Dying for a Vacation by Donna Huston Murray

Author:Donna Huston Murray
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: international mysteries, international mystery and crime, mystery/suspense, mystery/suspense novels, amateur sleuth mystery, amateur detective novel, traditional mystery
Publisher: Ravenhill Press
Published: 2017-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

I WAS AN IDIOT, OF course, but that was the first it occurred to me not to trust Samantha. Not that I had expected her to play fair. As a specialist in her type, I knew she could be counted on to be unfeeling, fickle, self-serving, and deceitful. Something in those unworthy, but straightforward, qualities appealed to my own lesser qualities every time. Yet in all my experience with the spoiled brats of the feminine world they could always be trusted to be what they were. Maybe that was why I forgot to think, or maybe it was ordinary vanity. We all like to believe we are desirable, if only for one night.

The resemblance between Samantha and the painting rid me of that misconception. I poured myself a stiff one from the stash in my rooms and put my head to work.

No way had she rushed straight to the chateau gate just to seduce me. Ninety-nine percent of the women I’ve insulted stayed insulted. So why swallow the bitter pill and forgive me? The chateau was the only answer.

"What is this place?" she had asked.

"An enormous headache," I had answered, "mine temporarily." But she probably knew that as soon as she saw me from the beach. There I’d stood, inside one of the chateau’s private gardens, the only possible person responsible for the place with Tom gone and no tourists allowed. If Samantha was connected to the chateau, as I suspected she was, the coincidence of our meeting provided a very lucky break for her–if it was a coincidence.

One of the vandals might have pointed me out, even suggested she hang out at the bar where we met. Located just across from the chateau, it would be the first night spot I would try.

I hated to think how many chances I’d given her to snoop around, to locate keys, entrances, exits, or whatever the thieves needed. I’d trusted Samantha for too many hours to remember everything I said and did. With my guard so completely down who knew what I may have let slip?

Now it was even more urgent to beat the vandals at their own game, but they had a formidable head start. My only hope of thwarting them was to follow the flimsy theory that had sounded so good yesterday.

Grabbing a pencil and paper, I set out to copy the verses on the brass plaques. First stop, the dining hall where I’d seen one set into the entrance arch. Hold­ing my paper against the smooth stone, I transcribed Marsford's words:

While all my guests enjoy what they see

Search and search do my progeny.

1947

I needed more than that. Much more.

There were no other plaques inside the building, but set among some books on a bedside shelf I came across a wedding picture of the sculptor and a young bride. I recognized Hugh from the portrait in the dining hall, the one Samantha had so carefully ignored, but this woman happened to be brunette. Since the couple’s age difference was far more pronounced, the bride in the photograph had to be Claudine.

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