Free Murder at Morningside by Sandra Bretting

switch. One click and the room instantly brightened. A brick fireplace rose floor to ceiling in front of me, the hearth taken up by a pair of velvet wingbacks. Nearby stood an elaborate writing desk covered with mother-of-pearl inlays.
    Lorda mercy . There were enough curiosities in this room to fill any Ripley’s Believe it or Not! Museum. Like the bejeweled hookah on the writing desk and the emerald turban in a glass case. Didn’t Beatrice say something or other about a Turkish craze that once swept through the South? People couldn’t get enough of anything and everything having to do with the Middle East, which would explain the hookah, the turban, and an embroidered prayer rug on the wall.
    Even the air smelled different. Like burnt leaves, earthy and dry. Cigars, maybe, or perhaps a pipe. I stepped up to one of the wingbacks and sniffed. Sure enough, burnt tobacco.
    This had to be a smoking room. A place where men disappeared after dinner to talk politics, play cards, and gamble to their hearts’ content. Of course, no self-respecting Southern belle would want to stay in a room full of smoke and foul language, but the gentlemen insisted these rooms be built into their mansions.
    I moved closer to the writing desk and the trove of oddities. Beside the turban lay a sterling-silver cylinder, about the length of a rolling pin, engraved with flowers, stars, and whatnot. I delicately pulled the ends apart and discovered something shiny and round, like the pin and notch of a key, nestled on a bed of burgundy silk: An old-fashioned brass key as long as my finger.
    â€œHello?” someone called out.
    I almost dropped the cylinder as I turned. The hotel’s general manager peered from the doorway.
    â€œMy goodness, you frightened me.”
    â€œWhat are you doing in here?” He didn’t look particularly pleased to see me.
    â€œThought I’d take a little stroll after dinner.” I tried to sound nonchalant, although my breath stalled. “And I went through that wonderful gallery of yours. You really should—”
    â€œGuests aren’t allowed in here.” He whisked the antique tube away from me.
    â€œI’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” I took a deep breath for courage. “Couldn’t help myself when I saw this beautiful room.”
    â€œThat may be, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
    â€œSure. No problem. But can I ask you something?” Might as well go for broke. “What’s that? I’ve never seen one of those before.” I pointed to the strange cylinder.
    â€œIt’s a scroll holder.”
    â€œWow. It’s beautiful. Especially all of the silk on the inside.” Was it my imagination, or did he flinch?
    Instead of responding, he carefully replaced the antique on the desk.
    â€œToo bad the scroll’s missing,” I said. “All I saw was a key inside.”
    â€œImpossible. It’s empty. Can I walk you to your room?”
    Interesting . “I’m pretty sure of what I saw. Where did you find all this stuff?” My eyes swept over the crowded space.
    â€œMost of it belonged to Mr. Andrews. He was a collector. There’s a lot more in the attic. You really should go.”
    â€œIt’s a shame to hide it. Especially with all the knickknacks.”
    â€œI suppose. Look, it’s getting late. I’d be happy to escort you upstairs.”
    â€œThat’s okay. It’s been a heckuva day, but I can manage on my own.”
    The manager waited for me to move. When I didn’t, he gently took hold of my elbow and guided me away from the desk.
    â€œYou’re lucky. Most people never get to see this room. It’s time for me to lock up.”
    I tugged my arm away. “But there’s no keyhole in the door. I checked.”
    â€œDid I say lock ? I meant to say that I need to set the alarm in here. Off you go.”
    Of all the nerve! He treated me like a