Read Online Grace Among Thieves by Julie Hyzy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Hyzy
Tags: cozy
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passage in the east wing. Red stairwell. Get there as fast as you can.”
“Got it,” I said.
Frances followed me as I started for the door. “What happened?”
“I guess I’m about to find out.”
Chapter 7
I SHOT THROUGH THE DOOR THAT SEPARATED the administrative wing from the public areas, hurrying across the Gathering Hall, noting that attendance was sparse. Owing to the time of day, that wasn’t a surprise. I raced to the east wing. The red stairwell was the far one at the end of the hall, on the right.
When the house was designed and servants lived here, high up in the tiny, spartan rooms that lined this end of the mansion’s top floors, a very wise, very efficient decision was made to paint each of the four stairway walls a different color, making for quick and easy identification in this end of the home.
I was still at least a hundred feet away from the turnoff to the red stairwell when groups of people came around the corner, heading the opposite direction guided by security guards. Chattering, exclaiming, and throwing glances over their shoulders, they allowed themselves to be shepherded toward the wide, central staircase. Several of the guards shot me questioning looks as I rushed past. I shrugged a reply, just as I heard Niles ask a family to please step downstairs and await further instructions.
Further instructions for what?
I wondered. But I didn’t stop to ask.
Making my way past the guest rooms on my right, I slipped under the velvet ropes that cordoned off a long hall. The red staircase was down this way.
I was about to rush in when I heard a shout from behind me. “Hey!”
I turned. Another guard, William, raised his hand. “Sorry, Ms. Wheaton. I didn’t recognize you.”
“What’s going on?” I asked as I gripped the doorknob.
His mouth was set in a grim line. “Best you see for yourself.”
Prepared for the worst, I took a deep breath and threw open the stairwell door.
The landing before me was empty. Light from the skylight above spilled down, illuminating the dust motes that floated overhead. This staircase was one of the larger ones in the home. Shaped like a giant square doughnut, its steps ran along its perimeter, with a square center that opened up to the skylight like a ten-by-ten-foot flue. I’d stepped onto the third-floor landing. There was one flight above me and, because this staircase descended all the way to the sub-basement, four flights below.
Cries and exclamations rose up, echoing through the narrow chamber. Terrence’s voice shouted above it all, straining to take command. I took a step forward, gripped the oak rail, and peered over the edge.
A woman lay at the very bottom of the stairwell, motionless. She was in a position so crooked, with so much blood pooling beneath her, that I had no doubt she was dead.
“Terrence,” I called, but my shaking voice was too thin, the din from below too great.
I became aware of the backs of many heads, one level below me, staring down at the limp figure, as I did. Jostling for position, they swarmed the lower stairs, peering down, crying out, pointing.
I’m not coordinated enough to take stairs two at a time going down, but I ran as fast as I could, my breath coming in gasps as I pushed through the gaggle of onlookers. This part of the mansion should have been strictly off-limits. What could have happened to the woman at the bottom? Why all the gawkers? What were they doing in this part of the building? I needed answers. Now.
“Excuse me,” I said darting between those jockeying for a better look. Whoever was dead must have fallen. There was no other explanation. I tried to tune in to what people were saying, but I moved too fast and they all seemed as puzzled as I was. “Let me through.”
As I started down the final flight of stairs, I spotted Terrence and John, the tour director, on the lowest level. They were as far away from the woman’s prone form as possible. Behind them, three doorways opened to
“Got it,” I said.
Frances followed me as I started for the door. “What happened?”
“I guess I’m about to find out.”
Chapter 7
I SHOT THROUGH THE DOOR THAT SEPARATED the administrative wing from the public areas, hurrying across the Gathering Hall, noting that attendance was sparse. Owing to the time of day, that wasn’t a surprise. I raced to the east wing. The red stairwell was the far one at the end of the hall, on the right.
When the house was designed and servants lived here, high up in the tiny, spartan rooms that lined this end of the mansion’s top floors, a very wise, very efficient decision was made to paint each of the four stairway walls a different color, making for quick and easy identification in this end of the home.
I was still at least a hundred feet away from the turnoff to the red stairwell when groups of people came around the corner, heading the opposite direction guided by security guards. Chattering, exclaiming, and throwing glances over their shoulders, they allowed themselves to be shepherded toward the wide, central staircase. Several of the guards shot me questioning looks as I rushed past. I shrugged a reply, just as I heard Niles ask a family to please step downstairs and await further instructions.
Further instructions for what?
I wondered. But I didn’t stop to ask.
Making my way past the guest rooms on my right, I slipped under the velvet ropes that cordoned off a long hall. The red staircase was down this way.
I was about to rush in when I heard a shout from behind me. “Hey!”
I turned. Another guard, William, raised his hand. “Sorry, Ms. Wheaton. I didn’t recognize you.”
“What’s going on?” I asked as I gripped the doorknob.
His mouth was set in a grim line. “Best you see for yourself.”
Prepared for the worst, I took a deep breath and threw open the stairwell door.
The landing before me was empty. Light from the skylight above spilled down, illuminating the dust motes that floated overhead. This staircase was one of the larger ones in the home. Shaped like a giant square doughnut, its steps ran along its perimeter, with a square center that opened up to the skylight like a ten-by-ten-foot flue. I’d stepped onto the third-floor landing. There was one flight above me and, because this staircase descended all the way to the sub-basement, four flights below.
Cries and exclamations rose up, echoing through the narrow chamber. Terrence’s voice shouted above it all, straining to take command. I took a step forward, gripped the oak rail, and peered over the edge.
A woman lay at the very bottom of the stairwell, motionless. She was in a position so crooked, with so much blood pooling beneath her, that I had no doubt she was dead.
“Terrence,” I called, but my shaking voice was too thin, the din from below too great.
I became aware of the backs of many heads, one level below me, staring down at the limp figure, as I did. Jostling for position, they swarmed the lower stairs, peering down, crying out, pointing.
I’m not coordinated enough to take stairs two at a time going down, but I ran as fast as I could, my breath coming in gasps as I pushed through the gaggle of onlookers. This part of the mansion should have been strictly off-limits. What could have happened to the woman at the bottom? Why all the gawkers? What were they doing in this part of the building? I needed answers. Now.
“Excuse me,” I said darting between those jockeying for a better look. Whoever was dead must have fallen. There was no other explanation. I tried to tune in to what people were saying, but I moved too fast and they all seemed as puzzled as I was. “Let me through.”
As I started down the final flight of stairs, I spotted Terrence and John, the tour director, on the lowest level. They were as far away from the woman’s prone form as possible. Behind them, three doorways opened to
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