Read Online 02 Murder at the Mansion by Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot
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half of the calculations and measurements Harper offered her. Despite this apparent obstacle, Annabelle prevailed. As she traipsed through the woods, armed with a flask of tea under one arm and her binoculars in the other, she tried her very best to triangulate where the murderer had fired that fatal shot from.
Though she was on the trail of a cold-blooded killer, Annabelle could not hold herself back from enjoying her surroundings. She delighted in the bird songs and stately beauty of the trees. She found herself stooping constantly to observe a patterned butterfly or a spider weaving an intricate web between two logs. She felt herself relax and focus in the presence of God’s creation. Apart from a slight scare when something rustled hurriedly in some nearby bushes, the hours she spent in the woods were good for her soul, if not her investigation. While she felt that she was getting somewhat closer to the truth, Harper’s calculations still proved too abstract for her, and she eventually left, slightly disappointed but no less determined.
The next day, Annabelle once again packed her binoculars and her notebook and took a small detour on her way to Woodlands Manor. Mr. Squires was one of the keenest archers in Upton St. Mary and one of the most trustworthy people Annabelle knew. He was an older gentleman who always wore clothes of deep farmer’s green. He possessed a thick, grey moustache that lent him the air of an old wartime general and when he invited Annabelle into his office, she saw it was adorned with old leather-bound books and watercolor paintings of various hunting scenes. After begging his discretion, which he assuredly gave, Annabelle showed him Harper’s calculations and the dimensions of the scene of the crime.
For little over an hour, Mr. Squires regaled the intently observant Vicar on archery, crossbows, and the distance-power ratios you could expect from various weapons. He troubled to give her full explanations of all the factors involved including wind, weights, the kind of arrows used, and the skill of its user. His explanations were most comprehensive and Annabelle left Mr. Squires extremely grateful, feeling that she knew more than she ever needed or intended to know about the centuries-old pastime.
When she found herself back in the woods, Annabelle applied everything she knew, taking great care to incorporate all the information she had gathered from both Harper and Mr. Squires. After carefully cross-checking her notes multiple times and making many fine adjustments, she finally found herself standing a few dozen yards away from the edge of the woods. She was on a mild incline, surrounded by a handful of trees that hid her almost completely but also afforded a clear view – and a straight shot – into Sir John Cartwright’s window.
“This has to be it!” she exclaimed to herself as she checked her calculations once more, ensuring there were no mistakes. “It certainly feels like a murderer’s spot.” Something about the spot was secretive and sinister. It was an area of the woods that would be perfect if one wanted to be hidden. Annabelle felt a shiver run up her spine. “Don’t be silly, Annabelle.”
Then came a sound. It was a rustle, of the kind Annabelle had heard the day before, and which she had assumed to come from a small woodland animal. Standing there, where a few days previously one person had ended the life of another, the sound took on an ominous weight. Annabelle crouched down to the ground, as silently as possible, her ears alert. Once again, the bushes rustled. Annabelle’s blood rushed through her body, and she gripped her flask tightly with one hand, and in the other, her crucifix.
Annabelle turned around slowly, looking for the cause of the sound. As she rotated almost a complete circle, the sound came once more from directly behind her. Only this time, it didn’t stop. Annabelle spun back around so quickly that she slipped on the soft soil and tumbled
Though she was on the trail of a cold-blooded killer, Annabelle could not hold herself back from enjoying her surroundings. She delighted in the bird songs and stately beauty of the trees. She found herself stooping constantly to observe a patterned butterfly or a spider weaving an intricate web between two logs. She felt herself relax and focus in the presence of God’s creation. Apart from a slight scare when something rustled hurriedly in some nearby bushes, the hours she spent in the woods were good for her soul, if not her investigation. While she felt that she was getting somewhat closer to the truth, Harper’s calculations still proved too abstract for her, and she eventually left, slightly disappointed but no less determined.
The next day, Annabelle once again packed her binoculars and her notebook and took a small detour on her way to Woodlands Manor. Mr. Squires was one of the keenest archers in Upton St. Mary and one of the most trustworthy people Annabelle knew. He was an older gentleman who always wore clothes of deep farmer’s green. He possessed a thick, grey moustache that lent him the air of an old wartime general and when he invited Annabelle into his office, she saw it was adorned with old leather-bound books and watercolor paintings of various hunting scenes. After begging his discretion, which he assuredly gave, Annabelle showed him Harper’s calculations and the dimensions of the scene of the crime.
For little over an hour, Mr. Squires regaled the intently observant Vicar on archery, crossbows, and the distance-power ratios you could expect from various weapons. He troubled to give her full explanations of all the factors involved including wind, weights, the kind of arrows used, and the skill of its user. His explanations were most comprehensive and Annabelle left Mr. Squires extremely grateful, feeling that she knew more than she ever needed or intended to know about the centuries-old pastime.
When she found herself back in the woods, Annabelle applied everything she knew, taking great care to incorporate all the information she had gathered from both Harper and Mr. Squires. After carefully cross-checking her notes multiple times and making many fine adjustments, she finally found herself standing a few dozen yards away from the edge of the woods. She was on a mild incline, surrounded by a handful of trees that hid her almost completely but also afforded a clear view – and a straight shot – into Sir John Cartwright’s window.
“This has to be it!” she exclaimed to herself as she checked her calculations once more, ensuring there were no mistakes. “It certainly feels like a murderer’s spot.” Something about the spot was secretive and sinister. It was an area of the woods that would be perfect if one wanted to be hidden. Annabelle felt a shiver run up her spine. “Don’t be silly, Annabelle.”
Then came a sound. It was a rustle, of the kind Annabelle had heard the day before, and which she had assumed to come from a small woodland animal. Standing there, where a few days previously one person had ended the life of another, the sound took on an ominous weight. Annabelle crouched down to the ground, as silently as possible, her ears alert. Once again, the bushes rustled. Annabelle’s blood rushed through her body, and she gripped her flask tightly with one hand, and in the other, her crucifix.
Annabelle turned around slowly, looking for the cause of the sound. As she rotated almost a complete circle, the sound came once more from directly behind her. Only this time, it didn’t stop. Annabelle spun back around so quickly that she slipped on the soft soil and tumbled
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