Murder in the Mansion Read online

  Murder in the Mansion

  Part One of:

  The Halingsford Murders

  By Lili Evans

  Murder in the Mansion

  The Halingsford Murders

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2013 by Lili Evans

  From the Author. Please Read.

  This book is one part of a five part series.

  The story begins with Murder in the Mansion.

  The complete story is available as The Halingsford Murders and can be viewed here.

  The complete story is available at a reduced price than the sum of the individual parts.

  Thank you for reading!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter One

  On the day she was murdered Vivien awoke early, determined to prove to the world that she led the perfect life. It was her husband’s sixtieth birthday and she had been planning an elaborate party for weeks. In the thirty-four years they’d been married, William and Vivien Halingsford had hosted many parties, both for business and pleasure. Since their daughter’s murder five years earlier, Vivien had attempted to withdraw from their social circles. They hadn’t attended functions or thrown parties of their own. Vivien felt it was time to come out of hiding, and as a surprise to William, she was planning his birthday celebration in secret.

  Everything was running on schedule, she reassured herself. Her sister was due to arrive that afternoon from New York. William’s brother had flown in with his family from London the night before. The cleaning company that Vivien employed had been in and out of the house, polishing the wood floors and sprucing up the back patio. Vivien had planned a pool-side party for some two hundred and fifty of their closest friends, family, and colleagues. The caterers would handle the minute details, Vivien reminded herself. That was why they cost a fortune.

  It would be a lovely party, Vivien thought as she stepped under the hot spray of the shower. The water soothed her and she turned her face into it, letting it wash over her face and her hair. She knew William would be pleased by her efforts like he always was. Since the beginning of their marriage, Vivien had demonstrated her ability to be an asset to her husband – socially, as well as professionally. William’s law firm was successful. Vivien didn’t doubt for an instant that she had helped make it so.

  She stepped out of the shower more relaxed and reassured. Coolly, she studied herself in the mirror. At fifty-two years old her body was still lean and toned. Her hair, although colored, was the same deep brown as it had been in her youth. Although she had more wrinkles than she’d had a few years before, her face did not betray her. Her secrets and hardships had not aged her.

  She looked around the tidy bathroom, designed to her specifications, organized to her liking, and found no pleasure in it. In her spacious bedroom she dressed for the day. She had been born to a rich family and had married a man whose wealth was newer than hers. Luxury was something she expected, not respected, and even now, she could find no comfort in any of it. It was merely another layer of her image. Of their image, Vivien corrected herself. They tried so desperately hard to maintain the pretense of wealth, happiness, and perfection.

  Her guests would expect that same perfection when they arrived that night. They had their own images to maintain and William’s party was a social function in their circles. Many would also come to satisfy their morbid curiosity. This was the first party they had held since their daughter was murdered. Not only had Dani’s disappearance and death attracted media attention, but the fact that her killer had never been found made it a scandal still talked about to this day.

  Guests would descend on her home, enjoy her hospitality, and wish William well but they would also come to gossip. That couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t control it. What she had the power to make perfect she would focus on: the food, the drinks, and the music. She would play the part of the perfect hostess and hope that it was for the last time.

  After thirty-four years of marriage to a man she deeply loved, the mistakes littering her past seemed too great. Vivien was ready to step down, out of the spotlight, before William learned the truth. As much as he loved her, Vivien had always known that the secrets she possessed could destroy him. She knew that before he allowed that to happen, he would ruin her and their life together.

  On the morning of her husband’s sixtieth birthday, Vivien stepped out on the terrace and lit a cigarette. In the beautiful June sunshine she began to consider the events that would ultimately bring about her death.

  ****

  William stood at the window of his office staring out at the view of the lake. His law firm was on the fortieth floor of a huge skyscraper in the heart of downtown Toronto. From his expensive vantage point he could watch the boats coming and going. He could also enjoy the women in short skirts and heels eating their lunch on the terrace across the street.

  Even at sixty, William was still unsure of which he appreciated more: money and success, or a beautiful woman. He had spent a great deal of his life surrounding himself with both.

  His parents had provided him with a decent education and upbringing. They had put him through university, even after he had bowed out of the family real estate business. His brother had taken over that responsibility, leaving William without obligation. After university he had used the inheritance left to him by his grandparents to travel through Europe and had come home to go to law school. That was where, in a sense, his life had really begun. William’s twenties had been an exciting time in his life. He had seen some of the world, dated a lot of women, and met his best friends in law school.

  And then at almost thirty, he had met Vivien.

  That, William thought, had been the beginning of something else. He had stopped at nothing to meet her, to have her, and to marry her.

  His thoughts halted abruptly at the knock on his door. It was polite, a quick rapping of knuckles against the wood before the door was pushed open.

  “Did you eat?” Sam asked. He and William had been best friends since law school. It had seemed natural for them to go into business together afterward and now they, along with their friend Paul, owned a law firm together.

  “No, I didn’t bother to head down yet.”

  Sam hesitated. William continued to watch the blonde in the blue sundress. He guessed she was probably in her early twenties.

  “Do you want to go get something?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin my appetite.”

  “For what?”

  “Vivien’s party.”

  Sam hissed out a breath. “Dammit. How do you do that?”

  “She’s been planning it for weeks,” William tore his eyes away from the blonde. “I might be getting old but I’m not deaf and blind.”

  “Nadia told you.”

  “Nadia can’t keep a secret!” William laughed. “She’s her mother’s daughter. It’s always written all over her face.”

  Sam leaned against the door frame. “Well, act surprised. I know it’s been a bit daunting for her.”

  “Yeah,” William began to sort through the pile of papers on his desk. “It’s the first party since, well, you know.”

  “Yeah,” Sam spoke quietly.

  “Where’s Paul? Can he join us for lunch?”

  “Not today,” Sam replied. “He rushed out of here early. Said he probably wouldn’t be back.”

  “He’s coming tonight though, right?”

  “He said he’d be there,” Sam reassured him. “He had an appointment.”

  “Another one?” William looked up from his desk.

  “I think they ran some tests,” Sam said. “I heard him on the phone.”

&n
bsp; “Must have gone for the results then.”

  “Guess so,” Sam shrugged it off. “You know Paul, if he wants us to know, he’ll tell us. If not, you’ll never get it out of him.”

  “Sounds about right,” William agreed. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a birthday drink.”

  “Got any place in mind?”

  “There,” William pointed to the terrace he had been staring at.

  “Across the street?” Sam was incredulous.

  “Yeah,” William told him. “We’ll sit on the terrace and check out the blonde in the blue dress.”

  “I’ll bet she’s young enough to be your daughter,” Sam said.

  “Of course,” William told him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything.”

  “This time,” Sam retorted.

  “I turned sixty today,” William’s tone was serious. “I’m not as young as I used to be and my heart isn’t as strong as it once was. Those days are over.”

  ****

  Rachael, the eldest child of William and Vivien, began each day early before dawn. She had awoken before anyone else in the house and started the coffee pot while she showered and dressed. She’d enjoyed two cups of coffee and a muffin in the back garden, watching the sun rise in the distance. It was Rachael’s favorite time of the day. She appreciated being alone and the quiet.

  She was due at the hospital early that morning for a day shift, but on a Friday during a beautiful stretch of summer weather, she knew she would not be leaving until long after dark. People seemed to take more risks during the warmer months. They lived dangerously, drank excessive amounts of alcohol, and often wound up in the emergency room on a Friday night instead of where they had intended to be.

  She’d spend her time before lunch tending a boy with a broken arm, a man suffering from chest pains, and a woman with a nasty bout of food poisoning. There had been an old man, dehydrated and with heat stroke, after too many hours spent gardening under the hot sun. A diabetic passed through, after neglecting her insulin shots, and an elderly woman who’d suffered a fall in the middle of the night and hit her head.

  Throughout the day the emergency room became busier, until it was a chaotic mess of people, all in various states of personal disaster, waiting to be examined, admitted, or released. Security guards milled about, keeping order and giving directions. Triage nurses filled out the personal information of those who waited and doctors moved efficiently in and out of examination rooms. They asked questions, they ordered tests, they diagnosed, and treated.

  She’d had a busy afternoon but somehow had been able to take her break on schedule. Sipping from her coffee cup, enjoying the warm breeze from a picnic table outdoors, Rachael thought she’d call home. Grant, the man she was living with, usually worked from home. A journalist, his hours were much more flexible than hers, providing he met his deadlines.

  They’d been fighting more than usual lately. It was the worst part of their relationship, but they always made up afterwards. They’d managed to make it through two years of seeing each other but, since they’d moved in together six months ago, the fighting had intensified and they’d been making up less.

  He’d been irritable the past couple of days whenever she came home late from the hospital. He was a widower and his two daughters from his previous marriage lived with them. They hadn’t spoken about having their own baby before they’d moved in together, and since they had, that was all he wanted to do. Rachael, having no interest in any of this, had recoiled. She didn’t need it. Her own upbringing had been a lesson on what not to do: don’t get married if you’re going to be unfaithful. Don’t have children if you’re only going to ignore them.

  No, she didn’t want children. She wasn’t the nurturing, maternal type. Her own mother wasn’t either. She tolerated Grant’s children, sometimes she even liked them, but she didn’t want to be their mother.

  All she had ever wanted to do with her life was be a doctor. And after working so long and so hard for it, and still struggling to pay off the debt she had incurred doing so, the thought of putting it all aside after only a few years didn’t seem an option.

  Glancing at her watch, she realized her break was nearly over. She wouldn’t call Grant after all, she decided. It would probably only upset her if he was still mad at her over their fight the previous night. He’d barely spoken to her the day before, busy with the article he was writing, and preoccupied with his daughters.

  She had a few hours left before her shift was over. If the evening was quieter than the afternoon had been, there was a chance she’d leave on time.

  Then again, it was a Friday night in June, Rachael reminded herself. On a night like this, anything could happen.

  ****

  Dylan, the oldest son of William and Vivien, stood on his patio and flipped steaks on the grill. Work at his garage was slow and he’d finished the brake repairs on his customer’s car ahead of schedule. Happily, he’d closed up early for the day and planned to take full advantage of the weekend that lay ahead of him.

  He glanced around at their small yard, with its green garden, and blooming flowers. The whole summer stretched out before him and he thought of everything he wanted to accomplish. He and his wife, Meg, had bought their house the year before and it still needed a lot of work. Those projects required money, he reminded himself, and began going over his finances in his head. Work at the garage was okay, but was it enough?

  When dinner was ready, they sat down to steaks and salad at the patio table.

  “My mother called this morning,” Meg replied conversationally. “She wants to visit soon, maybe toward the end of the summer. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

  “That’s fine,” Dylan shrugged. Meg was very close with her mother and sister, who still lived in her native Paris. “It will save us from racking up expensive phone bills.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Like you really care.”

  “Well, I do care,” Dylan replied. “It’s not like we’re rolling in money over here, but you know what I mean.”

  She nodded. It was something they spoke about often. “I wish my sister could come too. I miss her.”

  “You should invite both of them.”

  “I used to be so close to her.”

  Dylan took a sip of beer. “Well, you’re close with your family.”

  “Yes, I always was,” Meg stopped eating. She put her fork down on her plate. “I was wondering if you thought the time might be right to begin the next generation?”

  “What?” Dylan looked up at her sharply. “A baby?”

  “Yes, well,” Meg took a deep breath. She pushed her long blonde hair uneasily behind her ear. “We’ve been married for three years now and in this house for fifteen months. Financially, we’re managing.”

  “Business is slow.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And you only just got promoted. I mean, you’ve only been at your new job for six months.”

  “Money has always been tight, Dylan,” Meg told him. “I expect it always will be. And with my family so far away and you not having any, well, we don’t have the same support other families have.”

  Dylan grimaced. “No. I guess that’s true.”

  “I would like to have children soon.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want us to be young parents,” Meg explained. “My parents were in their early twenties when they had me. We’re already thirty.”

  “My parents were young too,” Dylan said stiffly.

  “It allowed them to enjoy my sister and I,” Meg went on. “And we were close in age. It gave us things in common.”

  Dylan didn’t know what to say. He cleared his throat. “That’s not always the case.”

  “It was for me, and honey, I hate to rub it in, but you’re an only child.”

  Dylan stared at her. The lie hung in the air between them. He took another gulp of beer. “Yeah, so?”

  “So you didn’t have the same experiences growing up as
I did.”

  “Well, that’s for sure.”

  “It’s not your fault that your parents didn’t have more children, or that they died young. I think having a baby is something we should think about. Something to talk more about,” Meg reached out to squeeze his hand. “So I’m opening the discussion.”

  Dylan stared down at their joined hands and knew for what seemed like the millionth time that he could never tell her the truth. “Can I take some time to think about it?” he asked her.

  “Of course,” she smiled beautifully at him, her brilliant blue eyes shining. Standing, she began to gather the dishes to take inside.

  “I shouldn’t feel guilty,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

  Drinking his beer, he watched the sun go down, and was reminded once more of the magnitude of his regrets.

  ****

  Troy, William and Vivien’s second son, accepted the glass of champagne that was offered to him and let his gaze roam the room. The hotel party was expensive and elegant. It was the style that Troy had grown up with. It was the style he had become accustomed to.

  The gold and white color scheme suited the ballroom, with its high ceilings and dark wood floors, he thought. The blush flowers were a nice touch and he’d have to mention it to his wife, Phoebe, later. Her vision for the new hotel, as head of the interior design team, had been perfect. But then, he’d never known her to be wrong about anything. Her taste was flawless. She was beautiful, intelligent, and graceful.

  And she’d chosen him.

  They’d recently celebrated their second wedding anniversary with a relaxing trip to Hawaii and had come home to launch the new hotel in Los Angeles. Phoebe’s parents owned Carlton Hotels, a business begun by her great grandfather, and passed down generation to generation.

  As Phoebe was an only child, Troy didn’t doubt that it would one day come to them.

  He had worked hard for the Carlton family, harder than he had for anyone else in his life. After leaving his family in Toronto five years before, he had spent time in New York, waiting tables and gaining experience in the restaurant business.