Adie couldn’t wait until the place was cleared out so she could redecorate and make it her own. Though she knew well enough that she could buy homes anywhere in the world she wanted—and probably even had houses in far-flung places Minerva already owned—she knew Beckside Farm would always be home to her now. It wasn’t just the house, or even Cage and Jig that made it home, it was the villagers she’d begun to get to know. People who accepted her as one of them, just because she was Minerva’s niece. It was a good feeling to belong somewhere for the first time in her life.
The removalist’s vans had come and gone that afternoon, taking not only the items the valuer had approved for auction, but also the horrendous pink bedroom suite he’d determined would sell for six figures. It turned out that the manufacturer of the monstrosity had only created a limited number of bedroom suites by that particular designer in that shade of pink, so a complete set in perfect condition sent the value skyrocketing. Once again, Adie was made aware that good taste and value didn’t always go hand in hand.
She and Cage had just seen the vans off and flopped onto the old chairs in the living room with fresh mugs of coffee when Cage’s phone rang. It was in the kitchen and he had to drag himself into the other room to find it. Adie, every bone aching, so exhausted she could barely lift an arm, waited to hear who had called. It could be anyone.
“Yes, I understand. We’ll expect the officer in the morning. Adie will be over the moon to hear this,” she heard Cage say.
Officer? What kind of officer?
When Cage returned there was a bounce to his step, as if the call had infused fresh energy into him.
“What? What’s going on?” she demanded impatiently.
His grin told her he was intentionally making her sweat.
“Cage! Don’t be mean. What’s going on?” she wheedled.
His grin grew bigger still. “It seems you missed a few bodies. Or didn’t keep reading the newspaper reports for more information. By the time they scoured the farm they found fifteen skeletons. The oldest probably dates from the mid 60s. It may well be Georgie. There were no possessions belonging to the victims. Everything was probably thrown out when the new owners took possession. Or was stolen in the years it remained empty. DNA is going to be the only way these women will ever be identified. So far, only three have been identified. All were Europeans backpacking in England at the time they were killed.
“The police came to the same conclusion we did, that the killer found his victims among the passengers who rode in his cab. If Georgie proves to be one of his victims, it will solidify that suspicion. A cop will be on our doorstep first thing to take possession of the hairbrush. After that, it will only be a matter of time.”
Adie felt light-headed with excitement. It was really happening. Georgie was going to be found at last. She would have helped her aunt find closure for her friend. It was just a pity Rory didn’t live long enough to learn the truth. Although how finding out your mother died a gruesome death at the hands of a serial killer—as she ran away from a mobster and an abusive ex—could have helped him get closure she wasn’t sure.
Easter came and went, and news that the pink bedroom suite had been sold in a private sale for £103,000 to a Japanese buyer had Adie laughing so hard she couldn’t draw breath. What would the obnoxious Mrs. James Montgomery say if she knew what she’d given away so blithely?
Then, a few days later, another phone call brought them the news they’d been waiting for.
“The DNA was a match,” DCI Adams said without preamble. “Georgina Wyatt was one of the victims of the Lewes serial killer. I hope this helps. We’re grateful to have another victim identified. Although I doubt many more will be, after all this time. Especially as most were likely not English.”
As soon as Adams hung up, Cage was on the phone to Hugo, giving him the update.
“Well done! I really didn’t think you’d be able to discover the truth about a crime so old.”
“It’s only thanks to Minerva’s hoarding tendencies and her love of her friend that we got it done,” Adie declared humbly. “None of this would have been possible without the ticket in the coat and the hair in the brush. And of course, neither of those would have meant anything without Minerva’s journal.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Adeline. You put the pieces together. From what Cage said, the leads had gone cold after Roland. Yet you kept pulling the threads until you got what you were looking for. You deserve the congratulations and the one million pounds. I will be very pleased to notify Winsley of your success. Again.” Hugo sounded smug.
“We need to make sure he doesn’t find out ahead of time about the next mystery. No slipups after this,” Hugo went on, probably more to himself than to Adie and Cage.
Adie’s heart sank a little. The last thing she wanted to do was tackle another Mystery so soon after the last. She was exhausted, mentally and physically.
“Do we have to do the next one straight away?” she pleaded, sounding a little whiney to her own ears.
“What if I neglected telling Winsley the news for a few weeks? That should give you a reprieve. He won’t start trying
