Lucifer's Crown Read Free Page B

something deliberate in both.
    She told herself, so you're down on men. You don't have to get your back up because a twenty-year-old boy acts his age.
    "Sorry I went off by myself. I should've asked Sean to go with me, but I didn't...” Rose glanced at the young man's broad back.
    Maggie filled in the rest of the sentence, want to encourage him , and said aloud, “...think there would be any danger. Of course not. Small town, a civilized country—uh-oh. Here we go."
    A man in a dark suit thrust open the doors of the vestibule and walked into the dining room. “Good morning. I'm Detective Inspector Jivan Gupta, Somerset Constabulary.” Although he wasn't a large man, he carried himself like a king—or a maharajah. His mahogany complexion was cut horizontally by a splendid black moustache. Similarly black hair was trimmed in a military style.
    Maggie started to run her fingers through her own short, thoroughly undisciplined auburn hair and caught herself. “Good morning."
    Pulling out a chair, Gupta sat down. From his inside pocket he produced pen and notepad. “Miss Kildare? Do you mind answering a few questions?"
    "Anything I can do to help.” Rose shoved the mug away, set her chin, and sat up straight.
    Maggie extended her hand. “I'm Maggie Sinclair. Instructor in British History, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, Texas. I'm leading the seminar group."
    "Dr. Sinclair.” Gupta's handshake was brisk and firm.
    Maggie's jaw tightened. “No. Just ‘Ms.’”
    "How many students do you have, Ms. Sinclair?"
    "Three."
    Sean left the polishing cloth lumped on the table and leaned against the fireplace. “My name's Sean MacArthur."
    "I'm Anna Stern.” Anna stepped into the room, propped her broom against the wall, and sat down.
    Anna's contained movements, her whip-thin body, her cap of silver hair made her resemble an ambulatory Ionic column. While Maggie insisted on “Ms.,” Anna was unaffectedly “Mrs.,” a widow pursuing her intellectual interests, not a political agenda. You don't have to envy a sixty-five-year-old's composure, either, Maggie instructed herself
    Gupta asked, “You're stopping here at the youth hostel, are you?"
    "Just for two nights,” Maggie replied. “Today we're moving to the B&B where we'll be staying until the end of the year. Temple Manor on Old Beckery Road, about a mile west of the Abbey."
    "Ah, yes. The former owner is a great friend of mine."
    "Thomas London, the historian?"
    "Yes.” Gupta nodded. “You'll be stopping in Somerset until the end of December?"
    "We rejoin the other groups in London at Christmas, attend the New Year's Eve concert at Canterbury, and get home the first week of January."
    Gupta wrote that down. “Now then, Miss Kildare. Soon after entering the Abbey this morning you found the body of a woman. You told P. C. Barnes you weren't in the grounds above five minutes. The custodian agrees."
    "It seemed longer than five minutes,” Rose said in a steady voice.
    "No doubt. Why did you go into the Abbey before it opened?"
    "I left my notebook there yesterday. At least, I think that's where my notebook is."
    "But you didn't collect your book?"
    "No."
    "Our lads haven't turned one up. Can you describe it?"
    "It's an ordinary spiral-bound notebook with a red cardboard cover. My name's inside."
    "Did you see anyone in the Abbey grounds?"
    "Yes,” answered Rose. “A man—at least, he walked like a man—was standing next to the north transept, maybe thirty yards away from me. He made eye contact for just a second, then—well, he just melted away into the mist."
    "Description?"
    "Hard to say. He was wearing a loose coat or a cloak—you know, there was cloth fluttering behind him. A dim light shone around it, like he was carrying a flashlight."
    "A torch."
    "No, a flashlight."
    "Same thing, here,” murmured Maggie.
    "An electric torch.” Gupta's teeth flashed in a quick grin. “And?"
    "His eyes were weird,” Rose added. “Shiny, like a cat's."
    "The