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

Jaguar and started retracing our steps, the sun had slipped behind the hills. The sky, or what you could see of it, was still blue, but it was a chilly, distant blue, and there were lots of long, dark shadows stretched out across the world.

We found the turn off where she said it would be. But we only found it because we were looking, and because she’d said it would be there. You only knew you were on a path once you actually turned into it, then it seemed to unfold ahead of you, among the wild, twisting tree trunks, the ferns and the fallen branches. The canopy overhead was so dense it was almost as dark as night.

Eventually, after two or three hundred yards, a luminous patch of daylight appeared ahead, where the last of the sun’s rays lay across a huge, log-cabin wall, half-engulfed by a wall of giant pines. There were two SUVs and a Focus parked out front. We pulled in next to the Ford and climbed out. The car doors made a muted echo as we slammed them. I looked up at the cabin.

It was a cabin in the way that Windsor Castle is a house. The white pines around it rose to roughly one hundred and thirty feet, towering above the maples, beech, and spruce, but the massive cabin, at the peak of its gabled roof, must have been at least sixty feet high. Broad steps led up to a wooden veranda that stood about three foot off the ground and encircled the building. Beneath it, small windows suggested a basement.

A second floor had a large terrace jutting out over the veranda at the front. Above that, set into the sloping roof, skylights and small windows suggested an attic.

The entire structure was easily the size of four small townhouses set in a square and twice as tall. As we climbed the steps, the front door opened and Donald Kirkpatrick stood staring down at us. He didn’t look happy. I smiled, but he didn’t smile back.

“Are we to have no respite, Detective Stone?”

“Apparently not, Mr. Kirkpatrick. I thought you might be pleased to see us. We are, after all, taking your UFO theory seriously. May we come in?”

He spread his hands. “I can’t very well turn you away, can I?”

It wasn’t the most welcoming welcome I had ever received, but it was good enough. I stood back to let Dehan pass and we entered a very large, very comfortable living room. It was about the size of my house, with a massive, stone fireplace, not one but two bearskin rugs thrown in front of it, two leather sofas, and two leather armchairs, each the size of the Queen Mary.

Beyond it there was a dining table of similar proportions, with room for at least twelve. It was set with plates, glasses, and bottles of wine. Beside it, a staircase rose to a galleried landing that encircled the room below, giving it a ceiling that must have been twenty or twenty-five feet high. It made it feel more like a cathedral than a house.

Gathered around the fire, the women sitting, the men standing, all holding drinks, were the familiar faces of Paul, Colonel Chad Hait, Stuart and May Brown, and Jasmine Kirkpatrick. Donald said in a loud voice that was as unwelcoming as it was unsubtle, “We have unexpected visitors. Detectives, I believe you know everybody.”

The Browns looked curious. The colonel smiled. Paul frowned. He was the one who spoke. “Detectives! Has there been some development? What on Earth are you doing here?”

The door closed behind us and Don advanced toward his guests on long legs. Before we could answer Paul, he said, “And how on Earth did you find us? This place is about as remote as you can get on the east coast.”

I gave it a moment until everybody was looking at us. Then I smiled blandly and said, “Jane told us where it was.”

I don’t know exactly what kind of reaction I had hoped for, but whatever it was, I didn’t get it. The colonel, Stuart and May gave no reaction at all. Paul looked vaguely embarrassed. Don grunted and muttered, “…invited her and she never even answered…” and Jasmine seemed not to hear.

She touched her husband’s hand and said, “Donald, sweetheart, offer our guests a drink.” Then she turned to us and added, “I hope you will join us for dinner. We have more than enough.”

I scanned them all again, but could find no trace of surprise or shock. I took a couple of steps closer and said, “Mrs. Kirkpatrick, that is very kind of you, but we may not be so welcome when I tell you the reason why we have come.”

They all froze. Don scowled.

I glanced at Paul. “I am afraid we have very sad news. Sometime early this morning, Jane Harrison was murdered.”

Now there was more of a reaction. May clasped both of her hands to her mouth and stared up at her husband, who looked incredulous. Don seemed to turn gray and sat slowly down on a sofa. The colonel stepped toward him, as though to help. Jasmine, in a strange echo of May’s action, clasped her right hand over her mouth while her left clasped her belly. Beside her, Paul swayed. His drink dropped to the floor and smashed and he reached for the mantelshelf to steady himself.

Don ignored him and looked up at me with hollow eyes. “How…?” he said, “How did they…? Was it…?”

I looked over at Paul. Stuart had stepped forward and was helping him to the other sofa, while May hurried across the room and disappeared through a door into what I guessed was the kitchen. Stuart spoke to the colonel, “Chad, a drink perhaps…”

Colonel Hait stared a moment at Paul, then realization dawned and he said, “Oh, Lord! Yes! Yes,