Chapter 20
20
MAY
“ H oly moly.” There is so much crap in the room. It’s like we’ve stepped right back into Mrs. Farrol’s home. “How much did she freaking donate?”
“I don’t know where to look.” Carson shakes his head. Isn’t that the truth? It’s overwhelming and loud.
The gold wallpaper has swirls of a rich pink. They even painted the crown molding in deep gold interspersed with flicks of lighter gold. The room screams, Look at me. I'm rich. I’m so fucking rich. One thing is for certain: No one would ever mistake Mrs. Farrol for being demure.
“I bet there is real gold in some of this.”
“I wouldn't be shocked.”
We walk around the room. There are locked glass cases filled with pictures and various awards. "You think she paid someone off for some of these? Fitzy isn't the cutest cat on the block. Inbreeding, I suppose."
“Carson.” I gasp in mock horror that he would say such a thing.
All cats are cute in their own right. He’s right, Fitzy isn’t the handsomest cat around, but everyone has their own taste. Obviously, Mrs. Farrol needs a little help with hers or maybe some glasses. But I will never admit that out loud.
“Compared to Mousey, I mean.” He shrugs.
I fight a giant smile. I think Carson is growing quite fond of her. Of course, everyone thinks their own cat is the cutest, but in this case, it’s true. Mousey is adorable. Would he want her for himself when this is all over? The thought makes a pang of sadness hit me. I’ve been thinking of her as our cat.
Concentrate. I shake those thoughts away. It’s not the time to be worrying about all that. I have only known Carson a couple of days. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about us really sharing anything. I need to not be selfish and focus on finding Fitzy to get the money for my shelter.
I go back to inspecting the cases. I’m not sure what we might find here. I start to believe this is a dead end until I get to a picture of Mrs. Farrol with a large group of people.
“It’s her wedding.” Carson comes over to see for himself. “Bet this was the event of the year.” There are seven bridesmaids. I don’t even think I have that many friends if cats aren’t included.
In true Mrs. Farrol fashion, her dress is overdone, taking up most of the picture. The tiara she’s wearing looks fit for a queen. I wouldn’t be shocked if it were from some royal collection with how ornate it is. Maybe she borrowed it from Queen Liz.
I can’t help but fantasize a little about what it would be like to get married to Carson. Would I want an over-the-top wedding or something more simple? I always steer toward plain and unassuming, but with the way Carson makes me feel, a princess wedding doesn’t sound so bad.
“Everyone seems happy except one.” Carson taps the glass, interrupting my thoughts. He points out the bridesmaid with a sour expression on her face in the wedding photo. The woman isn’t smiling at the camera like everyone else. No, she’s glaring at the bride and groom.
“Whoa…” Now that is a woman scorned. “You think Mrs. Farrol stole her man or something?”
“I don’t know, but she’s pissed. It’s not much of a lead, but we have to start somewhere. Bridal party may be our best bet for people who are or were close to Mrs. Farrol.” Carson glances over his shoulder to the doorway, making me think someone is entering the room, but once he sees it’s all clear, he pulls out a small knife-looking contraption. I watch as he picks the lock on the glass case in record time.
“Does the FBI teach you that?” I whisper. Why is this kind of hot?
“Nah, I learned that one when I was a kid.” He reaches in, grabbing the frame to remove the picture. I take it from him.
“So we just steal it?” I am more than ready and willing to be his accomplice.
“Borrow.” Carson winks at me.
“Right.” I snort a laugh. With all the crap in this room, I don’t think anyone would notice, if anyone even comes in here anymore.
Hide it, he mouths to me, shutting the cabinet quickly.
“There you are.”
I freeze, the stolen goods in my hands. A sense of panic and a rush of adrenaline course through me. Carson turns to confront the voice’s owner.
“Is there a reason you are disturbing us?" Carson asks. With my back still to the person, I shove the picture down the front of my shirt into my bra. This is both terrifying and exciting at the same time. I’m rather enjoying my little stint as a thief. That’s only because Carson is here with me. Otherwise, I would be a nervous wreck and get caught red-handed.
“I apologize. I only wanted to see if there is anything I could further help you with, Mr. Shorthair.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing at Carson’s made-up last name coming from the man’s mouth.
I adjust my chest before I turn around to face him. It’s the guy from the front desk, Grinsley. “This room is, ah”—I search for a word but come up blank—“different.”
“Yes.” I don’t miss how his nose turns up a bit. “It’s in honor of Mrs. Farrol.”
“She must be popular.”
“Something like that.” His smile is tight, letting me know he’s not a fan of hers.
“She have a lot of friends?”
“She’s not around as much anymore.”
“Oh, why is that? I love cat people.” I try to nudge him along. I’m better at getting information from cats than people, but a girl can try. “So does my cousin, Prince Danali.” That perks him back up.
“There was a falling out a few years ago. Both she and Sorcha von Heffinlind–the famous philanthropist, as you know”–in fact, I don’t know, but I nod as if I do—“were quite close. In fact, Sorcha is the one who gave her the idea for this very room.”
“Oh?” I ask, fishing for more. “They stopped getting along?”
His gray brows quirk. “Unfortunately. Things became quite tense, even here around the clubhouse. People taking sides and whatnot, though I never did hear what caused the falling out. Plenty of rumors swirled of course–infidelity chief amongst them.” He clears his throat and steps back, as if scolding himself for sharing too much juicy talk with us.
“That’s a shame.”
“It was all the gossip back then, but it died down when Sorcha returned to Europe.” He lightly claps his hands as if ridding himself of the matter.
Sorcha von Heffinlind–this has to be the woman in the picture. Poor Ms. Farrol. Her own bridesmaid staring daggers at her because of jealousy. I hate the idea of two women having a falling out over a man. Women should never fight over a man.
“Well, thank you. We’ll be on our way.” I slip my arm into Carson’s.
“But wait?—”
“That will be all.” Carson cuts him off as we pass by.
“How did you hear him coming?” I ask when we exit the building. “You got cat hearing?”
“Always pay attention to your surroundings when you are breaking the law.” Carson opens the door for me.
“Now what? We dig into this Sorcha?”
“Yes.”
“What about the husband?” What is so great about this guy to break up a friendship?
“That’s a good question.”
I lean in. “You think he’s dead?”
He gives me a wry look. “You sound like you like that idea.”
Oops. Do I? “Oh.” I shrug. “Well, if someone has to die, better the husband than the cat.”
Carson chuckles, clearly agreeing with me.