Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
“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.
21
CARSON
“Alfred Farrol, quite the beneficiary of generational wealth. He died a year ago, it seems. Officially, he had a boating accident off the coast of Thailand. Unofficially, he was partying with several prostitutes on a yacht when he did too much coke, had a stroke, and fell into the water and drowned.” I scroll through some more of my notes. “He and Mrs. Farrol hadn’t been living together for years, though they remained somewhat friendly. Did a few gala appearances every year, things like that.”
“And they had one son, right?”
“Yes, he seems to be on the same path as his father, but that’s a story for another day. As it stands, the husband is a dead end.”
May cuts her gaze toward me. “Another pun?”
“I thought we were only doing cat puns?” I slide my laptop onto the coffee table and lean over to look at her screen.
“We can always branch out if you’re feeling frisky.”
I throw my arm around her shoulders. “I see what you did there.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” She’s digging through articles about Sorcha von Heffinlind, the billionaire heiress who lives alone in Paris, owns properties all over the globe, and in general, leads an extremely luxurious life. “Never married. Fabulously wealthy. Well-traveled. Still looks pretty damn hot for someone in her sixties. What would she even have to be mad about? I mean, if she’d wanted Mr. Farrol and lost him when he got married, the truth is that she dodged a bullet. That guy was no good.”