Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Imani breathed a sigh of relief as they edged their way out of the crowd. She had put off doing anything else that was unprofessional and wrong—at least for a little bit. And in the meantime, she really did want to see if there was anything in the vast house tying Mistress Bittlebum to Lady Zangelo’s murder.
It might be a long shot, but it was definitely worth checking out.
Thirty-One
J’are’s eyes glowed dimly in the darkened corridor. The effect was a little scary, Imani thought—like the eyes of a wild beast stalking its prey. But she was glad to be able to see anything in the dimness.
“Are you sure this is where she’d have her bedroom?” she murmured to J’are, keeping her voice down even though they appeared to have the entire top floor of the huge mansion to themselves.
“Definitely,” he murmured. “The grandest bedchamber in the entire house is up here. Mother Hownow always slept in one of the smaller ones—she said it was more cozy and not so drafty during the cold months. But nothing but the best would do for Lady Bittlebum.”
“It certainly sounds like she’s a social climber,” Imani said as they walked down the corridor, passing doorway after doorway, all of them elaborately carved and gilded.
“Which was one reason Mother Hownow despised her,” J’are said, nodding. “She couldn’t stand anyone who pretended to be what they weren’t. She’d come from relatively humble beginnings herself and built an empire—whereas her niece only pretended to have one. Here—this is it.”
He had stopped in front of a room which had a set of double doors, twice as high as Imani was tall. They were elaborately scrolled and carved with golden doorknobs.
“Do you think it’s locked?” Imani asked anxiously.
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” J’are seized one of the doorknobs and began to jiggle it in a deliberate way. “Luckily, I grew up in this house—I know how to get in and out of any room here.”
As he spoke, Imani heard a faint click and the door abruptly opened.
“And here we are,” J’are remarked as they walked into the room.
It certainly was a grand bed chamber, Imani thought. It looked like something you might see in a palace. There was a vast bed with a high canopy, all decorated in rich gold brocade with rubies and emeralds worked into the pattern. The bedclothes were made of the same fabric and the pillows were each as long as Imani was tall.
But it wasn’t the bed that interested her—sitting on a dressing table across from it, were seven or eight dummy heads, each one wearing an elaborate wig.
Imani walked over to the dressing table, studying the wigs with interest. Some were high and puffy and some were sleek and straight but all were the exact same shade of lemon-yellow.
“Well, at least she’s consistent,” she remarked, looking at the wigs. “They’re all exactly the same color.” She wrinkled her nose. “And they all smell kind of musty, too.”
“That’s not the only thing with a bad smell in here,” J’are growled.
Turning, Imani saw that he was holding a long black cloak with a hood in one hand.
“What’s that?” She frowned. “I don’t smell anything.”
“That’s because you don’t have a Kindred sense of smell.” He sniffed the black fabric and his eyes flashed an even brighter green for a moment. “This is stiff with dried blood—and not just any blood, Lady Zangelo’s blood.”
“Oh my God!” Imani put a hand to her mouth. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “I’d recognize that scent anywhere. I woke up covered in it—remember?”
“But why in the world would she keep the bloody cloak she was wearing when she, uh, killed Lady Zangelo?” Imani still just couldn’t believe it.
“I told you—she thinks she can get away with anything. I’ve never met anyone more arrogant in my life,” J’are growled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a vid of the murder somewhere around here, too. She’d keep it for a trophy to watch later and laugh at the fact that nobody caught her.”
“Where would that be, I wonder?” Imani looked around the dressing table, which held other things besides the elaborate collection of wigs. There were also a number of pieces of jewelry displayed in a large velvet case. Some of the pieces looked too ostentatious to be real but knowing Lady Bittlebum, they probably were the genuine article.
At random, she picked up a gold ring with a rounded, opalescent stone about as big as a large marble. She stroked the stone with her fingertip and was surprised when the top flipped open and a tiny insect, no bigger than a gnat, came buzzing out.
“Oh! What in the word?” she exclaimed, swatting at it.
“You found a spy fly, I see,” J’are remarked. “Leave it be—it will return to its home when it’s ready.”
“A spy fly?” Imani frowned, but stopped swatting at the nearly invisible insect. “What’s that?”