The Grift of the Magi

  “Yes, my lord. It’s just that—”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” The man who appeared in the doorway was tall and broad. His black hair was cropped close and his coat and thick glasses were covered with snow and ice as if he’d walked through a blizzard to get there. And perhaps he had, Kat realized.

  It said a great deal about him that Kat didn’t immediately notice the woman behind him.

  “Who are you and why are you tracking snow into my house?” the earl demanded.

  The man didn’t remove his coat.

  He didn’t offer his hand.

  He didn’t bow and the woman didn’t curtsy. He just looked at the Earl of Greymore and said, “I’m Jonathan Hoyt. Director of UK Operations for Interpol. This is my associate, Agent Bennett.”

  Associate? Kat wanted to laugh. Or slap him. This is how the man referred to his second-in-command? No wonder Amelia had wanted to keep her friend’s situation secret from Director Hoyt. He was the kind of bureaucrat who would race across the country in the middle of the storm of the century just to impress an old man with a title.

  But that didn’t change the fact that he was here. Now.

  Amelia didn’t look at Kat. There were no signals, no secret glances that might have passed between the two of them—no hint that they had ever met at all, and Kat was glad the woman was so smart. Truthfully, it was a bit of a shame that she played for the other side on most occasions. Nick’s mom would have fit right in with Kat’s family.

  The woman was smart and gorgeous, even if she had traded her fashionable heels for tall rubber boots and her hair was plastered to her scalp, wet and mussed from the wind and the freezing rain.

  But no one else was looking at Amelia Bennett. They were focused on the man in the trench coat. “I’m sorry to interrupt your holiday, my lord, but we have had bad news.”

  “And you couldn’t call?”

  “The phone lines are down,” the heir reminded everyone, but the man from Interpol just shook his head.

  “I’m sure they weren’t when I left London, but this is the kind of news one expects to receive in person.”

  Gabrielle looked at Irina who seemed to remember that she was supposed to be a future countess, so she swept out her arms. “Won’t you join us, Director Hoyt? Miss Barnett?”

  “Bennett,” Amelia corrected, but to Irina it was as if she didn’t speak at all.

  “I’ll ring for a fresh pot of tea.”

  The agents came farther into the room, but no one took their wet coats. It was like they carried the storm inside, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop with every step they took.

  “Now what is it?” the earl snapped. “My Georgie was getting ready to play charades with the Hale boy,” the old man said as if everyone in the room couldn’t hear him.

  Director Hoyt eased into a chair across from the earl’s. He studied the old man a moment, as if weighing the truth of the rumors and trying to decide how fragile the earl’s health really was.

  When the earl snapped, “Are you mute?” Hoyt stopped weighing and began.

  “It is my understanding, my lord, that you recently donated a very rare, very valuable Fabergé egg to the Magi Miracle Network.”

  Kat was twenty feet away, but she could actually feel Hale’s blood pumping, his pulse rising as he turned to Agent Bennett. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He didn’t care what her boss had to say. He wasn’t concerned with protocol or appeasing aging, insane peers of the realm.

  What Hale wanted was answers.

  And he looked at the only woman who had them.

  But Amelia just looked at the earl. Kat didn’t doubt, however, that her words weren’t intended for him.

  “I’m very sorry to have to tell you, my lord, but your egg has been stolen.”

  The duchess gasped. The viscount stared. And Kat stayed perfectly still, knowing the best way she could help Hale was to resist the urge to comfort him.

  “No!” Hale snapped. His anger and his fear were real, even as the director turned his gaze in his direction.

  “Perhaps you kids can go…somewhere else…while his lordship and I—”

  “This kid is W. W. Hale the Fifth!” Lady Georgette shouted, cutting the director off.

  “And I am Jolly Old Saint Nicholas. Now if you’ll excuse us, I’ve traveled a long way in treacherous conditions to discuss a very serious matter with his lordship.”

  Behind the director’s shoulder, Amelia Bennett grimaced, but Kat didn’t say a word.

  “And I do appreciate you coming, Director,” Hale said, his mask firmly back in place. “As the chairman of the board of the Magi Miracle Network I assure you that I would know if something were amiss with the egg. And until ten minutes ago my cell was working perfectly. I would know if…”

  But Hale trailed off when he saw the newspaper that Amelia had pulled from her oversized handbag.

  Even from across the room, Kat could read the headline: MISSING MAGI IS NO MIRACLE.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hale,” Amelia told him.

  She wasn’t talking about the egg, Kat knew. It was no more missing than it had been a moment before. No, Agent Bennett was talking about the headline.

  “This was in this morning’s paper. We wanted to inform you and his lordship in person.”

  Hale glanced at the paper but didn’t read the article. Kat knew he didn’t have to. He just tossed it—at the earl or at the fire, Kat couldn’t really tell which.

  “How?” the word sounded almost like a growl. Hale’s hands fisted at his sides.

  “It seems this man posed as an art expert and made off with the egg,” Agent Hoyt was saying. “Do you know him?”

  Kat couldn’t bring herself to look at the sketch. She already knew what the thief looked like.

  “I don’t believe it,” Hale said.

  “Oh, believe it.” Hoyt slid the sketch back into the pocket of his coat. “I’m only sorry the likeness isn’t more specific. The best we can tell is that the man is tall with dark hair. Unfortunately, that matches a large portion of the men in Britain, but witnesses tell us a man of this description was seen with the charity’s director, and that is no coincidence. The charity is in on it, Mr. Hale.” The director lingered on the Mr., a slightly mocking sound.

  “That’s preposterous,” Hale ground out.

  “Is it?” the director asked. “What do you know of your new director, Mr. Hale? Perhaps you saw a pretty face and long red hair and didn’t bother to run a background check?”

  Kat knew that Elizabeth Evans was a good person. An honest person. A woman who had taken one look at Kat’s handsome father and believed whatever words came out of his mouth. She was human, in other words. And far too decent for the likes of them. It wasn’t often that Kat met innocent people, after all. Maybe because she learned at a young age that they’re almost always the ones who get hurt.

  “Well, then I want her head!” the earl roared. “I trusted them…” He looked at Hale. “I trusted you with a priceless…” He turned to the Interpol agents, his face almost red with fury. “You’ve got to get to the bottom of this. Now!”

  Agent Hoyt began to rise. “That’s exactly what we intend to do, my lord.”

  “Then go!” he snapped as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and the middle of the storm and they weren’t all in the middle-of-nowhere near the Scottish border.

  “I want my egg back and I don’t care what it takes!”

  “You were willing to give the egg away ten minutes ago,” the dowager pointed out, perhaps because she was the only person in the room who might possibly outrank him.

  “I didn’t want to give it away! I… He made me do it.” The earl pointed across the room to where his man of business stood, a glass of scotch in his hand. “He said it could save the estate. He said I had to do it, but that was before I knew that it was being handed over to crooks and incompetents!” the earl snapped. “I want it back. Bring me my egg back.”

  “But my lor
d.” The attorney was crossing the room, almost slithering, like a snake. “Perhaps this isn’t the time to discuss your particular situation.” Allaway cut a glance at the room full of guests. And gossips, Kat thought as the man let his gaze linger on the dowager who wasn’t missing a word. “You wanted to liquidate your non-entailed assets.”

  “That was before I met my new countess.” The earl looked up at Gabrielle’s mother like a lovesick puppy.

  “But my lord, you know the crown will have its share, and estate taxes are significant! A charitable donation of this size—”

  “You think I care about estate taxes!” the earl roared like a man who intended to live forever. “You said I had to do it, so I did it. Now I want my egg back, Allaway. Bring me back my egg!”

  Kat could feel Hale’s gaze upon her, and she could practically read his mind, but before either of them could say anything—do anything—a resounding crack filled the air.

  “Look out!” Hale yelled, grabbing Lady Georgette around the waist and pushing her toward the wall, placing his body over hers as wind gushed and ice blew and shards of broken glass sliced through the air like buckshot.

  It took a moment for the group to realize that a giant tree was lying in the center of the room, pieces of the ancient window scattered all around.

  “Is everyone okay?” Kat shouted, and people nodded, too stunned to speak.

  Hamish and Angus rushed through the doors and tried to pull the heavy draperies and block the worst of the wind, but the lights picked that moment to flicker.

  And fade.

  And Kat knew they wouldn’t be coming on again.

  In the light of the fire, Amelia Bennett looked more beautiful and stronger than ever. “No one is going anywhere tonight.”

  Whether it was the storm or the news, no one could really tell, but if there was one certainty in the darkness, it was that no one felt like playing charades anymore.

  Hale was pacing in front of the fire, staring down at the useless phone in his hands. He wasn’t thinking, Kat could tell, when he hurled it through the shattered window, out into the storm.

  “I do declare,” came the duchess’s small voice through the darkness. “This is exactly like old times.”

  Kat might have gone to him if Lady Georgette hadn’t already been there, placing one of her delicate hands upon Hale’s strong shoulders.

  “Scooter, I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine.” Hale didn’t push her away but his tone did.

  “But Interpol is here. And the egg is heavily insured. Surely…”

  “Your father insured the egg. The charity didn’t,” Hale snapped, then he saw Kat and seemed to remember. “Not yet. The charity hadn’t had a chance to yet.”

  “But…Father…” Georgette was turning to the earl.

  “Ha!” He stopped near the door where Irina was trying to lead him away from the cold and the glass. “Mr. Hale, if you think you’re getting a dime of that insurance money after your charity let my egg be stolen, then you’re as insane as they say I am!”

  “I’m sorry to bring this up, Uncle,” the heir said, easing from the shadows. “But that reminds me, someone should really reach out to the insurance people as soon as the phones are back up. We’ll need to get the ball rolling on that and have it all settled before…”

  But he trailed off. His face turned as white as the snow.

  “Before what?” the earl snapped. “Before I die?”

  “Father, I’m sure—”

  “That’s enough, Georgie!”

  “That’s enough, all of you,” Irina broke in. She sounded very much like Uncle Eddie, and a part of Kat knew that Irina wasn’t acting. Not right then. “Perhaps we should all just go to bed. The storm will no doubt break, and, in the morning, Mr. Hale and the officers can return to London to get to the bottom of this terrible injustice. And the rest of us can return to celebrating the holiday.”

  Hale nodded. “Yes. I’ll leave in the morning, assuming the roads are passable.”

  “I’ll go with you,” the heir chimed in. “To represent the family, you know.”

  “You’ll do no such…” The earl started but even in the candlelight Kat could tell his face was as red as the ribbons that hung on the garland.

  It was all Irina could do to guide him into a chair.

  “The earl is going to bed!” she snapped, then gestured to Angus and Hamish to come help her. “I’d highly suggest you all do the same.”

  The first time Kat ever saw W. W. Hale V, she was thirteen and he was fourteen and it was the middle of the night in the Hale family’s manor house in the country—a place that spoke of old money and even older blood and a society so elite one could only be born there. Only Kat was brave enough to try to steal her way inside. That night, she came for a Monet but left with something better.

  Someone better.

  Or so she had to think as she crept down the stairs of the family wing of Greymore Castle. The electricity was still out, but the storm was fading and, outside, the light of a full moon reflected off the ice and snow. It looked like something from a painting—something from a dream.

  But the boy at the bottom of the stairs, staring through the window, was trapped inside a nightmare, she could tell.

  “Stop it,” he said.

  Hale hadn’t even turned, but he knew she was there, of course. Hale always knew.

  “Stop what?” Kat asked.

  “Stop worrying. Scheming. Planning.”

  Kat half-laughed and eased down the stairs. “Someone has to worry, scheme and plan, you know.”

  “Yeah.” He turned and reached for her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “But not you. Not right now. Right now your only job is to breathe and feel and…look up.”

  Kat pulled back just enough to see the mistletoe that hung above them.

  “You planned that.”

  “Me?” He gasped. “Never.”

  Then Hale’s lips were on hers and his arms were around her and there were no eggs and no thieves and no lies between them.

  “Tell me it’s going to be okay,” he said, pulling away and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Lie to me if you have to.”

  “Hale, it’s going to be okay. It’s—”

  But Kat never got to finish.

  Maybe it was the darkness or the lateness of the hour, the coating of snow and ice that covered the huge house and must have kept the sound inside, because the scream seemed to go on forever. It echoed down the stairs and across the perfectly polished floor, and Kat couldn’t help but shiver at the sound.

  “Irina!”

  But before Kat could rush up the stairs, her aunt appeared on the landing. The others must have heard—how could they not? And they threw open doors and ran down the hall, candles in hand, toward the place where the future countess stood, as white as a ghost.

  “What’s happened?” Agent Hoyt asked, but Irina just stood, breathing hard, as if she’d run all the way from London. “Ma’am? What is—”

  “He’s dead.” The words were barely a whisper, and yet they seemed to be enough to make her sway. Agent Hoyt put out an arm to brace her lest she tumble down the stairs.

  Agent Bennett was there, too, and she turned to Gabrielle who still wore her maid’s uniform. “Show me.”

  “Everyone else just stay here!” Agent Hoyt ordered when the earl’s heir and daughter started to follow.

  Perhaps Agent Bennett was gone for a minute. Perhaps she was gone for an hour. Time meant very little in the dark, cold hall, with the earl possibly growing even colder just a few rooms away.

  When she finally reappeared, no one really needed her to speak, but she did anyway.

  “I’m afraid the earl has passed away. Even if we could summon an ambulance…” She looked at Lady Georgette. “I’m very sorry, my lady.” Then she looked at Fletcher. “My lord.”

  It was the first time anyone had addressed the new Earl of Greymore by his title, and Kat saw h
im fight the smile that grew at the corner of his lips. A man was dead, after all. And it was the greatest moment of his life.

  “Father!” Lady Georgette cried. Her cousin reached for her, but she pushed past him and threw herself against Hale’s broad chest.

  “Well, what do we do now?” Fletcher asked.

  “About what, Fitzsimmons?” Agent Hoyt asked.

  “It’s Greymore now. I’m the earl,” he said.

  But Irina made a sound like Uncle Eddie when someone enters his kitchen uninvited. “You weren’t fit to wipe his boots. He was a good man.”

  “And now he’s a dead man,” the new earl said. “And his estate will need to be handled immediately. And that egg will have to be found and the insurance—”

  “The egg was not a part of the entailed estate!” Irina snapped.

  “But his liquid assets were,” the new earl countered. “And that insurance money will be as liquid as—”

  “Stop it!” Amelia snapped. And the crowd seemed to remember, not that the earl was dead, but that other people were watching.

  “It’s that blasted egg that did it.” Irina sounded like she wanted to choke on the words. “Whoever stole that egg…they killed him. They killed the earl.”

  But the heir was practically rolling his eyes. “That’s absurd. My uncle was not a well man. Anyone could see it.”

  “They killed him!” Irina shouted, and Kat knew it wasn’t just a con that had brought her there. She honestly cared about the man, and Kat hurt for her. After all, Irina rarely cared for anyone.

  “It would be hard to charge the thief with murder, it’s true. But…” Agent Bennett let the thought trail off, as if seriously considering the possibilities.

  “Well?” Irina snapped.

  “Given the circumstances… If someone dies during the commission of a felony, it is not unheard of to see the culprit charged.”

  The new earl seemed almost faint. “Surely you can’t mean that.”

  “They stole from a charity that has helped the under-privileged children of this country since the Second World War, destroying its reputation. They broke the heart of an old man—a peer of the realm. When we find whoever is behind this it will not be pretty.”