The Missing Party-Girl: A Rags-to-Riches Cozy Mystery Romance by Nhys Glover (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📕

In the end she said what was in her heart.

“It seems to me that if you had reported your suspicions, it wouldn’t have mattered. It’s easy enough to have 20/20 hindsight. Everyone can point to where the mistakes were made when something goes wrong. But how many of those mistakes occur when nothing goes wrong? How many dogs were close to the edge and were still able to keep doing their job?

“King broke suddenly and unexpectedly. It cost lives. But so did bombs and suicide bombers and mines, and God knows what else. War costs lives, and it would be so good if there were no wars, so innocent dogs and men didn’t have to die. But as you said only a few days ago, you can’t give bullies a free pass just because you don’t want anyone hurt. It doesn’t work that way. Bullies just keep wanting more and more. That’s what you said. Right? This war on terror is one you believed in enough to put your life on the line, right?”

He nodded, listening. His sobs had lessened now and she desperately wanted to hug him. But he wouldn’t accept it from her. Only Jig could give him the comfort he needed.

“Because you didn’t want the Taliban or whoever dictating how women were treated. Or what God the people should believe in. Or how they should worship. Our country was built on freedom. Maybe it isn’t always that way in reality, but that doesn’t take away from the aspirations we hold at the core of our national identity. If protecting our freedoms and stopping the bullies costs some lives, human and animal, then it’s worth it. I think you know it’s worth it.

“You blame yourself, I get that. I can see why you looked back, after it happened, and saw where you thought you went wrong. But you couldn’t have known.

“Cage, I know you! You would never have risked men’s lives to keep your dog alive a little longer. You wouldn’t! You read the signs, after the fact, and they were glaring and obvious. But before…? Nobody, not even you, saw how close to the edge King really was.”

Cage was silent for a long time, his hands rhythmically moving through Jig’s long fur, soothing himself and the dog.

“I don’t know anymore. And it doesn’t matter,” he finally said, his voice flat and dead.

“It does matter, because you’ve painted your soul black because of it. I know I have no clue about any of this. That I wasn’t there and can’t say for sure who was at fault. But if your superiors, who were there and did examine the whole situation, said you weren’t at fault, then maybe it’s time to believe them. Let yourself off the hook on this one at least. You weren’t responsible for King’s failure just as you weren’t responsible for Jig taking a bait. Give yourself a break!”

“You sound too much like Dad right now, you know?” he choked out on a shaky laugh.

“Must run in the family then. Good sense, I mean,” Adie joked.

Cage lifted his head from Jig’s back and smiled at her. She read embarrassment and gratitude in that smile.

“Come on. Who knows when someone will drive along this lane and run us over. Now that will be your fault!” she joked again, beginning to stride off towards home.

She wasn’t surprised to hear his heavy steps catching up with her a moment later.

For the first time, Adie let out a sigh of relief. Her decision to push had not ended in disaster. And maybe, just maybe, Cage would start seeing the truth about himself. She hoped so. With all her heart, she hoped so.

Chapter 13

Too hyped-up to sleep, Adie took her laptop to bed with her and began a Google search for roly-poly Roland in Lewes. It had to be a long shot. But it was an odd enough name, and he was some kind of titled big-wig, so maybe there was a chance he’d have a cyber-presence.

Immediately she got asked if she meant Rowland. It wasn’t how Minerva had spelled the name but she couldn’t exclude the possibility that she had made a mistake. She searched for both versions of the name.

About half an hour in, amongst the pages for local businessmen and historical figures, she found what she was looking for.

Roland Hughes, Viscount of Lewes, had recently attended a gala in London. Once she had a name, she set to work finding all she could on Hughes.

By dawn her eyes were as red and dry as a desert, but she had more than enough information to go on.

Roland Hughes was born in 1944. He was the eldest child of the previous Viscount, who died when Roland was eighteen. Roland packed his mother off to Australia to live with his married sister shortly after claiming his title and inheritance. He then began a life of decadence, which ended in 1970 when he married Lady Lauren Prescott, a woman six years his senior.

Reading between the lines, Adie concluded that his wife was a hard-headed businesswoman, who not only kept Roland on a tight rein, but also took control of the purse strings. She bought into Microsoft and Apple in the early days, bolstering Roland’s waning finances significantly.

Lauren had died in 2015. Since then Roland had been travelling the world and generally enjoying his last years of life in much the way he’d enjoyed his first years as Viscount.

There was a lot written about their country seat in Sussex, a grand stately home five miles out of Lewes. It was built in the early Victorian era by a well-known architect and had, for the last ten years, been open to the public. Or some