Wakes and High Stakes: Paranormal Cozy Mystery (Mitzy Moon Mysteries Book 8) by Trixie Silvertale

Author:Trixie Silvertale
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781952739088
Publisher: Sittin' On A Goldmine Productions LLC
Published: 2020-07-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

I can’t believe my luck! Not only did I escape the Barnes residence without any living soul discovering my true identity, but I also made it out with the evidence.

As the automatic garage door rolls down behind me, I stride down the alley, bursting with pride. I slip my key in the lock and twist.

SNAP.

Blerg. The door is not open and, bonus, the key snapped off in the lock.

I bang on the door, but neither Grams nor Twiggy comes to my aid.

It’s Sunday. Chances are greater than usual that Twiggy’s not here. And Grams is likely squirreled away on the third floor of the museum, writing more query letters.

I don’t have time to wait for a locksmith, but I’m not a helpless damsel in distress. Several months ago, Silas taught me how to use magic—apologies, Silas—alchemy, to get out of handcuffs.

And, not that long ago, I successfully used the same techniques to open his front gates. I probably could’ve tried this at the mansion, but fear of discovery would’ve played havoc with my focus.

Placing my hands over the lock on the alleyway door and breathing calmly, I use the imagery of ice becoming liquid—changing the state from locked to unlocked.

The handle spins and the door opens.

I dance a little victory dance in my maid’s uniform in the alley, and, as I’m spinning around, wiggling my hips, I catch sight of the alley door to my father’s building.

Hmmmm.

The saying is “pride cometh before the fall,” but clearly we’re already past the fall and I’m climbing back up the next hill.

Slipping off one of my white trainers, I wedge it in the doorjamb of the bookshop and walk across the alleyway to try my luck on door number two.

Eyes closed. Hands in position. Transmutation of matter.

CLICK.

And just like that, I’ve opened another one!

Stepping inside, I’m suddenly overcome by the tingling urge to have a little poke around. Sure, I’ve been here before, but the thrill of sneaking through a big empty building is too tempting to resist. I walk into the lobby, admiring all the details my father recreated in his post-fire redesign. Three lovely stories. Terrazzo floors, ornamental plaster cornices, and marble walls in the elevator lobby.

A quick flash of heebie jeebies races over my skin when I turn and see the life-size statue of my grandfather, Cal Duncan, my grandmother’s dearly departed third husband.

Walking over, I look up into his face. With the afternoon sun slanting across the lobby, in the soft warm light, he looks almost human. I drift off into one of my daydreams about what life would’ve been like growing up as the granddaughter of this wealthy railroad tycoon and living on an actual estate.

The first time I saw Cal’s place, I wasn’t prepared. From the large granite stone bearing the Duncan family crest, through the massive wrought-iron gates, and down the birch-lined drive. I was immediately struck by the sheer size of the mansion. Perched on the shore of the great lake that graces the entire region, but actually rivaling the body of water in beauty.

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