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

She frowned. “Slapper?”

“A London term for a loose woman. You have a point. And revenge gives us one more suspect, perhaps two.”

“Mother Armstrong and her son. But that is a lot of speculation, Stone. We don’t know how close they really were.”

I made a face that was skeptical. “How old would you say Armstrong was? Fifty-six? Fifty-eight? That makes him about sixteen or seventeen at the time of Old Man Gordon’s murder. If he heard about the old man’s change of heart, which he might well have done if he was working here as the gardener, that gives him a powerful motive…”

She nodded. “True.” She nodded again, raising her eyebrows. “Especially if he thought the old man had already changed the will.”

I pointed at her. “That will. That will is at the heart of all this, Dehan, and I’ll tell you something else. It is still a powder keg. I have a bad feeling. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of this.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t put my finger on it, but I have a prickling at the back of my neck that says…”

I hesitated.

Her frown deepened. “What?”

“Dehan, I have a bad feeling. I think there is going to be another murder.”

“What? C’mon! You’re suffering from a combination of work deprivation and Scottish brooding.”

I laughed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to change for dinner, I’m going to slip into my ravishing red with the split up to my hip, we are going to have martinis before dinner and we are going to forget all about Old Man Gordon and these crazy people. And tomorrow…” She leaned across and stabbed my chest with her finger. “As soon as this storm has blown itself out, we are going to take that ferry and spend a day visiting distilleries and remote towns and thinking about something that is not a cold case.” She spread her hands. “Honeymoon, right? And these guys have Scotland Yard. It was called that for a reason, you know!”

I laughed out loud.

She laughed too. “To deal with crazy Scots murderers!”

“You’re right. Hey, you want to dance?”

“Now? Without music?”

“I have a respectable baritone and I can hum a Strauss waltz with the best of them. But you have to put your feet on mine so I can guide you and not tread on your toes.”

We did a couple of circuits of the ballroom, with Dehan standing on my feet and laughing helplessly while I twirled and pranced and hummed the Blue Danube, and the gale did its best to drown out my respectable baritone. After the second circuit, the door opened and a large figure stood silhouetted, watching us. I came to a halt, Dehan stepped off my shoes and turned to look, still giggling quietly.

I couldn’t make out his features, but I could see it was Charles Gordon Sr. After a moment he spoke.

“My son tells me you’ve been inquiring about my father’s death.”

“As a matter of fact, we were. We run the cold cases unit at our precinct and we were curious. We didn’t mean to intrude.”

He remained immobile. It was unsettling not to be able to see his face or his expression. After a moment, he said, “It’s not a cold case. It was ruled suicide.”

“So I understand. As I say, it was just a passing interest.”

He took a step into the room. “You think it was not suicide?”

The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I took a step toward him, partially blocking Dehan. I kept my voice level. “There are details that are hard to explain: the absence of powder burns, the absence of gunshot residue, the angle of the shot…”

“You don’t need to convince me, Stone.” He took another step closer and now the gray light from the French windows touched half his face. One eye peered at me, hard, calculating. “I said it was murder from the start. The inspector agreed with me. But he was overruled. They closed it as a suicide.” He shook his head. “My father would not have committed suicide, not in a million years.”

I nodded, then shrugged. “Well, as I say, Mr. Gordon, we just had a passing interest because of our work back home…”

Dehan stepped forward. “Did you ever suspect anybody?”

“Mrs. Stone…” For a moment it sounded like an answer to his question and I frowned, confused. Then he said, “Yes, I had my ideas, but I was never able to confirm them. You know what they say…” He shifted slightly in the shadows, and I knew he was looking at me again. “Keep your lovers close, but keep your enemies closer.”

He turned and moved back to the open door. There he paused and spoke, out into the hallway. “We’ll be dressing for dinner.” Then a poisonous smile leeched into his voice. “The Camerons will be joining us again. Such a charming couple.”

He disappeared toward the stairs and we heard his heavy tread climbing toward the upper floor.

I scratched my head. “You think we could cross to the mainland this evening? I’ll take my chances with the storm.”

She leaned her forehead on my chest, laughing softly. “Stone! Where have I brought us? What are they like?”

“Come on, let’s go get changed. I need a drink. And tomorrow we go spend a day back in the real world. Maybe when we get back, this lot will seem a bit more normal.”

She looked up at me and nodded. “I guess it was our fault for asking questions in the first place.”

“I guess.”

I gave her a kiss and we made our way into the hall. The storm had graduated from moaning and groaning to the occasional scream and wail. We had just reached the landing, where the stairs divided