Read Online 02 Murder at the Mansion by Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot
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backwards. She shut her eyes and screamed as the rustling grew so loud it was now mere inches away from her. “Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy na –” Annabelle muttered, quickly and quietly, until she felt something press against her leg and opened her eyes in horror. “Biscuit!”
“Meow,” came the cat’s sardonic reply.
Annabelle reached out and stroked the cat’s head, as if unable to believe the source of her terror was none other than the church cat. Biscuit, in an atypically forthright gesture, pressed her head against the Vicar’s hand.
“What on earth are you doing so far from the church? We’re almost two miles away!”
Annabelle picked the cat up and cuddled it to her chest. Biscuit licked her face, causing Annabelle to double-check that it was, actually, Biscuit.
“I do believe all this drama is driving me quite mad and more than a little hungry. I’d like one of Philippa’s cupcakes so much I can already smell it,” Annabelle joked, as she placed the cat on the ground, stood up, and brushed off her slacks.
After a few moments of adjusting her clothes, picking her notebook up from the dirt and tucking it away into her pocket, Annabelle clipped her flask to her waistband and looked around at the sodden dirt of the area.
“I suppose we’ll have to look for clues together now, Biscuit,” she said, as she concentrated her eyes upon the area.
Unfortunately, the heavy rainfall of the previous night had flattened and soaked the earth, leaving only the markings and footprints Annabelle had made herself. As she carefully walked back and forth, desperately seeking something that could cast some more light onto the secret of the murderer’s identity, her heart began to sink.
“Oh, Biscuit. I’m starting to think all of my efforts have been for naught,” Annabelle sighed, deflated, “though I suppose the Inspector will be interested in knowing where the murderer was when he fired the shot. Don’t you, Biscuit?”
Annabelle glanced around, failing to see the ginger cat.
“Biscuit? Biscuit?” she said, rushing forward.
She turned her head once more and noticed the tabby cat crouching next to the two trees through which the arrow must have flown. Annabelle turned her attention toward the ground, taking one last look in search of clues.
“I need the bathroom myself, actually,” Annabelle said, looking upwards at the encroaching darkness. “I think it’s time we went home. Come on.”
Biscuit, however, was not yet ready to leave the murderer’s den. The ginger cat began pawing at the ground, spraying clumps of dirt in order to disguise her scent, as cats are wont to do. Annabelle waited patiently for the cat to finish. She looked once again toward Sir John’s window, then back at the cat. Suddenly, she noticed something small and whitish-brown sticking out of the earth that the cat had uncovered.
“What’s this? What have you found, Biscuit?” she said, gently nudging the cat aside and pulling the cigarette butt from the ground. She rubbed the dirt away and peered closely at it. Upon realizing that the discovery was a mere cigarette butt, Annabelle’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. A moment before tossing it away, however, she began to wonder. In her now numerous trips to the woods, she had not noticed litter of any kind, let alone cigarette butts. The hunters of the village were as proud of the woods as their wives were of their homes, and they did their utmost to preserve its immaculate condition. Biscuit had also uncovered the cigarette butt in the precise position that the murderer would have stood. It was a spot unsuitable for hunting anything other than a certain Sir John Cartwright.
Annabelle studied the cigarette butt further, noticing how fresh and clean it looked. It certainly didn’t bear the worn look of something that had been in the rain for longer than a week, and unless Inspector Nicholls’ officers had snuck off into the woods for a sneaky
“Meow,” came the cat’s sardonic reply.
Annabelle reached out and stroked the cat’s head, as if unable to believe the source of her terror was none other than the church cat. Biscuit, in an atypically forthright gesture, pressed her head against the Vicar’s hand.
“What on earth are you doing so far from the church? We’re almost two miles away!”
Annabelle picked the cat up and cuddled it to her chest. Biscuit licked her face, causing Annabelle to double-check that it was, actually, Biscuit.
“I do believe all this drama is driving me quite mad and more than a little hungry. I’d like one of Philippa’s cupcakes so much I can already smell it,” Annabelle joked, as she placed the cat on the ground, stood up, and brushed off her slacks.
After a few moments of adjusting her clothes, picking her notebook up from the dirt and tucking it away into her pocket, Annabelle clipped her flask to her waistband and looked around at the sodden dirt of the area.
“I suppose we’ll have to look for clues together now, Biscuit,” she said, as she concentrated her eyes upon the area.
Unfortunately, the heavy rainfall of the previous night had flattened and soaked the earth, leaving only the markings and footprints Annabelle had made herself. As she carefully walked back and forth, desperately seeking something that could cast some more light onto the secret of the murderer’s identity, her heart began to sink.
“Oh, Biscuit. I’m starting to think all of my efforts have been for naught,” Annabelle sighed, deflated, “though I suppose the Inspector will be interested in knowing where the murderer was when he fired the shot. Don’t you, Biscuit?”
Annabelle glanced around, failing to see the ginger cat.
“Biscuit? Biscuit?” she said, rushing forward.
She turned her head once more and noticed the tabby cat crouching next to the two trees through which the arrow must have flown. Annabelle turned her attention toward the ground, taking one last look in search of clues.
“I need the bathroom myself, actually,” Annabelle said, looking upwards at the encroaching darkness. “I think it’s time we went home. Come on.”
Biscuit, however, was not yet ready to leave the murderer’s den. The ginger cat began pawing at the ground, spraying clumps of dirt in order to disguise her scent, as cats are wont to do. Annabelle waited patiently for the cat to finish. She looked once again toward Sir John’s window, then back at the cat. Suddenly, she noticed something small and whitish-brown sticking out of the earth that the cat had uncovered.
“What’s this? What have you found, Biscuit?” she said, gently nudging the cat aside and pulling the cigarette butt from the ground. She rubbed the dirt away and peered closely at it. Upon realizing that the discovery was a mere cigarette butt, Annabelle’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. A moment before tossing it away, however, she began to wonder. In her now numerous trips to the woods, she had not noticed litter of any kind, let alone cigarette butts. The hunters of the village were as proud of the woods as their wives were of their homes, and they did their utmost to preserve its immaculate condition. Biscuit had also uncovered the cigarette butt in the precise position that the murderer would have stood. It was a spot unsuitable for hunting anything other than a certain Sir John Cartwright.
Annabelle studied the cigarette butt further, noticing how fresh and clean it looked. It certainly didn’t bear the worn look of something that had been in the rain for longer than a week, and unless Inspector Nicholls’ officers had snuck off into the woods for a sneaky
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