Rules of Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

expensive but rumpled eveningwear. Both men stood to greet her.
    “Come in, come in,” Mason repeated, smiling. “Shut the door or we shall never be able to hear ourselves over the music.”
    Madeline did as he asked and then drew a startled breath to realize a third man was standing with his back to her, searching through a book that lay open on a side table.
    “Mr. Lincoln, I—”
    The man turned to face her. He wasn’t Lincoln after all.
    “I beg your pardon,” Madeline stammered, one hand over her heart, “but I thought—”
    The two older men laughed between themselves.
    “Come here, my dear, and let me introduce you,” Mason said, and then he nodded toward the older man across the desk from him. “This is Mr. Rushford, one of my business partners. Mr. Rushford, my niece, Madeline.”
    Mr. Rushford squinted as if his glasses were not strong enough to give him a very clear look at her, but his expression was kind. “How do you do, Miss Parker?”
    “Very well, thank you, Mr. Rushford. I am sorry to have interrupted your business meeting.”
    “Not at all. Not at all. Such a lovely interruption is more than welcome.”
    “And,” Mason continued, “this is my new secretary, Merton Clarke.”
    The secretary, the man she had mistaken for Lincoln, closed the book he was looking through and made a slight bow. “Good evening, miss.”
    She managed a smile. “Forgive me for staring, Mr. Clarke, but from the back you looked so much like—”
    Her uncle nudged his partner. “I told you as much.”
    “Oh, I don’t know.” Rushford squinted at the secretary. “I suppose there’s a bit of a resemblance. What’s it matter anyway? The man’s competent, isn’t he? So long as Lincoln didn’t recommend him just for one of his pranks, what’s it matter?”
    “Having a good time tonight, my dear?” Mason asked. “You seemed quite popular with the young gentlemen on the dance floor.”
    “Maybe a little too popular,” Madeline said with a rueful laugh.
    “Ah, so that’s why you ducked in here. And who is it you’re running from? Anyone I know? I’ll have a word with him, of course.”
    Madeline squeezed his arm, grateful for his kindness. “Now, nothing so serious as that. I just thought I’d take a minute and see some of the rest of the house.” A green marble clock, French by its look, ticked on the carved stone mantel. She couldn’t help touching one finger to the figure that ornamented it: a lounging bronze lute player in the dress of an Elizabethan Romeo. “Everything is so beautiful.”
    “You stay with us as long as you like, Miss Parker,” Rushford told her. “So long as you don’t mind the company of a couple of crusty old badgers and one industrious little mole.”
    The others laughed, but Clarke merely blinked his pale eyes and did not protest the description. In evening dress and with his blond hair oiled and slicked back as it was, it was easy to see why, from behind, she had thought he was Lincoln. But his pasty complexion and almost nonexistent chin, oddly dimpled on one side, immediately put an end to the likeness. His stylishly thin mustache did little to improve things and only somewhat concealed the scar over his upper lip.
    Madeline gave him her prettiest smile. “I understand you’re leaving for Canada. Won’t you tell me what you’re working on, Mr. Clarke?”
    His pale face turned pink, and he stammered something about pumping stations and pressure gauges until his commentary was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before anyone could respond, the door opened and Drew Farthering popped his head into the room.
    “Ah, there you are, Miss Parker. We’ve been wondering where you’d gone off to.”
    Seeing him, Madeline felt her own face flush with pleasure. “Uncle Mason and his friends have been telling me about Farlinford Processing and the new system they’re working on.”
    Drew put one gloved hand dramatically over his heart. “Good thing I’ve come to rescue