02 Murder at the Mansion by Alison Golden, Jamie Vougeot Read Free Book Online

scary thing is that there’s a killer right here in Upton St. Mary. Can you imagine? How could someone do that? Kill someone in cold blood. It sends shivers up my spine.”
    “Are you talking about the werewolf?” came the chirpy voice from beside the two women.
    “Tommy! Don’t creep up on us like that!”
    “Sorry, mum.”
    “There’s no werewolf. Don’t talk nonsense.”
    “There is. The one that killed the old man.”
    Julia and Helen exchanged glances.
    “Who did you hear that from?”
    “Eddie told me. He said the werewolf ran into the old man’s house, and slashed him – like this! He was so strong, that he left his claw sticking out of the man’s chest. And the blood was going everywhere – like this!”
    Tommy mimicked spurts of blood shooting from his chest like geysers, falling to the ground as he did so and tossing himself around in a manner that demonstrated he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
    “Come now, Tommy. There are no werewolves around here. People would have seen them.”
    “Not this one. This one is clever. He disguised himself as the Vicar!”
    And so it went, in a game of Chinese whispers played in a similar fashion in similar villages around the world since the dawn of news itself. In some reports, the murderer was a Robin Hood-type figure who ransacked the home of the evil brothel keeper and distributed his ill-gotten gains to those in need. In others, the murderer was a cold-blooded killer who had conducted the act with calculated malice and who would strike again unless the village of Upton St. Mary barricaded their windows and doors against the fearsome predator. Scenarios of every sort were put forth, and the lack of available knowledge allowed a wide range of theories to flourish. After all, Sir John Cartwright had been an unknown entity in the village while alive and was now very much a stranger in death.

    Sunday rolled around, and with it, the Holy Communion. Despite giving a particularly grave service and a sermon that focused on what the proverbs had to say about gossip and the judgment of neighbors, Annabelle still found herself fielding plenty of inquisitive remarks as the congregation sidled down the well-worn steps of the church.
    “It is terrible, what happened, is it not, Vicar?”
    “I do hope you were not too shaken, Vicar. I would not know what to do had I been in your shoes.”
    “These are dark times. I do hope this horrid business blows over shortly.”
    Annabelle clasped their hands and reciprocated their well wishes, revealing none of her inner turmoil in deciphering the mystery. Though outwardly she displayed her typically good-humored demeanor, her mind had been twisting and turning the events of the previous day around like a curious Eastern puzzle box, seeking a point at which she could find the unlocking mechanism and reveal the truth held inside.
    Once the last of the lingerers had made their way out of the church gates, Annabelle sighed deeply and joined Philippa inside the church.
    “That was a good service, Vicar. Just what the village needed,” Philippa said, as she swept the aisle of the church.
    “I don’t suppose it’ll have much of an effect, Philippa. From what I’ve gathered, it seems much of the village is engaged in hearsay too fantastical to bear any truth.”
    “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Philippa remarked ominously.
    “Well, anyhow. I need to take my mind off this for a while. It’s been tugging at my thoughts since I came back from Woodlands Manor. I’ll be with the bees in the orchard if you need me.”
    “Yes, Vicar. Don’t worry yourself. It’s a lovely day to be outside.”
    Annabelle left the church, changed into her gardening shoes and protective helmet, and began tending to her bees. She enjoyed her hobby greatly, consistently filled with wonder at the brightly-colored insects’ incredible combination of wild abandon and perfectly symmetrical order. It also gave her an excuse to talk about her