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

rumors I told you about?”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, that’s almost exactly it. I thought it was utter nonsense. People watching too many television shows, but I suppose there was some truth to them.”
    “Truth to what? I’m not following, Vicar.”
    Annabelle took a deep breath before continuing. “People were saying all manner of things about him, much of it complete poppycock. But one of the things that kept cropping up was this idea that he had moved into Woodlands Manor with the intent of turning it into a brothel.”
    “I see,” said the Inspector, nodding gently.
    “I suppose someone had heard about his past, and that’s where the gossip began. But I never expected there to be any truth to it. It seems so implausible.”
    “Well, Vicar, when you’ve done this job for as long as I have, you learn just how unbelievable the truth can turn out to be.”
    “But a Sir?  Is that how he made his fortune? Prostitution?”
     “I doubt it. My guess would be he fell into it. A respected member of high society. Trusted. He’s the guy you’d want to buy from, if you’re into that sort of thing. He saw a gap in the market and decided to fill it, as it were,” the Inspector said, nonchalantly, before holding his hand up in apology. “Sorry, Vicar. I don’t mean to sound crude.”
    “Oh, of course not,” giggled Annabelle, “I may be a person of the cloth, but I’m not a prude. Uh, I mean… Not that I approve of such things… Well, the paying part. That’s the part I disapprove of… Not the…” Annabelle stammered, before deciding to stop digging by getting back on topic. “Do you think that he was really planning to open some kind of brothel here in Upton St. Mary, then?”
    The Inspector sucked air through his gritted teeth. “Perhaps. If he was, we could pretty much pin a motive on every member of the village. On the other hand, if you were looking to make a fresh start, I can’t think of many other places that would be better than Upton St. Mary.”
    “Indeed.”
    “Did you hear anything else interesting about the dead man?”
    “I don’t think so. A story about a werewolf getting him.”
    The Inspector laughed, which sent Annabelle’s heart aflutter once again. “Like I said, I never rule anything out!”
    They chuckled together for a few moments, before the Inspector reached into his large trench coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
    “Well, since you’re officially a member of the investigation team now…”
    “Really?” exclaimed Annabelle, with all the naivety of a pre-pubescent girl.
    “Just a joke,” the Inspector carefully assured her.
    “Oh.”
    “But since you’re so interested in the details, you might want to know that I received the autopsy report this morning,” he said, handing Annabelle the sheet of paper. “Nothing surprising. He was in good health, as you’d expect from a man who meditates. Died from a lacerated lung and heart failure brought on by a puncture wound. It does confirm the time of death, though. Just as Harper predicted, he died well before you found him. So that’s the easy explanation gone; that the scream came from Sir John himself.”
    Annabelle perused the medical information, nodding her head to make it seem like she understood the arrangements of numbers, abbreviations, and terminology.
    “I see,” she said, after a full two minutes, handing the sheet back to the Inspector.
    “Well,” sighed the Inspector, with an air of finality, “I’ve dilly-dallied long enough. I should be off.”
    “Of course, Inspector. Sorry for keeping you.”
    “No problem. You’ve given me more help than you realize. Be careful, Vicar.”
    The Inspector got into his car, and waved at Annabelle as he backed out of the driveway and sped through the church gates.
    “See you soon!” shouted Annabelle, when he was already long gone.
    She turned on her heels, ready to return to her bees, and found Philippa standing right in front of her, a wry grin