Shaking off her melancholy, Jane reached for the teapot and poured herself a nice cup of Earl Grey. “I’m afraid I was. Sorry.”
“No time for drifting off,” Uncle Aloysius said. “There’s much to be done to prepare for this Murder and Mayhem Week of yours. And might I say.” He paused to collect himself and Jane knew that he was about to pay her a compliment. Her uncle was always very deliberate when it came to words of praise or criticism. “Your dedication to Storyton Hall does the Steward name proud. I couldn’t have asked for a more devoted heir.”
Jane thanked him, drank the rest of her tea, and went into the manor house through the kitchen. She tarried for a moment to tell the staff how delicious the tea service was and then walked down the former servant’s passage to her small, windowless office.
Sitting behind her desk, Jane flexed her fingers over her computer keyboard and began to type a list of possible events, meals, and decorating ideas for the Murder and Mayhem week. Satisfied that Storyton Hall’s future guests would have a wide range of activities and dining choices during the mystery week, she set about composing a newsletter announcing the dates and room rates. She made the special events appear even more enticing by inserting colorful stock photos of bubbling champagne glasses, people laughing, and couples dancing at a costume ball. She also included the book covers of some of Christie’s best-known works as well as tantalizing photographs of Storyton’s most impressive dinner and dessert buffets.
“They’ll come in droves,” she said to herself, absurdly pleased by the end result of the newsletter. “Uncle Aloysius is right. If this event is a resounding success, we can add on more and more over the course of the year. Then, we’ll be able to fix this old pile of stones until it’s just like it was when crazy Walter Egerton Steward had it dismantled, brick by brick, and shipped across the Atlantic. We’ll restore the folly and the hedge maze and the orchards.” Her eyes grew glassy and she gazed off into the middle distance. “It’ll be as he dreamed it would be. An English estate hidden away in the wilds of the Virginia mountains. An oasis for book lovers. A reader’s paradise amid the pines.”
She reread the newsletter once more, searching for typos or grammatical errors, and, finding none, saved the document. She then opened a new email message and typed “newsletter recipients” in the address line. It gave her a little thrill to know that thousands of people would soon read about Storyton Hall’s first annual Murder and Mayhem Week.
After composing a short email, Jane hit send, releasing her invitation into the world. Within seconds, former guests, future guests, and her newspaper and magazine contacts would catch a glimpse of what promised to be an unforgettable seven days. Tomorrow, she’d order print brochures to be mailed to the people on her contact list who preferred a more old-fashioned communication.
I’ll have contacted thousands of people by the end of the week, Jane thought happily. Thousands of potential guests. Thousands of lovely readers.
But the lovely readers weren’t the only ones who’d be receiving Jane Steward’s invitation.
A murderer would get one, too.
Books, Cooks, and Crooks (A Novel Idea Mystery) Page 26