An Unexpected Pleasure. Candace Camp

other man who was with you—Julian Coffey? I’d like to talk to him. See if there is anything he can add.”

      “Oh, yes, I am sure that he could give you more details,” Mr. Barchester agreed. “Capital fellow, Coffey.”

      “Is he still the curator at the Cavendish Museum?”

      Barchester nodded. “Yes. Julian makes regular trips to South and Central America to acquire new pieces for the museum. He has built up quite a collection over the years. Lord Cavendish died a few years back, but he endowed the place amply in his will, and his widow still supports it, as well. In fact, Lady Cavendish is holding a ball to benefit the museum in just a couple of weeks, I believe. I could talk to him, if you’d like,” he added helpfully. “Set up something for you.”

      “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Megan assured him quickly. She preferred to talk to the man without his being influenced beforehand by Barchester. “I should set up an appointment myself. I’m not sure exactly when I will be able to see him. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of this to Mr. Coffey.”

      He looked surprised. “Naturally, if that is what you wish.”

      “I find I get better results if I have the first thoughts out of one’s head,” Megan said by way of explanation. “You know, without their thinking it over a great deal. It’s no longer fresh then.”

      “Of course,” Barchester agreed politely, though he still looked faintly confused.

      And well he might, Megan thought, since her glib response was not precisely the truth. She had found that the more witnesses to an event discussed it, the more alike their accounts of the event tended to become, but she had also found that telling people that fact often insulted them. In the same way, she also suspected that Mr. Barchester’s story had probably been somewhat different than it would have been if Deirdre had not been present. The man had been clearly smitten by her sister. Megan wasn’t sure how his story might have differed, of course; no doubt it was subtle. But she had also found that men were not inclined to be entirely honest when they were speaking in front of a woman they admired. She intended to arrange her visit with Coffey so that her father and sister were not present.

      They stayed for a little longer after that, making polite chitchat with Mr. Barchester. He offered them tea and inquired about their trip across the Atlantic and their lodgings here, offering to help them in any way possible. He seemed a nice enough man, Megan thought, though a trifle bland. Her sister, however, seemed not to notice this defect, for she smiled and even, Megan realized, flirted with him a little.

      For her part, Megan was barely able to sit still and be polite. She wanted only to go back to the house they had rented and talk over the tantalizing possibility of “treasure” that Mr. Barchester had raised. She could see, glancing at her father, that he was fairly twitching to discuss it, too.

      Indeed, they had barely bade Mr. Barchester goodbye and walked a few feet from his front door before Frank burst out, “I knew it! Did I not I tell you? That murderin’ English bastard stole that pendant from Dennis. That’s what Den wants back, I’ll warrant.”

      “Now, Da, we don’t know that,” Megan pointed out fairly.

      “It’s as plain as the nose on your face, girl,” he retorted. “After Dennis was dead, that titled scoundrel was wearing this thing around his neck and being terribly secretive about it. How else did it suddenly appear? And why else would he have been hiding it?”

      “It makes sense,” Megan agreed. “But we don’t know that Moreland took it from Dennis, or that he killed him over it. The truth is, we don’t even know what ‘it’ is!”

      “A pendant,” Deirdre offered. “That’s what Mr. Barchester said.”

      “Yes, but what sort of thing was hanging from it? A jewel or a golden medallion or what? And what was it hanging from? A golden chain or a simple string? It could even have been a little pouch hung on a bit of twine. His description was very vague.”

      “Aye, that’s true. It might not have been a necklace,” Frank mused. “It could have been something small that he just carried close to him like that for safekeeping.”

      “But clearly it was something ‘precious,’” Megan went on, emphasizing the word Deirdre had used in describing her brother’s loss.

      “And clearly Moreland did not want anyone to know about it.”

      “Well, at least it narrows down my search,” Megan said. “I know that it’s something small I’m looking for, probably a necklace of some sort.”

      Excitement rose in her, as it always did when she was chasing down a story. But this time, there would be a far greater reward if she tracked down the truth. All the little doubts that had been teasing at the back of her mind—the liking she had felt for the duchess and the twins, and her reluctance at deceiving them, the strange feeling that had gripped her when she first saw Theo Moreland—all vanished now. Such minor things scarcely mattered.

      Tomorrow she would start stalking her brother’s killer.