Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7) by Steve Robinson

Author:Steve Robinson [Robinson, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503903104
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2018-08-13T16:00:00+00:00

Following an early dinner with Sinclair, having told him all about his call from DI Ross, Tayte had had one quick drink with him to help ease the shock of hearing that someone else had been murdered, and then he’d gone to his bed for an early night. He was restless. Someone was on a killing spree in Comrie, and while he was almost certain the reason had something to do with his assignment, he felt powerless to stop it. Sinclair’s reaction to the news that Moira Macrae had been murdered was also keeping him awake. Despite their mutual dislike for one another, she was family. Tayte was surprised to find Sinclair so unmoved by her death, especially given the circumstances. When asked casually where he’d been that afternoon, Sinclair had also taken what Tayte thought was a long time to answer, especially given that he’d apparently only gone out for more whisky. Tayte hadn’t liked to push the matter. Perhaps Sinclair’s hesitancy in answering was simply because his thoughts were with Moira after all.

Tayte rolled on to his side and tried to fill his head with pleasant thoughts of Jean and their son. He’d called Jean before he turned off his bedside light, just to hear her voice again, and he replayed the telephone conversation over in his head as he drifted in and out of sleep. Then sometime in the quiet of the night he heard a scratching sound and his eyes shot wide open. As he lay there listening, he could feel his heart rate begin to climb. There it was again, a faint but clearly discernible scratching sound, coming from somewhere over by his bedroom door. His first thought was that it was probably mice, and he supposed the old place must be riddled with them. He imagined that such sounds had likely been present every night since his arrival at Drumarthen, only he’d slept too heavily to hear them before. He closed his eyes again and rolled over. Then they shot open again as he heard the unmistakable sound of a creaking floorboard.

Not mice.

He sat bolt upright, listening. His heart was now pounding. The sound appeared to have come from somewhere beyond his door, out in the corridor. He checked the time, noting that it was almost one o’clock in the morning—not an hour during which he expected Sinclair or Murray to be up and about. Someone was definitely out there, though, and he was determined to find out who it was and what they were up to. He flung his bedcovers aside and went to the door, trying to be as quiet as possible, but failing miserably. It seemed that every old floorboard he stepped on began to creak and groan under his weight until he reached the door and flung it open.

At first, the corridor seemed to be in total darkness. Then, as he stepped out of his room and looked to his right, towards the main staircase, he saw a faint amber glow that was rapidly growing fainter.

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