Free Murder at Midnight by C. S. Challinor Page A

saw the hole contained a sticky dark brown residue.
    “What the heck,” Alistair began beside him, peering at the man’s neck with the aid of his flashlight. “What is that?”
    “I don’t know. Best call the police.”
    “She’s dead,” John announced from halfway across the room.
    “Did you see this when you were checking his vitals?” Rex asked the medic now standing beside him.
    “No. I just reached inside the scarf to the right to check his pulse. That looks like a wound made by a knifepoint. It’s almost completely round. Look, here’s his pipe,” John said pulling the object from the dead man’s trouser pocket. “Stone cold. What happened here?”
    “Damned if I know,” Alistair said. “It couldn’t be a snake bite or something, could it?”
    The only poisonous snakes in Scotland were adders, but not in winter, and not in one’s home, Rex thought. Mostly, one saw them around boulders out on the moorland in summer and in the spring.
    “You’d expect to find two perforations from a snake, and I only see one. And the location on the body is unlikely,” John said.
    “Especially if it was covered up with the scarf.” Rex straightened to his full height and asked, “Did you see something similar on Ca triona?”
    “I didn’t notice anything.” John went back to the armchair, and Rex followed. The medic examined Mrs. Fraser’s neck, moving her hair away on each side and at the back. There were no similar marks. Nor anywhere else on her exposed skin, which was limited to her neck, face and hands. She wore stockings in her shoes beneath the dove-gray satin pantsuit.
    At that moment, Vanessa Weaver spoke behind Rex, jolting him from his disturbing reflections.
    “I’m sorry. What did you say?” he asked.
    “I said, ‘What on earth is going on?’ You keep examining the Frasers like they were dolls.”
    “Dead bodies,” John corrected. “Something strange is going on, Vanessa. And until we find oot what it is, we could all be in danger.”
    Vanessa cried out, her hands flying to her throat.
    Rex stared in surprise at the young man. “Where’s your bedside manner, John? No need to frighten everybody more than is absolutely necessary.”
    “She needs to stay away unless she can be of assistance,” the medic said shortly. “I’m trying to think what could have killed this woman.” He looked over Catriona’s neck and throat again.
    “The plaster on her thumb,” Rex said of a sudden. “Check there.”
    The medic did so, unpeeling it. It had lost some of its adhesiveness. “Aye, look here,” he told Rex. “The cut is deep and round. Quite a bit of blood. Don’t know how we missed it. Some has es caped the plaster.”
    “It’s dark. Excuse me, Vanessa.” Rex gently moved the interior designer aside. “Hm, the cut is deeper than she received from the glass, I’ll warrant.”
    “But not as deep a wound as on Ken,” John said peering at the victim’s thumb with his flashlight. “I hope I haven’t disturbed any evidence if this is a crime.” He glanced up at Rex. “Well, I suppose it must be, right? What caused the roundish wounds on the bodies, I cannot say, but something pointed, obviously.”
    “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Weaver demanded. “What’s all the blood from?”
    “We don’t know,” Rex replied. “Vanessa, do you mind sitting back down and trying to keep the guests calm? I’ll be over once I know a bit more.”
    She went reluctantly and was immediately besieged by questions from the other guests. Rex tried to tune them out. He pinched his eyes shut and tried to think clearly.
    “Is there dark stuff in the blood?” he asked John.
    “Aye, in the wound. Darker than dried blood. What is it? It’s not powder.”
    “Perhaps we should check the old gentleman and make sure he’s not dead too.”
    _____
    John made his way over to the wheelchair by the fire. “Sleeping soundly,” he reported. “Regular, if wheezy, breathing and pulse. I don’t