Mansions Can Be Murder: A Cozy Mystery (Gemma Stone Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Willow Monroe

  There it was again. The whisper of footsteps on the carpet. Something being moved around. And then she remembered that the police officer in the hall had been different the last time she looked.

  What if he wasn’t a police officer?

  What if he was the killer...?

  There was a grunt and someone fell.

  Gemma sat up and screamed at the top of her lungs.

  Chapter Eight

  There was another grunt and someone was on the bed. A hand covered her mouth.

  “Gemma, it’s me,” someone was saying. “Stop screaming, it’s me. Holly.”

  Realization set in and Gemma stopped struggling. Holly removed her hand, knelt on the bed beside her friend and turned on the lamp.

  “You scared the life out of me,” Gemma gasped, still shaking.

  “Well, you scared me, too,” Holly said.

  There was a loud knock at the door. “Ms. Stone? Ms. Blake?”

  “And I think we might have scared him, too,” Gemma said, stifling a nervous giggle.

  Holly opened the door. “It’s okay, officer,” she said, allowing him into the room while she explained the commotion. “We just scared each other. I think all of our nerves are at the breaking point.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gemma assured him. “We’re okay.”

  The young officer that Gemma recognized from earlier looked around the room and even in the bathroom before deciding it was safe to leave them alone.

  “Thank you for checking on us,” Holly said, closing the door behind him.

  “Oh, God, he probably thinks we’re idiots,” Gemma said, pulling the covers up over head. “I am so embarrassed.”

  Holly laughed as well and crawled into her bed. “So, we’re all good now, right?”

  “All good,” Gemma said, sinking back down into the warmth of the bed. “Did you and Mitch have a good dinner?”

  “Yes. Hey, when are we going dress shopping? I want you to help me pick out bridesmaid dresses. And, your dress, of course,” Holly asked.

  Gemma smiled. “Remember when we were little girls and how we talked about being the maid of honor in each other’s weddings?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Most people never get the chance to live out that kind of fantasy,” Gemma told her friend. “We’re so lucky.”

  “We are indeed,” Holly agreed. “Best friends. A successful business and I’m getting married in six months.”

  “To a wonderful guy,” Gemma added.

  “To a wonderful guy,” Holly echoed, her voice taking on a dreamy tone.

  They were quiet for a while.

  “You know all you would have to do is say the word and it could be a double wedding. Nick would jump at the chance,” Holly said, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look at Gemma.

  “I know but I want to be sure,” Gemma told her. She’d been over that a thousand times in her head.

  “I’m sure it’s hard to decide with hunky Ross Ferguson in the picture as well,” Holly added.

  “It is. But if I was meant to be with Nick, then Ross wouldn’t even be on my radar,” Gemma said.

  “Or your Hunk-O-Meter,” Holly said and burst into giggles.

  Gemma joined her and it was a long time before they finally settled down. She turned out the lamp and soon she heard Holly’s soft, even breathing as her friend drifted off into sleep, no doubt dreaming of her upcoming wedding.

  Lying there in the dark, Gemma’s thoughts returned to the events of the day and what she knew about the murder so far. The wrong number on the back of her business card had simply been a fluke, but it was one that might get her in deep trouble. There was nothing she could do about it, though.

  She thought back over all the places she’d seen General West that day. He had been arguing with Conrad Bilker. He had been talking about some kind of a meeting with Benjamin Northlake.

  Gemma’s breath caught in her throat. They’d been talking about some sort of meeting that involved both Victoria and Vince Northlake as well as Benjamin. As she searched frantically for her phone, she thought of something else she’d forgotten to tell Ross. Just before the family with the stroller came into the main lobby, Bilker and the steampunk guy raced past her, almost knocking her down. That might have been them arguing in the office right after the murder when they thought they were alone.

  Finally, she found her phone. To keep from waking up Holly, she raced into the bathroom and quietly closed the door. Her fingers were shaking when she dialed Ross’s cell number. It rang and rang and then his voice mail kicked in.

  “You have reached the voice mail of Detective Ross Ferguson...”

  Too impatient to wait for the greeting to finish, she ended the call and dialed again. Again, it went to voice mail. Groaning, Gemma left him a message, ended the call and crawled back into bed. Her thoughts, the possibilities whirled around and around in her head and it was a long time before Gemma was able to go back to sleep.

  When she awoke, the floor to ceiling window beside her bed was filled with first hint of soft gray light. Unable to lie still, Gemma hopped out of bed, being sure to keep quiet, and looked outside. Snow covered everything, reminding her of the past Christmas. Shivering, she pulled jeans, a sweater and her sneakers out of her suitcase and stepped into the bathroom. After dressing, she ran a brush through her hair, amazed at how some days her red curls seemed to be wilder than others. Today they were ferocious but that was the least of her worries. She had to find Ross and tell him what she’d forgotten the day before when he’d interviewed her.

  Gemma checked her phone. Ross had not returned her call from the night before but she felt sure he was still there at the hotel. Sliding her phone into her back pocket, Gemma opened the door quietly and stepped out into the hall. A different police officer was sitting in the chair outside their door. This one was big and looked very capable of taking care of both of them as well as himself. He looked up from the magazine he was reading when she opened her door.

  “Good morning,” Gemma said.

  “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, with a slight nod.

  “I’m just going down to get some coffee,” she said and then wondered why she was explaining this to him. He was there to keep people out of their room, not keep her in.

  He nodded again but she was already on her way, walking as quickly as she could to the elevator. She punched the button for the first floor three times before the elevator could begin its downward descent and then cautioned herself to relax. Telling Ross would get them looking in a new direction and she would at least feel safe again. The elevator bumped softly, came to a halt and the doors opened.

  As the elevator doors slid closed, Bilker stepped into the elevator with her.

  “Good morning,” he said, politely. His eyes looked owlish behind his glasses.

  “Good morning,” she answered, glancing at his disheveled clothing, unkempt hair and dirty, ratty looking sneakers.

  “I certainly hope the weather doesn’t keep people away from the convention today,” he said. “That and the unfortunate incident yesterday.”

  “I hope so as well,” Gemma said.

  “Can you believe there is a murderer loose here in the hotel and, as far as I know, we all made it through the night alive,” he said.

  “Well, there is a police presence on each floor,” Gemma reminded him.

  “Such as it is,” he snorted. “These bumbling cops are about as inept as our military.”

  Gemma held her tongue against the surge of anger at his words and let him talk.

  “If you ask me, West getting killed yesterday was a long time coming,” he continued, looking at the elevator doors as if she weren’t there. “It should happen to a lot more of our so-called military leaders. And one of these days it will. Have you read my book?” he asked suddenly.

  “No,” Gemma said quickly.

  “Well, you should. You have no idea what goes on behind closed doors, as far as our military is concerned.”


  Gemma was sure he was about to launch into some tirade when the doors opened onto the lobby. She darted out ahead of him and hurried toward the conference room before he could say another word. Surely, this guy was somehow involved.

  As she crossed the quiet lobby, she noted that the crime scene tape was gone. Like it never even happened, she thought to herself. There were only a couple of police officers in the conference room when Gemma arrived. One of them had been outside her door the night before. They were drinking coffee from a pot that had been set up on a nearby table.

  “Ms. Stone,” he said, with a smile of recognition. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, please. I would,” Gemma said. “And do you know where Ross, I mean Detective Ferguson is?”

  “He hasn’t come back yet.” the other police officer said.

  “He went home in this snow storm?” Gemma asked.

  They both nodded. “We were all up pretty late. And I know he was on the phone with the CID until early this morning. I think he just needed to get away for a bit and I think he wanted to attend the autopsy this morning.”

  As badly as Gemma needed to give him the information she had, she knew it would be best to just wait. “When he comes in, will you tell him to call me? I’ve left several messages but...”

  “Will do,” the young officer said and there was that engaging smile again.

  Reluctantly, Gemma turned to leave the room. She thought about writing Ross a note but this was pretty sensitive information. If it accidentally got into the wrong hands... She walked back out into the hall, unsure of whether to just return to her room or explore the hotel looking for a clue into the Northlake clan’s past.

  Seeing a young man at the front desk made her decision for her.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she approached.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a practiced but welcoming smile. There was no hint of the confusion and unhappiness behind the desk from the day before. But, then again, Victoria Northlake wasn’t there and she seemed to be the root of any trouble they had with their employees.

  “Is there any public information available that might give me some history and background on Northlake Manor and the family?” Gemma asked.

  “Why, yes, there’s a room right off of the library with some history, photos and memorabilia,” he told her, eager to share the information.

  “And where is the library?” Gemma asked.

  “Right down this hall next to Mr. Northlake’s office,” he explained and pointed in the direction she had come.

  “Thank you,” Gemma said.

  She passed the conference room and the office, both with closed doors and found the open doorway to another room. It did appear to be a library with shelves lining three of the walls floor to ceiling. Two leather chairs faced a welcoming fire in the fireplace, which drew her into the room. The room was fairly large.

  She began exploring, reading some of the titles, surprised to find best sellers as well as the classics on the shelves. In one corner she discovered a small alcove.

  And inside the alcove, she discovered another doorway, leading into what appeared to be a small sitting room with even more bookshelves. Two wing back chairs covered in a beautiful emerald green brocade faced a much smaller fireplace with only one or two logs smoldering in the hearth. A table flanked one wall and, as Gemma approached, she noted that it was covered with two or three photo albums open to what looked like a family portrait of the Northlake Family standing in front of Northlake Manor.

  The photo was old, yellowing despite the care with which it had been stored. In it, Northlake Manor looked almost new. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Northlake were young and Gemma was right in her assumption that Simone Northlake had been a stunning young woman. The three children were in the photo. Benjamin, almost as tall as his father, stood beside the man looking just as stern. Vince looked into the camera, not quite as solemn. Victoria clung to her mother’s hand, looking as though she were about to cry.

  Gemma slowly turned the pages, studying the photos and discovered that it looked like that same photo had been recreated year after year. Winter and Simone Northlake grew older in each one, and their children grew up, turning into young men and women. And Northlake Manor still stood proud and strong behind them, even though it grew older as well.

  Looking up from the pictures, she spotted other books on the table. A quick glance through told her they were photo albums as well. Surely someone had done a Northlake family history at some point. It was a long standing family in the community with lineage as far back as the Civil War. In fact, she thought it might have at one time been used as a hospital for wounded soldiers.

  Standing up straight, Gemma surveyed the gloomy room to see if perhaps another book was opened on a table somewhere. She spotted a medium sized book with a gray cover on a small table near the fireplace and, without thinking, headed for it. The cover was more worn than she had realized at first but ‘Northlake Family History’ was embossed on the front. Inside, she checked the publication date and found that it was only about twenty years old. Thinking she would skim through it and maybe get something she could share with Ross, she picked the book up and turned to find a seat and maybe a lamp she could turn on to help her see better.

  Only to find the body of Simone Northlake slumped over in one of the wingback chairs, her knitting on the floor by her side and a small book opened in her lap.

  Chapter Nine

  The book hit the floor with a soft thump and Gemma put her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. This could not be happening. If the CID found her with this body as well as General West’s, there was no way she or Ross or even Mitch’s team of crack shot lawyers could keep her out of prison.

  She must have made some sound because, miraculously the body in the chair stirred. Mrs. Northlake opened her eyes, sat up and gently patted her thin, wispy gray hair as if it might be out of place.

  “Ms. Stone,” she said when she realized Gemma was standing there staring at her. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Gemma’s knees grew weak as relief flooded through her. “I thought you were, uh, dead.”

  Mrs. Northlake laughed softly. “Not quite yet, my dear.”

  “Actually, I wanted to check to make sure you were okay after yesterday, but I figured it was too early.”

  “I’m fine,” Simone Northlake said, placing her hand on the yarn tangled with the long knitting needles beside her. “At my age, I can’t afford to get too upset about anything. Besides, the police are all over the place.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just curious about the family and looking for some history...”

  The elderly woman brushed off Gemma’s apology. “Actually, I’m happy for the company. The weather prevented me from going to synagogue this morning so I just retreated in here to read my prayer book. I must have dozed off.”

  “So you’re Jewish?” Gemma asked, wondering why she was so surprised.

  “Yes,” Simone Northlake said with a shy little smile. And then she pulled a gold Star of David bookmark out of her small bible. “Winter gave this to me on our wedding day,” she said, looking at it lovingly. “His acceptance of me, of my religion and my past meant so much to me.”

  “You miss him very much don’t you?” Gemma voiced the thoughts that were going through her head as Mrs. Northlake tenderly stroked the bookmark with her fingertips.

  “I do,” she said and when she looked at Gemma again, her eyes were a pale, watery blue.

  “Can I ask you something?” Gemma asked, after giving the older woman a moment to compose herself.

  “Of course, my dear.”

  “I hear a soft little accent in your voice,” Gemma said.

  Mrs. Northlake laughed again. “I’m French, darling. Winter was stationed in France during the war, which is how we met. He married me and brought me home to Northlake Manor. Then she added, “Much to the chagrin of his pa
rents.”

  “It must have been difficult for you,” Gemma said.

  Simone shook her gray head. “Winter was the only family I had. My parents and siblings were taken away during the war. I remained alive by escaping at the last minute.”

  “Wow – so much adventure,” Gemma said.

  “More than I care to remember,” Simone answered and reached for her knitting.

  As Gemma watched her nimble fingers maneuver the yarn over and around the needles she said, “Have you ever thought of writing a book?”

  Mrs. Northlake shook her head.

  “I know a really wonderful writer who would be happy to help you out,” Gemma continued.

  Simone let the needles and yarn fall to her lap and met Gemma’s gaze. “I have no need to remember my adventures, as you call them. And I have no need to confess them.”

  Gemma wanted to say more but the tone of her voice, the look in her eyes told her the conversation, or at least that part of it, was over.

  Before Gemma could think of anything else to say, a voice interrupted them. “Ms. Stone?”

  Gemma turned to see a police officer standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “Detective Ferguson is back. I know you wanted to share some information with him.”

  “I did. Thank you,” Gemma said, getting to her feet. She picked up the book she’d dropped on the floor and placed it back on the table. “Again, I’m sorry if I interrupted you,” Gemma said to Simone.

  “My dear, please be careful. You don’t know what kind of man General West was,” Simone Northlake said, looking up at Gemma.

  By the time she left the room, the knitting needles were clicking together rhythmically.

  Out in the hall she ran into Victoria Northlake, who was coming out of her brother’s office. She already looked more distressed than she had the day before and Gemma felt sorry for any employees working around her.