Aunt Dimity and the Lost Prince by Nancy Atherton Read Free Book Online Page A

Bree to see.
    “Sorry,” said Bree, shaking her head. “It wouldn’t suit Rob
or
Will.”
    “Good one,” I said, forcing a smile.
    I glanced at Florence, saw that she and Bree were exchanging grins, and quickly slipped
     the silver sleigh into my shoulder bag. I wasn’t sure what I would do with it, but
     I needed time to think things through before I revealed my astounding find to anyone.

Six
    I placed the parka on the table, opened a cardboard box, and sorted through its ragtag
     contents while my mind raced toward an unpleasant conclusion.
    Daisy Pickering had stolen the silver sleigh. It was the only explanation that made
     sense. Miles Craven might be eccentric, but I couldn’t envision him giving the museum’s
     treasures away to his employees’ children. Amanda Pickering looked as though she could
     use some extra cash, but if she’d taken the sleigh, she would have kept it in a safe
     place until she could sell it. She wouldn’t have stuffed it carelessly into a jacket
     she intended to donate to a charity shop.
    If I put my mind to it, I could construct a scenario in which a random thief dropped
     his loot into Daisy’s pocket to avoid being caught with it, but to blame the theft
     on a faceless criminal was to ignore the fact that Daisy was a far more likely suspect.
     She’d had the motive, the opportunity, and, I strongly suspected, the intent to commit
     a crime that might not have seemed like a crime to her.
    No, I thought unhappily. Daisy was the thief. Daisy Pickering had stolen the silver
     sleigh. She’d gazed at it, longed for it, dreamed of it until she could no longer
     resist the temptation to have it for herself. She’d taken the display case key from
     Miles Craven’s office after she’d finished the hot cocoa her mother had made for her.
     She’d slipped back to the silver room unseen, unlocked the case, and pocketed the
     sleigh. She couldn’t have known what her mother planned to do with the pink parka.
     If she had, she would have hidden the silver sleigh somewhere else.
    “Florence,” I said, “have you heard anything about a theft at Skeaping Manor?”
    “A theft at Skeaping Manor?” Florence repeated incredulously. “What self-respecting
     burglar would waste his time on that awful place? The market for shrunken heads isn’t
     what it used to be.”
    “Maybe not,” I said, “but what about the market for jade or porcelain or, um, silver?”
     I felt myself blush guiltily and hurried on. “As I told you before, there are beautiful
     things there, too, and I think they’re pretty valuable.”
    “Then Miles Craven should take better care of them,” Florence retorted. “The museum’s
     security system is a joke.”
    “Is it?” said Bree. “I spotted security cameras around the outside of the building
     and in every room.”
    “They don’t work,” Florence stated flatly. “Never have. They’re dummies, meant to
     deter theft, but they don’t record anything. As for the guards—”
    “What guards?” Bree interrupted.
    “You might well ask,” said Florence with a disparaging sniff. “The museum’s crack
     team of security specialists consists of Les and Al, a pair of doddering old codgers
     who spend most of their work hours guzzling tea in the staff room. They’re as useless
     as the cameras. The display cases are locked, I’ll grant you, but the locks are a
     thousand years old. It would be child’s play to pry them open.”
    “Child’s play,” I echoed, wincing inwardly. “If something was stolen, Miles Craven
     would report it to the police, wouldn’t he?”
    “If something was stolen from Skeaping Manor,” Florence declared, “Miles Craven would
     climb up on the roof, fire a blunderbuss, and announce it to the world.”
    “Which means that you would have heard about it,” I said.
    “The blunderbuss would probably catch my attention,” Florence said dryly. She gave
     me a sidelong look. “Why are you going on about thefts at