Deadly Ghost (Angus Brodie and Mikaela Forsythe Murder Mystery Book 12) by Carla Simpson

Author:Carla Simpson [Simpson, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oliver Heber Books
Published: 2025-04-22T00:00:00+00:00

It was very near evening by the time I reached the office due to congestion in the streets, and I discovered that Brodie had not yet returned.

Mr. Cavendish rolled out from the alcove in greeting.

“I’ve not seen him since you left earlier,” he informed me. “Mr. Munro was here a while ago though and brought round a message. Said it was important.” He pulled an envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to me. “Said you were to have it straight away.”

The weather had taken a decided turn for the worse and I stepped under the overhang at the alcove to read it.

In spite of the thin light from the streetlamp, I immediately recognized the elegant handwriting on the envelope along with the Montgomery crest.

Mikaela dear,

It is imperative that we meet. Please come to Sussex Square when you receive this. I have news.

The note was simply signed with the first letter of her name as I had seen countless times, an elegant letter ‘A.’

She had news? That might mean anything. Yet my great aunt was not given to exaggeration or theatrics.

Contrary to what most persons thought, she was highly intelligent, observant, and could be a force to reckon with.

To quote HRH Prince Albert at the conclusion of a past inquiry case, he had expressed not only gratitude, but had made it quite clear that, contrary to what some people assumed, she could be quite formidable, and he was exceedingly grateful that she was a loyal subject of the Crown, and not the enemy.

She had simply replied, Of course, Your Royal Highness.

Now I asked Mr. Cavendish if Munro had said anything regarding the note when he delivered it, as he was often privy to my great aunt’s affairs.

“No, miss. Only that it was important and I was to see that it was delivered to you.”

I tucked the note into my bag. It did seem most important and I asked Mr. Cavendish to acquire a driver, as the man who had brought me to the Strand had promptly departed with his substantial fare.

“Mr. Brodie won’t care for yer goin’ off on yer own this time o’ day,” Mr. Cavendish reminded me.

He was correct in that, yet that note seemed most urgent.

“I will be quite all right,” I assured him.

“Aye, and Mr. Brodie will have a conversation with me about that when he returns.”

He waved down a coach across the way. The driver immediately swung around, pulled to a stop at the curb, and leapt down from his seat atop the coach.

“A moment if you please,” Mr. Cavendish told him.

“That will cost you extra,” the driver gruffly replied, not pleased with the delay. “I just passed up another fare.”

Mr. Cavendish nodded to me and winked, then pressed two fingers against his lips and let out a sharp whistle.

It was somewhat more than a moment before Rupert came charging around the corner just beyond the smoke shop.

“Aye, there’s a good lad,” Mr. Cavendish said as the hound arrived, mud-splattered and with his usual smell of disgusting things I possibly didn’t want to know about.

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