Stranger by the Lake by Jennifer Wilde Read Free Book Online Page A

just—vanished, I guess you might say. No one saw her leave town. She just suddenly wasn’t there. Some say Charlie strangled her in a fit of anger and buried her in the basement of the inn. Nonsense, of course! People love to imagine such horrors, love to talk about ’em even more.”
    â€œStrange,” I said quietly, thinking about the tormented expression I had seen in Charlie’s handsome brown eyes.
    â€œSpeaking of horrors, dear, your last book——”
    â€œYou didn’t like it?”
    â€œI adored it! But those last few chapters—chilling! So wonderfully scary. When the girl was trapped in the ruins and the murderer was prowling the moors—absolutely unnerving. I didn’t sleep a wink after I finished it. Is the new one scary, too?”
    â€œVery,” I said.
    â€œBe sure you send me a copy when it comes out. I read so much, over a dozen books a week. Now that I no longer gad about there’s nothing else to do. Incidentally, dear, how’s your mother?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly. “I want to hear all about her. She’s so wrapped up in that rich Australian of hers that she never writes. It’s been ages since I’ve even received a post card! Fancy your mother catching a banker. At her age, I might add. But then she always was a captivating creature, even as a girl. I remember how she used to fascinate all the boys——”
    Having asked me to tell her all about my mother, she proceeded to tell me all about my mother, relating a whole series of splendidly funny anecdotes about the days when they had both been daughters of a country parson, wildly unconventional lasses eager to leave the parsonage and kick up their heels in the city. No one could talk like Aunt Agatha, and I sat back in my chair, smiling at her phrases and relishing her bawdy humor. She was quite earthy in a hearty, rollicking way that was sheer delight.
    â€œWhat do you think of him , dear?” she asked. I saw that I was going to have to get used to these sudden changes of subject.
    â€œWho?” I asked, not very convincingly I must add.
    â€œCraig Stanton, idiot. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice ?”
    â€œI noticed, all right,” I said.
    â€œYou couldn’t help but, what? If I were thirty years younger I’d give him a run for his money, and that’s no joke! As is, I find it enchanting to have him about. Such charm, and such manners! Fancy a man who looks like that being a scholar. I could easily imagine him stamping through the Amazon jungles on some dangerous expedition or stealing diamond bracelets from dissolute countesses on the French Riviera, for that matter, but he’s actually quite dedicated to his work. Frightfully intelligent chap, and very respected in academic circles.”
    â€œAunt Agatha, who is he? I must say I was startled to find him here, and all this talk about the Gordon papers——”
    â€œHe told you about that? I was rather hoping to save it for later on, as a surprise. I’m so excited about it! And you can help us search! But in answer to your question: Craig Stanton is thirty-three years old and a graduate of Oxford. Graduated with several honors, as a matter of fact. He wrote a book about the Koh-i-noor diamond and the intrigue surrounding it—a colorful, exotic book, full of strange lore and bloody deeds, absolutely fascinating. You must read it, dear. I have a copy upstairs.”
    â€œI will,” I said. “And?”
    â€œAnd he went to India to do research, and while he was there he became interested in Sir Robert Gordon. Gordon was a lieutenant in the dragoons, you know, in his youth before he started his explorations. He was an aide to Sir Charles Napier, that crusty old commander. Gordon was the only man in India who could speak all the dialects, and he could also pass himself off as a native. He was invaluable to Napier, acting as a