Back Queen of Hearts
Chapters (38)
  1. Cover
  2. Berkley Prime Crime titles by Rhys Bowen
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. Chapter 16
  22. Chapter 17
  23. Chapter 18
  24. Chapter 19
  25. Chapter 20
  26. Chapter 21
  27. Chapter 22
  28. Chapter 23
  29. Chapter 24
  30. Chapter 25
  31. Chapter 26
  32. Chapter 27
  33. Chapter 28
  34. Chapter 29
  35. Chapter 30
  36. Chapter 31
  37. Chapter 32
  38. Chapter 33

Darcy grinned. The drive was spectacular, out on the road that hugged the Pacific Ocean. Steep golden sandstone cliffs rose to our right, blue water and white surf on the left. The colors were overwhelmingly bright and in spite of all the tension of the last few days I began to look forward to this latest adventure, especially now that Darcy was beside me. After a few miles we left the paved road and began to climb into the hills up a narrow canyon. The dirt road twisted and turned until we came to a high wire fence with barbed wire around the top. A gate, similarly topped with barbed wire, barred our way.

“It looks like a prison,” Mummy muttered to me. “Do you think we’ll be allowed out again for good behavior?”

“When have you ever behaved well?” I turned to tease.

“Naughty child. You should spank her, Darcy.”

“Now that’s a thought,” Darcy quipped back.

There was a small gatehouse built in the Spanish style. A man came out of this and the gate swung open. The gatekeeper saluted Mr. Goldman as his car sailed past. He kept saluting as we followed. We continued on, up a steep winding track between hills of parched golden grass, dotted with oak trees and scrub, until suddenly the landscape became more obviously cultivated with shade trees, flowering oleanders and bougainvillea, even rosebushes. Among the trees I caught glimpses of small cottages and wondered if the description of a castle had just been Mr. Goldman’s private tease.

Then we came to a gravel forecourt, with a fountain in it, just like an English country estate, and behind it—for once I was justified in saying “golly.” My mother muttered not quite such a polite word. Above us, perched on a bluff, loomed a huge edifice—a cross between Moorish castle and Gothic fantasy with medieval turrets, domes of bright blue tiles, archways, balconies. The front façade was sparking white marble, while other parts were made of rough stone, to resemble a medieval castle. The white stone glowed pink in the early evening sun.

To the left of the castle was an enormous swimming pool, its clear blue waters sparkling in the pale light. It was edged by a line of Greek columns and arches. Classical statues stood between the columns and were dotted around the forecourt.

“No expense spared here,” Darcy muttered. “It looks as if he’s pillaged the Acropolis for this lot.”