The Château Murder (Molly Sutton Mysteries 5): large print

October 2006

“Don’t mess about with that.” Marcel waved his hand with an effort at nonchalance but his tone had a slightly wary edge.

Aimed directly at his head, the barrel of the shotgun did not budge.

“Come on now,” Marcel said, forcing a smile. “It’s a Holland & Holland twelve-gauge, you know. Out of London. My grandfather gave it to me when I turned fifteen. Hard to believe I was ever that young.”

The barrel advanced a few steps. And then, just like that, the trigger was squeezed and the gun went off, sending a spray of birdshot straight at baron Marcel de Fleuray. With that mysterious sense of premonition we sometimes have, in an infinitesimal fraction of a second, he felt the shot coming and turned to the side, trying to save his handsome face. 

The blast would likely have stung but not been fatal, had not one single pellet happened to nick his carotid artery, which was exposed as he turned away.

Marcel slumped to the floor of the salon, which was hard stone but covered with two layers of sumptuous carpets. For a moment, speechless, he looked imploringly at the shooter, who lay the shotgun on an antique console table and meticulously wiped it clean of prints. By the time that was done, the baron had expired, and his murderer calmly went out through the open door and into the chilly darkness of a brisk October night.