Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

a face and nodded. “I understand, the gate will be fine.” I thought for a moment and then said, “So you must be Robert Armstrong.”

“Aye.”

“I believe the old man had a great deal of affection for you and your family. You are related to the Gordon clan, is that right?”

“Aye, tha’s correct. On mah mother’s side. Mah father, God rest his soul, was an Armstrong, James Armstrong. A good man till he died. An’ after he died, we had a fierce struggle t’ survive…” He nodded toward the castle that had just come into view across the flat expanse of grassland. “Until Old Man Gordon come along, an’ promised to take care of uz. Then we had hope, so we did, fer a while. Till his bastard son come back from America.”

I scratched my chin. “Did you ever consider contesting the will?”

“Nah. ‘S’what my gerl-friend says to uz. ‘Bobby, why din’ya contest the will? Yiz would’a got something!’ But how would I know aboot contesting a will? I ask you! Ah know aboot building, an’ gardening, workin’ the land, honest labor! Ah don’t know about lawyers and their feckin’ lies.”

“I can see why you’re mad.”

He glanced in the mirror again and an expression you could only describe as evil cunning seemed to crawl over his face. “But mah gerl-friend, Lizzie, see? Now, she’s workin’ as a secatery fer a firm o’ lawyers over on the mainland, and she knows aboot wills. So maybe the old bastard might get a surprise yet, so he might!”

He came to a halt outside the gates. I woke Dehan and we climbed out. I paid Bobby Armstrong his money while she yawned and stretched, and he turned around and drove away, toward the woodlands. The sky behind the castle had turned dark with cloud, and I found I was perspiring under my jacket. I grabbed Dehan and we started to walk down the long drive toward the great pile of stone and the storm which was brewing behind it. I said, “I need a shower and an hour’s sleep. How about you?”

“Nope. I need an hour’s sleep and a shower.”

“That dovetails nicely, then.”

As we approached, to the right of the great tower and a little bit beyond it I spotted Sally Cameron’s Volvo parked beside the kitchen orchard, outside what I now realized were the steps that led down to the kitchen. When we reached the main entrance, I had a thought and said to Dehan, “You go on up. There’s something I have to do. I’ll join you in a minute.”

She gave me a sleepy frown. “What are you up to, Stone?”

I shrugged. “Maybe nothing. I’ll be up in five minutes.”

She climbed the steps and pushed through the door while I went around the side of the tower, where Sally Cameron’s Volvo was parked. Just beyond the steps that led down to the kitchen, there was a door that seemed to be a storeroom of some sort. I descended the stairs, tapped on the door and opened it.

I found myself in a large, old-fashioned kitchen, with a heavy oak table in the middle, an ancient iron range and cupboards that might have looked new in the 1920s. There were also a number of people there, and they were all staring at me with startled faces.

There was Brown, the butler, dressed as though he belonged with the cupboards, there were two pretty young girls in maids’ uniforms, one a red-head and the other with very black hair and very blue eyes, and there was a woman in her fifties dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt that claimed to be from UCLA. She had been rolling pastry on the table and had stopped in mid-roll to scowl at me.

It was the butler who spoke. “Good afternoon, sir. Would you be lost at all?”

I smiled. “No. I thought I recognized Mrs. Cameron’s car.”

He nodded. “Aye, she’s only after delivering the groceries.”

The cute maids grinned at each other and started giggling. The red-head looked at me with a dangerous smile and said, “Och, aye, and noo she’s delivering som’at else!”

Cook scowled at her and snapped, “Peggy! Mind yer tongue!”

Peggy had no intention of minding either her tongue or her business. Her white cheeks flushed red, she stared at Cook with bright, insolent green eyes and said, “Am I lying? Is it a lie? Is she no upstairs delivering som’at else?”

I decided I liked Peggy, but Cook clearly didn’t agree. She stared at the butler with furious ‘do-something-about-this-child’ eyes and said, “Mr. Brown!”

Mr. Brown made a face of reproof at the girls and snapped, “You two! Off with yous. Go and polish the silver fer tonight, and keep your mouths shut!”

They flounced off prettily and within seconds started giggling again. I said, “I’m sorry, I seem to have…”

“Och, not at all, sir. Mrs. Cameron is upstairs, sir, um… delivering… uh… attending to…”

I raised my eyebrows and smiled. “Perhaps the verb is unimportant,” I said. “I’ll settle for the location.”

He smiled a little sickly and muttered, “Mr. Gordon, Sr., sir. A private matter…”

“Of course, well, it wasn’t anything vital. Perhaps I’ll catch her later.”

“Indeed, sir.”

I left the way I had come and made my way up to our room deep in thought. When I went in, Dehan had thrown the covers off and was lying under a single sheet, fast asleep. The window was open, but it was still close and warm. I went into the bathroom, stripped and had a long shower, hot, cold, hot, and then cold again. By the time I had dried myself off, the food and whiskey-induced fogginess had cleared. I pulled on a pair of jeans and sat by the window for a while, looking out at the gardens and thinking.

It was almost forty years ago, but to this small group of