Detective Mara Vance stood in the center of the grand foyer, her wet coat dripping onto a mosaic of cerulean and gold. Above her, a chandelier the size of a small car glittered with malevolent indifference. The body of Julian Blackwood lay at the foot of the grand staircase, his sightless eyes aimed at the front door he’d never reached.
The rain didn’t so much fall as lean , sliding in slick, grey sheets down the limestone facade of Blackwood Manor. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of old cedar and newer lies.
"Naturally." A thin smile. "He didn't care for the amendments favoring the charitable trust. He preferred his mistresses to have cash, not causes." Mansion -Alibi-
"The staff is you and Silas, tonight. The household was given the night off. Convenient." Mara crouched down, peering at a faint smear on the marble floor near the newel post. Not blood. Wax. Beeswax from a candle.
Elara looked at Silas. Silas looked at the floor. The chandelier’s crystals tinkled once, softly, as if laughing. Detective Mara Vance stood in the center of
"Tell me again," Mara said, not turning around.
"Elara," Mara said, softer now. "The east wing is twenty rooms. Maids' quarters, a ballroom, a billiards room. You're telling me that for three hours, neither of you left that wing? No calls? No bathroom break? No glass of water from the kitchen?" The rain didn’t so much fall as lean
"About the documents?"