“But you don’t really know that, do you? What if it was a love story for the ages?” Kyle suggested.
“Love story?” I gaped at him, my fork halfway to my mouth. “Lockwood’s wife accused Alys, his brother sentenced her, and the execution was carried out on his property, in full view of the noble couple,” I said with disgust.
“Aw, come on,” Kyle teased. “You write about romance. There were several chapters in your last book dedicated to Lady Æthelflaed’s love life. Yes, I read it,” he admitted sheepishly. “Last night. Stayed up into the early hours.”
“Did you, now?” I teased, but a warm glow of pleasure spread through my chest. Kyle had read my book and enjoyed it. For some reason, that really mattered to me.
“Surely you believe in love,” Kyle persisted. “You have to experience it to write it.”
“Why, do you lovingly stroke a freshly murdered corpse as you plot your next Kelly Shaw novel?” I countered.
Kyle laughed, his eyes crinkling charmingly at the corners. “I try to control my homicidal tendencies. Besides, it’s not about the murder. It’s about the anatomy of the crime.”
“Well, this is about the anatomy of betrayal. Or have you never experienced betrayal?” I asked, wondering why his marriage had broken up.
“Oh, I have,” Kyle replied, all humor gone. “My wife made sure of that.”
“How?” I blurted out, even though it was none of my business.
“Apparently, I wasn’t enough of an arsehole,” Kyle replied.
“Did she tell you that, or is that your own assessment of the situation?” I asked, puzzled by Kyle’s response.
“Actually, it was Len’s.”
“Oh?”
“Seems he was just the arsehole she needed,” Kyle said quietly.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying? And you remained friends?”
“I only just found out yesterday,” Kyle said. “To be honest, I think somewhere deep inside, I always suspected. I just didn’t think the two people closest to me would set out to hurt me.”
“It’s always the people closest to you, which is my whole point,” I said. “Alys must have trusted Lockwood to protect her, but he threw her under the bus, so to speak, probably to save himself.”
“You think she was his mistress?” Kyle asked.
“I think that’s very possible. Or maybe he really believed she was a witch and thought she could help him get rid of his wife.”
“Why would he want to get rid of his wife?”
“You have seen her portrait, right?” I asked, making Kyle laugh.
“Yes, I have, but he married her willingly.”
“Sure, to get his hands on her money. Once he was in possession of the Ashcombe estate, he no longer had need of her. He could marry a woman of his own choosing and live happily ever after.”
Kyle nodded, but there was a faraway look in his eyes, like he was weighing something he’d just thought of.
“What?” I asked, intrigued.
“What if the theft of your research has nothing to do with Alys Bailey?” Kyle asked.
“Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“What if Lisa and Alastair are worried that you’re researching them?”
“Why would I want to research them?” I asked.
“Writers are inquisitive people,” Kyle pointed out as he resumed eating his salad. “One query can easily lead to another and another. Don’t tell me you’ve never gone down the rabbit hole of research. You look up one thing, and three hours later you’re still at it, researching something you hadn’t even considered that morning that has nothing to do with your original idea.”
I smiled guiltily. We all knew just how that happened, and how frequently.
“You’ve already discovered that Lisa’s name doesn’t appear anywhere on the Lockwood family tree, and that wasn’t a direction you had initially planned to go in. Say the Prentisses have something to hide and are afraid you’ll stumble onto their secret.”
“I’m not interested in their secrets,” I said. “And if they’re trying to discover what I’ve learned, they’re doing it in the clumsiest way possible.”
“Yes, they could use a bit more practice,” Kyle agreed. “If I decided to break into someone’s room, they’d never know I had been there.”
“You know, if you weren’t a writer of crime fiction, I’d think you’re really weird,” I said, grinning at him.
“If I weren’t a writer of crime fiction, you’d be one sidekick short,” Kyle pointed out.
“Does that mean we’re now working as a team?”
“If you’ll permit it.” Kyle was watching me intently now. “I suggest that after dinner, we go back to my room and do some digging,” Kyle said.
“Why your room?”
“Because then everyone will simply assume we’re continuing with our date,” Kyle replied innocently.
“And is this what this is? A date?”
“I’d very much like it to be,” he said shyly.
So would I, I thought happily, but I didn’t want to allow my giddiness at the prospect to show, so I simply nodded. I could feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment at where my thoughts were heading now that I had agreed to his plan.
I waited until the server cleared our starter plates and brought our main course before returning to our conversation. “So, let’s say Lisa and Alastair are hiding some deep, dark secret. I’ll be going home in a few days, and they’ll have absolutely no control over what I research or write, so what’s even the point?”
“Perhaps they’re trying to frighten you.”
“Then they need more practice at that too,” I joked. “Leaving me alone in a cemetery and taking my notes from my room is not exactly terrifying stuff.”
Kyle suddenly looked serious. “But what if they’re just getting started?”
“So, what next? I’ll get pushed down the stairs and they’ll blame it on the ghost of Alys Bailey?”
“That’s what I mean to find out. Excuse me,”
