Page 39 of Dead Serious Case 4 Professor Prometheus Plume

“You know what I think we should do when we get to the hotel?” My mouth curves.

“What?”

“I think we should see if they’ve got a bathtub big enough for two and after we’ve got all soapy and relieved all your tension, we should laze around in those fluffy white hotel robes—naked underneath, of course—and order room service.”

“God, that sounds perfect,” he groans.

“Then start the car because there is a bubble bath with our names on it in our very near future.”

Not needing to be told twice, Danny starts the car and thankfully puts the heat on because fuck me, it’s seriously cold up north.

As he eases his way out of Leeds, I call Lois to check on my dad. I’m relieved to hear he seems to have perked up a little. She reports that he managed to sit up for a while in the day room and watch some TV with the other residents. He also managed to eat something, which is a huge relief.

It takes us another hour, but we finally pull into the car park of the Ashton-Drake Manor House Hotel. It’s even bigger than it looks online, and I’m seriously not kidding when I say it looks like a castle. At the top of the stairs is a huge oak door surrounded by a stone archway that looks as if it should have a miniature portcullis. To the right of the stone steps is a statue of a knight riding a horse, his sword raised high as if charging into battle. To the left is an old-fashioned lamppost that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Narnia. The hotel itself is at least five storeys high with square turrets at either side.

I want to take a walk around the grounds and see the building properly, but it’s now late afternoon, my stomach is complaining loudly, and the temperature seems to have dropped even more.

“It’s the wind coming in off the moors,” Danny says when I say as much. “I think Dad’s right, there’s a storm coming in. We’ll have to keep an eye on the weather for when we drive back.”

I take my case from Danny and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Danny takes the other case and locks up the car.

“Oh my god, I am so looking forward to this.” I smile widely as we climb the steps to the hotel and Danny opens the door for me to walk through. “Four uninterrupted days, no ghosts, no murder.”

We step into the foyer and stop dead. The smile falls from my face. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

We both look up to the old-fashioned wooden beams to read a massive banner that reads in very bold letters:

“Welcome To The Ashton-Drake Manor House Hotel’s First Annual Murder Mystery Weekend!”

10

Iwatch Tristan’s face fall as he stands glaring at the huge banner like it has personally offended him.

Suppressing a smile, I slip my arm around his waist and draw him into my side. “Look on the bright side, love. It’s only going to be a fake murder, not a real one.” I lean in close to his ear so only he can hear me. “And we are going to be far too naked and busy to pay any attention.”

He brightens considerably at the prospect, his glasses fogged from coming in from the cold. “That’s true.”

“Come on.” I take his hand and tow him over to the reception desk.

The clerk looks up and his blue-eyed gaze sweeps over us, noting our joined hands. He beams widely.

“Hello, sirs, my name is Ellis. May I be the first to welcome you to the Ashton-Drake Manor House Hotel first annual murder mystery weekend,” he greets us.

“Wow, that sounds like a mouthful.” Tristan lets go of my hand and removes his glasses, then wipes the fog off them with his scarf before slipping them back on.

“It’s our first special event and it’s going to be so much fun!” The clerk replies, vibrating with excitement.

“I’m sure it will.” Not entirely convinced, I glance over my shoulder at the empty lobby.

A huge Christmas tree dominates the space, all glittery with tiny pinpricks of light and shiny baubles. Dark green boughs with bright red berries and white fairy lights wind around the gleaming dark wood bannisters of a wide staircase covered by a worn crimson runner held in place by brass carpet rods.

The room itself is decorated with faded silk wallpaper. Portraits from several different eras adorn the walls alongside paintings of the moors. The floors are dented and marked but polished, and faded rugs are scattered through the area. In the corner stands a suit of armour, tinsel wrapped around its neck.

The whole place looks old and worn but well-loved and ruthlessly clean. But for a hotel this size, at this time of the year and with a huge event on, it just seems…emptyand very quiet.

“It doesn’t seem to be very busy,” I remark, moving my attention back to the bubbly clerk.

“Oh, well.” He waves one hand. “It’s a slow time of year. I’m sure it will pick up. We’ve had a few cancellations because of the weather.”