Murder Invitation

By Richard A. Rodgers

When Geoffrey Bragg and his beautiful Irish wife gave a home-coming party almost everyone came—even Death!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rodgers Mystery Publishing
• Release date: Jan 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215283912

Book preview

1

MY NAME is Henry Stevens. On one particular afternoon, I was still an Assistant Commonwealth's Attorney, which is the same as District Attorney in most states. Despite my position, I was summoned to Rose Manor like a delivery boy-and I responded.

I was on my way back to my office in the courthouse when Miss Bonnafield intercepted me. Bonny is technically my secretary; in fact, she is major-domo and -general factotum for the courthouse gang. She is elderly, a spinster, and possesses a judgment that has matured to infallibility.

Young Geoffrey Bragg called. Wants you to call him right away. He didn't leave a message, and he sounds mighty peculiar, she said.

We walked in silence to the office. I sat at my desk but didn't answer the phone. Geoffrey Bragg and his bride had been back at Rose Manor for six months, but I'd only seen them once - at someone's party. They didn't see anyone in Crescent City.

Geoffrey Bragg was a Bragg County Bragg. His uncle, Corwith, ruled the Bragg Empire with an iron hand, an empire of hidden, interlocking domains. The State House and Senate, Bragg Tobacco, five statewide banks, and the war baby that grew up Crescent City Chemical. The Braggs were the state's first family, and Geoff, as the only one of his generation in the direct line, was the heir presumptive.

His parents were killed in a train wreck out west when he was just a kid - eight or nine - and old Corwith, a bachelor, chose a guardian, Caleb Bragg, a second cousin. Caleb and his wife, childless and indecisive, moved from their respectable boarding house in Roanoke to Rose Manor. I doubt they ever tried to understand Geoffrey.

I liked him as a boy, in a condescending way. I could afford the extravagance of having the Bragg boy in my entourage because I was a big shot-football captain and class president. And our strange, inappropriate friendship had lasted until the last six months, until his marriage.

Stop gathering wool, Miss Bonnafield ordered, and call young Bragg. The boy's in some kind of trouble.

I looked at her curiously. What makes you think that?

Nine out of ten people who ring this phone are involved in something out of the ordinary. He's no different. She fell into silence, then said, It might have something to do with his new wife.

Few people in the Crescent City had seen Geoff's wife. She had made only one public appearance - at a cocktail party Geoff's uncle, Corwith, had thrown for them. But they knew of her and were ready to welcome her, but they never got the chance. Invitations were declined. Calls to Rose Manor were rebuffed.

Resentment took the form of veiled stories and innuendo, but those who had seen her would not forget Temple Bragg. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.

I called Rose Manor. In a moment Geoff was on the line.

Sorry to disturb you, Henry, he said, but this is rather important. His voice was expressionless, but the words came too quickly.

Never too busy - you should know that. What can I do? I asked.

He hesitated, then said, Can you come out here this afternoon?

I joked mildly, With pleasure. Big party or just a few of us for drinks?

He didn't play along. There was a hint of panic in his voice: I need some advice, Henry. Professional advice. I can't say more than that. He hung up.

I said to Bonny, "I don't get it, he actually sounded scared.

Maybe he's got a good reason to be.

Meaning what exactly?

She didn't answer right away; then she said, There's something strange going on up at Rose Manor, Henry. I'm hearing things-I suppose it's because I'm a busybody older than God. The two of them aren't living in the proverbial honeymoon cottage. And, don't forget, they've got that man Crail living with them.

Duncan Crail was an Englishman in his early forties, almost too good-looking, and a guest at Rose Manor. That's all I knew about him, except that I didn't understand his connection with the Braggs. And I didn't like him.

Rose Manor has been in the Bragg family for nearly two hundred years. The old house, now completely modernized, sits on a high knoll overlooking acres of lawns and two formal English gardens.

Maxim, who had been with Geoffrey's grandfather, was waiting at the door as I drove up. His old face was wrinkled in a welcoming grin. He led me straight into the old library that Geoffrey had converted into a study and bar after Caleb's death.

Geoffrey sat on the other side of the bar, drink in hand, staring at his own reflection. It was hard to describe Geoffrey Bragg. He was tall, excessively thin, with finely drawn, delicate features. His eyes were too large for his face, and no matter how many months he spent in the sun, his complexion never changed from sallow white. Because his lower lip was thin even at rest, his mouth maintained a stubborn stubbornness.

As he rose from the stool and approached me, I realized he was drunk. But not staggering; his movements were ultra-precise.  I also noticed a tremor when we shook hands.