The Private Eye

morning. Might as well take advantage of the gratitude.”
    “My, you are feeling nasty tonight, aren't you?”
    McCray pushed open the glass doors of the emergency room and Josh hobbled out into the cold Seattle night. “You know what, pal?”
    “What?”
    “You need some time off. Maybe a month or so.”
    “Now listen, McCray – ”
    McCray held up his palm. “I'm serious, January. You're burned-out, you're beat-up and you've got a real bad attitude. What you need is a month of easy living.
    You need someone to wait on you hand and foot. You need home-cooked meals, tea and scones in the afternoon, and a stress-free environment. In short, you need a complete change of scene.”
    “You got any special place in mind?” Josh asked, irritated.
    “As a matter of fact, I do.” McCray opened the passenger door of his faded blue Oldsmobile. “Get in. I've got a letter I want you to read.”
    “Who's it from? Ouch! Damn it to hell.”
    “Here, let me have those crutches. I'll put them in the back seat. The letter's on the dash.”
    Josh lowered himself gingerly onto the car seat, grimacing as he eased his left leg inside. He saw the envelope sitting directly in front of him on the dash. He picked it up and glanced at the letterhead. The bright lights outside the emergency room provided enough light to read the words “Peregrine Manor.”
    Josh opened the envelope. A colourful brochure depicting a fanciful Victorian mansion fell out, along with a neatly typed letter. A glance at the brochure showed that Peregrine Manor promised the ultimate in cosy luxury and gourmet dining on the spectacular Washington coast.
    The letter promised a job.
    “I think you should take the case,” McCray told him as he got behind the wheel.
    Josh scanned the contents of the letter. “This isn't a case. It's a joke. This Ms. Margaret Gladstone obviously has a vivid imagination,”
    “That's the whole point,” McCray said patiently as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “A cushy setup. A piece of cake. A snap. You get all the perks of a fancy luxury inn for a month and in exchange all you have to do is a little sleuthing for the sweet little old lady who wrote that letter.”
    “Piece of cake, huh? What makes you think this Miss Gladstone is a sweet little old lady?”
    “Who else would write a letter like that except some old-fashioned little spinster lady? What have you got to lose? You need to get away for a while. Josh. We both know it. You aren't going to be any good to us at BIS until you get out of this lousy mood you've been in for the past few months. Like I said, you're burned-out, pal. You've been in the business too long.”
    “You've been in it just as long,” Josh muttered.
    “Yeah, but it hasn't been nearly as hard on me. I don't get personally involved the way you do. I'm a deskman.”
    It never pays to play hero , Josh thought again. He glanced down at the letter lying on his knee. Something told him Miss Margaret Gladstone was not a little old lady, sweet or otherwise. And his hunches were almost always reliable.
    Josh wondered why he was suddenly consumed with curiosity to know more about the woman who had written the crazy letter promising an even crazier job, Maybe he did need to get away for a while.

Chapter 1

    A black car turned into the driveway and drove straight up to the front door of Peregrine Manor. It was five o'clock and already dark. A driving November rain drummed against the windows of the parlour so that the people gathered there could not see who was driving the vehicle. But there was little doubt as to the identity of the new arrival.
    “I reckon that'll be our man,” the Colonel said with satisfaction. He pulled a gold pocket watch out of his well-worn dinner jacket and peered at it. His white moustache twitched. “Right on time. Good sign. I admire a man who knows the importance of being punctual.”
    “I do hope we've done the right thing,” Odessa Hawkins murmured in a worried tone. She was seated next to the Colonel, a glass of sherry in her beringed hand. She, too, was dressed for dinner. Her faded blue gown was almost as old as the Colonel's jacket, but she wore it with the poise and elegance that had been bred into her over sixty-five years.
    “We've been over this a hundred times, Odessa. It wasn't like we had a lotta choice, you know. Maggie's right. Sometimes you gotta get yourself a hired gun to handle this kinda thing.” Shirley Smith took a swallow of her