Mhairi looked up and smiled as Patrick handed her another bottle of beer. She had an hour before she had to leave, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to accomplish anything. Patrick, true to his word, had cooked her dinner, which they’d ate in his room, some exotic Thai number. Mhairi had always been drawn towards guys who could cook. Self-preservation, her mother would have remarked caustically. It didn’t help that he was gorgeous as well. Or that he was funny and interesting to talk to. Ian’s face floated into her mind accompanied by a pang of guilt. Get a grip, Mhairi, she told herself sternly. Patrick could also be a criminal mastermind, or a twisted killer. How on earth was she going to get the chance to go snooping? He hadn’t left her side since she arrived.
‘Right,’ he said, sitting down beside her on the couch. ‘Let’s get down to brass tacks.’
She tried to hide her alarm and edged away from him slightly. He laughed.
‘Mhairi McLeod. While I would have no objection whatsoever to jumping your bones, I’m not fool enough to think for one minute that’s why you’re here.’
She gave him an awkward grin.
‘I’m sorry, Patrick. Under different circumstances …’
‘I’ll accept those crumbs of comfort,’ he said. ‘Look, everything changed here for me when I learned about what had happened to Ailish. The only thing I know for certain is that I had nothing to do with her death. Monro Stevenson was hardly my favourite person. Give him a bloody nose? Sure, if I’d had a few beers, I might have been tempted. But blow his brains out? Not in a million years.’
‘Have you noticed anything suspicious?’ asked Mhairi. From what Fiona Murray had said, he had no clue that the forging had been going on right under his nose. However, things were at too delicate a stage to risk confiding in him.
‘We used to have an open studio policy in the house. Everyone would drop in on each other and discuss their work in progress. In the last two years, that’s changed. I still keep my door ajar, but Hugo and Penelope have become really secretive about what they’re working on. Maybe the Lomax Prize has something to do with it. All I can say is that the climate in the house has changed and I don’t know why. That woman, Fiona Murray, creeps around like a witch’s familiar.’
‘How so?’ laughed Mhairi.
‘She’s often in a huddle with Hugo and, a couple of times, they’ve stopped talking when I come in. I don’t like it at all. I’m going to stick around for a while, see if they catch Ailish’s killer. I feel I owe her that.’
‘What then?’ she asked.
‘Maybe do something radical like go home to Ireland and become a teacher.’
‘The return of the prodigal son,’ she said.
‘You could say that. Look, what were you hoping to accomplish tonight? Tell me! I can help or cover for you while you have a snoop around.’
She could be walking into a trap, but her intuition said he was genuine. She didn’t want to leave empty-handed as she didn’t know when she might get an opportunity to return.
‘OK, I want to get into Hugo Mortimer’s studio and bedroom.’
‘How long will you need?’
‘Ten minutes. Does he know I’m here?’
‘He knows I’ve a friend round, but he doesn’t know it’s you, and no one’s poked their noses out of their rooms all night.’
‘How do we get him out then?’
Patrick thought for a minute. Then he went to his studio next door and brought back a power drill. He unscrewed one side of a bracket pinning a bookshelf loaded with art books. It sagged alarmingly.
‘There’s a bathroom two doors down from Hugo’s. Go in there and lock the door. I’ll ask him to come and hold the end of this while I fix it.’
Mhairi nodded and they quietly made their way upstairs. She slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. Patrick thumped on Hugo’s door.
‘Hey, man, I need your help. There’s a wee dram in it for you.’
She heard Hugo’s door open.
‘Good God, Patrick. Do you really have to make such a din? Some of us are trying to work you know.’
‘I need a quick favour. The bracket on my bookcase has come away from the wall and the whole thing’s about to collapse. Won’t take long, I promise.’
‘It had better not. I’m at a critical stage in my latest work,’ Mortimer said but she heard them both moving down the hallway.
Feeling sick with nerves she slipped from her hiding place and into Hugo’s studio. Glancing around, she snapped the works in progress that she could see, but nothing leapt out as a potential forgery. She also photographed all the paints and materials around. Still no sign of him returning. She slipped into the bedroom next, her heart thumping unpleasantly. Quickly, she scanned the room, but couldn’t see anything of interest. Time was passing. She fought the urge to rush and focused, looking more slowly. Still nothing. She was about to let herself out of the bedroom when suddenly she froze. Footsteps. Hurriedly, she squeezed under the bed, praying she wouldn’t have to remain there indefinitely. There was a large black portfolio bag beside her. Fortunately, Hugo went back into his studio. She slid out the case and photographed the contents. This would do nicely. She slid it back under the bed, quietly slipped out of the room, and ran lightly down the stairs.
Patrick was waiting for her in the shadows under the stairs, with her bag and coat. She gave him a quick hug as he opened the front door for her.
‘I always found Nancy Drew sexy,’ he muttered in her ear, causing her to blush. ‘One of these days I’m going to immortalize you on canvas.’
Like you did with Ailish? The words popped unbidden into her mind, causing her heart to miss a beat. She swiftly made her way down the drive.
No doubt, Farrell was lurking somewhere in the trees across the road, but she simply walked on down the hill. He would soon catch her up if he was there. Glancing back at the house, she saw a figure silhouetted against the light from an upstairs window. Who it was, she was unable to say, but it made her feel uneasy. She could feel their eyes boring into her back as she continued on her way.