Page 12 of Weeping Roses
“But…”
She appears to be in shock, and I growl, “Sit, Polly, and listen to what I have to say. It’s important.”
She drops onto the stool and stares at me in confusion as I say slowly, “Now. Who else had keys to this house other than your solicitor?”
“Nobody. At least I don’t think so.”
“Then call him and ask because there is no sign of forced entry, so whoever it was had access.”
“Are you sure about that?” She shakes her head and says thoughtfully, “I mean, it may have been unlocked, and they walked right in.”
“Perhaps.” I shrug. “But we need to understand what, or who, we are dealing with. So, call your solicitor and ask for a list of people who had access to this residence. Tell him you need the location of every set of keys and the same for the properties in London and Cornwall.”
Her eyes widen. “Do you think they’ve been burgled too?”
“Undoubtedly, yes.” I say with a surety that doesn’t sit well with me. I am so angry that we were complacent on this and say roughly, “Make the call, Polly and I’ll secure your other homes.”
I head out of the kitchen to find Artem. It’s about time we cracked down on this operation and until we have all the answers we seek, Polly will not be free of us. Until this mystery is unraveled, we are going nowhere, and she is about to learn that having me by her side guarantees answers faster than any statement she makes to the local cops.
CHAPTER 7
POLLY
I’m shaking. My life is spiraling into an abyss, and the only person following me is a rather sexy Russian. I figured that from the accent and his name. Valentin Romanov. I couldn’t help myself because as soon as I located my phone, it wasn’t the solicitor I called first. I searched his name and what the internet threw back at me makes my soul weep in defeat.
I am screwed.
The Romanovs are described as the most powerful family in Russia outside of the man who rules over it. They are untouchable and I stared long and hard at the endless images I found on the internet. They hold the crown of Russian royalty and there are photos of them attending celebrity parties, the homes they own and yachts in turquoise seas that burned before my disbelieving eyes.
Their father, Andrei Romanov, is the same man in the silver frame resting on my aunt’s table. The man she was in love with. Was she his mistress? Was that how she made her money?
I feel sick and stare at the tapestry above my aunt’s desk as if it will make sense of this situation. How did they meet and why was he interested in her? His wife looks so elegant, beautiful and personable. Why would he cheat on her with my aunt?
It doesn’t make any sense to me, and no wonder Valentin is on a mission for answers. He must be hurting, knowing his father cheated on his mother.
Now I realize why he wouldn’t call the cops. He was right, he can probably get answers way faster using his contacts.
Then there are the men who flooded the house and grounds. Men in black with foreboding Russian accents and formidable frowns. Valentin commands them like a Russian general, and I suppose he is. Right now, in this moment of time, our worlds collided, and I am beyond mortified that I kissed him like a desperate slut up there in the attic.
No wonder the rat slapped my ankles to bring me to my senses.
What the hell was I thinking? I launched myself at him like a greedy whore and I am so ashamed of myself. I don’t kiss strangers, especially ones who scare the shit out of me, but in that moment, it was all I could think of. He is all I can think of since he walked up to my aunt’s grave and tossed his thorny rose in after her.
My hands shake as I attempt to call the solicitors and I give myself a stern talking to as I wait for someone to answer. I must be strong, fearless even because there is no other way to handle this strange situation.
“Mactravers and Perkins, how may I help you?”
The friendly voice on the other end sounds so normal I nearly weep with relief.
“Um, please, may I speak to Donald Perkins? It’s Pollyanna Scott-Stanley, and it’s, well, it’s kind of urgent.”
“Of course, Miss Scott-Stanley, I’ll see if he’s available.”
The wait is interminable as I attempt to get my breathing under control and the relief is enormous when his jovial voice says, “Polly, how can I assist you?”
“Um, I have a few questions.”
“Fire away.”