Bran New Death (A Merry Muffin Mystery) by Victoria Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page B

and Magic were curled up together, deeply asleep.
    As I padded downstairs in my slippers and robe, carrying a notebook and pen, it finally, truly hit me; I owned a castle, the real deal, almost two hundred years old! It was the middle of the night, but inspiration flooded my mind as I put the kettle on for tea, which I would either have to make in a mug (shudder) or in a saucepan. I chose a saucepan and poured boiling water over a tea bag and set the lid over it to steep as I sat down at the table, one low light illuminating my notebook.
    McGill had told us a little about the castle during lunch. It had been built in the 1820s by Jacob Lazarus Wynter, an early nineteenth-century building baron who made his fortune constructing mills for the Indian bands along the various rivers emptying into Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. That was already more information about the paternal side of my lineage than I had ever known. I was descended from a robber baron? I vaguely remembered that phrase from school, but wasn’t sure Lazarus Wynter fit the mold. This place had real historical significance, and it made me sad that instead of a thriving family inheritance there was just poor little old me, who had to sell it to live. The least I could do would be to get some kind of historical designation for it, and maybe a plaque relating both what McGill had told me and whatever other family history I could dig up.
    I made a note of that idea, then jotted down a few ideas for the inn, possible places to advertise my inheritance. Everyone I have ever known in the business world dreams of one day retiring from the rat race and opening a little inn in the country. Well, for the right price I could help them fulfill their dreams. I started writing down names of people; modeling agency owners, models, actors, caterers, anyone I could think of who might be interested, or know someone who would be.
    Tapping the pen on the page, I looked around the dark, spartan kitchen. The joint lacked charm. McGill told me he and his mother had cleaned up somewhat after Melvyn died and was buried, because he knew if he was going to sell it, it would need to be at least clean. But the guy had certainly not put any imagination into it, nor had he staged the castle to sell. Who could blame him? He had other fish to fry, no doubt, and easier sales to make. I should bring my stuff out of storage, I thought. It would be nice to have all my things around me for once. I’d had to keep some of it boxed up and packed away at all times, since Miguel’s death, after I lost most of my savings and was forced to downsize. I shied away from the thought, because getting all my stuff meant going through old photos of Miguel and me in happier times. I didn’t want to face that yet. It had been seven years though; when would I be equipped to handle it?
    Not yet.
    For the time being, I would just live there with whatever I could scrounge among the stuff left by my uncle. I wondered if there were any mugs that I had missed stuffed away in the butler’s pantry, so I sidled in to that room, turning on the light and scanning the high, glass cabinets, which were mostly empty.
    I heard a noise, and quickly turned out the light, peering out the window that overlooked the land where McGill had been working. Was that the Bobcat I heard? McGill, working in the middle of the night? I squinted into the darkness, and saw the faint illumination of the excavator cab. Yes, someone was operating the machine, but instead of filling in, they had moved to a fresh patch of land and were digging!

Chapter Five

    "F OR THE LOVE of Pete,” I yelled, annoyed. This was exactly what I had been concerned about. If it was Binny or her brother, I wanted them to know this was not acceptable, and without a thought for my safety, I flung open the butler pantry door and bolted outside into the dark, toward the roaring machine. The interior light showed some jerk in the driver’s seat manipulating the gears and