa while Marianne went to the kitchen and made tea. It was a simple house, but lovely. And Kat imagined that within those twelve hundred square feet, the brother and sister could pretend they’d never really left England.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” Marianne said when she returned. She placed the tray on a low table in the center of the room. From where Kat sat, she couldn’t see a single hair out of place on the woman’s head, but Marianne patted at them just the same. “I’ve worked every day since I was fourteen. I’m not quite myself without a job to do.”

Kat nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“Yes, miss,” Marianne said. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Where is Marcus?” Gabrielle asked.

“He’s back with young Mr. Hale today. Marcus offered to stay with me, but I told him that he should go. That boy will be needing Marcus now more than ever.”

“So you know…” Kat said.

“That young Mr. Hale inherited the company?” the woman filled in. “Yes. I heard.” She smiled. “I was very happy to hear that. His grandmother loved him so.”

“Did that surprise you, Marianne?” Kat asked.

“Oh, I suppose I had just assumed it was going to be divided among her children, but…” She trailed off and brought a hand to her lips. “I just don’t know. He’s so young.”

Kat nodded. “There will have to be a trustee to oversee things until he turns twenty-five.”

The woman furrowed her brow and asked, “Who?”

“Garrett. The lawyer.”

Try as she might, Kat couldn’t quite decipher the look that crossed Marianne’s face. There was something there, though—a flash so fleeting that a normal person would have never seen it—and Kat thought for a moment that Marianne might have made a most excellent grifter.

“What is it, Marianne?” Kat asked.

“Nothing,” she said, pulling her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“Oh, I think there’s something,” Gabrielle said, her voice cold.

“Gab,” Kat warned, but Gabrielle had her sights set on the woman.

“Marianne, you worked for Hazel for half a century, and now you know something. Don’t try to deny it. You know something, don’t you?” Gabrielle asked. But the woman didn’t answer.

“Marianne?” Kat asked softly. “What is it?”

Marianne recoiled and shook her head. “It’s nothing. A crazy notion. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Kat and Gabrielle leaned closer and, in unison, said, “Try us.”

“I just can’t imagine that Mrs. Hale would name Garrett as the trustee. That’s all.”

“Didn’t she like him?” Gabrielle asked.

“No.” Marianne laughed. “Hazel wasn’t one to gossip, but I could tell she couldn’t stand the man. In fact, I thought she was going to fire him.”

“Then why didn’t she?” Gabrielle asked.

Marianne’s eyes grew moist. When she spoke again, her voice was almost a whisper. “She died.”

“It’s okay,” Gabrielle said. “Just tell us what happened.”

Marianne drew a deep breath and spoke softly. “A week or so ago, Mrs. Hale asked me to call the office and schedule a meeting with Mr. Garrett and a few members of the board. I did as she asked, but that night she grew ill, and then…well, she never made it.”

“Marcus said that he thought there was another will,” Kat said. “One that contradicts the one they read yesterday.”

“He thinks so,” Marianne said. “And maybe there is. I don’t know anything for certain.” For the first time, Marianne smiled. “Mrs. Hale was a bit of a pack rat. And a worrier. People who enter this world with nothing always are. If there was another will, she probably would have kept a file for herself.”

“Where?” Kat asked. “If it exists, where do you think it would be?”

“Did she have a safety deposit box?” Gabrielle tried. “A safe, somewhere? Maybe a—”

“It’s in her desk,” Marianne said suddenly, cutting Gabrielle off. “If she has another will, it would be in her desk in London.”

“Cheerio, Kitty Kat,” Gabrielle said in her best Cockney accent, but her smile faded as soon as she read the expression on her cousin’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that…if we were running this con”—Kat cut her eyes at Marianne—“which we aren’t. But if we were, the first thing I’d do is destroy any copies of the old will. I want you to know that, odds are, whoever is behind this has already done just that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so certain.”

“Why?” Kat prompted.

The woman smiled. “Because the desk where Mrs. Hale stored her most important papers was made by Alexander Petrovich.”

“It’s a Petrovich puzzle desk?” Kat asked.

Marianne gave a wide, knowing grin. “Someone could empty every drawer in it and still miss the hidden compartments. If the will exists, there’s a good chance a copy of it is still there.”