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They were quiet for a few minutes, then Memphis started to sing. It was a soft tune, quiet, and she got the sense that it was a lullaby of sorts. She let the words roll over her, her eyes shutting, all the fight gone out of her.
Maybe she could sleep again after all. With Memphis there to protect her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sam washed the blood off her knives and disinfected them, saw that the autopsy suite had been cleaned to her satisfaction, everything gleaming and sparkling, then headed to her office to do some paperwork.
She woke her computer and checked her email, was happy to see a note from Taylor. That girl. Foolhardy and headstrong, ru
She knew Taylor would have never bothered to look that deeply into Memphis. It would have felt like a betrayal to her. She was committed to Baldwin, wouldn’t waste time wondering what might have been with another man. Like looking up an old boyfriend on Facebook, just to see what he was up to. That wasn’t the kind of thing Taylor did. She lived in the now, not in the past.
Sam knew her girl might walk a thin line with Memphis, but she’d never cross over. Whether Memphis could be trusted not to try and force her into it was another matter.
She clicked the email open.
Dear Sam,
I’ve landed safely. Memphis met me at the airport and spirited me away early, so I’m writing you from Dulsie Castle. I guess I never really thought about what Memphis’s life might be like over here, but trust me, this place is unbelievable. It’s huge. All stone and fireplaces and gorgeous furniture. And the food, Lord, the food. Cook did a seven-course meal for us tonight, with ridiculously expensive wine. I know, I know, I’m not supposed to be drinking, but a little bit of wine won’t hurt.
Memphis has been very kind, and very good. No hanky-panky. Which is nice. I was a little worried he’d be pushy, and he’s not. We talked after di
I still can’t speak more than a couple of words at a time, but I’m meeting with Memphis’s therapist friend in the morning. We’ll see how that goes.
Any word on our hit-and-run?
Love you, so much.
Taylor
Sam shook her head. Taylor was a bright woman, but sometimes she could be so hopelessly obtuse. Of course Memphis was behaving himself. Like the spider to the fly. Make the web look safe, attack when weakness appears.
She didn’t know why she disliked him so much. Outside of the fact that Taylor was finally, after all these years, settled and happy, and the first thing that happened was this interloper.
Oh, well. Taylor was a big girl. She’d have to make her own mistakes.
Sam typed quickly. She wanted to go home, see the twins. See Simon. She’d make a nice di
Hi, Taylor,
Glad to hear that you’re in safe. Everything is fine here. We’re getting more snow tonight—can you imagine? So much for global warming.
Remember when we were girls, and it used to snow all winter long? We’d go sledding on the big hill in Percy Warner Park, or ice-skate on the pond behind my folks’ place. We’d come in frozen to the bone, our hands so cold we could barely move our fingers, and your mom used to have Mrs. Mize make us hot chocolate. She’d pretend not to listen to us giggle. I don’t know if you ever noticed her, standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching us have fun. Kitty always seemed so sad, even back then. Before she grew bitter.
Wow, that was a step into the way-back machine.
I’m hoping to have some time to take the twins sledding tomorrow.
Our hit-and-run got more interesting today. Her name is Marias González. She had a marked bill in her pocket. Blue dye. Your brilliant young detective Marcus thinks she’s involved in the Regretful Robber case somehow. It’s a good thought. He’s really coming along.
I’ll let you know more when I find it out.
In the meantime, young lady, you continue to behave yourself. Beware of Viscounts bearing gifts, and all that. Or is that Greeks?
Love you too,
Sam
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When Taylor woke, the sun was already high. She glanced at the clock. Almost eight. There was no Memphis, nothing to show that he’d even been there the night before.
She was surprised by her disappointment.
But she didn’t have time for thinking, not now, at least. She needed to get moving. She was supposed to meet Dr. James at nine.
She showered and dressed, was brushing out her wet hair when she heard knocking on her chamber door. That would be breakfast. Memphis had mentioned they’d bring it to her room.
She went to the door and opened it. A small maid who couldn’t be more than fourteen bustled in with a tray. Tea and toast, rashers of bacon and sausage, softly scrambled eggs, a bottle of water—“for yer hydration, lady”—a carafe of apple juice and a matching one with cranberry. The girl bobbed and disappeared as quickly as she’d come, leaving Taylor with the huge tray of food—more than enough for two.
Before the door was completely closed, she heard whistling. She stuck her head in the hall and saw Memphis coming her way. He looked rested and happy, all the haunting sadness of the night before gone.
“Morning. Sleep well?” he asked.
He knew exactly how she slept, but she saw the maid lingering at the end of the hall, realized he needed to put on a show for his people as well. As modern as the castle was, spending the night in his unmarried lady friend’s chambers was apparently frowned upon, or, more likely, fodder for gossip among the Highland staff.
She made a show of writing in her notebook. Felt strangely defensive, whether toward Memphis or his servants, she didn’t know.
Mostly. Bad dreams.
“Oh, no. Well, let’s feed you up and see you off to the doctor then.”
Join me?
Memphis nodded in agreement, and she let the door close behind him.
The tray had been deceptive. There were two of everything, plates, cups, glasses, cutlery. Taylor realized Memphis hadn’t just happened by, this was all pla
Memphis wandered around the suite with a glass of apple juice in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, distracted.
You’re dropping crumbs on the floor.
Taylor pointed to the small piles of toast that trailed in Memphis’s circumnavigated wake.
“The mice need to eat, too, you know. This saves them from having to leave this floor to tend to their meals.” He dropped a bit of toast on the floor then, purposefully.
This place is too clean for mice.
“Oh, ho, not at all. The castle cats are fat with their plunder. There’s enough to keep the circle of life in play. I made a pet of one of the mice when I was a boy. Named him Bilbo. I was besotted with Tolkien in those days. I fed Bilbo from my breakfast every morning. My mother caught me at it once. She didn’t say a word, sent me on my way. I had to go hunting that day, I was nervous anyway. When I came back that evening, freshly blooded, flush with success—I’d bagged my first fox and my father had allowed me to ride home with the Master of Hounds—a gray tabby was curled up asleep on the bed. I never saw Bilbo again.”