Just as she made to pass him, he said, “Wait. Let me give you my cell number so you can contact me directly.”
“I can call Saul,” she huffed.
“I am in charge of this case. If there are any updates, I want to know first.”
He held up his phone to hers and they connected. “There, you’ve got it.”
As she turned to go, he added, “And Clare, I’ll look forward to you reporting back.”
Not sure what to say, she stuffed the files and phone into her large purse.
When she glanced at him briefly, it felt like his gaze was stroking her skin.
Oh, curse him and the effect he had on her.
“Right-oh, sir,” she said in a choked voice, and fled.
CHAPTER 13
The woman who answered the door looked tired beneath her perfectly applied make-up.
“Mrs. Bradshaw?” Clare held out her ID. “Detective Sergeant Clare Doyle, we spoke on the phone earlier. About your son, Edward?”
The woman’s lips turned down, her eyes clouded. But she nodded and held the door open wider.
“Guess you’d best come in,” she said on a resigned sigh.
Clare glanced around the interior. High Tween decor, delicately striped wallpaper, polished parquet tiles, a sweeping oak staircase with plush red carpet in the center of each stair—all a statement of wealth and authority. John Bradshaw was the treasurer for the Council of Towns, and frankly Clare had been surprised when his wife had agreed to speak to her.
Particularly after the other two had closed her down the moment she’d mentioned her reason for calling.
What kind of parents disowned their own kids like that? Purely because they’d gone to work with monsters on an equal footing?
Mrs. Bradshaw took Clare into a formal sitting room looking out onto the gardens, which featured, like all of Tween, perfectlymanicured lawns and flower beds overflowing with curated color. Carefully muted shades of pink and mauve were obviously the Bradshaws’ choice.
Everything was picture perfect, belied only by Mrs. Bradshaw’s haunted face, the shadows under her eyes.
“Tea, coffee?” Mrs. Bradshaw asked.
“A cup of Earl Grey without milk, please. No sugar.” She’d got that one down pat over the years. “Thank you.”
The older woman pulled a bell pull, and a moment later a slender, slightly nervous looking woman hurried in. Mrs. Bradshaw requested the pot of tea, “And some of Mrs. Lane’s butter cookies also.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The servant bobbed her head and left.
Mrs. Bradshaw sank down on a chaise longe and sighed. “So, I’m guessing you have no more news of Edward?”
“Not presently. We are trying to piece together a picture of what might have led Edward to be working in Motham, so we’re hoping you can shed some light on that. We know he’d been working for an architecture firm, Fae Designs, for four months when he disappeared.”
Mary Bradshaw splayed her fingers and huffed a sigh.
Clare pushed on. “Mrs. Bradshaw, to be honest, we are having trouble getting anyone from Tween to speak to us. So if you can give us any information at all, it could really help us find Edward.”
“It’s difficult,” the older woman said finally. “He left a very good company here to go and work for that firm, and his father was livid. But I guess,” she gave a sad smile, “I personally thought it could be worse. At least he’s working with fae, not, you know—realmonsters.”
The woman paused while the serving girl brought in the tea and cookies. Clare thanked her, shuddering a little at how dulllife must be for this girl, probably from the lesser town of Twill. No wonder young humans preferred to work in Motham.
Mrs. Bradshaw continued, “Edward had trouble getting a job after university, he was such a shy boy. And he was mercilessly bullied at school.”
