Murder at the Mansion Read Free Page B

scanned the open landing above and saw no one.
    â€œI’m Kelly Jackson, and this is Daniel Stevens. We work for Resorts International. Are you injured? Do we need to call a doctor?” I asked.
    The woman slowly extended her arms, flexed her fingers, and then stretched each leg. “I feel sore, but I don’t think anything is broken.”
    â€œI’m so glad to hear it,” I said.
    â€œI’m Sylvia Porter.” The woman’s voice quavered. She cast a frightened glance at the row of rooms above, then looked at us, her eyes wide with fear. “I could’ve been killed! You need to search and find who did it. They’re hiding up there.”
    Daniel and I looked at each other.
    Sylvia grabbed my arm. “Please, promise you’ll search . . . that you’ll find the person.” Her nails dug into my flesh.
    I put my hand on hers. “We’ll do our best.”
    Daniel nodded in agreement.
    A pair of very pointed black patent shoe tips appeared in my peripheral vision. I turned, and my gaze traveled up finely tailored women’s black slacks and over a suit jacket. The woman’s expression appeared more tolerant than concerned. Her short black hair completed the picture.
    â€œMrs. Porter, what’s happened? Are you okay?” The woman bent over and patted Sylvia’s shoulder. “There, there, dear. It looks like you’ve slipped and had a nasty fall.”
    â€œI didn’t slip, Mrs. Hensley.” A belligerent tone crept into Sylvia’s voice. “I was pushed.”
    So this is the manager and the source of the exchanged looks between Helen and Daniel.
    Sylvia looked at Daniel and me. “You believe me, don’t you? I know the difference between slipping and being shoved.” She threw a defiant glance at the woman bending over her.
    â€œDo you think you can stand?” Daniel asked. “I’ll help you.”
    Sylvia grabbed the ends of the staircase railing. Daniel put his hand under her arm and helped her slowly to stand. The sobs reduced to sniffles.
    â€œDid you see who . . . pushed you?” the woman next to me asked.
    â€œNo, Mrs. Hensley. If I had, I would’ve told you.” She glared at the manager.
    â€œI’ll let the guests know what’s happened,” Mrs. Hensley said, “and I’ll have Tina go upstairs with you and see that you’re comfortably settled in your room. She’ll be happy to prepare a tray for you from the parlor.”
    â€œThat would be nice.” Sylvia took a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed under her eyes.
    â€œAnd I’d like to offer you a complimentary bottle of wine for your stay here.”
    Sylvia shot a quick glance at the manager. “Well, I really enjoyed the Oak Tree merlot we had yesterday afternoon.”
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Porter.” Hensley’s eyelids dropped a fraction and her eyes narrowed. “You have excellent taste. I’ll have it delivered to your room.”
    The manager disappeared into the parlor.
    Sylvia looked at Daniel and then me. “You said you were going to search. You’re going to do that, right?” Tears began to well up again.
    â€œYes, we gave you our word. We’ll look,” I replied.
    Mrs. Hensley returned as Sylvia sagged against Daniel at our response. A young woman with short, brown curly hair came back with the manager.
    â€œMrs. Porter,” the girl said, “I’m sorry you had a fall. Let me help.” She supported Sylvia on one side, and Daniel supported on the other, and the group started a slow ascent up the wide staircase and into the woman’s room.
    I turned to the woman in black and held out my hand. “Kelly Jackson, manager at Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast.”
    â€œMargaret Hensley.” Her cold hand barely touched my palm.
    I looked at the row of rooms above us through the second-floor railing. I counted six. “I think Daniel and I can do