by Dean James
“What the hell was all that about, Nina? What’s going on here?”
Ashford Dunn chose that moment to erupt from somewhere nearby. “Take your hands off her! ”
“Call off your boytoy, Nina and answer my question.” I stared at the two of them. Dunn had wrapped an arm protectively around Nina’s padded shoulders, while Nina smirked at me.
“You don’t have to pay any attention to him, Nina.” Dunn glared daggers at me.
My own knight errant made his entrance upon that cue. “Oh, come off it, barrow boy.” The withering contempt in Giles’s voice made Dunn blanch, even though he probably hadn’t a clue as to what Giles meant by that derogatory term. ‘The woman obviously has bigger balls than you do. I doubt she really needs some jumped-up johnny from the cornfields of Iowa to fight her battles for her.”
“Now it’s your boytoy to the rescue, Simon.” Nina laughed. “And here I thought he was just good for fetching tea, eh, Giles?”
That’s Sir Giles to you and your little guttersnipe.” Normally Giles eschews his lord-of-the-manor status— after all, he’s a mere baronet—but when he wants to, he can sound intolerably upper crust.
“Oh, my,” Nina said, unimpressed. “Sir Boytoy. Lad-di-da.”
Giles wasn’t fazed. “You’re so good at sticking knives in other peoples backs, it’s a pity someone hasn’t performed the same service for you.”
Nina laughed. “Dear me, it has teeth. And it can bite. Oh, I’m terrified.”
All this time Dunn had been fuming silently. “I ought to thrash you, you upperclass poof!” I wonder how long it had taken him to come up with something that breathtakingly trite.
“Save your energy for Nina’s bedroom.” Giles refused to be drawn.
“Enough!” I said, though I had actually been rather amused by their little catfight—amused enough that my own temper had cooled a bit. “I’m still waiting for an explanation, Nina. What’s going on here?”
“Now, Simon, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Nina batted her eyes flirtatiously at me, and I could feel Giles tensing beside me. “You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I can.”
“You really have no choice.” Nina dropped the casual manner. She shook off Ashford Dunn’s arm, startling him. “I’m going out on the terrace for a smoke, since Hermione has the fits if anyone smokes inside Kinsale House. I’ll talk to you later, Simon.” She turned to Dunn for a moment. “Ash, dear, we’ll talk about your new contract later. Now why don’t you go upstairs and get some work done on your new book. That deadline is coming up, and we wouldn’t want to miss it, now would we?”
“Yes, Nina,” Dunn said docilely. No doubt about who held the reins there. He headed for the stairs, pausing long enough to direct a baleful stare in Giles’s direction. Nina, without a backward glance, walked down the hallway and through a door. I hadn’t yet seen the terrace at Kinsale House, but presumably Nina knew how to find it. I noted the door through which she had gone; I’d go after her in a few minutes.
“What are you going to do, Simon? What the hell is she playing at, do you think?” Giles turned to me, his handsome brow furrowed in irritation.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, Giles,” I said, “but you can bet I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Nina’s devious, which it didn’t take me long to discover. That’s probably a good quality for an agent to have, especially one as high-powered as Nina. But I hadn’t expected this level of duplicity.”
“She’s a nasty piece of work.”
“Yes, and I’m beginning to see just how nasty she can be.” I frowned. “Maybe this is some kind of publicity stunt on her part, but I can’t figure out what the point is, if it’s intended for publicity’s sake.”
“She has obviously treated some of the other writers here rather shabbily.”
“Yes, she’s made several enemies, that much is evident I wouldn’t be alone, dancing on her grave.”
Giles laughed at that. “No, I’m sure there’d be quite a party.”
“Would you mind, Giles,” I asked him, “running up to fetch my sunglasses and a hat for me? I’m going to track Nina down on that terrace and try to force her to talk to me.”
“No need, Simon,” Giles said, “though you know I’d not mind in the least.” His eyes slid away from mine for a moment. “I was just out for a brief walk. The sky is quite dark. If it hasn’t started raining yet, it won’t be long, by the looks of things.” I’ve told him I have a slight allergy to sunlight, which is true, of course, but he doesn’t know quite why I’m allergic.
“Then I’d better try to track Nina down before we both get wet,” I said. “Any progress with your inquiries?”
“I’m compiling quite a lot of information,” Giles said. “I’ll have plenty for you to dig through by this evening.”
“Good,” I said. “Keep at it.” I strode off down the hall, toward the door through which Nina had disappeared.
I found myself in yet another sitting room, this one furnished in true Pukka Sahib. The large chamber bulged with various artifacts, most of them in questionable taste, from the Indian subcontinent. What is it with the British and elephants’ feet? I shuddered and averted my eyes as I approached French doors on the other side of the room.
One of the doors stood slightly ajar, and I pulled it open and stepped out onto the terrace. As Giles had said, the sky was dark and gray. Though it was not yet raining, I doubted it would be long before it poured.
The terrace was a broad expanse of worn and aged stone, probably twenty-five feet by twenty, I estimated. Midway there, I espied Nina, sitting at a small table and smoking.
I hastened toward her, anxious to question her further. “Nina! I want to talk to you!”
Nina looked toward me and tilted her head to one side. She took a long drag from her cigarette and expelled smoke as she stood up. She walked away from me, toward the balustrade and the steps that led down to a broad expanse of lawn. As she reached the balustrade she leaned over to pitch her fag end onto the lawn.
I was by this time only a few feet from her, and her shrill screams stopped me in my tracks.
“Nina! What on earth is it?”
The cigarette butt still smoldering in her fingers, Nina turned to face me, all color drained from her face. “My God!” she said. “They’ve bloody well killed her!”
***
CLICK HERE TO BUY FAKED TO DEATH
MORE BY DEAN JAMES
Simon Kirby-Jones Mysteries
POSTED TO DEATH
FAKED TO DEATH
DECORATED TO DEATH
BAKED TO DEATH
Cat in the Stacks Mysteries (writing as Miranda James)
MURDER PAST DUE
CLASSIFIED AS MURDER
FILE M FOR MURDER
OUT OF CIRCULATION
THE SILENCE OF THE LIBRARY
ARSENIC AND OLD BOOKS
Southern Ladies Mysteries (writing as Miranda James)
BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART
DEAD WITH THE WIND
Bridge Club Mysteries (writing as Honor Hartman)
ON THE SLAM
THE UNKINDEST CUT
Trailer Park Mysteries (writing as Jimmie Ruth Evans)
FLAMINGO FATALE
MURDER OVER EASY
BEST SERVED COLD
BRING YOUR OWN POISON
LEFTOVER DEAD
Deep South Mysteries
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE
CLOSER THAN THE BONES
DEATH BY DISSERTATION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dean James, a seventh-generation Mississippian, is a librarian and Edgar-nominated author of over twenty works of fiction and nonfiction. His nonfiction has won both the Agatha Award and the prestigious Macavity Award. Writing as Miranda James, he is the New York Times bestselling author of the Cat in the Stacks series, featuring librarian Charlie Harris and his trusty rescue cat Diesel. He is also the author of The Trailer Par
k Mysteries, writing as Jimmie Ruth Evans and the Bridge Club Mysteries, writing as Honor Hartman. As Dean James, he’s authored The Deep South Mystery Series and The Simon Kirby-Jones Mysteries. He lives in Houston, Texas, with two cats and thousands of books.
See www.catinthestacks.com to discover even more!