by BJ Richards
MYSTERIES OF BILLAMORE HALL SERIES
KINDLE BOXED-SET
BJ Richards
Amazon Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2016, BJ Richards
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, scanning, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of BJ Richards, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Distribution of this book without the prior permission of BJ Richards is illegal, and therefore punishable by law. It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate or transmit any part of this document either in printed format or electronically. It is strictly prohibited to record this publication and storage of the document is not allowed without written permission from BJ Richards. All rights reserved.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedication
This book would not have been possible if not for the encouragement of the fur children who kept me laughing and helped me take a break when it was needed. Thank you Simon, Chloe, Rudy and Elsa. You kept me smelling the roses.
And to my loving daughter who is so proud of me for becoming an author.
CONTENTS
The Carrigan Painting, Book One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
The Hidden Key, Book Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
The Lost Billamore, Book Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Stay in Touch with the Author
THE CARRIGAN PAINTING
Mysteries of Billamore Hall Series
Book One
BJ Richards
Amazon Kindle Edition
Chapter One
The thought of being the next curator to be murdered frightened the wits out of her. But that was no way to start the first day of the most prestigious job of her life. She took a deep breath and pushed away the thought of the ancient dagger.
“Here you go ma’am.” The security guard opened the door, and handed the keys over to Sandra, a slight smirk on his face. She knew he thought she was crazy for taking this job. Everybody did.
As she entered the massive Main Hall, it seemed colder than she expected or remembered. She could see dust hanging on the clean surface of a mirror that faced a gigantic statue covered with a white cloth. She’d seen it once, when she visited shortly after it was shipped from Italy.
She went slowly toward it and stripped it of its covering. She still found its combined beauty and repugnance disturbing on some level. An eight-foot statue of a man in his raw animal state, stripped of his civilization.
She didn’t know why the last curator used this as the entry piece for the museum. But it did have a definite effect on people the moment they saw it. It either made them take a step back to run, or want to see more. Almost invariably, its bizarre nature drew them even further into the Hall.
Sandra continued to stare closely, wondering to herself if she would keep the statue there or move it to the back, until she felt someone standing behind her. The coldness she’d felt when she first walked in now sent shivers down her back, causing her silk blouse to feel like a sheet of ice against her skin.
She instantly spun around ready to scold someone for scaring her half to death, but no one was there… she was left staring at her reflection in the mirror. Only her reflection was so white it looked as if the blood had completely drained from her face.
Pull it together, Sandra. No time for paranoia.
Looking into the mirror, she saw the color coming back to her skin. For a moment, she’d turned as pale as her tailored cream-colored blouse she’d chosen to compliment the dark-brown linen suit.
She turned her head to the side to check her hair. Her long brown tresses were pulled back into a neat chignon at the base of her neck. Even though she knew no one would be there today, she wanted to maintain a professional look.
No sense starting things out on the wrong foot.
Turning back to the statue, she remembered how hard she’d tried to get this job over the last few years. And how many times she’d been rejected, her resume not containing the many years of experience required at the Hall.
But that was until five months ago and a third curator mysteriously murdered shortly after taking the job. There were no leads, but with the Billamore family’s connections, they got the museum reopened anyway.
Up until the murders, Billamore Hall Art Gallery and Museum was renowned throughout the world. It was famous for artwork and collections that ranged from renaissance paintings to rare sculptures and artifacts, as well as a number of infamous pieces considered macabre in nature.
Most of those were brought to Massachusetts by Jonas Billamore himself, the builder of the Hall, almost 300 years ago. He wanted a place to exhibit his personal collection, while contributing to the art world in his own garish style. Hence the Hall was added to the grounds of the Billamore Estate.
Now it was up to her to restore the Hall’s image and be the best curator Billamore Hall had ever seen.
“Oh my God, what!”
Dropping the keys, she jumped at the shrill, unexpected sound, her body tensed and momentarily frozen.
Irked, she realized it was only her phone ringing in her purse. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she looked at the caller ID and saw it was Josephine. Of course. Who else would make it their mission to frighten the wits out of her, except her crazy best friend?
“Hello Josephine, you almost scared me to death!” she answered the phone chiding her friend, while also grateful for a familiar voice.
“Told ‘ya. That museum is creepy.”
“You’re not helping.”
“So, have you been to the basement yet? Has the blood been cleaned out or is it still a creepy murder scene?”
“You know from where I stand, you are the creepy one.”
“Only looking out for ‘ya love. If you’re going to take that creepy job in that creepy place, the least you need is a sidekick who is versed in creepy.”
“Goodbye Josephine. I’m hanging up now.” Sandra found herself smiling as she hung up before she could hear anymore of Josephine's rantings. She dearly loved her, but right now she had to get on with facing her own apprehensions without anyone else embellishing them.
She could hear her footsteps echoing through the hallways as her 3-inch heels met with the ancient marble floors. Time to focus.
Going from room to room, she pulled covers from sculptures and paintings, checking them off her inventory and as went. Beautiful... a little bizarre...
Jonas Billamore’s reputation for the spookier pieces had certainly been warranted. Seeing everything up close like this, alone, made them even more so.
Making sure everything was accounted for on the main level, she took a deep breath. It was time to go into the basement. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
“I can do this,” she muttered softly to herself. “It’s just a basement. Time to get down there and check off the rest of the inventory.”
The basement was, after all, the site of the most recent curator murder. She didn’t expect to see a dead body, but the thought of walking into a place where the last curator had been stabbed with an ancient dagger, gave her pause. She flipped on the light to the staircase and started down with all the confidence she could muster.
The cold swept over her again. It was back... the presence she’d felt in the main hallway looking at the statue. She stared at her hands, stiff and pale. The moment seemed to stretch on forever. She couldn’t move, even though she was determined to turn around and confront her fear one more time.
Breathe, remember to breathe. You’ve got this. Slowly the panic subsided and the warmth came back into her limbs. “Damn it, Sandra,” she chided herself aloud. “Stop doing the Josephine creepy thing.”
Irritated she was letting herself get sucked into her best friend’s eerie stories, she clenched the keys in her hand and continued walking decisively down the steps. “I’m settling this once and for all,” she grumbled under her breath. “I’m going down there and rid myself of this creepy-story-induced panic.”
The basement was nothing like Josephine had described. No blood splashes anywhere, no police tags; just quiet and dusty with several collections of paintings and artifacts, some still in boxes and crates. She shook her head and smiled, thinking if she listened to any more of Josephine's talk, she would go crazy.
Methodically, she started going through things, carefully checking them off, item after item.
CLANG!
A sharp clatter of something falling to the ground behind her echoed off the stone floor, stopping her dead in her tracks.
I’m not going to turn around. It’s probably the palette knife I was using to open boxes and I just laid it too close to the edge. I refuse to buy into Josephine’s paranoia. If I’m going to prove myself and make this place great again, I can’t let boogie-man stories distract me.
Forcing herself back to the task at hand so as not to let the fear take over, she picked up one of the paintings and stared at it thoughtfully. So many beautiful paintings. Too bad there wasn’t room for all of them upstairs. She was the curator now, she reminded herself. She could exhibit what she thought was best for the museum. Just the thought made her feel proud and confident.
“I am the curator now.” This time she said it out loud. It felt good to hear her own words echo through the room, reminding her of her accomplishment as well as responsibility.
Just as the words left her mouth, a thud! sounded behind a large utility shelf, shaking it. It was loud and unmistakable. She could feel herself getting jumpy.
“Don’t panic,” she whispered, knowing she was the only one in the room. “These old buildings have creaks all the time. Probably just a wall settling is all, and it knocked something down.”
The museum layout was still on her clipboard underneath the inventory. Instinctively, she pulled it out. I’ll just see what’s behind there on the blueprint, then I’ll know what to expect.
Well, that’s curious. The blueprint didn’t show anything at all behind that shelf. Forcing herself across the room to the epicenter of the sound, she cautiously peeked through the shelves. There was definitely a door there. A door not on the drawing she was given.
That’s weird. She double checked her copy of the museum floor plan. There’s not supposed to be a door there.
Carefully removing the items on the shelf, she pushed it aside. The door had become unlatched and pushed against the shelf. See. Just a loose latch jarred by an old wall settling. But still… I wonder why this isn’t on the layout.
Curiosity had always been one her downfalls. For some reason, she always just had to know. Taking a deep breath, she turned the decrepit door knob.
The old wooden door creaked as she pulled it open, musty stale air flooding from the dark hidden hallway into the rest of the basement area. The light from the main area behind her was enough to indicate a switch on her right.
Flipping it on, the forgotten hallway illuminated with a soft yellowish glow from the old-time lighting. The hallway was long and lined on both sides with paintings she’d never seen before. Consumed by awe, she felt herself pulled in, as if she had to find out what was there.
Slowly, almost reverently, Sandra moved down the hall, her eyes wandering from side to side, until she reached the third painting to the left. The attraction that pulled her down the hall was powerful now, propelling her steps, each one drawing her closer to something. The warning signs in her body of fear and anxiety were completely overridden. It felt surreal and ethereal, but she couldn’t turn around.
Now standing directly in front of the painting, the presence she’d felt before was overwhelming. And it was looking straight at her.
She stood helplessly glued to the floor. Her body went cold as the steel-grey eyes of the beautiful woman in the painting blinked angrily at her, over and over.
She gasped and stumbled backward, staring in disbelief, her thin body pressed against the frigid, hard wall behind her.
Then she saw it. No, it couldn’t be… this was impossible. There was only one and she knew it.
But there it was, hanging around the slender female neck of the woman whose eyes bore steadily through her, blinking in anger and fury… the one thing she’d coveted since she was a child… her grandmother’s Victorian pendant.
Chapter Two
Josephine glanced up from the arrangement of lilies and roses she was working on. “Back so soon?” Her teasing remarks barely penetrated Sandra's ears as she walked into her best friend's floral shop.
Receiving no reply, Josephine turned to look at Sandra. Something was off and Josephine could feel it. Plus, Sandra didn’t look right; she seemed pale, and almost ghastly.
Josephine knew she’d spent days poking fun at Sandra's new job, but getting mad at her was unusual. They’d been friends since they were little. Her job was to irk Sandra and Sandra’s job was to play mature and unaffected. But this didn't feel like that.
“You know, you don’t have to be angry at me. I’m happy you got the job. The youngest Curator of Billamore Hall is my friend and I’m psyched about that. But, it also means my best friend is working in a homicidal crime scene and that’s a problem.
Trust me, I already have nightmares having a fiancé who is a homicide detective. I just don’t want my best friend worked into that mix. Plus, you really haven’t given me any reason why you don’t see that place as creepy as I do.”
Still in a daze, Sandra took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, sat down on one of the stools reserved for customers and began to drink. Sometimes she enjoyed Josephine’s rambling, but today she was just too rattled to indulge.
“I saw something strange at the museum today,” she finally said, taking another sip of the water. She could hear the tentative strain in her own voice; how was she going tell anyone about this one... it was just too far out.
“Finally!” Josephine shrieked with a huge grin on her face. “You admit that place is strange! Does that mean you’re going to qu
it and get out of there before something awful happens?”
“No! Like you said, I’m the youngest curator. And the strange thing is not about the latest crime scene. That's all cleaned out. Seeing how you've been so creepy about the whole thing, I actually expected to see blood and bodies lying around.” She paused to inhale the intoxicating scent of the arrangement Josephine had been working on.
“Oh? Nate didn’t tell me about that. Last I heard, there were still visible blood stains on the floor.” Her gently freckled face drew into a slight frown. She was used to Nathaniel, her fiancé, telling her everything, from what he ate for breakfast to the cases he was investigating.
Nathaniel was recently paired with another detective on the museum murder case. Even though it had been months since the last murder happened, they needed some fresh eyes to look at it, just in case there was anything the previous detectives had missed. The last Nathaniel had told her, the basement where the last murder had taken place was still a crime scene.
“Maybe he didn’t tell you because you’ve been a little obsessed with the museum murders ever since I applied for the job.”
Josephine knew what had happened. “You told Nate to freeze me out, didn’t you?”
“Um, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sandra said glancing about, avoiding Josephine’s gaze.
Josephine rolled her eyes, and flipped her red curly hair in the way she was accustomed to doing whenever she caught Sandra in one of her antics. She would have to take the issue up with Nathaniel later, but for now, she had to take care of her friend, who was trying hard to appear strong and unshaken.
“So what were you saying about the strange thing you saw? If it isn’t the crime scene you saw, what’s got you rattled?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“I understand crazy. Let’s hear it.”
