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

and climbed to the east and west wings, when behind us the door burst open and the howl of the wind filled the hall, and throughout the house we head doors bang and slam. We turned to look. I was surprised to see it was Robert Armstrong. He wrestled the door closed, then stood watching us a moment. Finally he said, “Ah’ve buznezz wuth Gordon.”

I asked, “Father or son?”

He shook his head. “Na’ye mind. Ah ken the way.”

He stood watching us, waiting. We turned and continued up to our room.

ELEVEN

Somebody had lit the fire in our room. As we let ourselves in, the first flash of lightning lit up the gardens outside and showed a low, oppressive ceiling of dense, dark gray cloud. Less than a second later, the heavens split and exploded, the lights went out and a second flash illuminated the world with strange jerky, violet light. The flames in the fire wavered and the lights flickered and came back on.

Dehan muttered something foul in Spanish, closed the door and made her way to the bathroom, stripping off her blouse.

We showered and dressed with the storm tearing up the sky outside and claps of thunder threatening to smash down the roof, but there was no rain, only the prickling static of the humid, sultry air, and the trees bending and swaying through the window in the wild wind, caught occasionally in that eerie, stuttering light.

I went from the bathroom back into the bedroom, pulled on my dress pants and my wing-collared shirt and poured myself a whisky. While I was trying to tie my bowtie in the mirror above the fire, I heard Dehan behind me. “If I’m Miss Scarlet, does that make you Colonel Mustard or Reverend Green?”

I turned and told myself silently I must be the luckiest man on Earth. She did a slow turn for me. It was scarlet silk, low cut at the front and insanely low cut at the back. And then there was the slit, all the way up to her hip. She had her hair in a bun and a single pearl at her throat. I raised an eyebrow at her.

“What kind of demon are you?” I said. “I forbid you to wear that outside this bedroom. In fact,” I added, stepping closer, “I forbid you to wear it in this bedroom. Take it off. Immediately…”

She took hold of my bowtie and started to tie it. “Behave,” she said.

“I intend to, very badly…”

The sky ripped open again, diabolical dancing trees springing at us through the leaded panes against the electric blue and inky turmoil of the sky. And then there was the first patter of rain on the glass.

Dehan glanced at the window, then frowned at me. “Listen. Is it the wind…?”

Through the rattles, the moans and the groans, I heard another sound. At first it was like a bark, but then Dehan said, “Shouting,” and walked quickly to the door. She opened it and stepped out. I followed her down the dark corridor to the galleried landing. There, in the hall, was Cameron. He was standing, legs akimbo, pointing savagely in the direction of the study. The study, and whoever was in the doorway, were both out of sight, but the light from the open door was playing on Cameron’s face, and the expression was unmistakable rage. His voice was raised, but he was controlling it, and there didn’t seem to be anybody with him.

“I’ve had enough!” he said. “I’ve had enough of being humiliated by your damned family! I’ll no take it anymore, d’you understand? I’ll no take it anymore! Yiz can all go to Hell! And take the bitch wuth you!” He took a step forward and his face twisted into a snarl. “But don’t think you’ll get away wuth ut! Believe me, you’ll no get away wuth thus! I’ll make you pay, so help me God! I will make you pay!”

He turned and stormed across the hall, wrenched the door open and turned again, pointing savagely at whoever stood, silent and out of sight. “I will destroy you! So help me God, I will fucking destroy you!”

And with that, he stepped out into the storm and slammed the door behind him.

We returned to our room and, in silence, Dehan finished tying my bow and I pulled on my jacket. Then we went down the stairs in the uncertain, flickering light of the lamps. The study was closed when we got to the bottom, but from the drawing room we could hear voices. I opened the door and followed Dehan in.

It was like a slightly edited version of the night before. Bee was seated on the sofa in turquoise Chinese silk, holding a gin and tonic, gazing at the fire with miniature flames dancing inside her glass. She glanced at us and gave a smile that was on the weary side of tired.

Pam was seated in a chair facing us, wearing unremarkable black velvet and holding a glass of beer. When she saw Dehan, she avoided her eye and looked away at the burning logs. I was surprised to see Sally Cameron there after the scene we’d just witnessed in the hall. She was standing with her wild red hair gathered in a bow where she had been the night before, at the French windows, but now she was looking out at the storm through the rain-spattered panes.

And tonight it was the major who was at the drinks salver, looking over his shoulder at us, holding a decanter and a balloon glass.

But the main difference was that Charles Gordon Jr. was not there. His father was standing where Ian had been the night before, beside Sally. I watched his eyes travel over Dehan, then shift to me. They were not hard to read. They were hostile and hard.

The major was the first