His Hand In the Storm: Gray James Detective Murder Mystery and Suspense (Chief Inspector Gray James Detective Murder Mystery Series Book 1) by Ritu Sethi

Author:Ritu Sethi [Sethi, Ritu]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-22T04:30:00+00:00

***

The house lay quiet, save the crackling of a fire, and the gentle clang of ice in his scotch-filled tumbler. Red and gold embers danced in the fire; the wood shifted and crackled, moisture sending off sparks against the surrounding red bricks. Outside his window, dusk gently settled over the tree-lined street.

It was too early to sleep. On impulse, he grabbed his coat and sprinted the two blocks to Dr. Jenna Peters’s house on Pearson Avenue. With a little luck, she’d be home from the hospital, and be willing to discuss her tenebrous patient, Holly.

The Victorian structure stood in darkness, except for a gentle glow emanating from the main ground floor window. He passed a mature lavender tree which dominated the front yard, its trunk corrugated and patched below the dominant branches, each sprouting spring shoots lined with opening leaves and puckered buds. The ripe, rich scent teased his nostrils, and he sucked it in hungrily.

Jenna opened the door carrying a drink. Flickering lights coming from behind darted through the glass of red wine in prisms forming a mahogany kaleidoscope. Chopin’s Etude No. 9 drifted in from behind.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Gray said.

Jenna still had her work clothes on. “It’s all right.”

After wiping his feet, he stepped inside. A fire crackled in the living room and sent soft, buoyant arms of light onto the foyer wall, the shadows of the flames like people dancing. It was the kind of room that you curled up in to nurse a burgundy and contemplate existence, or disappear into a leather-bound volume.

“You held something back about your patient today, didn’t you? I have to know.”

“Why don’t you come inside, Chief Inspector?”

She poured his red into a crystal flute with a steady, slender hand. A linked chain comprised of varying shades of pink and yellow gold slid from her wrist down her angled hand, sounding a gentle clang as the metal hit the side of the bottle. Setting the bottle on the sideboard, she passed him the glass. The long stem was hard to grasp, and her eyes fell to his hand. He could see her physician mind processing and diagnosing: median nerve problem, some atrophy, probably operable?

“Go ahead and ask,” Gray said. “I wouldn’t want to deprive a physician of medical curiosity.”

Jemma’s eyes flicked up to his; she smiled, turned, and sat on the sofa, inviting him to take the matching red and white chintz armchair opposite. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Is Holly well enough to be interviewed?” he asked.

“Soon.”

“As I said earlier, she isn’t merely a victim,” Gray said. “She’s also a suspect, one willing to shield a murderer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Jemma crossed and uncrossed her legs, slowly. But the movement wasn’t deliberately provocative. She was buying time, plain and simple. “If someone were hiding something about their past,” she said, “it could impact your investigation?”

“Possibly. I couldn’t say without knowing what was concealed.”

She stared past him and sipped her wine. Two candles flicked on a small piano against the far wall, the flames seemingly swaying to Chopin.

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