Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) Read Free

the length of his tailored jacket sleeve—I could only imagine how soft that luxurious fabric was—and addressed Bennett over her shoulder. “Leland first suggested we hold the event upstairs in your foyer and adjoining rooms, but he has no imagination, do you, Leland?”
    He didn’t answer. Arm-rub or no, he didn’t appear to be paying attention.
    Joyce reached the far end of the space and turned around with an expression that was half bored, half amused. I got the impression that this woman had been born to perform. She extended both arms, hands upraised, looking a great deal like the Imperia statue in Konstanz, Germany, though offering far less cleavage, thank goodness.
    Raising her voice, she adopted a beleaguered tone. “
Everyone
who visits Marshfield has seen the foyer,” she said. “Hundreds—no—
thousands
of people pass through your front doors each day, clutching their precious tickets. And what do they see first? The foyer. Forgive me, Bennett, but it’s not
special
.”
    Leland wandered to the far end of the first room, stopping at the juncture where it ended and a small hallway leading to the auditorium began.
    The doctor raised his voice to be heard over Joyce’s. “Where are the bathrooms?”
    Joyce rolled her eyes. “Why on earth are you worried about that now?”
    “Why do you think?”
    She held a hand to her forehead and briefly closed her eyes. “You see what I have to deal with?”
    Leland turned to me. “Quite a few of my patients are attending. Several are elderly and may be experiencing incontinence issues.”
    I answered him. “They’re down the alcove to your left.”
    He pointed. “What’s to the right?”
    We’d been over this before. “That’s where David Cherk will be presenting ‘A History of the Promise Clock’ for the guests,” I said. David Cherk was a lauded, eccentric photographer who was regularly called upon to chronicle historic moments, and whose work adorned the interiors of most of Emberstowne’s municipal buildings. “That’s the auditorium.”
    We used the term
auditorium
loosely. There were no seats, no lights, no sound system, no stage. Like an auditorium, however, the room was fan-shaped, wide at the entrance and narrow at the deep end, which was where the presentation would be held.
    Keay disappeared to inspect the accommodations. I exchanged a glance with Frances. Among my concerns with holding the event down here were fire exits, capacity, and washroom facilities. There was only one official entrance to the space, down a narrow stairway that led from an E MPLOYEES O NLY door on the main level. We would have security officers stationed there tomorrow night to assist guests in finding their way to the party. But if anything should happen that might cause people to stampede out, the restricted egress had the potential to become a dangerous bottleneck.
    Weeks ago, at my urging, Joyce had agreed to meet with a representative from the fire department to ensure that the event wouldn’t violate code. We’d gotten the all-clear, but I still would have preferred to hold the benefit on Marshfield’s main level. I was certain that we could have found a location that was
special
enough for this gala event.
    Although there was only one official door to the party space, an emergency exit had been added some years back, probably when the mansion first opened to visitors. It evacuated into the employee underground garage, and accessing the exit involved hitting a crash bar, which set off ear-splitting alarms.
    I wandered that way now, as Bennett, Joyce, and Frances chatted among themselves. Ahead of me, the auditorium was dark. I tried to envision how David Cherk’s entertainment would play out. He was due here soon. We’d set up this last-minute meeting between all parties for late in the day, when the mansion was closed to visitors. I wandered back into the main room and glanced at my cell phone to check the time. Almost as if I’d been clairvoyant, the