Candlelit Madness: A 1920s Historical Mystery Anthology including Violet Carlyle by Beth Byers & Bettie Jane & Carolyn L. Dean & C. Jane Reid

Author:Beth Byers & Bettie Jane & Carolyn L. Dean & C. Jane Reid [Byers, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-14T05:00:00+00:00

This is what I get for volunteering to work a long shift, Edwina thought crankily, as she plumped up the pillows on a huge bed on the fifth floor. The suite was larger than most rooms, with a sitting area furnished with two large sofas, and a balcony that looked out over the city. She was exhausted by her day, frustrated that she had just tidbits to go on, and more than ready to go home. The last smudge of purple daylight had already seeped from the Chicago sky, and she hurried through her routine. It was nice and quiet on the top floor, with only one guest checked into rooms on the far end of the hallway, and her only duty to clean up for a guest that had checked out of the suite earlier that afternoon.

She was just running a cloth over the elegant mahogany desk by the window when she heard an unmistakable sound.

She jumped in shock.

Gunshot!

Edwina pivoted toward the closed door, adrenaline racing through her body, almost not daring to breathe. The shot had come from nearby, on the same floor.

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of heavy footsteps frantically pounding down the hallway.

Edwina sprung into action, racing toward the door. She twisted the doorknob frantically and pulled the door open, cautiously ducking her head just far enough around the doorjamb to peer down the hall.

It was empty, the door to the stairs silently easing shut, the shooter already dashing downstairs. She could hear fading footsteps.

If only I had a gun! Edwina thought, her mind racing. She hadn’t expected this case to be dangerous. Missing diamonds were puzzles to be solved, not something that could get her killed.

There was no way she was going to catch up to the gunman racing down the stairs, and she knew it. Swiveling her head around, she could see a dark figure sprawled on the floor at the end of the hallway, motionless.

Her breath caught in her throat, and then she walked, then started to lope toward the body on the floor.

It was a man, large, clad in a dark overcoat and a blue pin-striped suit. At first glance she thought it was Mr. Hastings, the night manager, but as soon as she peered closer she could see the man’s face in the light from a nearby sconce.

Edwina knew that face. She’d seen it in the papers, and there was only one guest on this floor.

Victor Spinosa.

Back a day earlier than expected.

Spinosa, who’d been shot in the back of his head, his lifeblood seeping into the elegant carpet of the Exeter Hotel.

Owner of a stolen diamond.

Dead gangster.

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