The Eternity Road: Book 1 by Melyan Lana

Author:Melyan, Lana
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-09-09T16:00:00+00:00

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When they arrived at her manor, Fray saw a two-story house detached from other estates. As they came out of the coach, a young man opened the front door and waited for them to enter. He threw a quick glance at Fray and stepped to Ms. Murray to take her coat and hat. Fray also took off his coat and hung it on the man’s arm.

“Where is everybody?” she asked without real interest.

“They are out, Ma’am,” said the man.

“Bring us wine and you can leave, too.” She turned to Fray. “How do you find this place?” she asked, moving her eyes from one side of the room to the other. “Do you like it?”

Fray glanced at the furniture upholstered with light green fabric, at the tightly closed lustrous taffeta curtains, and then looked at the floor.

“Hmm, nice carpet,” he said, and then looked at Ms. Murray with a smile. “Where are the owners?”

She stared at him.

“I am the owner. Why would you ask such a silly question?”

“I’m looking at the wall, and there are two portraits of venerably aged people—a man and a woman,” said Fray. “And yours is nowhere around. Where is it? I am sure you have one.”

Her face brightened. “It’s in my bedroom,” she said coquettishly.

The young man came back with two glasses of wine on a silver tray. She took one of them and handed it to Fray.

“Thank you, Ms. Murray,” he said.

“Please, call me Joanne.” She took the other glass. “Let’s go. I’ll show you my portrait.” She picked up one of the several candelabra standing around and led the way up the stairs.

She put the candelabrum on the nightstand.

“There it is,” she said, looking at the wall opposite the bed.

In the portrait, she stood in full length and looked at Fray with her icy-cold eyes. Her black dress accentuated the paleness of her face, and her dark-red, insidiously smiling lips looked like blood on snow.

Fray was impressed by the grandeur of the portrait, but his face and the tone of his voice didn’t change.

“Magnificent,” he said, sipping his wine. “Who is the painter?”

“A well-known artist from Lynchburg, but I don’t remember his name.”

“Lynchburg? I knew a painter in Lynchburg.” Fray watched her reaction. “He died seven years ago. Poor thing was killed. Drained of blood from his neck. What a strange way to kill somebody. I was curious, how did they do that?”

Ms. Murray’s face darkened.

“You are a very interesting man,” she muttered.

She put her glass beside the candelabrum and stepped to Fray, who now stood with his back to the portrait. She spun him around. Fray didn’t resist. He tossed aside his glass. It crashed against the wall, covering the small white flowers on the sky-blue wallpaper with dark red. She hit him in the chest with both hands and collapsed against his body when he fell on the bed.

“Yes, you’re right, Joanne.” Fray smirked. “It’s time to play.”

“You ask the wrong questions, you don’t get to play. You want to know how the painter was killed?” she whispered into his ear.

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