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Chapters (50)
  1. COVER
  2. PRAISE FOR TITLES BY MIRANDA JAMES
  3. ALSO BY MIRANDA JAMES
  4. TITLE PAGE
  5. COPYRIGHT
  6. DEDICATION
  7. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. AFTERWORD
  49. LETTER TO THE READER
  50. SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM BLESS HER DEAD LITTLE HEART

There it was. Clarevoyant’s Clew. A true, rare first printing of the book.

Was this really his copy? Or was it Carrie Taylor’s?

TWENTY-SIX

I examined the book more carefully. There were no labels, no marks of any kind that I found. The book looked like it had seldom been opened, the binding tight, the colors of the jacket fresh and unfaded. A rare copy indeed, to have survived eighty years in this condition.

Nothing to answer my question about its provenance, of course. Betts could have possessed this copy for years. Or he could have stolen it from Carrie Taylor after he killed her.

Then I realized how stupid I had been to pick up the book in the first place. Fingerprints. I had added mine to whatever prints the Mylar cover might hold. I might even have smudged those of another person. Hastily I put the book down on top of the pile from which I had pulled it.

I dreaded the inevitable glare of irritation and disapproval I’d get when I told Kanesha about this. But I had to tell her, in case this copy of the book had anything to do with the murder.

I turned to go, but a question popped into my head. Did Betts have another copy of The Mystery at Spellwood Mansion?

Without touching any of the books on the table, I examined the piles, looking for a second copy of the first Veronica Thane book.

I didn’t find one. What did that tell me?

I really wasn’t certain. Betts had boasted that he had over five hundred Veronica Thane books in various formats, and there couldn’t be more than sixty or seventy books on the table. The others were probably somewhere in the suite, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to try to find them and go through them all.

I decided I had better get going and not yield to temptation to see what else he had. I glanced at the sleeping man on my way to the door, and he seemed fine.

Before I could open the door, however, I heard a groan emanating from the area of the sofa. I hesitated, but the groaning continued, then intensified. I turned back to see what was wrong. Betts was struggling to get the blanket off and rise from the sofa.

“Going to be sick.” He managed to get the words out before his body convulsed.

I spotted a small, decorative garbage can at the end of sofa and scooped it up. Barely in time, I managed to stick it in front of him, and he vomited into it. He clutched at the can and pulled it to his chest, letting his head hang over it.