Murder at the Mansion by Janet Finsilver

on the handle. I didn’t want the manager’s on it as well, so I unlocked the door for her.
    â€œI don’t want to go in,” I said.
    â€œFine,” Hensley snapped.
    In a minute she returned, her face ashen. She looked at me. “What could’ve happened?”
    I shook my head. “I have no idea.” I locked the room.
    As we descended the stairs, a siren approached. It halted, and a car door slammed, followed by a knock at the front door.
    Hensley opened it. “Hello, Deputy Sheriff Stanton.”
    I glimpsed the familiar form of the deputy on the threshold.
    He saw me and nodded. “Ms. Jackson.” He turned back to the manager. “Mrs. Hensley, I’m responding to a nine-one-one call. What’s happened?”
    â€œOne of our guests is dead. I’ll show you.” Hensley headed toward Sylvia’s room, Stanton behind her, and me following.
    When we got to the room, the deputy put on latex gloves, and I handed him the key. Hensley and I waited outside the room, avoiding eye contact.
    After a couple of minutes, Deputy Sheriff Stanton returned. “I have some things I need to do here. I’d like to meet you both in the office when I’m finished.”
    â€œCertainly,” replied the manager. “We’ll wait for you there.”
    We made our way back. She sat behind her desk with an uncharacteristic plop. I sagged into one of the chairs across from her. Images of Sylvia’s body kept flashing through my mind. What had caused her death? Had someone killed her? I slammed a mental door on that thought. I didn’t want to let it in.
    After a moment, Hensley straightened. “There’s a lot to be done. I need to call Michael Corrigan. Sylvia had some personal items placed in the safe. I’d like you to get those out, as well as look up her registration information. You’ll find it in the file cabinet over there.” She pointed to an antique oak two-drawer file. “I’m sure Deputy Stanton will want them.”
    I nodded, relieved to have something to do. Hensley called Corrigan, and I tuned out their conversation, concentrating on the safe’s combination. I found one of the red leather pouches guests used to store their valuables with Sylvia’s name on it and placed it on Hensley’s desk as she continued to fill in our boss on what happened. I located Sylvia’s file and put it with the pouch.
    Hensley hung up the phone. “Michael and another staff member will be here late tonight.”
    While I looked forward to seeing Corrigan again, it certainly wasn’t under circumstances like this.
    â€œHave you had lunch?”
    Lunch? Was she kidding? Even thinking about food made me queasy.
    She answered my look. “It’s going to be a long afternoon. Doing it on an empty stomach is foolish.” She picked up the phone and called the kitchen, ordering sandwiches and coffee. “Other officers will be arriving, I’m sure, and will probably benefit from having food available as well.”
    Deputy Sheriff Stanton knocked on the frame of the open door then entered. “I’m going to need to ask you both some questions about Mrs. Porter.”
    â€œOf course, Deputy Stanton. Here are the personal items she had in our safe, along with her registration and emergency contact information.” She pushed them across her desk.
    â€œThank you. I’ll look at those later.” His gaze took us both in. “I’m considering this a possible homicide. Please don’t give out any information to anyone who isn’t one of the investigators.”
    Possible homicide. Murder. The words have been spoken. It is real . My breathing started to speed up again.
    â€œI understand, Deputy Stanton,” Hensley said.
    I couldn’t believe she didn’t even bat an eye at the word homicide .
    â€œI’m sure you and the others have a lot to do,” she added. “I’ve ordered