Murder in Mystery Manor Read online

  To MICHELLE, my wife and my muse

  Murder is always a mistake—

  one should never do anything

  one cannot talk about after dinner.

  —Oscar Wilde

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  CHAPTER 1: The New Caretaker

  CHAPTER 2: The Westlake Estate

  CHAPTER 3: The Guests Arrive

  CHAPTER 4: The Mansion

  CHAPTER 5: The Game Begins

  CHAPTER 6: The Rules

  CHAPTER 7: Shot Through the Heart

  CHAPTER 8: Grilled

  CHAPTER 9: Secret Admirer

  CHAPTER 10: A Literal Smoking Gun

  CHAPTER 11: Scared or Spared

  CHAPTER 12: Hung Out to Dry

  CHAPTER 13: The Second Victim

  CHAPTER 14: The West Lake Noose

  CHAPTER 15: Indecent Exposure

  CHAPTER 16: Cutting the Cord

  CHAPTER 17: Cracking Flags

  CHAPTER 18: A Much-Needed Break

  CHAPTER 19: Qing Ding Pearl

  CHAPTER 20: The Third Victim

  CHAPTER 21: Stabbing Westward

  CHAPTER 22: Lowered Expectations

  CHAPTER 23: Spoiled Dinner

  CHAPTER 24: Good Fortune

  CHAPTER 25: Worst to First

  CHAPTER 26: Kick the Bucket Seats

  CHAPTER 27: The Fourth and Fifth Victims

  CHAPTER 28: A Weightless Passenger

  CHAPTER 29: CSI Saves the Day

  CHAPTER 30: Autopilot

  CHAPTER 31: They Bought the Ant Farm

  CHAPTER 32: Reward

  CHAPTER 33: Human Popsicle

  CHAPTER 34: The Sixth Victim

  CHAPTER 35: Winter Wonderland

  CHAPTER 36: Human Ice Cubes

  CHAPTER 37: No Habla Español

  CHAPTER 38: The Maze

  CHAPTER 39: Before I Melt

  CHAPTER 40: The Accusation

  CHAPTER 41: Jaws Versus the Gimp

  CHAPTER 42: The Seventh Victim

  CHAPTER 43: The Floater

  CHAPTER 44: Jaws’s Last Meal

  CHAPTER 45: The Power of Question

  CHAPTER 46: 354 Species

  CHAPTER 47: Ties Are for Soccer and Suits

  CHAPTER 48: Endgame

  CHAPTER 49: The Eighth and Ninth Victims

  CHAPTER 50: Crime Scene

  CHAPTER 51: Morgue

  CHAPTER 52: Last Known Whereabouts

  CHAPTER 53: The Treasure Hunt

  CHAPTER 54: Whodunnit?

  CHAPTER 55: No Escape

  CHAPTER 56: The Curse

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER 1

  THE NEW CARETAKER

  As the taxi drove up the long gravel driveway leading toward the mansion at the center of the Westlake Estate, the lone passenger adjusted his tie and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him that he was making the biggest mistake of his life. Of course this is the right thing to do, he told himself again and again on the seemingly endless drive from the iron gates at the entrance to the mansion itself. As a man with considerable training and experience in his field, he’d already been making a comfortable living. But with a significantly higher salary, this new opportunity had been simply impossible to pass up.

  It had almost seemed too good to be true, honestly. Were it not for the $5,000 check he’d received just to consider the job offer, he would have concluded as much and written the whole thing off as a joke without giving it a second thought. But the check and the offer had both turned out to be quite real.

  The passenger examined his faint reflection in the window as the taxi curved around a massive marble fountain in front of the mansion. Years of serving others had actually been surprisingly kind to the man’s handsome face. His gray-streaked black hair and the faint creases that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled were the only real evidence of the man’s true age.

  The taxi stopped and the passenger held out $40 to the cabdriver.

  “It’s already been taken care of,” the driver said.

  “Very well then,” the passenger said, his smooth English accent and strict, formal diction making him sound more like the owner of the estate than its new caretaker.

  “Do you need help with your bags?” the cabdriver asked.

  “No, that’s quite all right, thank you,” the passenger replied as he opened his door.

  He held his entire life in two large suitcases as he stood and faced the mansion’s front entrance. The taxi’s tires crunched over the gravel as it pulled away behind him. The man waited there, staring at the mansion for several moments before moving. Once again, he had to fight off the strange notion that he was getting himself involved in something he would later regret. Something that he wouldn’t ever be able to escape.

  But he dismissed that idea for the nonsense it likely was. There was a finality to his dismissal this time. Such notions were, of course, preposterous. He was a man of logic and reason, after all. And logic said that this was merely another head butler position on a new estate, nothing more. One that came with some unusual employment terms and stipulations, true. But just the same, he was being well compensated for such aversions to the norm, so it evened out.

  With a clear head, the man ascended the massive granite stairs that led to the mansion’s front doors. He set down his suitcases and pressed the doorbell. The sound of the chimes coming from behind the heavy set of oak doors fell short of matching the grandiose presence of the mansion itself, but only slightly.

  After just a few short moments, the left door opened and the man was face-to-face with a young woman, perhaps thirty, dressed in a conservative and traditional maid uniform. She was pretty in a way that most people would miss if they did not have a reason to look twice.

  “You must be Mr. Giles,” she said.

  “Please, madam, call me Giles.”

  “Well, Giles, please come in,” she said, stepping aside. “I will show you to the head butler’s living quarters.”

  “Very well,” Giles said as he picked up his suitcases and entered the huge manor at the heart of the Westlake Estate.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE WESTLAKE ESTATE

  Giles was already quite familiar with the Westlake Estate upon his arrival, despite having never been there before. He’d been sent numerous maps of the estate and its various buildings by his employer several weeks in advance. And he’d studied them carefully in the days leading up to the start of his employment.

  After all, it would be somewhat difficult to step in as acting estate manager if he wasn’t already well acquainted with the grounds.

  The estate was, simply put, massive. In fact, it was the single largest estate that Giles had ever worked on. Or even seen for that matter. And he’d worked for royalty, powerful politicians, and international celebrities of the highest fame and fortune.

  The estate grounds covered almost forty acres of land. A huge, well-manicured lawn surrounded the mansion. A modest lake, West Lake to be precise, sat one hundred yards east of the mansion, complete with two boathouses and three large docks. Forest extended out beyond the lake and toward the outskirts of the estate grounds on all sides.

  A large garden spilled out from the back of the mansion adjacent to a sprawling granite-and-slate patio with nine sets of stone tables and benches, several grilling stations, and a recreational gaming house. A lush pool surrounded by palm trees and other assorted tropical plants dominated the center of the patio area. Behind it stood a two-story pool house that most people would have been proud to cal
l their permanent residence.

  Elsewhere, sprinkled throughout the estate grounds, one could find a stable stocked with horses from some of the country’s finest breeders; a large, detached garage with enough room to house at least thirty-five automobiles; a small, now-defunct winery; and a well-manicured hedge maze.

  Tucked away behind the mansion, almost as if the estate were embarrassed by its existence, stood a modest three-story structure that would provide housing to the estate’s various employees when fully staffed. At the moment, however, the staff house remained mostly vacant. In Giles’s opinion, the Westlake Estate was grossly, almost negligently understaffed, given its size and scope. At present, the staff consisted of two chefs, five maids, one stableboy, one groundskeeper, four porters or male servants, and one maintenance superintendent. And now, of course, Giles himself. At full capacity, the estate would have required at least forty live-in employees, if not more.

  But Giles had been warned about the estate’s reduced staff when he’d been offered the job. It was one of the reasons his new salary was considerably higher than that which he had previously earned. Not told in person, though. Giles had yet to meet his employer face-to-face. It was another of the more unusual details surrounding Giles’s new employment. In fact, hardly any of the details surrounding the shift into his new circumstances were usual at all.

  For the past seven years, Giles had been the head butler and house manager in charge of the staff and affairs at a large estate just north of San Diego. The owner, Mr. Agins, had made the majority of his wealth in real estate and then later multiplied his fortune by trading stock options in the 1990s. That is, he’d hired a team of energetic and talented young college graduates to trade options with his money. But the point is that he’d certainly made a lot of money over the years. Enough to buy a large estate on prime Southern California beachfront.

  Mr. Agins had always been a fair, if not somewhat detached, employer. Which had made the decision to leave especially difficult. Giles had carved out a relatively comfortable routine in seven years of working for Mr. Agins on his estate. Giles had even managed to get the rest of the staff performing at, or at least near, his own standards, which was a difficult enough challenge to begin with.

  Having the highest of standards for personal service and professionalism was one of the things drilled into the graduates of the world’s foremost school for butlers. Not that Giles had especially needed that portion of his training. Growing up in a working-class family in Wales, Giles had always possessed higher standards than his surroundings. He’d always yearned to not only improve his own life—to rise up above where he’d been raised and what he knew—but to also do the same for others around him. He always did his best to help around the house, and even attempted to instill that same drive and attention to detail in his younger siblings while acting as their interim father figure when their real father passed away at a relatively young age.

  But Giles’s top-notch domestic service training was invaluable just the same, no doubt. There was much more to being a butler, an excellent butler at that, than merely possessing attention to detail and high standards of excellence in service. He was also trained in all manner of administrative duties, crisis management, and seasonal grounds and residential upkeep, among a vast list of other functions. To merely say his training was extensive would not do it justice.

  Upon graduation, Giles had traveled the world, working for some of the most powerful and wealthy families in six countries. After more than fifteen years of service abroad, he eventually found himself back in the United States, working for Mr. Agins. It was a smaller estate and smaller job than he’d grown accustomed to. Prior to working for Mr. Agins, he’d been employed on an estate owned by a member of the French royal family.

  But Mr. Agins had offered a very competitive salary, good benefits, and the opportunity to run every aspect of his estate, down to the groundskeeping and even the care of the family pets. It was something that Giles had long wanted to do, run an estate in its entirety from top to bottom. It was something the larger, more affluent estates of royalty would never be able to offer due to their sheer size. Additionally, Giles had always been drawn to the United States for some reason he couldn’t quite explain. It was almost as if there was an unnatural quality to the dichotomy of a traditional British-style butler operating and existing on American estates that Giles quite liked.

  So Giles had accepted the job working for Mr. Agins. And he’d performed quite well, running the entirety of Agins’s eight-acre estate for the past seven years. Giles would have perhaps even been quite happy to have stayed there until his retirement. But then one Monday in late March, he’d gotten a letter that changed everything.

  It had arrived in an obviously expensive envelope made of thick paper stock and stamped with the official Westlake Estate emblem. Giles did not get much mail addressed to him directly, especially not from random estates with which he’d never before been associated. Butlers were not the sort to be poached from employers regularly. Mobility within the profession usually took action on the part of the butler, not potential employers.

  Therefore Giles had already known this was no ordinary letter before he’d even opened it. But the $5,000 cashier’s check inside, made out to Arthur Giles, certainly cemented that fact. The check was accompanied by a typed, two-page letter on similarly expensive paper—the kind of paper so richly textured that one might suspect it had been woven by hand individually, given the kind of artisanal attention normally reserved for custom-made furniture. The letter, printed on official Westlake Estate letterhead, read as such:

  Dear Mr. Giles,

  I do hope this letter has found you well. I wish to start by apologizing for the unusual nature of this letter and what is to follow. However, it is necessary in order to serve both of our purposes in kind. For starters, I wish to remain anonymous for the duration of this transaction. In due time, we will meet face-to-face and get to know each other on a more authentic and personal level, but for now, you may simply regard me as “X.”

  Please find enclosed a check in the amount of $5,000, payable to yourself, one Mr. Arthur Giles originally of Newport, Wales. This check is yours to redeem and keep regardless of your response to this letter. I merely offer it as a token of appreciation for your time.

  I am writing you in the present to offer you a job. I would like you to become the new house manager of my estate. This will be no ordinary butler position, however. First, I ask that you sign a contract committing you to my service for the duration of your life, or until you reach the age of seventy, whichever occurs first. Second, some rather unusual events may befall the estate from time to time. Third, the estate shall be functioning with a reduced staff for much of your service. There are many more details to discuss, of course, but I have taken enough of your time for now.

  Were you to accept the position of butler at the Westlake Estate, you would indeed be well compensated for the unusual nature and length of your employment. Your salary would start at $150,000 annually, plus a healthy benefits package. It is a hefty price, no doubt, but I desire a butler with experience, diplomacy, and decorum. And that, my sources tell me, would be you, Mr. Giles.

  Should you have an interest in this position, please reply posthaste via US mail to the address above. This offer of employment will only be valid until April 8. I do hope to hear from you soon.

  Warm regards,

  X

  After exchanging a few more letters with X, discussing the details further, and then giving the matter serious and deliberate consideration, Giles eventually accepted the offer. How could he not, after all? He had always been ambitious and hardworking, and he could not pass up the opportunity to become one of the most successful individuals in his field.

  Giles’s acceptance was followed shortly thereafter by a contract, some typical employment paperwork, and a modest signing bonus of $7,000, allowing him to get his affairs in order as soon as possible. He was then given the official st
reet address of the estate and a start date. And then nothing more.

  Now here he was on day one of his employment. Serving an empty mansion. And in charge of a small house staff with no one to cater to. Of course, unbeknownst to Giles, that would all soon change.

  In the most unusual and horrifying of ways.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE GUESTS ARRIVE

  Giles watched from the top of the granite stairs in front of the mansion as, one by one, the limousines arrived, circling the huge marble fountain carefully. The long black cars looked out of place, almost barbaric in some strange way, in front of such an ornate manor.

  As the first limousine stopped by the stairs, Giles rested his hand on the small note card in his pocket. It contained the opening speech he was to give to the guests upon their arrival. X’s latest set of instructions had been quite clear that he was to wait until every last one of the ten guests had arrived before addressing them with the information on the card.

  Giles ran his finger along the card, but then withdrew his hand and placed it behind his back, straightening his posture. He would not need to reference it, after all. He’d memorized the contents of the card the night before and had rehearsed it several times that morning. Giles typically was not the sort to rehearse speeches or welcome messages, but given that this was his first official interaction as acting head butler with real, live guests of the Westlake Estate, he wanted to ensure that it went as smoothly as possible.

  One week after his employment at the estate began, Giles had received notice of the guests’ impending arrival. It had been his first correspondence from X since the message relaying his official start date.

  Giles had already begun to feel uneasy again about his new employment situation even before that first set of instructions arrived. For one, there was no cell phone service anywhere on the estate grounds. Not that Giles was particularly attached to his phone in a typical modern way, but just the same, it had served as his primary link to the outside world for a good portion of his years as a live-in butler. And two, there was also no working Internet service that Giles could find anywhere on the estate grounds. The only links to the outside world were a small network of telephone landlines and the regular US Postal Service. This information had not been relayed to Giles prior to his employment, and he did not consider it to be a minor detail worthy of a mere oversight. He viewed X’s withholding of this information as particularly manipulative and perhaps even outwardly deceptive. Which, in Giles’s experience, did not bode well for their future interactions.