"Ah! You mean Madam Mara? She's out restocking — a shipment of fresh flowers just came in from Silverkeep..."
Behind the counter of the flower shop stood a thin, small girl, thirteen or fourteen by the look of her, hair gone the dull yellow of malnutrition. But her eyes were large and bright, startlingly so against that gaunt little face.
Three customers occupied the shop just then: Thea, who'd already been browsing inside; a gentleman sorting through the blooms; and Scarlett, who'd just stepped through the door.
Scarlett had barely crossed the threshold when she spotted Thea deep in conversation with the shop girl, and stopped short. "Sally?!"
"Eh — eh?! Sister Scarlett?"
The little girl blinked, startled.
Thea's curiosity perked up. "You two know each other?"
"We do, actually. Sally came out of the welfare home in North Harbor — I looked after her for a while, back when she still lived there."
"What a kind soul. Well done, Scarlett!"
"It — it wasn't really that much..." Scarlett wasn't used to being praised, and went faintly pink at the ears.
Sally, sweet-tongued as ever, jumped right in. "Pretty officer-lady! Sister Scarlett really is wonderful — she even found jobs for some of the other kids from the home! She introduced me to Uncle Kurd, but Uncle Kurd didn't need any more hands, so he passed me along to Madam Mara instead."
"Madam Mara's lovely too. Just — just a tiny bit less wonderful than Sister Scarlett. Only a tiny bit."
Thea's lips curved, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "There — even the children sing your praises. Have a little confidence, Scarlett. Don't go losing points now."
"Yes, ma'am..."
"Louder. You sound half-asleep."
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Good. Much more spirit."
While Thea was busy teasing Scarlett, a man in work clothes came through the door with a girl in a dark blue uniform dress on his arm.
The man was unshaven, somewhere in his twenties.
The girl looked about Thea's own age, and Thea recognized the uniform at a glance — it belonged to one of the district schools in Great Harbor. Great Harbor's schools ran a fair sight better than North Harbor's, though they cost more for the privilege: thirty-six gold pounds a year.
The moment the pair walked in, Thea shot Scarlett a look.
What a coincidence. They hadn't run into Madam Mara yet — but here came her son and daughter ahead of her.
The man was Quickhand Pete's younger brother. Thea had forgotten his real name — Philip, or something close to it — a factory engineer by trade.
The girl was named Robin, and that name Thea remembered very well indeed. Robin had just received her letter of recommendation to the Crown National University. Barring some disaster, she'd be enrolled there come next year.
—Provided, of course, that she passed the political screening and the background review first.
And if her brother "Orlando" turned out to have risen from the grave — and turned out, on top of that, to be the infamous gang boss, smuggler, and murderer known as Quickhand Pete — then Robin's university career would be over before it began.
Thea gave Scarlett a meaningful glance, signaling her to head the siblings off.
But before Scarlett could so much as take a step, Robin's eyes had already lit up at the sight of Thea, and she gasped in delight. "Am I seeing this right? You — you're classmate Thea Sorelle, aren't you?!"
"I'm a fan of yours! Do you remember the speech you gave at the Great Harbor district secondary school? I was sitting right in the front row! You spoke about how knowledge is the ladder of progress — it was wonderful. Are you here for flowers? I'd recommend the pansies, or the sneezeweed — and we've got lovely red chrysanthemums and asters too!"
"I remember you! You're Robin, aren't you — Robin Duke!"
Thea offered her a smile sweet enough to spoil milk.
"You — you actually remembered my name!"
Robin seized Thea's hand at once, practically vibrating with the urge to hand her an entire bouquet free of charge.
But Thea turned the grip around, claiming the girl's hand instead — and Robin's whole face went red. "This isn't autograph time, I'm afraid," Thea said. "I'm here keeping the officer company. If you'd like a signature, you're welcome to come find me later."
Robin blinked, hesitating. "Officer...? We — we run a perfectly legitimate business, we pay our taxes on schedule..."
"No, no — nothing of the sort. Just a routine check. We'll have a quick word with your brother and that'll be that."
"Oh — all right, then." Robin nodded, glanced toward her brother across the shop, and said in an undertone, "I'll head upstairs."
Philip's expression had gone faintly grim. He nodded back, murmuring, "Go on, then. Get some sleep."
Once Robin had gone, Scarlett found herself thinking, not for the first time, that there was something faintly succubus-like about Thea.
How does everywhere you go turn up someone who already knows you — and already adores you, Miss Sorelle?
She had no time to dwell on it, though. She crossed to Philip, produced her credentials, and said, "I'm with the Great Harbor constabulary. Might we speak somewhere private?"
She glanced over her shoulder at the other customer, the one still browsing the flowers.
That gentleman, it turned out, was no ordinary bystander either. He'd been absorbed in his selection of blooms, but the instant he caught sight of Scarlett's badge, he produced pen and notebook with unsettling enthusiasm.
When he noticed Scarlett's eyes on him, he raised a polite hand. "Please, carry on — I'll just step outside."
Sally seemed to feel the change in the air too, and slipped quietly out through the back, latching the door behind her.
Once the others had cleared the room —
Philip let out a long, weary breath and dropped onto the chair by the counter. "Officers, you can speak freely here. What's this about? Ask your questions and let's settle it on the spot. My mother's quite elderly — two policemen showing up out of nowhere would frighten her half to death."
Thea had already briefed Scarlett on exactly what to ask.
Scarlett delivered the line smoothly, like she'd rehearsed it a hundred times. "We'd like to know the current whereabouts of your elder brother — the man who supposedly died sixteen years ago. Lord Orlando."
Philip's face stiffened. "What kind of nonsense is that? My brother's been dead for years. He's lying in the cemetery — where else would he be?"
"No," Scarlett said. "I'm asking where the living Orlando is." She drew out a folder of neatly organized documents and set it in front of him. "According to the tax office's records, your income over the last three years has averaged around four hundred and seventy gold pounds. Your father has no income of his own. Your mother's flower shop runs at a loss. Your sister is still in school. And yet, in recent years, you've purchased upward of fifteen hundred gold pounds in stock at the exchange."
"What we'd like to know," she said, "is where the rest of that money came from."
Philip's expression hardened, his voice losing its natural pitch as he repeated, almost frantically, "Officer — are you accusing me of having unexplained wealth? This is the income my parents earned over decades of work! I'm the only son in this family — of course I have the right to inherit it!"
Scarlett cut in. "But your father's earnings went toward buying you a forged diploma and your position at the factory. Most of your mother's savings went into purchasing this shop, with the rest deposited into a charitable fund — admirable, all of it. But one thing has nothing to do with another."
"We simply want to know where the extra money — that substantial sum — actually came from."
Thea, meanwhile, lifted a flower to her face and breathed in its scent, unhurried. "You'd be wise to choose your next words carefully," she said mildly. "Otherwise it's quite likely to affect your sister's future. And I imagine Madam Mara doesn't yet know the truth of any of this. I think, if she did, it would break her heart."
"That money — that money —" Philip slammed a fist against the counter, furious. "Damn it! That money is mine, I—"
The words never made it out. Thea cut clean through them. "If I might say — taking the blame on yourself does show a certain kind of courage. But Robin's done nothing wrong. She doesn't deserve to lose her future over your moment of impulse."
"Of course, you're free to throw it away anyway. I won't stop you."
A handful of words, and Thea had wedged the rest of his sentence so far down his throat he couldn't have spat it out if he tried.
He knew exactly where that money had come from. He'd known all along.
It came from his brother — risen from the dead. In this entire family, he alone knew Orlando still drew breath.
Their father might have noticed something off in the household accounts, here and there — but never in a thousand years would he have leapt from "something's off" to "my son, dead sixteen years, is alive." At most, the old man worried, every so often, that his surviving boy might have gotten himself mixed up in something unsavory.
And his brother's money had helped, more than Philip could say. His position. Robin's school fees, her tutoring, her university tuition. Their father's medical bills.
But now, it seemed, the bill had come due.
"I..."
Philip wavered.
On one side, his own flesh-and-blood brother. On the other, his own flesh-and-blood sister.
Thea folded her hands neatly at her waist and said, with perfect courtesy, "It's a difficult thing to choose between, I'll grant you. I can give you a little time to think it over. Scarlett — set the clock for five minutes."
Tick-tick-tick.
Scarlett wound the little alarm clock, and its steady ticking seemed to needle Philip's nerves raw — he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, the words never quite arriving.
Scarlett dutifully jotted his every twitch down in her notebook.
Miss Sorelle's interrogation methods really did work. The man had been ready to dig in his heels not five minutes ago — and one little alarm clock had him squirming over whether to tell the truth.
Thea clapped her hands together once and began to pace unhurriedly in front of him. "Think it through clearly," she said. "If you take the charge upon yourself and explain where the money came from, we'll have no choice but to confiscate the illicit funds."
"Your mother — imagine how it would break her, learning her son had gone to prison. She's not young anymore. Spare a thought for her. And Robin — if she loses her place at the National University, where does she go? The factory floor? Ten, twelve hours a day on her feet — and how much time would that leave her to care for two aging parents?"
Philip's composure cracked. "I know! I know, damn it! Is that what you lot are here for — to grind this family into the dirt?!"
"Grind you into the dirt?"
Thea drove her fist into his chest, sending him staggering backward, then caught him by the necktie and hauled him close. "Think very carefully," she said, "about exactly where that money of yours came from."
"And how many people did it grind into the dirt, on its way into your pocket?
"Out of respect for Old Mr. Duke and Madam Mara — and for Robin's sake — I'm giving you this one chance. Otherwise, I'd be hauling you down to the tax office myself and tearing your finances apart thread by thread. My one and only assignment here is to recover the five thousand gold pounds Orlando stole from Sullen Powder Works, on the station's behalf!
"And the station couldn't care less which one of Quickhand Pete's hands it passes through to get back to us!"
Philip's legs gave out from under him entirely. He sank to the floor, shaking from head to foot from the force of that single blow.
Thea looked down at him. "You'd best think this through — clearly, and for good. Do you stand by the family breathing in front of you right now? Or do you stand by the gang boss who's been slipping you dirty money through the back door — Quickhand Pete?"
"But — that's my—"
"That's Quickhand Pete.
"Madam Mara's eldest son — your brother — died in that fire a long, long time ago. Donate what was illegally gained, and I will personally see to it that none of this touches Robin."
Philip buried his face in his hands and broke down in great, racking sobs.
Scarlett, never quite at ease with this brand of hands-on policing, murmured a few awkward words of comfort and pressed paper and pen into his hands.
The man, slumped on the floor, took them with trembling fingers, tears streaming down his face and soaking through the page as he scrawled out an address in shaky, crooked letters.
A warehouse in Great Harbor.
The moment he finished writing, the last of the strength seemed to drain out of him — nothing left but the sound of his weeping.
Thea hauled him upright by the collar, pulled out a handkerchief, and said simply: "Madam Mara is just outside the door."
The crying cut off as if someone had pressed pause. Philip wrenched his face into something resembling composure and scrubbed at his eyes with shaking hands.
Thea took hold of Scarlett's wrist — the other woman still standing there a little dazed — and said, "We've got what we came for. Let's go."
Scarlett opened her mouth, wanting to say something. But the black-haired girl had already plucked a few stems from a nearby bunch and was towing her toward the door.
Outside, gray-haired Madam Mara stood with a basket of flowers on her arm, rubbing at her eyes as though the scene inside the shop hadn't quite come into focus for her.
Thea pulled Scarlett past her, beaming sweetly at the old woman. "Your flowers are lovely and fresh. I do hope this little shop of yours stays open for years and years to come."
"Oh — oh, yes. It will, dear. Do come again, won't you, little one."