The Trunk in the Basement 2

Published by: eXtasy Books

ISBN :978-1-55487-263-3

Page :290

Word Count :72500

Publication Date :2010-09-15

Heat Level :

Available Formats : The Trunk in the Basement 2 (epub) , The Trunk in the Basement 2 (mobi) , The Trunk in the Basement 2 (pdf) , The Trunk in the Basement 2 (prc)

Category : Contemporary Romance , Erotic Romance , Romantic Suspense and Mystery , Paranormal Romance , Romance

Product Code: 978-1-55487-263-3

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When Australian novelist Leckie Armytage bought The Plays of Oscar Wilde from a thrift shop she had no idea the luggage key ticket she found in the book would lead her to England in search of a man who vanished off a cruise ship seventy years ago. Supported by Herbert’s grandson, wealthy Albert Stokes and his personal assistant and unspoken love Eugenia Purdie, Armytage, gathering material for a novel, searches the Stokes family archives, uncovering ruinous evidence of illegitimacy, blackmail and murder. True to her threat, Molly’s ghost endangers the trio as they crawl through London’s sewers seeking ingress to a buried basement and Herbert’s missing cabin trunk, which they hope to find there. Will the trio solve the mystery and escape the perilous, crumbling basement before Molly compels Leckie to harm her companions?

As Duane and I were shown to a quiet corner of the main dining room, what stood beside our table for two raised the hair on my arms. I saw a trunk, the trunk, the exact same one I’d seen in my vision. It’s bigger than I’d imagined, built of wood with an external steel skeleton, its timber dented but polished, its metal brown yet smooth. It looked travel-worn, but still serviceable for future generations. Three words best describe it, sturdy, resistant, ageless. Two fancy hasp and staples secured the lid with old-fashioned padlocks. It sat on four old metal wheels with wooden guards and hard rubber tyres. Even empty, how one would lift its bulk by the metal handles bolted to each side beggared belief. The top’s hinges matched the decorative hasps. Its face divided down the centre into two doors, which I assumed swung out to either side. Its size amazed me. Four feet tall, five feet wide and four feet deep, a trunk like this is big enough for a world-traveller, big enough for a lifetime of souvenirs, big enough for…many things.

I frowned when I recollected the vision of a bundle hefted into the trunk. Would it be clothing? I mused as fingers of intrigue crept up my spine. Or a more sinister item, a body, perhaps…

Excitement clenched deep in my gut and kicked my brain into hyper drive. A body in the trunk means murder, which, if the body were Herbert Stokes, would explain why he never returned home. If it were murder, the culprit remained uncaught, unless Albert’s father, Kenneth, chose to keep the truth secret, as a parent might to protect the young. Why keep the secret in his adulthood…unless Kenneth killed his father. No. Not likely, unless Kenneth went on the cruise from which Herbert disappeared. Perhaps Herbert killed someone else and, to avert discovery, jumped ship and…disappeared. But who would he kill and why?

If someone opened the trunk at the end of Strathmorgen’s voyage, the body, whose ever it might be, should have been found, which means newspaper articles would exist, unless someone covered it up. If this is the case, someone should try to uncover it. Because I found the luggage key tag, I presumed the chosen someone was me.

No. I shook my head. I’m neither brave nor skilled in detection outside Internet research. I could concoct a hundred valid reasons to support my unsuitability for the task. Too busy. Not enough money. Too busy. No skills. Too busy. Other obligations. Too busy, too busy, too busy. I wouldn’t know one end of a sleuth from the other or where to begin. I cannot, and will not…

Although preposterous, the notion of an undiscovered body in a trunk, and how my mind created a murder mystery around a piece of printed cardboard, struck me like a kick in the shins. I laughed aloud. “I need to keep my wild thoughts caged.”

Duane raised his eyebrows at my unexpected outburst. “You always talk to old luggage?”

To confirm my mind’s fantasy flight, I wanted to touch the trunk. This particular trunk is in the here-and-now. It’s a hard, solid, real thing—an ornament in a pub whose décor is intended to convey its modern day visitors’ imaginations back to a more genteel time of discovery, danger and romance. This trunk is an immense item of luggage neither containing Herbert Stokes’s body nor belonging to him. Even though it’s a twin to the one in my mind’s eye, its presence here is coincidence and touching its inert form will provide proof. It’s a wood and metal box, nothing more.

I reached forward to stroke its worn smoothness. Before my hand reached it, a powerful blue spark arced between my fingertip and the trunk’s metal skeleton, emitting an audible crack. A painful sting shot up my arm. Wrenching my hand away, I looked at my shoes. Rubber soles. The floor’s timber parquetry. “There shouldn’t be any static electricity,” I muttered.

Duane squinted even more oddly at me as I shook my tingling hand.

“What happened?”

“It bit…uh, bit of static.” I nearly said, It bit me.

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