By Emily Brightwell
The vacation season brings a mixture of merriment, mayhem, and homicide. And it falls to Inspector Witherspoon—with a good portion of support from the ever-watchful Mrs. Jeffries—to locate the culprit…
THE enterprise OF DEATH
Orlando Edison is a stockbroker utilizing London’s infatuation with overseas mining ventures to make a fortune. He has curried desire with the nation’s most dear aristocrats, even inviting 3 of the main influential traders in England—known because the Merry Gentlemen—to be a part of his newest enterprise.
Despite his mysterious previous, Edison is now welcomed within the optimum circles and strikes very easily one of the wealthy and strong. but a number of days earlier than Christmas, he's came upon sprawled throughout his doorstep, murdered. Charismatic and captivating, Edison was once variety to his servants and beneficiant together with his associates. Why might anyone wish him dead?
Inspector Witherspoon and his loved ones are all anticipating the festive season. Witherspoon is keen to spend time together with his godchild. Wiggins, the footman, is infatuated with soccer and might relatively cheer targets than chase down clues. And Mrs. Goodge longs to bake recipes from the newest cookbooks. yet all of them recognize their accountability, and led via the intrepid Mrs. Jeffries, they plan to work out justice served for the holidays….
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Additional resources for Mrs. Jeffries and the Merry Gentlemen (Mrs. Jeffries, Book 32)
One fist clutched a telephone; with the other hand he was jotting additions to a long list of items. He had an odd, glazed expression, and his glance flicked over Chris without seeing her. After what seemed a very long time, he mumbled a good-bye and hung up. "Liberated women," he snarled into the air above Chris's head. " She took one step closer to the counter. " the man snapped. " Chris looked over her shoulder, ready to run if necessary. "I suppose when you grow up you're going to want a career," the man jeered.
Uncle Ralph seemed pleased to have a job. He hurried off, and Grandma patted the bed beside her. "Sit here, Chrissy," she invited. "Now, how are things going? " The words spilled out. "Uncle Ralph doesn't want me with him. Oh, we get along okay"—she wanted to chase away Grandma's worried frown—"but he'll be glad when I'm gone. And so will I," she added. Grandma hugged her. "My Ralph is a loner, I'm afraid. He's lived by himself for a long time, and he's used to it. But I'm sure he's glad to have you with him, dear.
Time passed, and her muscles ached, but she stayed in her sheet-tent. When she peered out at last, the first gray light of morning was touching the windows. She stayed in bed another half-hour, listening to the world wake itself up. A cardinal sang. A squirrel scolded. The lake made its soft, lapping sounds. When she opened her bedroom door, the house was very still. Uncle Ralph's door was closed. The attic door was closed, too. There was nothing unusual to see, except for the chest. It stood out from the attic door at an angle, as if it had been roughly thrust aside.