Where All the Dead Lie

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Taylor sat in the chair in front of the fireplace. Lincoln’s nimble fingers had gotten the information they needed. This was bigger than Taylor and Memphis, bigger than a petty jealousy. Bigger than they could possibly imagine.

As she suspected, Dr. Madeira James wasn’t who she said she was.

Taylor had taken fifteen minutes, laid out everything that had happened, and emailed the summary to Sam for safekeeping. If something went south, Sam was to use the information to make sure Maddee was taken down.

But Taylor didn’t think it was going to get that far. She had every intention of dealing with the doctor herself.

She had a fresh notepad in her lap, was mapping the castle corridors and stairwells. She couldn’t stay in her room, locked away, pretending she was sick. She had no choice. She had to venture out.

She needed two things, and needed some stealth to gain them.

A gun.

And Maddee’s laptop.

She sketched the rooms she knew from memory, filling in staircases, locked doors, rooms she’d been in, rooms she’d walked past. This place was so damn big. Maddee could be anywhere. Waiting. Watching.

A soft knock at her chamber door broke her concentration. It was followed by a high-pitched, girlish voice.

“I’m here to clean your room.”

Ah. One of Trixie’s elves. Perfect.

Taylor went to the door. She wasn’t taking chances. She opened the peephole and double-checked. Breathed a sigh of relief. The girl was alone.

She unlocked the door and let her in, then shut and latched the door behind her. It was the serving maid who’d brought Taylor’s breakfast on her first morning in the castle. That felt like weeks ago.

She had a pail and mop, started over to the bed. Taylor stopped her. This was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

“What’s your name?”

“Maisrie, mum.”

“That’s a beautiful name. This has to be between you and me. We need to keep this a secret from everyone, Maisrie. Can you promise me that?”

The girl looked surprised, her forehead creasing momentarily. “Yes, mum?”

“Good. I need you to do something for me. I need to see Jacques. Is he here, on the estate?”

“Why, yes, mum, he surely is. But he’s probably down wi’ the sheep. All the stock was brought in, but there was some sheep as he couldn’t find.”

“So where would he be?”

“In the barns, maybe?”

“Can you take me there?”

She hesitated. “Well, yes, mum. I can take you to him. But it’s snowing something fierce out of doors now. Ye may want to wait until the storm’s passed.”

Oh that I could.

“I need to see him now, Maisrie. And we need to go the back way. I don’t want anyone knowing that I’ve seen him. It needs to be a secret. Okay?”

The poor child. She would probably promise most anything to the wild-eyed woman towering over her if she would loosen the grip on her arm.

“I must tell Trixie though. She’ll skin me alive if I disappear.”

Taylor dropped to her knees. The girl was only about five feet tall; this brought her to eye level. She looked her dead on, imploring.

“Listen to me. This is a matter of life and death. No one can know. Not Trixie. Not Dr. James. This will be between you and me.”

“Och.” The girl shook her head in disgust. “I’d never be telling her anything. I don’t like her.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth then. Talking poorly of her betters was surely discouraged.

Taylor suppressed a smile. For better or for worse, she had an ally.

Taylor wound her hair back from her face and secured it with a ponytail holder. She’d need her jacket if they were going to the barns, and her boots. She grabbed these items while Maisrie fretted by the door, waiting for her.

She wasn’t about to go into the corridor with just her bare hands to defend herself. The glass shards from the lowball wouldn’t work, she would cut herself trying to use it.

But the bar had a corkscrew, a professional sommelier version. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. When extended, the Teflon-coated worm sat perpendicular to its base. Awkward unless you led with it, like a dagger among brass knuckles. But the foil cutter was a two-and-a-half-inch-long serrated knife. It faced the opposite direction of the screw, which was too bad, but it was better than nothing.

Taylor opened it like a blade, turned it over in her hands to ascertain its best defensive use, thrust into the air a couple of times to judge its weight, then folded it back up and stuck it into her pocket. It would be a formidable weapon if anyone got close.

Maisrie saw her do it, turned four shades paler.

“Ready?” Taylor asked.

The girl nodded, head bobbing quickly.

Taylor followed her to the door. Unlatched it, then gestured for the girl to proceed.

Maisrie had obviously seen her share of spy movies. She darted her head out for a quick look, then flattened herself against the doorjamb with a breathless “Eep.”

Obviously there was someone in the hall. Taylor bit back a laugh. This was serious, and she was glad the girl was taking it so, but cloak-and-dagger was obviously not her strong suit. Taylor counted to ten, put her finger to her lips, then motioned for the girl to keep moving.

This time the coast was clear. Following a path Taylor didn’t recognize, Maisrie led her the back way down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. Taylor could hear the familiar noises of pots banging and water being run-lunch was being prepared. Maisrie was getting better at being circumspect. She dodged around the entrance of the kitchen, took Taylor to a large pile of firewood, probably three cords’ worth, stacked floor to ceiling against the wall. There was a small bench that housed coats and Wellies, as humble and normal as any cold-weather house. Maisrie availed herself of a coat, gloves and boots, then looked to Taylor, her face serious.

“Ready?” Maisrie asked.

Taylor nodded.

“Hold on to me. I don’t want to lose ye in the storm.”

Taylor grabbed the girl’s collar, whispered, “Come on, then.”

Maisrie opened the door.

The world became a swirling mass of white. Bitter cold snapped at Taylor’s skin. God, it was still coming down.

Maisrie started off then, sure-footed, her steps guided by years of following this path, from kitchens to barn back to kitchens. It only took them seven minutes to make the trek. In good weather, it would probably only be three or four. Taylor hadn’t seen the building they were entering before; it was on the opposite side of the estate from the tennis courts and the run-down kirk, back toward the road. Toward civilization.

She was overcome with the urge to just grab the first vehicle she saw and take off, but chided herself. That would be the height of stupidity. She didn’t know where she was going, and her foray out with Memphis the other day had proved only one thing-the Scots weren’t terribly concerned with getting people from point A to point B by the quickest, easiest route. She could slide off the road in the storm, freeze to death in the car and no one would be the wiser until things thawed out.

That made her think of Evan, crashing over the edge of the bridge into the icy water below. No, setting off alone wasn’t an option.

She could just hide in the barn until the storm was over; that would work, too.

But Taylor wasn’t the hiding type. And truth be told, she was pissed off. She didn’t like being manipulated, liked not knowing who was behind it even less. No, she needed to see this through. A few tools, that’s all she required.

They burst through the barn doors, breathless, covered in snow, shaking themselves like chickens shedding feathers.

It was warm inside, full of bleats and moos and clucks and the occasional whinny, the estate’s stock crammed into a space that wasn’t quite large enough to hold them all at once. Taylor wondered about the deer. Where had they been put? Or were they still out there, breathless and white, partially frozen, huddled together for warmth under some prickly gorse?

Maisrie was holding on to Taylor’s hand like the frightened child she was. Taylor gently untangled herself from the girl.

“Stay here.”

Maisrie shook her head, eyes wide. She was scared to pieces, of what she’d done, perhaps, of the repercussions if she were found out. She allowed Taylor to drop her hand, but followed when Taylor started to step away.

“Fine. Come on then. Let’s find Jacques.”

The groundsman wasn’t hard to find. There was a small office off the main entry. He must have heard the barn doors open and close, because he wandered out, a toothpick stuck in his teeth. Taylor had a moment’s flash of the Pretender, standing in the corridor outside her room, the same toothpick jutting out of his rotted mouth, but she was able to force it away.

Jacques took one look at the two women and his eyes grew large.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in French.

“English?” Taylor asked. Her high school French, while adequate for getting herself to the bathroom, wasn’t going to work here.

Jacques sized her up, then answered in slow, accented English.

“Yes, some. What is the matter? Why are you out in the storm? Not fit for man nor beast.”

Some English my ass. If he had idioms, he spoke the language.

“Maisrie, wait right here. Jacques, in your office, if you don’t mind.”

He cast a glance at Maisrie, then shrugged and walked back the way he came. Taylor followed him. Maisrie stood looking forlorn, but didn’t seem inclined to bolt. Good. She’d need her to guide them back to the house.

Jacques stopped by his desk, turned to Taylor, a quizzical expression on his face. The desk looked like a bomb had gone off. Taylor got the sense that he was the estate manager, dealing with all the paperwork that went with running a farm. A factor. Handy to have, especially if he was good at his job.

“The first day we met, you said that if I needed anything, to come to you. I need your help. I need a weapon.”

“Why? You plan to shoot something?”

“Self-defense.”

“Against the sheep? Or the snow?” He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms.

“I don’t have time to go into details.”

“Perhaps we should call Lord Dulsie and ask him first.”

She didn’t know if he was bluffing. And she couldn’t have Memphis finding out she was on to the game, not until she knew for sure he didn’t have anything to do with it.

She decided to gamble. The thought had crossed her mind several days ago. With any luck, she could appeal to him like this. Professional to professional.

“The weapon you were carrying when you picked me up from Waverly, in Edinburgh. A Sig Sauer P226 in a single harness shoulder holster. Standard issue for Security Service.”

The veil of vague indifference lifted. Jacques, if that’s what his name was, went on alert. His shoulders squared, lips tightened.

Yahtzee.

“I assume you’re in place to safeguard the earl? Someone to watch over him and the family when he’s away from the centers of power? Protecting the family seat?”

“I’m hardly the standard.” The French accent was gone, the English unmistakably British. “And you’re wrong. The family’s been getting death threats. After the viscount’s wife died under less than crystal clear circumstances, the earl wanted someone on the estate full-time to keep an eye on things.”

“Death threats? So you think Evan Highsmythe was murdered?”

“I can’t discuss that with you.”

“You just did.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. The dentures made more sense now. Jacques the Brit had the look of a brawler about him now that he wasn’t trying to be charming.

“No one from the family is here, yet here you are, snug as a bug in your office, playing the role of factor.”

“They call it undercover for a reason, sweetheart.”

“Well, you’re not that good, if I can pick you out at fifty paces. So why are you here and not in South Africa with the earl?”

He blushed. Ah. Someone was in trouble and had been left behind on the scut detail.

“Oh, like that, is it? Okay then. I get it.”

“You don’t get anything. These are serious threats. They found… That’s neither here nor there. From what I hear, you’re supposed to be a trained professional. I was doing you a courtesy, letting you see the harness. So you’d know you could come to me if anything went south. Which I assume it already has. When’s the bloody viscount coming back, any way?”

“I haven’t a clue. He went to London and I haven’t heard from him since.” No sense going into that creepy email with the help. It wouldn’t give them anything to work with.

That got his attention. He snapped to, grabbed a cell phone from his pocket. It was GPS-enabled, a satellite phone. He extended the antenna, dialed a number.

“Rook calling in for Bishop.”

“Who are you calling?” Taylor asked.

“Shut up,” he said to her, then turned his attention to the phone. “Where’s Bumblebee?”

Taylor bit down hard on her lip. Bumblebee? That was Memphis’s code name? Did he know?

The answer Jacques got must have satisfied him, because he thanked the bishop and hung up.

“He’s on the A9. My people are right behind him. They are following a snow plow. He’s headed this way.”

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared.

“How long?” she asked.

“An hour. Maybe more, depending on how the roads do. He’s apparently been on the road for hours, trying to come home. What got up his nose, eh?”

She didn’t appreciate the innuendo.

“I haven’t a clue. I still need that weapon.”

“You don’t need a weapon. You have me.”

“And you’re so subtle. You’re the factor, remember? You can’t go crashing into the house for no reason. Just hook me up. I’m only covering my bases.”

“What’s in the house that you need a weapon to protect yourself against?”

She hesitated.

“Better to let me go in with you. Professional or not, you can’t carry on our soil. If they found out, I could be made redundant quite quickly.”

Taylor held up both hands. “No. You can’t go in there. I’ll lose her if you do. She’s not stupid, she’ll know something’s up immediately.”

“You’ll lose who?”

Time to gamble. If the family was getting death threats, if there was a chance Evan had been murdered, and Taylor had been poisoned, perhaps one person was responsible for all that. And knowing what she knew about Madeira James’s background, Taylor wasn’t all that surprised.

“Dr. James. Madeira James. She’s up at the house, got stuck there last night with her husband Roland MacDonald.”

“That nut? She’s a headshrinker. Crazy, but harmless. We’ve checked her out. The only thing we have on her is a name change. She went to James a few years back, when she stopped practicing. No one knows why.”

Stopped practicing after she changed her name. That’s why Sam hadn’t seen her listed with the licensing boards. And I know why. She’s in love with Memphis and wants part of him. What better way to share a person than by taking his name? God, the woman was sick.

“Did your investigation find her extensive juvenile record?”

His forehead creased. “No. Tell me.”

“You’re Security Service. Look it up.”

She was pissing him off now, she could tell. But she needed to get back to the house and get that laptop, and they were wasting time.

“If you think it’s her, let’s just go get her. My people are on the road. We’ll hold her until they arrive.”

“It’s not that simple. You go barging in there, she’ll clam up and we’ll get nothing. Let me do this my way. Then y’all are welcome to her.”

“‘Y’all.’ I like that.”

She had him.

“What the hell is your name?”

He gave her another of those pretty Chiclet smiles. “It actually is Jacques. My mum’s French.”

“All right then, Jacques. I still need that weapon.”

He stared at her for a few moments. “If you tell anyone I provided this to you, I’ll deny it. I’ll claim you forced your way into my desk and stole it. You got me?”

“Your name will never come up.”

He opened the desk drawer and withdrew a key. The bottom drawer on the right had a lock. He used the key to open it. Handed her a Glock 26 and a full magazine of ammunition.

She loaded the weapon, felt the familiar comfort of it in her hand, and smiled. She was starting to feel like normal.

Jacques locked the drawer back up, tossed the key into the drawer, then stood.

“I’m going in with you. I don’t care what you say. If she’s dangerous, you need protection. You’re a guest of the family. They’d have my head if something happened to you on my watch.”

“Too late for that.”

She filled him in about thinking she’d been drugged.

“You know, that’s weird. Before the wife died, there were reports that she was acting abnormally. Seeing things. That does fit, then.”

Oh, poor Evan. Poor, poor Evan. Driven off the edge, literally, by her best friend.

Jacques press-checked his weapon. “Don’t worry about me. I can be circumspect. I’ll stay around the staff, that’s what I normally do. Here’s my number. You ring if you need me. I’m a damn sight closer to you up there than down here.”

A small, soft voice rang out.

“Erm, mum? I’m needing to get back to the house.”

Shit. Maisrie. She’d completely forgotten.

Taylor turned and expertly stashed the weapon in the back of her jeans, pulled her sweater over it. No sense spooking the girl further.

“Okay, Maisrie. We’re all set. Jacques is coming back with us. Again, honey, let me stress, don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

The girl nodded her head. Taylor turned back to Jacques. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

He sounded confident. She hoped she could say the same.