Murder at the Breakers Read Online Free PDF Page A

for Brady, but the second-floor rooms all opened onto a gallery that looked down over the Great Hall. I couldn’t risk being seen and followed, especially by a family member.
    Aunt Alice gave me the perfect excuse to leave the Great Hall and devise a plan. “Emmaline, be an angel and check the billiard room. Tell that husband of mine if he doesn’t come at once he’ll spoil Gertrude’s night.”
    I set off at nearly a run, my haste raising numerous eyebrows. Several men occupied the billiard room, but Uncle Cornelius wasn’t one of them. Instead of seeking him elsewhere on the first floor, I slipped quickly out through the double doors onto the rear piazza and then down the steps onto the lawn. The day’s rain had left the grass sodden, and moisture instantly soaked through my embroidered dancing slippers. They’d be ruined, but I hadn’t time to lament the fact. Toes squelching, I circled the side of the house, looking up as I neared the front. The second story was dark except . . . there! A beam of light passed across the windows of Uncle Cornelius’s bedroom. Brady must be inside.
    I was about to hoist my skirts, scamper around to the front door, steal inside and up the service stairs when the light suddenly went out. I waited, staring into the darkness, my ears pricked. “Brady,” I whispered—stupidly, for at that distance and through the closed balcony door he could not have heard me. A minute or two passed. I decided my best course was indeed to run inside, but just then a sharp thwack from above rooted me to the spot. Two or three more clunks followed. Moments later, the balcony door swung open and sounds of a scuffle burst from inside the room.
    “What? You!” a man’s voice exclaimed.
    “Brady?” I cried out hoarsely, too frightened now for discretion.
    There came a grunt, more scuffling, another thwack—louder and sharper now, like a gunshot piercing the quiet—and then the thud of something or someone hitting the stone balustrade. My heart pounding, I scrambled backward to get a better view, and as I looked up again, a dark silhouette tumbled over the railing and plummeted to the ground at my feet.

Chapter 2
    I cried out, then pressed both hands to my mouth. My heart pummeled inside my chest, and I stood motionless, breathless, staring down at the black heap before me, my brain thrashing to make sense of what had just happened.
    With trembling fingers I lifted my hems from the wet ground and tiptoed closer, afraid to look, unable to turn away. The night closed around me like a fist, blocking out the house, the lawns, the nearby drive crowded with sleek horses and posh carriages. The music and lively hum of voices drifting from the piazza doorway faded. The crickets were silenced. I heard only the distant rumble of the ocean striking the cliffs at the base of the property.
    A haze swam before my eyes, and through it I could make out scant details about the figure sprawled facedown on the ground: the formal tailcoat and tapering black trousers, the buffed dress shoes, the dark but graying hair. A notion rose like bile to choke me.
    “Uncle Cornelius? Oh, God. Oh, no . . .”
    My hands fisted in my hair. Then, needing to be sure, I leaned down closer, reached out, and laid my fingertips on one shoulder. I gave a shake, waited . . . and hoped for some response. When none came, I sucked in a breath and with both hands pushed to roll the figure over. The eyes that gazed unseeingly, grotesquely up into mine sent me scrambling backward, puddles splashing up onto my legs, my heart crashing against my stays.
    The face staring up at the sky was not Uncle Cornelius’s. “Mr. Goddard!”
    Relief that my relative had been spared mingled with my horror. I don’t know how many seconds passed while I simply stood and stared, dumbfounded. Then my feet were in motion, bringing me around to the front door. The footman manning the vestibule eyed me with alarm, but I rushed past him. In the wide entryway of the