A Second Chance for Murder Read Online Free Page A

ceased when Lauryn’s sharply elbowed her ribs after seeing a sorrowful shadow fall over Thora’s face. Realizing her indelicate blunder, a red-faced Cecilia expressed an apology. “Oh, Thora, how thoughtless of me to have forgotten how close you and Ivey were. Please forgive me.”
    “It’s all right Cecilia. I know you meant no harm,” Thora uttered, putting down her cup. She had suddenly lost her taste for tea. Inwardly, Thora thought that if her brother ever entertained the notion of courting such a selfish, insensitive chit, she would need to have a serious talk with him. If that didn’t work, she’d resort to more drastic measures, like locking him in the wine cellar until he came to his senses. “But in a way,” she said, shaking off the horrible thought of any union between Nyle and Cecilia Boothwell, “your mention of Ivey brings something important to mind.” Thora rose and moved over to her writing desk. Sliding open the top drawer, she removed three small boxes. “I have a gift for each of you,” she said, distributing the boxes to each young woman.
    “Oh I do love presents,” Lauryn squealed with delight, her blond curls bouncing.
    Thora handed her one of the boxes, but Lauryn’s joy turned into befuddlement when, upon opening it and peeking inside, she found a strange-looking wooden object. “What is it?” the petite girl asked, taking it out and holding it in her dainty fingers.
    Cecilia and Floris, after opening their gifts and finding the same item, also turned questioning gazes to Thora.
    “It’s a police rattle,” Thora stated with a proud half-smile. “Safeguard these rattles as it took some doing to get them.”
    “A police rattle!” Cecilia cried incredulously. “What are we supposed to do with it?”
    “Keep it with you at all times,” Thora uttered, her face serious. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she withdrew yet another rattle. “I carry one myself. Remember, whoever harmed Ivey has yet to be caught and for all the police know, he could still be lurking in the area. If you ever feel threatened you can use it as an alarm to summon help.”
    “How does it work?” Floris asked curiously.
    Coming out of the manor to greet Garren, Lord Nyle Somerville found his old school chum’s attention lifted to the library windows. Curious, his eyes followed Garren’s gaze to the upper-floor windows. Seeing nothing of particular interest, he gave a shrug and then welcomed Garren with a warm, grateful handshake. “Huntscliff, thank goodness. I feel better now that you’re here. Let’s go inside. Before I introduce you to the other guests, I’d like to have a chat. Let’s go to the library.”
    As Garren followed his friend inside, a sense of familiarity washed over him. Although it had been years since his last visit, memories quickly flooded back. Odd how the hint of lemon wax and soap that permeated from the rosewood panels in the center hall could spark recollections. It seemed time had stopped for Mannington Manor. There was the same round, highly polished table in the center hall that held a huge vase of flowers, undoubtedly picked from the manor’s magnificent gardens. Under his feet was the soft oriental carpet he remembered as a lad. It was so well cared for that one would swear it was new.
    As they ascended the stairs to the second floor, he noticed with amusement the ancestral portraits hanging in their gilded frames along the staircase wall that both he and Nyle had jokingly agreed as lads bore absolutely no resemblance to the current family members. But what was most strong was the sense of brotherhood and belonging he experienced from his very first visit to Mannington Manor. During their school breaks Nyle often suggested Garren accompany him home, an invitation he readily accepted, since returning to his own home meant dealing with three pestering sisters. Here, at least, he would only need to cope with one.
    He inwardly laughed, recalling how he sometimes