Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read with me .TXT) 📕

for prime suspect. But we can discuss that later if you’re inclined. It’s actually another question that’s playing on my mind.”

Charles looked worried. “What’s that?”

“Did your grandfather keep his revolver in his study?”

He made a face and shook his head, then turned to the major. The major had gone very serious and was staring at the window. “Reggie?”

He shook his head. “No. Kept it in his room.”

I nodded, then looked at Dehan. “It’s not like the States here, Dehan. People don’t keep weapons for self defense or home protection. Especially in a place like this, am I right?”

Charles nodded. “Absolutely. Unheard of.”

I went on. “If you held on to a weapon like that, you’d have it as a souvenir, and you’d keep it unloaded. You wouldn’t have it lying around in a drawer in your study.”

“But the old man wasn’t British. He was from Boston.”

I nodded and smiled. “Not Texas. In any case, the weapon was in his bedroom. So whoever brought it down and shot him with it knew where to look for it.”

Suddenly the major stood. He was scowling and his face had gone scarlet. “Look here!” he said. “This has got a bit out of hand, hasn’t it? Next thing we’ll be accusing…” He stammered a moment, then changed tack. “The case was closed and the coroner found it was suicide. They must have known what they were talking about!” Now he met my eye. “No disrespect or anything, but we don’t need you Americans coming over and telling us how to investigate a… a… suicide!”

And with that, he marched across the room, wrenched open the door and stormed out.

Charles’ cheeks were flushed. “I am so sorry. You must think us awfully rude. I can’t apologize enough…”

I shook my head. “No need, I assure you.”

“I can’t think what came over him. He’s normally such a…”

I interrupted him. “I met Robert Armstrong. He drove us back from the pub, as far as the gate.”

He looked confused. “As far as the gate…?”

“He said he wouldn’t set foot in here, and he might have a surprise for you. How serious do you think he might be?”

He laughed. “Old Bobby? That’s ridiculous! He’s been our gardener for donkey’s years!”

“How long, exactly?”

“Oh, exactly? Um, over thirty years. Since before my grandfather died. My grandfather adored him, cared for him and his mother like family. Well, he thought they were family. Got a temper mind, like most Scotsmen, but I wouldn’t pay too much attention to him. Probably just in a huff.” He hesitated. “Well, I have a few things to attend to before dinner, so… Thank you so much, it has been most, um…instructive…”

TEN

We left him in his study and stood a moment in the darkened hallway. Outside, the sky had grown dark and a wild wind was making the house groan and the doors and windows creak and bang. Brown, the butler, emerged from the drawing room and made his way silently toward the kitchen with a tray of dirty cups and plates. We had missed tea. I looked at Dehan. She was staring across the hall at the glass panes in the door. Through them you could see the tall pines bowing and tossing under the gunmetal clouds.

I turned away and looked behind me. Under the arch where the staircase divided to climb toward the east wing of the house were the broad, double doors that led into the ballroom, and just before them there was a smaller, single door in the wall. I moved over to it and opened it. It was six or seven feet across and a good twelve feet deep. It held buckets and mops, brooms, a couple of vacuum cleaners and a floor polisher, and along the back wall and all along the right-hand wall there were shelves holding refuse sacks, cloth dusters, cans of polish, feather dusters and myriad other things you need to keep an old castle looking neat. Behind me I heard Brown’s voice.

“Can I help you, sir?”

I nodded, then turned to look at him. “These shelves, the ones along the side here, how long have they been up?”

He looked startled. “For as long as I can remember, sir!”

I smiled. “And how long would that be?”

His eyes seemed to glaze, “I am sixty-two, sir, and my mother worked at the Castle before the first Mr. Gordon bought it. The shelves were there when I was a small boy, so well over fifty years.”

“Do you mind if I have a closer look at them?”

He frowned but said, “Not in the least, sir. The light switch is there, on the left. Can I help in any way?”

“I don’t think so.” I snapped on the light and made a careful examination of the fell length of the bottom shelf, and then the middle shelf. When I’d finished, I emerged, closed the cupboard and gave him another smile. “You’ve already been very helpful. Thank you. I think we’d like to see the ballroom, if that’s OK.”

“By all means, sir. It’s through there.”

He indicated the door. I opened it and followed Dehan in, closing the door behind me. It wasn’t palatial, but it was big and largely empty. The floor, like the entrance hall, was black and white checkerboard. It was roughly thirty feet across and a good forty or forty-five deep. The ceiling was high and domed, with a spectacular crystal chandelier suspended from the center, A small dais against the right wall allowed for an orchestra or a band, and the far wall was taken up by two sets of broad French windows that gave access to a rear stone terrace with steps down to the gardens. Gardens which a couple of hours earlier had been bathed in warm sunshine, but were now engulfed in shadow while a dark, North