“And what happened on that inspection?” asks Lincoln.
“She came into the tower with her father, the Earl of Acca. All of us workers were supposed to act like nothing was happening. You know, so it would seem like a real inspection of how the tower worked. I was in my office and needed a pen, so I went into supply closet 37-X to get one.”
I lean forward because now we’re getting to the good stuff. I can feel it. “What happened next?”
“The Earl and Lady Adair came into my office and closed the door. After that, they pulled down the blinds as well. I was hidden inside the closet and something told me, “Dolly, you should stay put.” So I did. Although…” She fidgets with her pillbox hat and veil.
I roll my hand, encouraging her to continue. “You can tell us anything. No one’s going to judge you.” The Earl, on the other hand, is another story.
My words seem to help. Mrs. Pomplemousse clears her throat and continues. “My closet was open a crack, so I snooped. Those two seemed mighty suspicious to me.”
Good instincts there, lady. “What did they look like?”
“The Earl was a portly fellow who dressed like an actor from a Shakespeare play. His daughter was wearing a long gown. What a pretty little thing she was.”
“Did they talk to each other?” asks Lincoln.
“Oh, no.”
Lincoln frowns. “The Earl and his daughter didn’t speak?”
“Not that I heard.”
My shoulders slump. Did we come all this way for nothing? “I thought you said you’d overheard the Earl say something incriminating to his daughter?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint, but that wasn’t the case.”
Lincoln and I share a long look. Busted. Sure, we’ve gathered some good evidence so far. However, none of it directly links the Earl and Armageddon. Obviously, when Lady Adair’s body transformed into the King of Hell, it was clear that both of them were in cahoots. And hells bells, I know that Aldred orchestrated that whole thing—Adair certainly wasn’t the type to set up a master plan with the King of Hell on her own. That said, no one would go on record saying they knew Aldred was in league with Armageddon. Insert comment here about Aldred and his blackmailing skills. Long story short, we’d had high hopes for Mrs. Pomplemousse.
I reset my empty cookie plate onto the table. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pomplemousse. I’m afraid we wasted your time.”
“Now, now. I said I didn’t see him speaking with his daughter, that’s all.”
Great. Whatever. I half rise from my seat. “Got it.”
Lincoln sets his hand on my wrist, stopping me. “Then who did the Earl converse with?”
“Why Armageddon, of course.”
The breath leaves my body. Yes! I sit right back down. “How did that happen?”
“The girl transformed into the King of Hell, right before my eyes.” Mrs. Pomplemousse sets her hand over her heart. “I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”
“We believe you,” says Lincoln. Both he and I saw the same show back in Antrum, when Armageddon tried to use Adair’s body to break back into our world. He didn’t make it out of Hell, though. Adair paid the price. “What did they talk about?”
“The Earl asked Armageddon about their plans to steal the throne from the House of Rixa.”
I could almost dance for joy. This is the best testimony we’ve gotten so far. It directly implicates that the Earl of Acca was plotting with the King of Hell to overthrow Lincoln’s family. Color me pumped.
Lincoln leans back in his chair. “Let’s go through what happened, step by step.”
It takes about an hour. Still, we get everything we can think of from Mrs. Pomplemousse, from the color of Lady Adair’s dress to the exact words from Aldred’s mouth. In the end, Mrs. Pomplemousse looks pretty tuckered out. Lincoln and I aren’t exactly feeling fresh, either, but the evidence is airtight.
I lean back on the poufy couch and turn to Lincoln. “What do you say? Are we all set here?”
“I think so.” Lincoln stands up and cracks his neck from side to side. “I’ll just finish the recording, and we’ll be through. Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Pomplemousse.”
The elderly woman sets her teacup down with a clink. A crafty look appears in her eyes. “Now, now. Don’t you want to know the rest?”
My brows lift. “What else is there?”
“The Earl and Armageddon talked about another plan.” She snaps her fingers, trying to remember. “It was an academy of some kind.”
My heart pounds at double speed. “What kind of academy? Do you remember the name?”
Mrs. Pomplemousse taps her chin, her forehead creased with thought. “Ah, I have it. The Wheeler Institute. If things didn’t work out with Adair being possessed, then they always had that.”
All the oxygen seems to get sucked out of the room. The Wheeler Institute. That’s the same place Desmond had talked about. It’s where he was supposed to take the codex.