An Excuse For Murder by Vanessa Westermann

Author:Vanessa Westermann [Westermann, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Amateur Sleuth; Bodyguard; crime; haunting past; Mystery; Revenge; Cozy
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2019-02-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kate found her great-aunt in the garden, spreading mulch around the rose bush.

“I’ve brought more books for you.” Kate set the bag down on the porch. There was a song caught in her head, a clear and bright tune, that had her humming as she closed the store, as she drove home.

Roselyn straightened, brushing sweet-smelling black dirt from her gardening gloves. “Not something with guns again, I hope.”

“Abandoned houses this time.” Kate could hear the lift to her own voice, that brightness seeping through. “The windswept Cornish coast. A little romance. Secrets a century old.” Kate sat on the step, stretched out her legs, angled her face to catch the last of the sunlight. “It reminded me of that article the journalist wrote about this house.”

“Which article?” Roselyn straightened abruptly. Her eyes, beneath the brim of the straw hat, were sharp and clear.

“Published just before I moved in. You showed it to me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember the article. Are you certain it was about this house?”

“Positive. I found a part of it online, but it was just an excerpt. Hold on, I bookmarked the page on my phone.” Kate pulled up the website, read from the screen. “‘The house is remote, standing back from the road, emphasizing its superiority. Perhaps its arrogance is justified; marked by eccentricities, it is unique. Hidden from impulsive scrutiny, it surprises those that stumble upon it, appearing like an architectural gem from the shadows.’ An architectural gem,” Kate repeated with a grin. She continued, “‘The outer sides of the front wall jut out slightly, making an enclave for large, imposing double doors. The building seems to be stretching its arms out invitingly, luring passersby… appealing to the weakness that governs us all. Curiosity. The tower is like a rogue escapee from a long-forgotten fairy tale, rising toward a gray sky. The jagged crack tearing across the stone façade only adds to its ethereal appearance.’ That’s all. Apparently, the writer mentioned something about a tragedy as well. I thought I might take another look at it.”

“If I did have it once, I wouldn’t know where to look for it now.”

“Never mind then. But what do you think he was talking about? Was there a tragedy that occurred here, on this property?”

“Pure fiction.” Her voice was brusque. “You of all people should be able to recognize it, Kate. Then again, you never seem to stop looking for stories.” Great-aunt Roselyn smiled. “Insatiable—what do they call it? Narrative curiosity. Isn’t that the term?”

“Curse of the voracious reader. Speaking of which, let me know what you think of the books and I’ll add your comments to the recommendations in this month’s newsletter. Your picks sold well last month.” The store newsletter, mailed out to customers once a month, had helped increase sales.

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy reading them.” Great-aunt Roselyn sounded distracted. “Frost-damage already.” She touched one of the limp blossoms, blackened at the edges. “I didn’t expect it so soon. The wall should give these roses some protection from the cold, but they face the morning sun.

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