Free Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery) by Jenn McKinlay Page B

horses towering above my head circled the fountain as if in a perpetual race with forelegs raised and heads thrashing; it was something to behold. I spun around, amazed at the talent it would take to prune these bushes with such fine detail.
    I had all but forgotten the tea when I saw a flash of bright blue underneath the edge of the sculpted bushes. I crept forward, thinking maybe it was an exotic bird or flower. Yeah, no such luck.
    As I crept through the opening in the bushes and stepped into the next section of the garden, I saw that the bright blue was the Mad Hatter’s hat and facedown on the ground beside it was Geoffrey Grisby.

Chapter 8

    I hurried forward and crouched on the ground beside him.
    “Geoffrey, are you all right?” I asked. “Geoffrey? Mr. Grisby, can you hear me?” Did I really think he was more likely to answer to Mr. Grisby than Geoffrey?
    I shook his shoulder, but he remained unresponsive. Could he be passed out drunk? I hadn’t seen him drinking, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe the clinch I’d seen him in earlier had been booze induced.
    Oh Lord, this was going to be mortifying for the both of us if he was pickled. Still, I couldn’t leave him facedown in the dirt. Geoffrey wasn’t a small man, so I had to crouch down, reach across him and haul him over onto his back. It was like trying to heave a very large sack of potatoes. I thought he would grunt or flail or make some sort of groan or moan. But no, and when he landed on his back, I understood why. Geoffrey Grisby’s vacant eyes stared up past me at the leafy canopy overhead. He was dead.
    The scream that emerged from my mouth sounded as if it had been forcibly ripped from my chest. I scooted back from the body, tripping on my own skirt in my haste to get away.
    I caught myself on a stone bench and braced myself while the shock and horror poured over me in waves. I couldn’t catch my breath and my lungs felt tight as if they couldn’t expand to let air in. I stared at Geoffrey’s chest: there was no rise and fall, and he never blinked.
    I needed to get help and fast. I’d only gone two steps when Andre came skidding down the steps.
    “I heard a scream,” he panted. “Scarlett, are you all right?”
    “No,” I said. I grabbed for him, craving the reassurance of a warm body next to mine. “I found Geoffrey Grisby.”
    I pointed and Andre let out a scream that was equally as high-pitched and terrified as mine.
    “Is he—?” he asked.
    “Dead? Yes, I think so.” I heard footsteps coming through the garden and I yelled, “Over here.”
    I heard a shout and in seconds Buckley appeared with several servants in tow. He glanced at me, and I pointed to Geoffrey. Buckley took over. He knelt beside the body and did a quick examination. After a few moments, he shook his head.
    Looking gray and drawn, he pulled out his phone and called for an ambulance. The conversation was short, and as he ended the call, he turned to one of his men and said, “Go back to the house. When the ambulance comes, have them use the side entrance. I don’t want to disturb Mrs. Grisby or the tea.”
    “It’s a bit late for that, I’d say,” his assistant said and nodded over Buckley’s shoulder. He glanced back and saw Dotty Grisby making her way down the stairs toward us.
    Buckley strode forward as if he could shield Dotty from the sight of her son. Her mind might not be all there, but there was nothing wrong with her eyesight.
    “Geoffrey? Is that Geoffrey?” she asked. “Whatever is he doing down there?”
    Buckley took her arm and whispered in her ear. Dotty frowned at him. Then she moved around him with a strength of purpose I wouldn’t have suspected.
    She knelt beside her son. She studied his face. I heard her breath catch and then she released a wrenching sob.
    “Oh, my dear boy,” Dotty said. “My precious boy.”
    With a shaky hand, she reached up and smoothed his thin hair. She laid her palm against his cheek and her face