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

he were about to stab himself. But of course his hand was empty.
    “There,” Parker murmured.
    Miranda watched him head for a tall marble staircase that wound around a wide circular pillar in the center of the room. She followed him to the foot of the steps and saw what he was going for.
    About halfway up the stairs sat a lone figure in a rumpled dark suit, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. If he had been an exhibit, he would have been labeled “Despair.”
    Parker reached the foot of the staircase. “Neville?”
    The man raised his head, his eyes wide. “Russell? Is that you? ”
    Miranda was surprised the man called Parker by the same name his father used for him.
    “Yes, we’re here.” Parker hurried up the steps.
    Miranda followed.
    “Oh, thank heavens.” The man rose and ran a hand over his white hair, then attempted to straighten his clothes. He seemed to have lost the tie he’d worn in the picture in the paper, but the suit was the same. He must have slept in it.
    Parker reached him and the man took both of his hands. “Thank you so much for coming so quickly.”
    “We left as soon as we could.”
    “I do so appreciate it on such short notice.” He turned to her and reached for her hand, still holding onto one of Parker’s. “And this must be Miranda. I’m so glad you’re here, my dear. Both of you. Though I wish we could have met under happier circumstances.”
    His touch was gentle, his skin soft and aristocratic. His face was round and almost childlike, a contrast to his thin body. His white hair had a faint angelic glow in the backlight, enhanced by the earnest expression of his well-groomed matching brows. His accent was posh, but warm and friendly. Not stiff and cold, like you might expect from a Brit.
    And the look of kindness mixed with desperation in his crystal blue eyes melted her heart into a buttery pool.
    “We’re here to help, sir,” Miranda told him. “We’ll do all we can.”
    He closed his eyes, pain distorting his innocent expression. “And I need your help so desperately. I don’t know what to do. They’ve taken George.”
    “George?” Parker asked.
    “George Eames. My Chief Collections Manager. My friend and colleague. They took him in for questioning this morning. They think he’s a suspect in this horrible matter.”
    Miranda looked at Parker. He seemed as bewildered as she was. “The police have already made an arrest?” she asked.
    A door opened and footsteps echoed below. “There they are, sir.”
    Miranda turned a nd saw three men scurrying toward the staircase. One tall and thin. One short and round. The third one was Officer TightAss. The other two were in gray slacks, ties, and long dark coats that billowed out as they ran.
    The officer waved an arm their way. “ Sir, I apologize these imposters have broken in and—”
    Sir Neville ’s whole body stiffened. Eyes flashing, he held out an arm in a protective gesture, looking like one of the mummified cats suddenly come to life to fight its captors. “They most certainly are not imposters, officer. And I’ll thank you to pay them their due respect. These are my friends from America. They’re private investigators. I’ve hired them.”
    “You’ve what?” said the man in a coat who towered a good four inches over the officer.
    Sir Neville started down the stairs. “I’ve hired them to help with this investigation, Inspector.”
    “I haven’t authorized—”
    “As director of this museum, I have the right to hire anyone I see fit to aid in this matter, Inspector. If you have a problem with that, perhaps I’ll have to speak to your superior.”
    Miranda snuck Parker a look of surprise. The old gent wasn’t as helpless as he seemed.
    Parker sauntered down the steps with his characteristic air of ease and e xtended a hand. “Good morning, Inspector, gentlemen. As I told your officer here, I’m Wade Parker of the Parker Investigative Agency, and this is my associate, Miranda