The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Claire Robyns
She emerged from the shadows alongside the staircase as soon as Joe was out of sight.
My mouth gaped open. I loved my mom to bits, I really did, but this was precisely the kind of thing that drove me nuts. “Where you spying on us?”
“Of course not, honey.” She wrung her hands together, her expression pained with the injustice of the wrongly accused. “I was just waiting for Joseph to leave. I don’t know how to talk to the man. I want to hate him, but that doesn’t seem right. And I can’t like him, not after what he’s done, can I?”
The irritation washed out of me. This was her first encounter with Joe since he’d moved in and to be fair, the situation was rather confusing.
“Joe is still Joe, he’s just not my Joe anymore,” I told her. “You don’t have to hate him. You don’t have to like him. And I don’t expect you to ostracize him for the sheer hell of it. As you may have noticed, Joe and I are getting along perfectly fine.”
“Yes, I certainly did notice,” Mom said, that hopeful lilt in her tone a dead giveaway.
I blew out a grumpy breath. “ That is not going to happen, ever.”
How had I not seen this coming? According to my mom, there was one thing worse than a cheating husband: the scandal of divorce.
“If you say so, honey,” she said sweetly. “Now, are those the secret envelopes?”
A blatant re-direct, but I took it. With a spit of luck, Joe would be long gone before Mom’s meddling became a real issue.
“Yes, they are.” I slapped the wad into one palm with a grin and crawled into the alcove beneath the stairs to drag out the wicker basket I’d stashed there earlier.
Mom peered over my shoulder as I unlatched and raised the lid. “Is that a rope? Oh, my, that’s the murder weapon!”
I uncoiled the length of rope to show her the clever clasp on the noose. “This snaps open with the slightest pressure. Even if something went awfully wrong, which it won’t, there’s no way this could strangle Jenna.”
“It’s all so morbid, but I must admit, intriguing all the same. Should we take a peek inside the envelopes?”
“Absolutely not.” I nestled the rope back into the basket, dropped the envelopes in and closed the lid firmly before shoving the basket into the dark depths of the alcove. “No one can weasel information out of you that you don’t have.”
FOUR
Dinner was an interesting affair with lively conversation that circled and then finally centered on the psychoanalysis of a serial killer’s mind. Not exactly light small talk, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised given the common interest that had drawn my guests.
Tomorrow we’d eat under starlight on the terrace, but I’d decided on the dining room for tonight so everyone could sit at one table and get to know each other. Sticking to my theme of loose structure , I’d forgone place cards and somehow found myself seated between Miss Crawley and Jonas Mayer, a weathered looking man with a thick crop of salt and pepper hair and a toothy smile.
Jonas was pretty harmless, an accountant who’d apparently driven up from Scranton in Pennsylvania. Miss Crawley, on the other hand, sent my table manners into a nervous flutter. The bird-like woman could put the fear of God into you with a simple disapproving smile, and she disapproved a lot. For the life of me, I suddenly couldn’t remember which knife was the butter spreader and which one to save for the pink salmon starter.
I reached for my glass of wine, deciding I didn’t really need that crispy bread roll anyway.
Halfway down the length of the table, Jenna shot me a sympathetic smile. She, naturally, had snagged a spot between the vibrant Ella Parker and the only eligible—entirely too suitable—male. Mason Sash was not the kind of man I would have pegged for an amateur sleuth. Early thirties, strong jaw, dreamy dark brown hair, dreamy darker eyes.
“That was an interesting twist, my dear.”
I snapped my stare
My mouth gaped open. I loved my mom to bits, I really did, but this was precisely the kind of thing that drove me nuts. “Where you spying on us?”
“Of course not, honey.” She wrung her hands together, her expression pained with the injustice of the wrongly accused. “I was just waiting for Joseph to leave. I don’t know how to talk to the man. I want to hate him, but that doesn’t seem right. And I can’t like him, not after what he’s done, can I?”
The irritation washed out of me. This was her first encounter with Joe since he’d moved in and to be fair, the situation was rather confusing.
“Joe is still Joe, he’s just not my Joe anymore,” I told her. “You don’t have to hate him. You don’t have to like him. And I don’t expect you to ostracize him for the sheer hell of it. As you may have noticed, Joe and I are getting along perfectly fine.”
“Yes, I certainly did notice,” Mom said, that hopeful lilt in her tone a dead giveaway.
I blew out a grumpy breath. “ That is not going to happen, ever.”
How had I not seen this coming? According to my mom, there was one thing worse than a cheating husband: the scandal of divorce.
“If you say so, honey,” she said sweetly. “Now, are those the secret envelopes?”
A blatant re-direct, but I took it. With a spit of luck, Joe would be long gone before Mom’s meddling became a real issue.
“Yes, they are.” I slapped the wad into one palm with a grin and crawled into the alcove beneath the stairs to drag out the wicker basket I’d stashed there earlier.
Mom peered over my shoulder as I unlatched and raised the lid. “Is that a rope? Oh, my, that’s the murder weapon!”
I uncoiled the length of rope to show her the clever clasp on the noose. “This snaps open with the slightest pressure. Even if something went awfully wrong, which it won’t, there’s no way this could strangle Jenna.”
“It’s all so morbid, but I must admit, intriguing all the same. Should we take a peek inside the envelopes?”
“Absolutely not.” I nestled the rope back into the basket, dropped the envelopes in and closed the lid firmly before shoving the basket into the dark depths of the alcove. “No one can weasel information out of you that you don’t have.”
FOUR
Dinner was an interesting affair with lively conversation that circled and then finally centered on the psychoanalysis of a serial killer’s mind. Not exactly light small talk, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised given the common interest that had drawn my guests.
Tomorrow we’d eat under starlight on the terrace, but I’d decided on the dining room for tonight so everyone could sit at one table and get to know each other. Sticking to my theme of loose structure , I’d forgone place cards and somehow found myself seated between Miss Crawley and Jonas Mayer, a weathered looking man with a thick crop of salt and pepper hair and a toothy smile.
Jonas was pretty harmless, an accountant who’d apparently driven up from Scranton in Pennsylvania. Miss Crawley, on the other hand, sent my table manners into a nervous flutter. The bird-like woman could put the fear of God into you with a simple disapproving smile, and she disapproved a lot. For the life of me, I suddenly couldn’t remember which knife was the butter spreader and which one to save for the pink salmon starter.
I reached for my glass of wine, deciding I didn’t really need that crispy bread roll anyway.
Halfway down the length of the table, Jenna shot me a sympathetic smile. She, naturally, had snagged a spot between the vibrant Ella Parker and the only eligible—entirely too suitable—male. Mason Sash was not the kind of man I would have pegged for an amateur sleuth. Early thirties, strong jaw, dreamy dark brown hair, dreamy darker eyes.
“That was an interesting twist, my dear.”
I snapped my stare
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