27. “Young Men Dead” - The Black Angels
“Young Men Dead” - The Black Angels
Henry is gone again the next morning. This time I don’t see him outside any of the windows. My suspicions are confirmed when I spot Roberts in a chair near the fireplace reading a biography of Chiang Kai-shek.
He looks up from his book when I approach. “Your Majesty.” He nods respectfully and stands. “I can make some breakfast. What would you like?”
You’ve never experienced humiliation until you wake with terrible bedhead and no bra to find your personal bodyguard in a perfectly pressed suit offering to cook you breakfast.
“Um, I’ll just have some cereal,” I say, clutching the warm flannel blanket to my chest. I wait until he has his back turned before running to the bathroom.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m ready to face the world. Roberts is absorbed in his biography again, but there is a bowl of cornflakes awaiting me on the counter, accompanied by a small jug of milk and a spoon. After I sit, he joins me at the table.
“Where is he?” I finally allow myself to ask.
“He had some pressing matters to attend to in the city,” Roberts says.
I guess my protection isn’t the most important thing on Henry’s list after all.
“I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me out here,” I say.
Roberts cuts me a wry smile. “I’ve always liked the place. Besides, we’re heading back today too.”
I lower my spoon without taking a bite. “We’re going back?” I was already envisioning spending Christmas trapped in the middle of Timbuktu playing Monopoly with Roberts for the five-hundredth time.
He nods. “Just as soon as the chopper returns.”
Which means Henry only left this morning, likely just a few hours ago. Why couldn’t he have waited if he knew I would be going home today as well?
“Is the Atlantis safe?” I ask.
“We secured the breach. It won’t happen again,” Roberts assures me.
When we arrive back at Henry’s penthouse, the security lobby outside is fuller than usual.
As Roberts and I step off the lift, the entire room stands straighter and breaks into salutes.
“You’ll find a few heightened security measures, ma’am, but only until we catch this guy,” Roberts says quietly as we approach the double doors.
Bloody terrific.
Several PPOs are standing in the foyer, and Roberts hands them my luggage. Musa is bustling around in the kitchen when I round the corner.
“Something smells delicious,” I say.
He turns with that breathtaking grin, all stark white teeth against his brown skin. “I just pulled some orange-cranberry scones from the oven,” he says. “Would you like one?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” I say. “I’m going to freshen up, and I’ll be right back.”
When I return, Musa has plated a scone along with a small bowl of fruit and a cup of tea. “I wasn’t sure when you last ate a good meal,” he says.
“Does cereal count?” I settle onto one of the barstools and laugh at his look of disdain.
My good mood evaporates the second Henry walks in. He was fixated on his phone when I came out of the bathroom last night in the cabin and gone when I woke up. He’s one of the last people I want to see right now.
He gives me a long, piercing look before settling on the stool next to mine. My scone suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing.
“The usual?” Musa asks him, and Henry nods. “How are you feeling today, ma’am? Any more sickness?”
I force a smile and shake my head. “Not since the day before yesterday. I think I’m on the mend.” It must have been the lack of sleep.
Henry is staring at me. “You’ve been sick that long?” His voice is hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry that my illness is so offensive to you.” I pop a blueberry into my mouth and refuse to look at him.
“Musa, what have you cooked for her since you’ve been here?” he asks.
To his credit, Musa pretends to be unaware of the tension between Henry and me. “I’ve made salmon meuniere, lamb and veal Bolognese, garlic filet steak,” he says. He rattles off a few more dishes that would be at home at some of the finest restaurants in Wesbourne.
“If you’re done questioning me,” I say to Henry, “I think I’ll go to my room now.” I’ve lost my appetite.
He clamps a hand on my leg. “Stay.” Turning back to Musa, he asks, “The salmon—was it fresh or frozen? Where did it come from?”
“I only source from the best fisherman in the country. He brings his fresh catch into the city daily.”
Henry frowns. “What about the other meat? Was it fresh?”
“Henry, this is ridiculous,” I say. “I just have a virus of some sort. I’ll be fine in no time.”
“Then let’s get a doctor to confirm it.”
Like I’m going to talk to that weasel again. “Absolutely not. I’m feeling better already.” I turn to Musa. “Your food is delicious.”
He gives me a slight bow and grins. Claws click against the tile floor, and I look over to see Tundra padding toward the kitchen.
“Look who finally decided to get up,” I say, sliding down to greet him.
Wrapping my arms around him, I bury my face in his fur.
I missed him while I was gone, but Henry insisted there was no way we could take him with us.
“Roberts,” Henry barks. I look up to find him on his phone. “Pull up the tests the lab did on the dog.” There’s a brief pause, and then he says, “Did they test his fur for toxins?”
I walk to the fridge, pull out a prepackaged raw meal, and scrape it into Tundra’s bowl. I crack an egg over the top and set it down in front of him. He starts chomping as though he hasn’t eaten in a week. I grab another meal, this one frozen, and stick it in the fridge to thaw for tonight.
Henry is off the phone when I return to my cooled tea. “The lab said he’s clean.”
“Of course he is. You thought someone was poisoning me through my dog’s fur?”
“I needed to rule it out.”
“Why can’t you just accept that I caught a bug?”
“Because if I accept that, you might end up dead.”
I sigh. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Someone tried to kill you. Twice. Now you’re getting sick. It’s not unreasonable for me to suspect poisoning.”
“I already told you, I’m only eating the food Musa cooks. You’ve confirmed Tundra is clean. Hey, maybe your housekeeper is poisoning me through the towels.”
Henry gives me the side-eye. “Joke about it all you want, but I’m determined to get to the bottom of this.” Musa slides a plate of six over-easy eggs onto the bar in front of him. Nothing else, just six eggs. And the man questions my diet.
“You do that.” I climb down from my stool, then startle when Maisie walks in from the foyer. I’m glad to see her, but the jerk in the kitchen is killing my mojo.
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” I tell her.
She hands me my coffee—a relief, because tea isn’t cutting it. “Roberts updated me on your schedule. Besides, I knew you’d want that.” She nods at the latte, her hands still full of my box of papers and her bag.
“You’re an angel.”
I lead the way into the great room as I inhale the aroma of freshly ground beans. But before I can take a sip, Henry snatches the cup out of my hands and gives Maisie a hard look. “What’s going on?” I say.
“How often does she bring you a latte?” he asks without taking his eyes off my assistant.
“Every day but the weekend. Why?”
“You told me you weren’t eating outside food.”
“Well, technically coffee isn’t—“ Henry shoots me a look, and I swallow my argument. “It didn’t cross my mind.”
“Where do you get these?” He holds up the offending cup in front of Maisie, who appears frozen in place. I’ve never seen her eyes so wide before.
“The shop on the corner of Bradley and Eighth. Cafe Lumière,” she says. There’s a tremble in her voice.
“Do you watch them prepare it?” he asks.
“Not every time, no.”
“Henry, what’s going on?” I say. “You’re freaking her out. Me too, for that matter.”
He ignores me. “And the coffee remains in your possession until you hand it over to Her Majesty?”
“That’s right, sir.”
He pulls out his phone. “Roberts, I’m going to need a team for escort and someone to make a delivery to the lab. Yes, we’re inside.” He slides the phone back into his pocket. “You can both have a seat.”
Maisie follows me to the sofa and sits at the opposite end. Her hands are clenched so tightly in her lap they’re turning white. “What’s going on?” she asks quietly.
“I have no idea,” I say. “But we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Henry returns a minute later, followed by several security officers in full uniform. One of them steps over to us and motions for Maisie to stand. “Maisie Gibbons, you are under arrest on suspicion of attempted murder of Her Majesty the Queen.”
“What?” she shrieks as they snap a pair of handcuffs onto her wrists. “But I didn’t do anything!”
“Henry, what’s going on?” I’m on my feet before I’ve even registered what’s happening.
His arms are folded over his chest as he glares at Maisie with unfiltered anger. “She’s been poisoning you through your coffee.”
“I haven’t!” Maisie says, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “I swear to you. I would never do something like that.”
“I know her,” I say, and place my hand on his arm. It’s hot beneath my palm. “She wouldn’t do this.” Would she?
I study Maisie again, her eyes wide with terror, mascara already running down her face.
Her usual polished facade is crumbling. The two officers begin escorting her to the double doors, and she looks at me over her shoulder as they lead her away.
“I didn’t do it, Celia! You have to believe me.
Please tell me you believe me,” she yells before the doors close behind them.
I sink back onto the sofa. “There’s no way she did it, Henry.”
He sits down beside me and takes one of my hands in his. “I don’t want to think so either, but we have to make sure.”
“She can’t even swat a fly. When we worked together at the Historical Society, she bought a live trap on and made us release them outside.
She never knew how many we killed when she wasn’t in the room.
” I’m rambling, but I can’t make myself stop.
“Once she nearly caused an accident swerving off the road to avoid a woolly worm.” I lower my voice until it’s just over a whisper.
“She wouldn’t do this. I have to believe she wouldn’t do this. ”
“I know.” His arm slides around my shoulders, and he tugs me against his chest. I feel the pressure of his lips on the top of my head. “It’s not like she doesn’t have cause, though. Right?” he says quietly.
I jerk my head upright and look at him. “What do you mean, ‘cause’?”
Henry sighs. “Just that you two had a falling out, and she was pretty upset that you didn’t support her seeing your ex.”
My head is spinning. Could that be cause to kill someone? No. It can’t be. No matter how mad she was, Maisie would never resort to that. The implication makes my stomach roil.
“If you’re wrong about this, she will hate me forever,” I say.
“Yeah, but if I’m right, at least you’ll be alive.”
I’m standing by the window when Henry touches my arm. I turn to find him holding a ceramic mug full of frothy milk.
“Made this one myself,” he says. “One hundred percent poison free.”
I take it from him, wincing. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t turn to go, just stands right behind my left shoulder looking out. “I know what you’re thinking, but there’s no way this is your fault, C.”
I blow on the hot coffee. “I should never have responded the way I did. She’s had a rough go of it, what with the dating pool these days, and I should have just been happy that she finally found someone good, even if it was Beck.”
Henry takes my elbow in his hand, turning me until I meet his gaze. “Don’t. No matter how you responded, it doesn’t justify murder.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to let my burning tears escape.
“Besides,” he says, “your reaction was perfectly reasonable. He shouldn’t have made a move on your assistant, for god’s sake.”
Outside, snow is falling, completely oblivious to the destruction inside. I wonder how many life-altering revelations a person can endure before they just expire from the shock of it all.
“What about the shooting? You can’t think Maisie was behind that,” I say, taking a sip of my latte.
“At this point, we’re ruling nothing out. She could be working with a group of rogue patriots to eliminate you. She would be the perfect inside man.”
I frown at my reflection in the glass. That’s not something I want to think about. I may never be ready to think about it.
“I do have some good news,” Henry says. “The palace renovations are completed in the west wing. You’ve been cleared to move back in.”
My head swivels toward him. “I thought I couldn’t move back until the entire palace was secure.”
He nods. “Originally, that was what we were thinking. But we expedited a new system that will be completely impenetrable. We’ll use it to surround the entire west wing, at least until the rest of the palace is completed.
Besides, with Maisie behind bars, I think we can ease up a bit on security.
It shouldn’t be hard to get her to talk. ”
My gaze snags on a single snowflake caught on the cold window. Its intricate details are breathtaking, and I wonder at its ability to be so beautiful for such a short period of time. Here one second, gone the next. What would it take to live like that?
“C?” Henry says, touching my arm again. “I thought you’d be happy.”
I don’t bother trying to look at him. My head feels like it’s full of cotton and way too heavy at the same time. I’m happy, aren’t I? This particular type of happiness just feels . . . thick.
“I am,” I say, and force a smile. Or at least I will be. Eventually.
I turn to scan the great room—its stark, modern furniture, cold tile floors, the lack of warmth and life in the whole place. And yet . . . And yet.
“I can’t wait to go back.” This time when I look at Henry, I allow the smile to reach my eyes. “It’s time to move on.”
Now I just have to convince myself.