Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

here,” she exhaled. No turning back now.
    “Just starting out, m ’um,” the driver grinned, pointing out the window. “’Round the corner is Hyde Park. Beyond is Buckingham Palace. Then there’s Westminster Abbey, River Thames, the Tower—”
    Parker leaned forward. “I’m sorry . We won’t have time for sightseeing just now. We’re in a bit of a hurry to get to our destination.” With his aristocratic southern accent, he almost sounded like he was born here.
    “Of course, sir. Whatever you say.” The cabbie adjusted the black beret he had on, straightened his shoulders under a dark blue pullover, and turned his radio up a tad to hide his embarrassment or maybe his feelings toward foreigners who hadn’t come here to be awed by his town.
    After an ad that was either about detergent or beer, the news came on. “Metropolitan police tell us they’re following up all leads in the case of the invaluable dagger stolen from the London Museum of Antiquity yesterday….”
    The cabbie shook his head a nd muttered to himself. “Never ’eard of anything so cheeky in all me born days. Imagine stealin’ a priceless piece of antiquity right out from under the museum director’s nose. Terrible. Just terrible.”
    Miranda shot Parker a troubled look. The news was all over town. And the police had been called in—of course. It wouldn’t be easy for a couple of American PIs to make any headway. Besides, the thief could be anybody. Any one of the thousands of pedestrians in any of the thousands of city streets. Or he could be outside London. Or in China. Or India.
    They zigzagged through the traffic, past monuments and gardens and red double-decker buses and ended up at t he Queensbury Hotel near Tottenham Court Road. At least that’s what the signs said.
    Parker ran inside to check them in and get a bellhop to take their bags up while Miranda sat in the cab and studied a weathered fountain with a half-naked winged man atop it. He certainly wasn’t dressed for the weather.
    After a few minutes Parker returned.
    “Where to now, sir?” the cabbie asked brightly, having regained his hospitable spirit.
    “The London Museum of Antiquity, please.”
    “Oh, I am sorry, sir. The museum’s closed today. Due to the tragedy and the police investigation and all that.”
    “I think they’ll let us in.”
    The cabbie turned around, his eyes wide. “Are you two American reporters come to cover the story?”
    Parker only smiled at the man. “Something like that.”

     

Chapter Five
     
    The traffic was worse than Atlanta and New York put together, but after what seemed like another hour, they’d travelled the two kilometers—or whatever it was—and reached Guilford Street and the Museum.
    Still not convinced they’d get in, the cabbie offered to wait fo r them but Parker waved him on.
    Miranda got out and while the cab whooshed away behind her, she eyed the wide gray stairs, sitting like a giant stack of concrete pancakes before her. Above the stairs rose dozens of thick columns topped by a row of Greek figures along the roof staring down their noses at all who dared enter.
    Friendly place. And downright huge. The size of the wings sprouting out from the main building promised plenty of walking. As she started the climb, she was wishing for her jeans instead of business attire. But at least she had on comfortable shoes and was back in pretty decent shape.
    The rain had turned to a mist and by the time they reached the top, their skin and clothes were coated with moisture. Went right along with the chilly greeting awaiting them.
    As they approached the huge entrance, a tall police officer, maybe in his late twenties, in white shirt, tie and jersey barred their way. “I’m sorry sir, m’um,” he said, acknowledging Miranda with a curt nod. “The museum’s closed to visitors.”
    Parker gave him his most patient smile. “We’re not visitors, officer. The director sent for us.”
    The man’s thin blond brows rose