121

ALEXANDER

The handmaiden’s death had hit the McKenzie Manor like a shit tsunami on steroids.

A spark of guilt ignited in my chest when I realized I hadn’t the slightest bit of recollection on what the woman looked like.

“Eyewitnesses accounts say Mary Argretee had been murdered as she was fleeing from the Manor,” The young detective from the sheriff’s office boomed as the sharp blue crystals of his eyes fixed unnervingly on me.

I shifted uneasily on the rich leather of the couch, feeling like I had just been soccer punched in the stomach.

Mary was running from the house?

It had to be on the night of the argument. My brain was puzzled at the thought.

What the hell was going on?

“That doesn’t make sense officer, why would she be running from the manor? Mary’s lived here since I married my wife,” I queried, matching his gaze squarely.

I could feel Darlene’s dainty hands wrapping over the line of my bicep.

I didn’t like the way he was talking, the definitive tilt of his chin, and the ste