Murder at Marble House (A Gilded Newport Mystery)

Murder at Marble House (A Gilded Newport Mystery)

With the dawn of the twentieth century on the horizon, the fortunes of the venerable Vanderbilt family still shine brightly in the glittering high society of Newport, Rhode Island. But when a potential scandal strikes, the Vanderbilts turn to cousin and society page reporter Emma Cross to solve a murder and a disappearance. . .   Responding to a frantic call on her newfangled telephone from her eighteen-year-old cousin, Consuelo Vanderbilt, Emma Cross arrives at the Marble House mansion and learns the cause of her distress--Consuelo's mother, Alva, is forcing her into marriage with the Duke of Marlborough. Her mother has even called in a fortune teller to assure Consuelo of a happy future.   But the future is short-lived for the fortune teller, who is found dead by her crystal ball, strangled with a silk scarf. Standing above her is one of the Vanderbilts' maids, who is promptly taken into police custody. After the frenzy has died down, Consuelo is nowhere to be found. At Alva's request, Emma must employ her sleuthing skills to determine if the vanishing Vanderbilt has eloped with the beau of her choice--or if her disappearance may be directly connected to the murder. . . "...Solid...Maxwell again deftly weaves fictional and real-life characters into her story." ~Publisher's Weekly "...Delightful...Fans of Victoria Thompson or Deanna Raybourn are sure to enjoy dipping into this historical series." ~Library Journal "A creditable mystery, solved by a female detective who's likable." ~Kirkus Reviews Alyssa Maxwell knew from an early age that she wanted to be a novelist. Growing up in New England and traveling to Great Britain fueled a passion for history, while a love of puzzles of all kinds drew her to the mystery genre. She and her husband reside in Florida, where she loves to watch BBC productions, sip tea in the afternoons, and delve into the past. You can learn more about Alyssa and her books at www.alyssamaxwell.com. Murder at Marble House A Gilded Newport Mystery By Alyssa Maxwell KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. Copyright © 2014 Lisa Manuel All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7582-9084-7 CHAPTER 1 August 1895 The tide splashed against the boulders at the tip of my property, the spray pattering my face to mingle with the single tear I could not prevent from rolling down my cheek. I stared out over the ocean in an attempt to channel all that great strength and make it my own. The waves, however forceful, didn't quite drown out the footsteps receding through the grass behind me, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my middle to keep from calling out, from turning and running and speaking the truth that crashed like a thunderous sea inside me. I stood immobile, buffeted by the briny winds while Derrick Anderson—no, I now knew he was Derrick Andrews —strode away. He had lied to me about his identity for days on end, and the sting of his deceit had left me feeling like a naive fool. But that wasn't the only reason I'd sent him away, or why, however much I yearned to recall my cold words, I could not. Not if I wished to remain true to myself, to continue to be the woman I had struggled, and would continue to struggle, to be. Finally, when I deemed him far enough away that I would be safe from temptation, I turned and glimpsed his retreating back—his dark hair and tall figure and the sturdy shoulders I'd come to depend on so much in the previous days. Shoulders with the power to make me lose all sense of myself, and that even at this distance proved an enticement I very nearly could not resist. And wasn't that but one more reason to deny his suit? How long had we known each other? Days? A couple of weeks? In that time, we'd lived through more than most people experienced in a lifetime. Our emotions, sensibilities, indeed our very lives had been thrust into turmoil as fierce as any ocean storm. We had survived. We had triumphed. Is it any wonder, then, that we might have become caught up in an attachment to each other? But one that might not last once the final currents of upheaval had settled. Despite the blustery winds, the sun shone sharp and bright that morning, the glitter on the water dazzling, while glaringly white clouds scuttled gaily across a brisk blue sky. How dare a morning be so happy. Tears fell like frigid rain on my cheeks as Derrick disappeared around the corner of my rambling, shingle-style house. I stood for an indeterminate length of time, staring at that space beside the hawthorn hedges where he had disappeared. I wondered which would finally win out—regret or resolve. I allowed myself that much self-indulgence before straightening my spine, dropping my arms to my sides, and giving myself a hard shake. Did I love Derrick Andrews? If this sinking, ill sensation inside me could be interpreted as love, then perhaps. Or then again perhaps what I felt had more to do with being thrown together into a maelstrom of events over which we had little control, other than to f