Read Online Top O' the Mournin' by Maddy Hunter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maddy Hunter
Tags: Mystery
Ads: Link
indicate she might be something other than—”
“Shall we head for our rooms?” I interrupted. I had to discourage Tilly’s anthropological observations. Too bad she wasn’t a retired geology professor. Then the only thing she’d notice about Jackie would be the size of the rock on her ring finger.
I threaded my arms through theirs and dragged them along with me. “Early start tomorrow, ladies. We need our beauty sleep. What’s your room number?”
Their room was three doors down from mine on the first floor, so I said good night to them at my door and raced into my bedroom. I don’t know what the castle had looked like before the renovation, but the end result was stunning. My room was the size of a basketball court with a bank of windows occupying one wall. Two queen-size beds dominated the space, the headboards covered in the same rose-and-mauve flower-garden fabric that was repeated in the drapes and counterpanes. Four velvet boudoir chairs were arranged around the stone fireplace, and hanging over the mantel was a gilt-framed oil painting of some ancient lord astride a horse, surrounded by sleek hounds and barefoot children poised to dip their toes in a babbling brook. There was a mirrored double dresser, an armoire with a television inside, mirrored panels on the closet doors, and a host of other wall paintings that depicted thatched cottages, stone towers, and elaborate Celtic crosses.
I rushed into the bathroom. Wow. Whirlpool tub. Glassed-in shower. Marble tile. Aromatic candles. Jars of bath salts and bubble bath. Little bottles of shampoo, body lotion, and massage oil. I held up the massage oil. Maybe I could heat it over the candle. Oh, boy. This day might not be a complete loss after all.
I pulled the turtleneck of my sweater down to examine my neck. Okay. It didn’t look too bad. No new welts had formed. If I applied more powder, Etienne might not even notice, especially if he was looking at me by candlelight.
A light tap at my door. Speak of the devil. I threw the door wide and smiled my most seductive smile.
“I’m sorry to bother you, dear,” Nana apologized, “but do you suppose you could come down to our room?”
“Right now?”
“You’re probably expectin’ your young man. I’m sorry. You take your time then and come down when you can. There’s no hurry.”
“Is there a problem with your room?”
“Just a small one. There’s a dead body in it.”
Chapter 4
T he deceased was a spindle of a woman dressed in a chambermaid’s uniform and lying on the floor in front of the mirrored closet in Nana’s room.
“You didn’t touch her, did you?” I asked as I inched close to the body.
“’Course I touched her, dear. I had to check for a pulse.”
She had curly salt-and-pepper hair, pale, wide eyes that stared fixedly at the ceiling, and thin lips that were drawn apart as if in a silent scream. I placed her at well beyond retirement age.
Tilly hovered near the woman’s feet. “I looked her all over and found no blood. No trauma to the body. My guess is stroke or heart attack. These people can’t expect to eat full Irish breakfasts every day and not suffer the consequences. Fried eggs. Fried potatoes. Sausage. Bacon. Black pudding. Even the Samoans have switched to Special K.”
“How long do you think she’s been here?” I asked. As upsetting as this was, I was thankful the deceased wasn’t a member of our tour group.
Nana sank to her knees for a better look at the body. “There’s fixed lividity. See here. All the blood’s settled at the back a her arms and legs, makin’ ’em that purplish color. Her lips and nails are real pale. Her extremities are blue. Her eyes are startin’ to flatten ’cause a lack of fluid. And her skin’s real cool. My guess is, she’s been here between six and eight hours.”
I regarded Nana in astonishment. How did she know that?
“Very impressive,” said Tilly. “You’ve been overly modest about yourself, Marion.
“Shall we head for our rooms?” I interrupted. I had to discourage Tilly’s anthropological observations. Too bad she wasn’t a retired geology professor. Then the only thing she’d notice about Jackie would be the size of the rock on her ring finger.
I threaded my arms through theirs and dragged them along with me. “Early start tomorrow, ladies. We need our beauty sleep. What’s your room number?”
Their room was three doors down from mine on the first floor, so I said good night to them at my door and raced into my bedroom. I don’t know what the castle had looked like before the renovation, but the end result was stunning. My room was the size of a basketball court with a bank of windows occupying one wall. Two queen-size beds dominated the space, the headboards covered in the same rose-and-mauve flower-garden fabric that was repeated in the drapes and counterpanes. Four velvet boudoir chairs were arranged around the stone fireplace, and hanging over the mantel was a gilt-framed oil painting of some ancient lord astride a horse, surrounded by sleek hounds and barefoot children poised to dip their toes in a babbling brook. There was a mirrored double dresser, an armoire with a television inside, mirrored panels on the closet doors, and a host of other wall paintings that depicted thatched cottages, stone towers, and elaborate Celtic crosses.
I rushed into the bathroom. Wow. Whirlpool tub. Glassed-in shower. Marble tile. Aromatic candles. Jars of bath salts and bubble bath. Little bottles of shampoo, body lotion, and massage oil. I held up the massage oil. Maybe I could heat it over the candle. Oh, boy. This day might not be a complete loss after all.
I pulled the turtleneck of my sweater down to examine my neck. Okay. It didn’t look too bad. No new welts had formed. If I applied more powder, Etienne might not even notice, especially if he was looking at me by candlelight.
A light tap at my door. Speak of the devil. I threw the door wide and smiled my most seductive smile.
“I’m sorry to bother you, dear,” Nana apologized, “but do you suppose you could come down to our room?”
“Right now?”
“You’re probably expectin’ your young man. I’m sorry. You take your time then and come down when you can. There’s no hurry.”
“Is there a problem with your room?”
“Just a small one. There’s a dead body in it.”
Chapter 4
T he deceased was a spindle of a woman dressed in a chambermaid’s uniform and lying on the floor in front of the mirrored closet in Nana’s room.
“You didn’t touch her, did you?” I asked as I inched close to the body.
“’Course I touched her, dear. I had to check for a pulse.”
She had curly salt-and-pepper hair, pale, wide eyes that stared fixedly at the ceiling, and thin lips that were drawn apart as if in a silent scream. I placed her at well beyond retirement age.
Tilly hovered near the woman’s feet. “I looked her all over and found no blood. No trauma to the body. My guess is stroke or heart attack. These people can’t expect to eat full Irish breakfasts every day and not suffer the consequences. Fried eggs. Fried potatoes. Sausage. Bacon. Black pudding. Even the Samoans have switched to Special K.”
“How long do you think she’s been here?” I asked. As upsetting as this was, I was thankful the deceased wasn’t a member of our tour group.
Nana sank to her knees for a better look at the body. “There’s fixed lividity. See here. All the blood’s settled at the back a her arms and legs, makin’ ’em that purplish color. Her lips and nails are real pale. Her extremities are blue. Her eyes are startin’ to flatten ’cause a lack of fluid. And her skin’s real cool. My guess is, she’s been here between six and eight hours.”
I regarded Nana in astonishment. How did she know that?
“Very impressive,” said Tilly. “You’ve been overly modest about yourself, Marion.
Similar Books
