Slain in Schiaparelli (Vintage Clothing Mysteries Book 3) by Angela M. Sanders Page A

get to see the journals. Joanna raised her voice. “I found something interesting today in the library. A hidden staircase.”
      “A hidden staircase? Why didn’t you say so?” Reverend Tony hovered above his chair. When he noticed everyone looking at him, he lowered himself and returned his napkin to his lap.  
    “You never did show me that staircase,” came Penny’s voice from the doorway, in a late entrance that recalled Wilson’s the evening before. She’d made an effort to dress for dinner and wore the grass-green velvet sheath dress Joanna had found and had tailored for her honeymoon farewell. Her skin was sheer as white tissue. She slid into the chair next to the Reverend.
    “How are you, darling?” Bette asked.
    “I didn’t want to be alone.” She smiled at Tony and laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you for everything you’ve done to comfort me.”  
    Guilt pinched Joanna’s conscience. She shouldn’t have pushed Penny so hard on being in the tower room. At least maybe Portia had talked Penny out of her ridiculous idea that she caused Wilson’s death.  
    “Have a glass of wine.” Portia pushed her glass across the table and filled it from the bottle of pinot noir.
    “I don’t think alcohol is the answer—” the Reverend began.
    Penny took a gulp and coughed. She set the glass in front of her and topped it off. A drop splashed to the white linen tablecloth, spreading scarlet.  
    “What staircase, Joanna?” Daniel asked.
    “In the library, behind one of the bookshelves.”
    Penny’s dull eyes livened slightly. “I want to see it.”
    At last, Joanna would get to see those journals. “Marianne tipped me off to it.”
    “Me?” Marianne gripped her spoon like a drumstick, and a couple of peas rolled off.
    “Careful, babe.” Sylvia righted the spoon.
    “You pointed out the carved hornet. Remember? Right up near the ceiling. I pulled on it, and part of the wall unlatched.”
    “Vespa! Vespa!” Marianne sang.
    “The secret latch was a hornet?” Penny asked.
    At least Penny was interested in something. “Plus, behind the faux bookshelves is a whole set of real bookshelves. They’re loaded with red-bound books. I think they’re the original owner’s journals. We can look at them after dinner, if you want. I’ll show you.”
    “Yes. Please,” Penny said. “Maybe we can figure out what happened to Francis Redd.”
    “It’ll give us something to do until the storm blows over, anyway,” Clarke added. “I’m starting to feel like we’ll never get out of here.”
    ***
    After dinner, the lodge’s guests crowded the library, except the chef, who sullenly cleared the dining room after a fight with Bette. The brief shouting match ended in her agreement to pay him a bonus for additional duties. Taper candles flickered from the end tables and fireplace mantle. Like a tour director, Joanna stood in front of the faux bookcase.  
    “Marianne noticed the carved hornet up there.” Joanna pointed. “I pulled it down, like this” —she stretched to the hornet and tugged its stinger— “and voilà.” The bookcase cracked open, more easily this time.  
    Reverend Tony stood at the front of the group. He pulled the bookcase the rest of the way open. He’d been remarkably nosy, Joanna noted. Digging through the trunk in the attic, wandering the lodge at night, and now this.
    “The door to the hidden staircase is against the wall. Here.” Joanna pointed out the latch. Tony pushed open the door and stepped up into the passageway. “It’s narrow,” Joanna warned.
    “Let me see.” Marianne slipped under Daniel’s arm and squeezed next to the Reverend.  
    Sylvia caught her by the shoulders and led her back. “No, honey.”
    “Very interesting,” Portia said. Her hand reached for where her camera would have been, around her neck, then dropped.
    “Well, I’m not surprised at all,” came Bette’s voice from the back of the room. “The guy who built this place thought he was