Death Comes to Dogwood Manor. Sandra Bretting
Читать онлайн книгу.
grimaced and waited for the crack of glass. When nothing sounded, I quickly stepped around the bed. A pile of men’s laundry lay on the other side, and the globe wobbled on top of it. Hallelujah! The clothes must’ve broken the finial’s fall.
It took a moment or two for the truth to dawn. A pile of fabric had broken the finial’s fall, all right, but it wasn’t dirty laundry. It was someone’s back. A kneeling figure, whose head was tucked close to his chest, and whose feet were painfully askew.
Nothing moved for at least a minute. Not the finial, not the form…and certainly not me. I did, however, finally back away, and then I let loose a scream louder than any electric belt sander or hammer or skill saw I’d yet to hear at the mansion.
CHAPTER 3
After what felt like forever, a stampede of work boots thundered down the hall and into the bedroom.
The next thing I knew, someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me away from the bed. Soon I stood in the hall, which seemed much too bright after the gloom of the bedroom.
“What…what happened?” I asked.
“You’re okay now.” It was a man’s voice, and the stranger continued to grip my shoulders, even though we’d come to a standstill. “Take a deep breath. That’s good.”
I wrenched out of his grasp and turned. My captor was the ponytailed owner of the Ford dually.
“But who was that in there?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it right now. Everything’s okay.”
“Please tell me. I went in there to…” My voice faltered. Why did I go in there again?
Mr. Solomon never said I could wander around the mansion all willy-nilly. In fact, he didn’t want me in the house—and especially not without a hard hat.
“Are you breathing?” the stranger asked. “You have to take some deep breaths.”
I did as he suggested and inhaled loudly. Slowly, my head cleared and I could think again. “I was looking for Mr. Solomon.”
“Well…I think you found him.”
“Excuse me?”
He didn’t flinch. “You found Mr. Solomon in the bedroom.”
“Is he—”
“Yes, he’s dead. Someone already called for the coroner.”
My knees turned to jelly. The stranger carefully helped me sit on the ground. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him.”
“Me, too. Wow. I can’t believe it.”
He pulled off his hard hat and joined me on the floor. “Were you a friend of his?”
“No, but I knew his wife. Ivy Solomon was a great lady.” Poor Ivy. First, her stepdaughter, Trinity, was murdered at another plantation down the road. And now this. “I’ve got to give her a call.”
“That sounds like a good idea.” He casually crossed his legs and set his hard hat on top of one of his blue-jeaned knees. “You know, we all thought this was coming.”
“Really?” Heaven only knew there was no love lost between Mr. Solomon and me, but I never expected to find him crumpled on the floor of his mansion.
“Yep, the guy was a walking heart attack,” he said.
“But you don’t know that’s how he died. It could’ve been anything.”
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” The stranger slowly straightened his legs again. “He worked day and night, and he lived on junk food. We even had a pool going. I think Randy picked this week for the old man to croak.”
A memory slowly worked its way forward. It had happened earlier this morning, when Shep Truitt and I stood in the foyer. He’d said something about the work crew, followed by the word “mutiny.”
“Did you guys really have a pool going?” The idea chilled me.
“Of course we did. You saw him. He looked like death warmed over. He only ate stuff he could microwave, like Totino’s Pizza Rolls, and Diet Coke.” He stuck his hand out. “By the way, I’m Cole. Cole Truitt. Nice to meet you.”
“Same. I’m Melissa DuBois.” I returned the handshake. “Say, are you related to Shep Truitt, the foreman here? You kinda look like him.”
“Yeah, he’s my dad.”
“I hope his hand is gonna be okay.” I swallowed, but a tickle emerged at the back of my throat. “I only came here because of one of my clients,” I said, once I swallowed. “I own a hat shop in town called Crowning Glory.”
He didn’t say anything, which told me he wasn’t familiar with the shop.
“Brides hire me to make their veils,” I explained. “And I worked with the Solomons once, when Trinity Solomon was engaged.”
“Then you understand. Mr. Solomon had a lot of money, but he sure made you earn it. My dad thought it’d be a good experience for me to work on this project. Pppfffttt.”
The tickle in my throat hardened to a cough. “Excuse me, but I really need some water. Do you know if there’s any bottled water around here?”
“Sure. I can get you some.” He swiftly rose and handed me his hard hat. “Could you hold on to this? I think I saw some bottles in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
Once he disappeared, I set aside the hat and fumbled for the cell in my pocket. It was time to call Lance LaPorte, my childhood friend, at his office in the police station.
I swallowed hard and pushed a button on the cell’s speed dial. He’ll never believe I found another body.
Unfortunately, I’d developed a bad habit of finding murder victims before anyone else did. Although, to my credit, I also had a habit of figuring out who’d killed the victims, which had made Lance eager to work with me.
After two rings, his voice came on the line. “Hiya, Missy. What’s up?” Unlike Ambrose, he didn’t sound wary of my call. No doubt because detectives got bad news all the time.
“Something’s happened, Lance.”
“Uh-oh.” His tone turned on a dime. “You don’t sound good. What’s wrong?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“What for? Now, don’t tease me. Out with it.”
“Give me a second.” It was still hard to speak. Where is Cole with the water bottle? “Okay. No wisecracks, but I found another body.”
The silence was deafening.
“Lance? Did you hear me?”
“Um-hum.”
“Is that all you’re gonna say?” I couldn’t read his mind from ten miles away, no matter how hard I tried.
Finally, he sighed. “You’re not going to tell me you’re kidding, are you? Just once I’d like to hear you say, ‘Haha. Gotcha. It’s all a joke.’”
“Now, why would I do that?” My voice rose a level or two, which only made my throat feel worse. “I don’t have time to harass you with prank calls.”
“A guy can hope, can’t he?”
“Did you even listen to what I just said? I found a body, here at Dogwood Manor. It’s Mr. Solomon. You know…the billionaire.”
“Herbert Solomon?”
I nodded, although he couldn’t see me. “The very same.”
“Okay, you’re not kidding. I get that. What happened?”
I coughed again, but the tickle wouldn’t leave.