The Lawn: A James Lalonde Short Story

Book 0: James Lalonde

by A. D. Hay

Genres: International Crime & Mystery; Private Investigators; short story mystery; mystery short story; short murder mysteries

Synopsis

A Body is on the Front Lawn. A Priceless Painting is Missing. A Killer is on the Loose.

 

When Will Thatcher doesn't show up for work, James Lalonde is forced to attend an afternoon tea with Alistair Carmichael in Will’s place. The lovely autumn afternoon tea comes to an abrupt end when a body is discovered on the front lawn of the Carmichael Estate with strange marking on its neck.

 

But something is missing, a priceless painting is off the wall. However, it's no ordinary painting, it's a van Gogh purchased in an auction a few months prior.

 

But, trouble has its watchful eye on James.

 

Can James figure out who the thief and murderer are before he is next?

 

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Release date: July 23, 2020

Publisher: Le Villain Press

Print pages: 38

Sample

ONE

7:00 a.m.

Steam poured out of the hood of a silver Ford Focus as it came to a grinding halt in the middle of a one-way lane near the Carmichael Estate, northwest of Northampton.

William Thatcher punched his steering wheel. ‘Come on, you lazy piece of crap.’

He threw his body back against his seat and admitted defeat. Then he ran his fingers through his greying and thinning light-brown hair and sighed. As he fumbled around for his phone, his smartwatch struck against the armrest.

‘It’s 7:01 a.m. Good morning,’ a high-pitched voice called from the mini speaker.

He gave his navy bomber jacket a final pat down before reaching over to the door handle. ‘Shit, I'm going to be late.’ 

Will pushed the car door open and slammed it behind him as he made his way towards the front of his car, then he lifted the hot metal and jumped back as the steam gushed out from the engine. 

He sighed.

A few months earlier, to calm his angry wife, he’d agreed to leave his laptop and tablet in the office, and that morning, he’d left the house without charging his mobile phone, like an idiot. He felt as if the universe were punishing him—not that he believed in the existence of a deity or any of that New Age nonsense. 

But there was one thing he was sure of. He would miss the morning meeting with the chief editor of the Northampton Tribune and an opportunity to trade his assigned story about the Carmichael Estate opening to the public with a new art exhibit.

He pulled his smartphone from his front jeans pocket. His eyes fixed on the sign that flashed up on the screen—less than ten percent battery.

Then he saw the words “no signal” screaming at him from the top left-hand corner of the screen. Shit.

He glanced around the deserted road. No one was in sight, and the only building was the manor house the Carmichael family had owned for the last one hundred years. Currently in residence was Lord Carmichael's eldest son, Alistair. He was a pompous ass—and Will’s only way of contacting his boss, James Lalonde, and a towing vehicle.

Will took a deep breath then turned around and made the trek towards the eastern gates of the property.