The Sign of Death Callie Hutton (color ebook reader .txt) 📖

“What are we looking for?”

“First of all, pull my file, then make a list of his other clients. I’m thinking if someone did want Harding dead for business reasons, it might be one of his clients. That is especially true if he was fleecing others as he was me and Mr. Lemmon. If we have time, we can skim some paperwork to see if there are inconsistencies or anything in the documents that looks odd.”

“That will take some time.” Amy spoke over her shoulder as she slid out a stack of files. “We only have about an hour. And not even that if Tibbs eats fast. He might not mind us being here to retrieve your files, but it would not take more than ten or fifteen minutes to make sure you have your things.”

“We will work as quickly as possible and get out of here before he returns.” William opened the center drawer of Harding’s desk. Pencils, paper, two pens, and a dried-up inkwell.

The two drawers on the right-hand side of the desk held personal items—the first one a comb, brush, toothbrush, and tooth powder, the second some photographs and an old, bulky sweater. As William shut that drawer, he looked up at Amy, who was frowning and leafing through folders. “What’s wrong?”

She continued to thumb through the files. “I’ve gone through these twice, and there are no files here under your name.”

“What? That’s impossible. I’ve been his client for three years.” He headed over to where Amy sat in a chair, folders on her lap and stacked on the floor next to her.

“These files are in alphabetical order.” She motioned to the piles on her lap and the floor. “Yet there is no file under William or Lord or Wethington.”

“How odd.” He bent over her shoulder and looked at the stack on her lap. “I can’t imagine why, but try my family name. St. John.”

Amy reached for a group of folders on the floor. She worked her way through them. “No. Nothing here for a St. John.”

This was very, very strange indeed. “I have an idea. Look in the files and see if you find a Mr. Charles Lemmon.”

Amy searched both stacks. “No Charles Lemmon.” She looked up at him. “Is he not the man we spoke with at the Assembly?”

“Yes. As he said, he had a reason to believe Harding was doing something odd with his businesses.”

“Since both files are missing, I would say that is no coincidence.” Amy stood and began to place the files back in their pigeonholes. “Now what do we do?”

“It doesn’t pay to search the files to see if there were some discrepancies. Since my file and Lemmon’s file are both missing, that leads me to believe that the records of those Harding was pilfering were not kept here.”

William began to pick up the files from the floor. “Let’s put things back the way we found them and leave. We need to discuss this further, but not here.” William helped her return the files, not caring too much if they were in order.

They took one last look around the room, fastened the latch as Tibbs had asked them to do, and left the office.

The carriage awaited them at the end of the pavement. A light rain had begun to fall while they were occupied upstairs. Amy shivered as the carriage moved forward. William handed her the blanket, and she wrapped it around her body.

“Since you are always providing me with sustenance, I would like to offer you tea at my house for a change. We will be able to discuss our investigation over the best biscuits in Bath.”

Amy nodded. “That sounds lovely, only I believe my cook makes the best biscuits.”

“We shall see.” He grinned.

“Regarding our search of Mr. Harding’s office, it appears we now have a few reasons to investigate the man’s death.”

“True.” William began to tick them off on his fingers. “First, Harding, a known teetotaler, falls into the river and drowns while carrying a flask. Second, I had suspicions that things weren’t right before that happened. Third, we find out that Mr. Lemmon was also being cheated, and fourth, Lemmon’s records as well as my own are missing from Harding’s office.”

“And perhaps others are missing.”

“True, and a very good point, Miss Murder Mystery Author.” He looked out at the rain coming down a bit harder, everyone on the street huddled under their umbrellas. February was such a bleak month.

Once they arrived at his home, William escorted Amy to his drawing room and advised his cook that he had a guest for tea. He also left the door to the room open to avoid any suggestion of impropriety.

“What are your thoughts on how to locate the missing files?” Amy settled on the sofa and adjusted her skirts. “I am anxious to proceed with the investigation. There is a murderer out there, and he or she needs to be caught. Who knows when the police might decide Harding’s death was not an accident?”

William started a fire in the fireplace, which helped to take some of the dampness out of the room. “Obviously the records have to be somewhere. There is no way Harding conducted all the business he did for me—and now we know for Lemmon as well—without having records of it. The question remains, where are the records?”

“If they are not in his office, the obvious place would be his residence. Do you know where he lives?”

William stopped in front of Amy and rested his hands on his hips. “Yes. He has a flat here in Bath but also a home outside the city on the road to Bristol.”

Her eyes widened. “Two homes? It appears the man was doing quite well.” She grinned. “At others’ expense.”

“According to Harding, the home outside the city was an inheritance from a family member.”

She studied him, her author’s mind obviously going over the facts in her head. “And now you doubt that.” It wasn’t a question.

William snorted. “I am beginning to