Please turn the page for
an exciting sneak peek
of Evan Marshall’s
newest Jane Stuart and Winky mystery
STABBING STEPHANIE
coming in June 2001!
Lillian Strohman’s house, which was built of pale stone and resembled a castle, made Puffy’s look like a cottage. A wide drive made of paving stones climbed the slope of an immense lawn and passed beneath an arched porte cochere in the house itself.
When they were halfway up the drive, Florence said, “Una asked us to come around to the back door, so we should go through here.” She pointed to the archway. “There’s a place to park in the back.”
“Why does she want us to come to the back?”
“Because that’s the door to the kitchen, and she’s working in there right now. Or she might be in the laundry room, but that’s right off the kitchen. She didn’t want us coming to the front door, all public—you know.”
Jane drove through the porte cochere, and they emerged onto a wide paved area behind the house.
As they got out of the car, Florence said, “Sometimes Una doesn’t hear the doorbell when she’s in the laundry room, because the washer and dryer make a lot of noise, so she said she would leave the door unlocked for us.”
“Okay.” Approaching the kitchen door, Jane noticed that some construction work was in progress. The ground between the paved area and the door itself had been torn up—chunks of concrete lay off to one side—and a wooden frame had been put in place, the kind of frame used to contain poured concrete. The floor of this frame consisted of exposed earth as well as large amounts of white dust from the broken-up concrete.
“Oh,” Florence said, seeing this mess and remembering, “Una said to watch where we walk. Mrs. Strohman is having this part replaced.”
“So I see,” Jane said, irritated that no boards had been put down between the concrete that was still intact and the door. Carefully she and Florence picked their way across. Jane’s feet sank into the earth and concrete dust; she could see white powder collecting on her shoes.
The door had a window in it, but it was covered with a shirred white curtain, so they couldn’t see into the kitchen. Jane turned the knob and the door opened. She was about to enter the house when Florence placed her hand on Jane’s.
“Missus, I’m thinking it would be best if I go in first and speak to Una, tell her again that you’re okay. Would that be all right? It will only take a minute or two.”
“Yes, if you think so,” Jane said, and stood aside so Florence could go in. With a nervous smile, Florence stepped into the kitchen, which Jane could see was large but old-fashioned, as many of the kitchens in these old mansions were. Florence left the door ajar.
Jane turned away from the door and gazed up at the house. From here it was clear that the building was a jumble of levels at various heights; she could easily see how a burglar might have climbed up and used the roof of one level to gain access to Lillian Strohman’s bedroom.
“Missus!”
Jane jumped. It was Florence, shrieking in terror, shrieking as Jane had never heard her shriek. Jane spun around and pushed open the door. It nearly hit Flor ence, who had been running toward it. Her face was twisted in terror and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Missus—” Panting, she leaned on Jane, apparently unable to say any more.
Jane’s heart pounded. “What is it? Florence, what happened?”
“Missus,” Florence gasped. “It’s Una. She’s . . . dead!”