11. Chapter 11
I ran my hands along the mirror’s scrolled edges. The frame was undamaged, but large cracks spider-webbed across the glass. I turned to Jack. “This is what Netherfield wanted to show me. The mirror has been here all along.”
“Who would have put it here?”
“The house. It’s always cleaning things up before I’m ready—it must have cleaned up the mirror soon after it broke.”
Jack rubbed his jaw. “If it’s magical, maybe we can get it repaired. Mr. McFarland said the mirror could tell us who the killer was.”
I had it on good authority that the only person in a six-hundred-mile radius who could repair a magical artifact like that was my ex.
I suppressed a shudder at the idea of calling him.
No. Magical artifacts were rare and divination ones were even rarer and highly regulated.
Mr. McFarland must be lying in an attempt to get his mirror back.
We would find some other way to catch the killer. Jack carried the mirror back through the passageway and into my room. When I walked through the door, it closed behind me and faded away into the wall.
I rolled my eyes at the place the door had been, showing Netherfield how unimpressed I was with its attempt to keep Jack in my room.
Jack shot me a flirty look. “Your house is trying to encourage me to stay, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint. I don’t want to deal with how cranky you’ll be tomorrow if you don’t get any sleep.”
He rested a casual arm on the casing near my head. I kept my breaths shallow, hoping he wouldn’t hear my thundering heart.
His eyes held mine. “Goodnight, Vixen.”
“Goodnight.” I shut the door gently behind him and buried myself under my cruelty-free, Pegasus-down duvet.
The next morning I slept late and took extra care with my makeup. I didn’t want my lack of sleep from the night before to show on my face.
After breakfast, Sydney came to the house and she, Jack, and I drove to Ponvale Manor together.
Gladys met us at the door and ushered us inside, wringing her hands as she did so.
I took one of her hands in mine. “Would you like to go somewhere else during the flooring installation so you don’t have to see all these people making a mess in your house?
I promise I will oversee them and make sure everything is in order. ”
“No, I have to be here,” she said. “I don’t want to be robbed again.”
“Someone stole from you? Gladys, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I resolved the issue.”
“I’m sorry for prying.” I paused to direct two men wearing Featherstone Construction T-shirts and thick knee pads to the dining room.
“I know how it feels to be uncomfortable in your own home. After the murder at Netherfield, I was a little nervous, too.” I gave Jack a sidelong glance. “But I’m feeling quite secure now.”
“Good. I’m sure having a handsome young bodyguard has reassured you of your safety.”
I winked at Jack before turning back to Gladys. “That and the fact that I don’t think I was actually the target of the murder.”
“Of course not, dear, why would anyone want to kill you?” She patted my hand in a grandmotherly way.
Two more men came in with a long, narrow box of wooden planks, and she rubbed her hands together nervously.
“Second door to the left,” I said. “And please be careful not to nick the walls with that box.”
One of them saluted me as they continued down the hall, which I interpreted as acquiescence. I turned back to Gladys. “The young woman who was murdered was glamoured to look exactly like me. I assumed the murderer was after me and her death was a mistake.”
“What do you think now?”
“I think maybe someone was after her all along. Did you notice anyone suspicious at the party? Anyone who seemed like they didn’t belong?”
She wrung her hands. “No.”
“That’s okay, I’m sorry to distress you.”
Sydney came in with a clipboard. “Gladys, where would you like them to put the dining room furniture while they install the floor in there?”
She cleared her throat. “I thought it would go in the kitchen.”
“I’m afraid they’re working on the kitchen at the same time so that won’t work.”
“The back porch, then,” Gladys said. “I’ll show you.”
They disappeared down the hall and I met another set of workers from the flooring company at the door.
The next few hours passed quickly as my vision for the house came to life.
As Sydney and I were styling the final bookcase, Gladys’s butler came into the room with two policemen following him.
One was young and lanky and carried himself as though he were the star of a crime show.
He introduced himself as Officer Carter, and his partner, a middle-aged man with a prominent mustache and bored expression, as Officer Grantley.
Jack stood. “What can I help you with?”
“We’re looking for Carolyn Levi,” Grantley said.
Sydney’s voice shook a bit as she said, “That’s me.”
The policemen advanced toward her and Gladys entered the room, frowning.
“We’re going to have to ask you to search your bag,” Carter said, not sounding apologetic at all.
Sydney handed over the tacky canvas bag she took everywhere with her. He reached inside and pulled out the wooden Celtic knot that had been missing since the day of the murder.
I gasped. Why would Sydney have it?
“That’s not mine,” she said, turning to me, then Jack, and back to Carter. “I don’t know how it got in my bag, but I swear it isn’t mine.”
Jack’s voice was calm but firm as he said, “This must be a misunderstanding.”
“We got a tip that she had the murder weapon, and it looks like our lead was correct.”
I could feel the blood drain from my face. “She didn’t do it.” My voice came out in a whisper. I turned to Gladys.
“Is it really necessary to arrest her?” she asked.
Grantley shook his head. “I’m under orders to bring her in.”
Jack held Sydney’s gaze. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised.
Grantley clicked Sydney’s handcuffs shut. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Genevieve Charbonet.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sydney said, looking from me to Jack. “Save your energy for finding out who really did this.”
“We will,” I promised.
I numbly apologized to Gladys for the disturbance and reassured her that Sydney was innocent. Jack led me out to the car with a steadying hand on the small of my back. His tightly clenched jaw was the only indication that he was worried.
“I’m sure she’s innocent,” he said, opening the passenger door for me. “We just have to prove it. But I don’t know what else we can do.”
“I do.” I climbed in the car on shaky legs, content to let Jack drive. “We need to get the mirror fixed. If McFarland was telling the truth, it can show us who the real killer was.”
“And how are we going to do that?”
Resolve hardened in my chest. “My ex specializes in the repair of magical items. I’m going to have to call him.”