Free Murder at the Mansion by Janet Finsilver

fragrance of the morning’s baking. A warm, embracing smell, it helped to push out some of the cold memories of the afternoon. A plastic-wrapped plate sat on the counter. A croissant laced with miniature chocolate chips called my name, and I ignored it . . . at first. Then I gave in and savored the rich butteriness and the hint of chocolate. This was my new life. How lucky could one get? I allowed myself a sigh of pleasure and continued on to my living quarters.
    I returned to the shed and got to work. Legal documents went into one box. I planned to examine them in my room. In the other, I placed the pictures and newspaper articles, glancing at them as I did so. There was some fascinating history in those yellowed papers. The Silver Sentinels might have fun sorting through them. I called the Professor.
    â€œHello, my dear. So wonderful to hear your voice and have you back with us.”
    â€œI’m glad to be here, too.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear there seems to have been foul play at the Heights. Not a fun start to your return.”
    Startled, I asked, “What do you know about it?”
    â€œIt’s a simple equation. The coroner’s van and the deputy sheriff’s car go by. People are being questioned. You can’t talk about it. In all probability, it’s murder.”
    â€œBut . . . how . . .”
    â€œYou sound a bit surprised. I called Daniel to find out what he knew. As you know, we all take part when something is afoot, and that was my assignment.”
    The sleuthing Silver Sentinels are on it again.
    â€œI’ll bring you up to speed when I can,” I said.
    â€œWe know you will.”
    â€œI called because I have a project the group might be interested in.” I explained what I found.
    â€œDelightful idea. I’ll call the others and get back to you.”
    I turned my attention to the box full of Christmas ornaments. Placing them on the table, I didn’t think they looked special. Probably common ones used around the house. After photographing them in batches, I packed them in the carriage house box I’d emptied.
    The books in the last carton didn’t appear rare. Nothing jumped out at me from the titles, authors, or copyright dates. I lined them up six at a time and photographed their spines and put them back in their box. An Internet search would tell me if they were valuable.
    I looked around for something to label them with, but no luck. I’d take care of that tomorrow.
    I put the ornaments and books back in my Jeep. As I started to pick up the box of legal papers to take to the inn, my phone rang.
    â€œThe group’s excited about seeing what you’ve unearthed,” the Professor said.
    â€œGreat. I’ll get the conference room ready for you for tomorrow morning.”
    â€œPerfect. We’re looking forward to it.”
    I transferred the clippings and photos into the other clean box and carried it to the meeting room. It would be fun to have them here, and work with them again. I retrieved the last box and headed back inside the inn. Helen stood at the kitchen counter.
    Fred was stretched out in a rectangle of sun and beat a tune with his tail in greeting.
    â€œHi,” she said. “Are you going to be able to make the party tonight?”
    I put the box on the counter. “I think so.”
    â€œI’ll leave directions for you.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Helen opened the refrigerator, and I noticed a cake. But this wasn’t just any cake. Bright spirals of color—orange, red, green, purple, and blue—swirled around the sides and top. It was the first psychedelic-looking frosting I’d ever seen. It matched Stevie’s tie-dyed top.
    She pulled it out and put it on the counter.
    â€œWow! That looks amazing.”
    A little pink colored her face. “Thanks. I made it for Stevie’s party. I still have some decorating to do.”
    â€œIt’s a real work of art.”
    The