Murder Over The Cold Grave (A Lillian Crawford Murder Mystery Book 8) by Blythe Baker

Author:Blythe Baker [Baker, Blythe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

8

“The victim is Miss Freya Samuels, a world-class ballerina,” I read some time later. “Born and raised in Cambridge, she began to study dance at the young age of three. She demonstrated a natural grace and poise that immediately elevated her above her peers, and was selected to appear in a performance of Othello before she had reached the age of ten.”

“An impressive history,” Eugene said. “It’s a shame she met such a terrible end…”

He gazed past the paper I held, down at the poor girl at our feet.

It was almost beautiful, in a way. Perhaps poetic was a better term, as there was such a sharp contrast between her silky white leotard and skirt, her perfect bun tied up so neatly in a matching snowy white ribbon at the back of her head…and the crimson blood that speckled her body like the dots on a robin’s egg.

I sighed, kneeling down beside her.

She had exquisite skin, flawlessly smooth, free of all blemishes. Her hair, as blonde as starlight, shone in the bright lights of the theater that glared done upon her from overhead. The way she lay there, I might have thought she had simply fallen asleep on the main stage after a long practice. She seemed almost peaceful.

The wound across her stomach told me otherwise, however. It was long and deep, and I didn’t allow my gaze to linger there too long in hopes of not seeing more than I would have liked. Blood had blossomed out, up her chest and down toward her hips. It had pooled beneath her, some of it having seeped into the cracks between the floorboards.

According to the police we had met guarding the entrance, the body and the scene remained mostly untouched, just as they had been found. Luckily, one of those officers had recognized my name from a mention of one of my cases in the newspaper, and they had agreed to allow us a few minutes to examine the body.

“She must have been caught when she was leaving last night,” Eugene said, breaking into my thoughts.

“I imagine so…” I said. “That is what the director said, at least. They were having the final performance of whatever show it was…” I couldn’t think clearly enough to remember the show’s name, not after a stressful night of no sleep. “But she is still wearing her costume. Nightmare must have managed to grab her before she even reached her dressing room…”

The theater was well known, though small and supposedly a place where young talent went to gain exposure, hopefully providing them with an opportunity to be seen by directors of more prominent theaters. It was in a beautiful location, alongside the river with stunning views of the skyline of the city across the water.

Entirely different from the cemetery where we had found the Sergeant, that was for certain.

“What do you suspect the connection with her is?” I asked Eugene. “The paper said her last name was Samuels?” I pulled it out from under my arm, reading through it again.

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