Scorched Heart (The Firebrand Series Book 4) by Helen Harper (top non fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

odd rustle from the open window. I glanced over, stiffening as a crow flapped through, circled twice round Miranda James’s head and settled on her shoulder.

‘No,’ she said sternly to the bird, ‘you’re not getting a biscuit. You’ve already had three today. Any more, and you’ll be too fat to fly.’ The crow dipped its head and nibbled her earlobe. ‘Now,’ Miranda continued. ‘What would you like to know?’

I simply stared.

Chapter Thirteen

Miranda James certainly had the ability to unsettle people down to a fine art. I looked from her to the crow and back again. In the end I asked the only question I could. ‘Ms James,’ I said, ‘are you a supe?’

She smiled faintly. ‘Why? Do I look like a supe?’

I remained silent, encouraging her to fill the gap and provide me with an answer. She seemed more amused than irritated by my lack of response.

‘No, Emma,’ she told me, ‘I’m not a supernatural being. I do not have fangs. I do not turn furry. I am neither a creature of the night nor a fey conjuration. The blood which runs through my veins is wholly human.’ She held out her wrist. ‘You are welcome to take a sample, if you wish.’

‘That won’t be necessary right now,’ I said. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t change my mind later. I pointed at the crow. ‘Is that a pet?’

‘It’s a wild animal,’ she said, not entirely answering my question.

‘Ms James…’

She pulled a face. ‘Please, call me Miranda. Ms James makes me sound like a secretary.’

‘Very well. Miranda, it’s not usual, is it, to have a wild bird at your beck and call?’

She reached up and gently stroked the bird’s head. It shook out its feathers and made an odd crooning sound. ‘She comes and goes as she pleases. I’m not her mistress. But,’ she said, looking amused, ‘no, it’s not usual. I raised Vel from a chick after she was abandoned by her mother. I imagine that’s a situation you can relate to.’

I chose to ignore that last comment. ‘Vel? As in…?’

‘Velcro.’ She flashed a sudden impish grin which utterly transformed her face. ‘Not my idea, unfortunately. Albion christened her. That boy does have an interesting sense of humour.’

Hmm. We’d get to Albion later. ‘I was attacked in my room at the Bird and Bush last night,’ I said baldly, leaving out any mention of my death and subsequent resurrection. ‘A crow was tapping at the window and squawking right before it happened. It was almost as if it was trying to warn me.’

‘She likes to look at her own reflection,’ Miranda said. ‘No doubt it was a coincidence.’ She looked me up and down. ‘I’m sorry to hear you were attacked though. Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine.’ I folded my arms. ‘Let’s move on,’ I said briskly. ‘You mentioned that Patrick Lacey was troubled. Can you elaborate?’

Miranda sighed and poured the tea; its colour was disturbingly similar to that of urine. ‘He never recovered from what happened with your parents all those years ago,’ she said. ‘And he was so very angry about Sammy.’

My spine stiffened. ‘Do you mean Samuel Beswick?’

‘Yes. What happened was an absolute travesty.’ She passed me a cup of the yellow tea. ‘It still is.’

I didn’t touch the tea; instead I stared very hard at Miranda and chose my next question very carefully. I didn’t want to put words into Miranda James’s mouth. ‘A travesty? For whom?’

‘For everyone,’ she said simply. ‘You know, Patrick used to visit Sammy quite often but the trips to Galloway only made him more angry. In the end, Sammy told him to stop coming.’

My mind flicked back to the comment I’d read online: Friends with a sick killer. So it was true: Patrick Lacey had been mates with my parents’ murderer. With my murderer.

‘Did Patrick believe that Samuel Beswick was innocent?’

‘Oh no.’ Miranda gave a small titter and raised her delicate china cup to her lips. ‘He didn’t believe it. He knew it.’ She took a small sip and closed her eyes momentarily in satisfaction. ‘Drink up, dear,’ she murmured. ‘It’s best while it’s scalding hot.’

My hands remained where they were. There was a dull roaring in my ears. ‘So you think that he’s innocent, too? If that’s the case, why haven’t you approached the police? Why didn’t Patrick Lacey?’

‘Oh, you poor summer child. I forget that you’re still young enough to believe in justice and truth and fairness for all.’ My eyes narrowed but I let her continue uninterrupted. ‘We went to the police many times, but they decided they had their man and the Crown Prosecution Service agreed. So did the jury.’ There was a tinge of melancholy to her voice that reverberated through my bones, chilling my soul.

‘There were traces of my parents’ blood found on Beswick’s discarded clothes. Eyewitnesses placed him in the vicinity of the cottage around the time of the murder.’

‘All that is true,’ Miranda agreed.

I lifted up my chin. ‘I visited Beswick in prison just a few days ago,’ I said. ‘He confessed his guilt to me.’

Her eyes suddenly grew sharp. ‘Did he indeed?’

‘Yes,’ I bit out. ‘He did.’

‘You’re a police officer, Emma. You must know that people lie for many weird and wonderful reasons.’

I kept my voice even. ‘There is nothing wonderful about murder.’

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘There is not.’

She gestured again to my cup. Reluctantly, I picked it up and took a gulp. Huh. It actually tasted pretty good. I drank some more, without taking my eyes away from Miranda for a second. ‘If Samuel Beswick didn’t kill them, who did?’

She shrugged. ‘That I don’t know.’ She reached out one hennaed hand and encircled my wrist. Her fingers were ice cold against my skin. ‘But whoever murdered your parents is pure evil, I can guarantee you that.’ She looked away but didn’t remove her hand. I had the distinct sense there was a great deal more that she wasn’t telling me.

‘Were you having an affair with my father?’

Her eyebrows shot up and