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Informationen zum Autor Jessica Fletcher is a bestselling mystery writer who has a knack for stumbling upon real-life mysteries in her various travels. Donald Bain ! her longtime collaborator! is the writer of more than one hundred other books! many of them bestsellers. OTHER BOOKS IN THE Murder, She Wrote SERIES OBSIDIAN Chapter One James William Edward Grant, seventh Earl of Norrance, and Marielle Grant, Countess of Norrance, request the honour of your presence at their New Year’s Eve Ball Castorbrook Castle Chipping Minster Gloucestershire “Great old pile, what, lass?” George murmured to me as we both leaned forward in our seats to capture the view through the windshield of the twin towers of Castorbrook Castle. I patted my shoulder bag, which held the precious invitation, and shivered in excitement. I’ve been to many wonderful places, but this would be my first New Year’s Eve ball in a castle. “Built in the eighteenth century, in the style known as Gothic,” our driver called over his shoulder. “It bears a resemblance to the Palace of Westminster, doncha’ think?” He was referring to the building where the Houses of Parliament meet in London. “A smaller, less ornate version,” I agreed, “minus Big Ben.” “If you put a giant clockface in one o’ them towers, it’d come pretty close.” The driver crested the hill, leaving behind the avenue of plane trees. He turned left, taking a route around a large pond, the surface of which mirrored the banks of rhododendrons along the shore and reflected the tips of the towers shimmering in the water. “Looks like we won’t be getting in any ice-skating,” George said to me. “Good thing, since I didn’t bring my skates.” “Too early in the winter for that,” the driver called out, eavesdropping on our conversation as he had been the entire two hours from London. “Don’t get snow out here before January, most years anyway. You’ll find a bit o’ frost about in the mornin’. Might see a flake or two before the New Year, if yer lucky. Been raining on and off—why I suggested we start out when we did. Don’t fancy driving these hills in a storm.” “Thanks, Ralph,” George said as the car pulled to a stop in front of the impressive entrance, where a series of arches, flanked by evergreens festooned in red ribbons, led to an interior courtyard. “Happy to oblige, George. I’ll be at the cousin’s in Stow on the Wold a few days if you change your mind and decide you don’t want to miss the fireworks on the Thames.” Ralph handed him a card on which he’d written a phone number. George tucked it in his vest pocket. “I’ll keep it in mind.” While the men retrieved our luggage from the space next to the driver’s seat, I tugged on the hem of my tweed jacket, smoothed away the travel wrinkles of my skirt, and inhaled the sharp country air. No one was out front to greet us, but perhaps they hadn’t seen the car coming or heard the crunch of the tires on the gray gravel. We’d arrived a little earlier than expected. Ralph had taken the afternoon off from his usual duties as a London cabbie to drive us to the Cotswolds, where we would welcome in the New Year as guests of Lord and Lady Norrance, friends of my British publisher, which was how I’d landed on the invitation list. Ralph cocked his head at the building as he wrestled my rolling suitcase to the ground. “Yer host, Lord Norrance—you call ’im by his title, Jessica—is seventh generation,” he said. “Opens the place up to the public every summer—many of the great houses do now, you know—and does the occasional wedding or some such. Not a bad setting to launch a new life together, what? Wish I coulda done that for my daughter, Allie, and ’er beau, but ’er mum says, ‘Save yer pennies. A pretty picture won’t keep ’em warm in winte Zusammenfassung In the newest mystery in the USA Tod...
