The Lost Mansion Cozy Mysteries Book 2

Available on Amazon.com

The second book of the Lost Mansion Mysteries finds Alex Temple hired as a consulting graphics artist with her architect friend Jim’s firm on a project renovating a boutique hotel in San Francisco. When the project lead of a competing firm bidding on the same project is found murdered in the hotel, Jim is arrested. The SFPD is fairly happy they got their man so quickly. Alex knows Jim didn’t do it.

The San Francisco Conundrum — Prologue

Saturday, San Francisco, five days before Thanksgiving

I answered my phone on the first ring. The first words out of the caller’s mouth were, “Alex, I need you.”

Not really the words I wanted to hear from Jim Tallon, my gorgeous hottie of an almost-boyfriend and the man who is also my boss for the next few days. At least not the words I wanted to hear over the phone. If he wanted to broach feelings we both were holding in check, we had been alone, or nearly so, several times already during our brief stay in San Francisco — most notably when I put on a small fashion show for him this morning while he was in my room with me. Maybe my pink gown had him thinking along the lines of how good I might look out of it? We had scheduled a real date, just the two of us, for Monday night. Our relationship was definitely something we needed to talk about. I’ve been thinking more and more lately that maybe it wasn’t anything that we needed to talk about — just letting it happen was becoming an increasingly attractive option.

Part of our problem is we are both already pretty sure we know what the other is thinking in that respect. That actually makes it awkward. He wants to be my boyfriend. I want him, too. I’m just still trying to figure out if he is a viable option. There would be obstacles. Like the big one — this week I’m working for him in a capacity that he is showing interest in making permanent. Landing a job as a graphics designer with a top-notch architectural firm like Tallon, Spencer and Strahan, based in Manhattan, right out of college was all I could wish for. Well, that and Jim. And world peace, of course. Since everybody wishes for world peace, I felt like I could slack off on that one. Sometimes it seems like nothing is ever easy. “I’m in the middle of a game of Settlers of Catan, Jim.”

Jim’s voice sounded strained. On top of that, he was slurring his words slightly. Combine that with his normally elegant British accent, which I love by the way, I had to make an extra effort concentrating on his words in order to understand him. In the six months I have known him, he had always been a careful drinker. Never drinking enough to be unable to drive. “Please, Alex, I’m in suite 214 with a dead man for company. He was murdered. Please come do your thing.”

I leaned in and kissed Jim on the cheek when he opened the door to 214. Like the accommodations of Jim’s team in suite 201, 214 has a common area, a tiny cooking area, a bathroom shared by three of the bedrooms, and a master bedroom with its own small bathroom. The suites aren’t really a profitable use of space for the hotel. They go unsold most of the year. Reducing the number of suites was one of the changes addressed by our proposed remodel plans.

Jim looked shaken, although his voice, when he called, had been strained but steady. He also looked like he could use a hug, but I had already noticed blood splatter on his trousers. I didn’t want to transfer any onto me. I expected I would be in enough trouble with the police by just being in the room. I could see the dead man in a small puddle of blood on the floor. The first thing I asked was, “Have you called the police yet?”

He shook his head. “No. I called you first.”

I shook my head while flashing him a smile. “They’re not going to like that. Too bad neither of us packed crime-scene gloves. I can grab vinyl gloves from the cleaning crew tomorrow, but that doesn’t help us any tonight. I wonder if there are any latex gloves under the sink? Don’t touch anything you haven’t already touched.”

He was quiet as I pulled out my phone to take pictures of the man lying crumpled on the floor, one side of his head bashed in with what was probably the murder weapon — a golf club with a bloody head lying next to him. A bag with a number of other clubs leaned against the sofa. I knew Jim had declined an invitation for golf in order to spend this afternoon with me.

While I worked, examining and photographing the crime scene, I spoke into the voice recorder app on my phone. Jim had watched me do this more than once over last summer. The first time, he had seemed amused. By the second time, I had earned his respect. I finally asked him, “Are you OK?” Yes, I felt rather callous not asking him that first thing.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, Alex. I have a bad headache. I’m a little bit unsteady on my feet. I feel nauseous. I think I’m slurring my words.” He paused. “I woke up in a room with a man who has had his head bashed in. Compared to Jason, yeah, I’m OK. Other than that, I’m not going to claim to be OK.”

The victim is Jason Labringa, lead architect of the team from Landmark Architects. Landmark is one of the two other firms vying for the Hutch Hotel project — the project Jim is betting on landing. So, the two men are competitors — after that one straightforward fact, the situation gets complicated.

We both knew Jason, although neither of us knew him well. I had been introduced to the man only this morning. I had spent a little time reluctantly chatting with him at the hotel’s cocktail party earlier this evening before I had been able to escape. His demeanor toward me could best be described as somewhat more than aggressive flirting but short of outright sexual assault. I noticed I wasn’t the only woman he paid excessive attention to. He had been a good-looking man. Other than the bloody hole in his skull, he still was. Tall and fit, with blond hair which looked like it had to be dyed, an easy laugh, and a smile I’ll admit was seductive. Obviously, he wasn’t smiling now.

Jim had run into him once or twice over the summer here in San Francisco. They had even gone out for drinks on one of those occasions. Jim had nothing negative to say about the man when he filled me in on what he knew about the other architects earlier this afternoon. Of course, Jason hadn’t been hitting on him. He allowed that Jason’s team was formidable competition.

Jason had been sleeping with Jim’s ex-fiancée, Audrey Morrison. That was something I only deduced this morning. No one came out and said they were more than just professional associates but from their interaction at breakfast this morning, it seemed fairly obvious. It occurred to me that it is even within the realm of possibility that they had been having an affair while she was supposed to be engaged to Jim.

Taken alone, Jim’s relationship with Audrey was going to make him a tasty suspect when the police arrived. Jason, as I mentioned, had also been hitting, unsuccessfully, on me at the cocktail reception earlier tonight every chance he got — basically, whenever Audrey wasn’t within visual range. That had probably been noticed by some of the other architects and wait-staff at the hotel. Jim and I are “into” each other. I’m sure that’s been noticed too. Another motive. None of which could be considered good. All sorts of motives, without even going outside of this room. All pointing to the man I was more than halfway in love with.

“Did you touch anything, Jim? I’m still recording.”

“I don’t think so. I drank a glass of brandy with Jason.” He looked down. “Both glasses are still on the table.”

I glanced at the bloody golf club on the floor. “Do you know anything about golf?”

He looked at the club, too. “I’ve played. I think that club is what’s called a four-iron. They’re used for knocking the ball down the fairway.”

“So a good choice for smashing a skull?”

“Of all of the clubs in Jason’s bag, it’s probably the best choice,” he agreed. “Almost any of them would do the job.”

I nodded. It looked like whoever did this might know golf clubs — and know how to swing one. Jason was struck only once. Death was probably instantaneous. “Tell me what happened. Try not to leave anything out. Then we call the police.” I was carefully moving around the room, changing my vantage point, and taking pictures as we talked. One nice thing about cell phones — you have a nearly unlimited capacity for photos.

“After the cocktail party, Jason and I met in the hotel bar for burgers. When we were done, he said he wanted to discuss something privately with me and invited me to his room for a drink. I wondered what he wanted to discuss. I’ve been considering warning him about Audrey, so I accepted. One of the first things he said, before I even mentioned it, was that he understood why I dumped Audrey. He spent several minutes grumbling about how it had been a mistake taking up with her. Then he started asking me questions about you, Alex. One was whether or not we’re dating and what our relationship is.” Jim had been watching me as I did my “thing,” documenting the crime scene. I write mysteries — I think of this as research. Now he looked more intently at me. “I know we agreed to go on a date while we’re in San Francisco, Alex, but that’s still a hard question to answer.”

I nodded. I knew it was. I kept finding excuses not to give him the attention he deserved. “If we don’t figure that out until after this is cleared up and we’re back home, we’ll talk then. I promise. I think it will be a healthy conversation for both of us.”

Jim paused. “I know you have reasons, ones I understand, for moving ahead cautiously. Frankly, I don’t think you would be you if you’d dishonored your commitment to Bradley. That’s one of the things I find really attractive about you, Alex, believe it or not.” He sighed. “The last thing I remember is leaning my head back on the couch. Then I roused and saw Jason on the floor. I still feel drowsy.”

“You’re right, you’re still slurring your words, too. I’m almost done here. Call 911, immediately, Jim. Tell them there’s been a murder and insist they send a paramedic. You need to have blood drawn right away. If you were drugged, and it sounds like you may have been, they need to check for traces.”

I looked closely at him. For once, I wasn’t admiring hottie’s physique. “While we’re waiting, I need to take close ups of your clothes, checking for blood spatter.” He nodded and turned slowly as I took about another twenty shots in all. Getting his shirt, his trousers, his hands, his face and his shoes. There were suspicious spots on his pants and shoes. Of course, I also snapped several of the spatter pattern on the hotel’s off-white couch. My guess, and yes I know it’s way too early to be making guesses, is that Jim’s drink had been drugged. Jason’s brandy had probably been drugged too. With Jason collapsed on the floor and Jim slumped back on the couch, someone teed off with the now bloody four-iron next to the body.

I got all of the pictures I wanted before the EMTs and police arrived. “Jim. Stay here. Wait for the police. Insist on the paramedic drawing blood if they show up before I get back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To your room. They’re going to want to take your shoes and clothing as evidence. I’ll get you something to change into and be right back.” I started to leave. Then I turned back to face him. “I’m sorry. I want to hug you tight and tell you it’s going to be OK. This looks bad at first glance, Jim, really bad. I know you didn’t kill Jason, but the police won’t. You’ll be taken to the station for questioning. You might be arrested. Don’t say anything until you have a lawyer. Tell them you called me, but don’t tell them I was in here taking pictures.”

I’m afraid my interview with the San Francisco Police Department may have hammered in the nails of Jim’s coffin. I certainly didn’t do him any good. Jim was arrested, because I screwed up. I could have lied. I knew he didn’t do it but lies are problematic. Everybody who writes mysteries knows that.

The San Francisco Conundrum is available on Amazon.com