Read 02 Murder at the Mansion for Free Online Page B

Annabelle said, turning around.
    Philippa picked up the tray of cupcakes and presented them to the Vicar. “You know, you’re welcome to take cupcakes whenever you wish.”
    Annabelle shot Philippa a look of confusion, then chuckled in bemusement. “Why, yes, Philippa. Of course.”
    “I mean, there’s no need to hide your love of cakes from me, Vicar!” Philippa said, laughing nervously.
    “Don’t worry, I won’t. Whatever is the matter, Philippa?”
    “Oh, nothing, Vicar. I just think, perhaps, you’re a little stressed. Nothing to be concerned about. For now.”
    Annabelle looked with an expression of deep befuddlement at the table as she sought to make sense of her secretary’s strange behaviour. On a day that seemed full of odd and unusual occurrences, however, she decided to reserve her critical faculties for the more concerning matters at hand. She bid Philippa a cheery farewell and made her way to the church in order to work on her upcoming sermon.

    Just as she expected, news of Sir John Cartwright’s death spread throughout the village rapidly and with fervour. Though she would have confided the extraordinary events to her ever faithful friend anyway, Annabelle was aware of the added benefit to be gained from Philippa’s tendency to spread news quickly. Indeed, she had often joked that Philippa was faster at spreading both information and misinformation than the internet. Just as the Inspector would no doubt use his sources and databases to his advantage, Annabelle would use hers, the village’s own little Hermes, messenger of the heavens, Philippa. She was certain that many of the rumors flying around about the newly arrived knight were poppycock, but if there were some kernel of truth in them, then news of his death would bring it to the fore.
    As she expected, fuelled by the absence of excitement that typically accompanied the sleepy Cornish weekend, the news spread to every corner of Upton St. Mary. Within a matter of a few hours, almost every resident had not only heard the news, but had also come up with a motive, a full backstory for Sir John, and even solved the murder.
    “These rich types are all the same,” grumbled a voice from the back of the local pub, “always involved in something shady. Drugs, theft, you name it. They get involved in anything they can up there in the city. Then, when they’re getting close enough to getting caught, they come down here, bringing all that trouble with them.”
    “Come on,” pleaded a younger, less cynical voice at the bar, “there are lots of rich folk around Upton St. Mary. None of them are involved in anything shady.”
    “Yeah, but I never liked that John Cartwright anyway.”
    “You never even met him!” came the reply, causing rowdy laughter around the pub.
    “Exactly. Show me an Englishman who moves to an area and whose first order of business isn’t to visit his local pub, and I’ll show you someone shady,” replied the old grump, to which everyone’s laughter turned into murmurs of begrudging agreement at his distinctly British logic.
    Elsewhere, a couple of young mothers sitting on a bench watching over their children were just as opinionated.
    “Good riddance, I say.”
    “Helen!”
    “Well, I’m sorry, Julia, but do you really want a weird old pervert like that living this close to Upton St. Mary? Building a brothel here, of all things?”
    “Well, I don’t really think that’s what he was doing.”
    “Of course it was!”
    “You really believe that?”
    “Why not? Everyone knows Cornish girls are the prettiest in England. We’re close enough to the cities to keep it convenient and just far enough away to keep it secret. This is the perfect location for a brothel! And Woodlands Manor is all tucked away behind those trees. Why would you choose to live there if you weren’t doing something shameful?”
    “I suppose.”
    “No doubt about it. No doubt at all.”
    “It’s not that what worries me though. The really