Murder at the Mansion Read Free Page A

beginning with wonderful friends already a part of it. Still hard to believe. I felt so lucky.
    Looking at my watch, I saw it was time to move. I unpacked the heavy company fleece and the lightweight nylon jacket Corrigan had sent with the cardholder. They had R EDWOOD C OVE B ED-AND- B REAKFAST embossed underneath R ESORTS I NTERNATIONAL. A glance outside showed fog beginning to swirl in. I chose the fleece.
    I joined Helen in the main room.
    â€œReady to go?” Helen asked.
    â€œSure. What can I help you with?” Two boxes were on the counter, containing stacks of plastic-wrapped trays full of appetizers.
    Through the back door window, I saw Daniel’s bus roll into the backyard.
    Helen pointed to a box. “Grab that one.”
    I could almost hear my red hair beginning to curl in the foggy air as I walked outside. I got in the middle bench seat and placed the hors d’oeuvres on my lap.
    Redwood Heights was only a short distance from the Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. A block from the inn, we took a left turn down a hill and went around a corner, and there it was.
    I gasped. The building sat nestled among giant redwoods. It was two stories with row after row of windows interspersed with French doors leading to balconies protected by black wrought-iron railings. A master craftsman had twisted them into intricate twirls and patterns, same as the ones encircling the top of the building. The mansion reminded me of a majestic English queen, the towering trees her staff-in-waiting, her billowing skirts the outcropping of buildings spreading to either side, her crown the widow’s walk on top.
    This answered one question—what Daniel and Helen had meant when they said this property was different. It definitely wasn’t like any other Resorts International properties I knew. The ones I’d experienced and the ones I’d read about had a more casual air to them.
    We pulled into the back and unloaded. Helen busied herself in the kitchen, heating the appetizers.
    â€œI get them ready, then the staff minds them and adds as necessary to the hot trays in the parlor,” she explained.
    â€œThe guest area is this way.” Daniel pointed to a hallway.
    We walked into a room filled with guests and over to the sideboard holding the evening’s offerings.
    Large crystal chandeliers lit the room. Tables were covered with white brocade tablecloths. A stack of fine china plates sat next to an array of artisan cheeses and several wine choices.
    I looked around the room. Lustrous pearls rested on cashmere sweaters. The diamond on one woman’s hand competed in size with the crystal finial hanging from the center of the chandelier. The gentle orchestral strains of “Moon River” accompanied the conversation in the room.
    These weren’t the fleece-and-denim Redwood Cove visitors I had gotten to know. I straightened my jacket and ran my hand through my fog-frizzed hair.
    A young woman offered some of Helen’s appetizers to a guest. As she reached for one, a shrill scream ripped through the room, shattering the tranquil moment.

Chapter 3
    T he room went quiet, except for the music. People began to stand. Daniel and I rushed across the room.
    â€œPlease, everyone, remain seated,” I said. “Let us see what’s happened.”
    People sank back into their chairs.
    I flung open the parlor door. The registration area was off to my left. A steep, wide staircase dominated the area ahead of me. A woman lay sobbing at the bottom of it in a crumpled heap.
    I knelt beside her, and Daniel joined me. Tears had washed her artfully applied eyeliner down her cheeks, creating black rivulets through the powdered blush.
    â€œAre you hurt?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” she said in a tremulous voice. “Someone . . . someone pushed me.” She sat up and ran her fingers through her carefully coiffed blond hair, causing furrows in the heavily sprayed hairdo.
    Daniel and I