Connicle I handed the note back to Colin that had brought young Paul to our doorstep. Mrs. Connicle’s tight, tiny, haphazardly slanted writing looked like the work of a feeble mind, scribbled with less care and attention than what I imagined Paul could have produced. It portended the frame of mind we were likely to find her in. “What do you make of it?” Colin asked as he stuffed it back into his coat pocket while keeping a crown absently swirling between his fingers. “She sounds quite undone,” I answered with a sigh. “Not that I blame her. I understand her fears for the safety of herself and her staff. But demanding our immediate return?” I shook my head. “We were just there a few hours ago. If she thinks us her bodyguards—” “Perhaps she has a suspicion.” He eyed me keenly. “To have awakened this morning and learned that both her husband and groundskeeper are dead. . . .” He slipped the crown back into his pocket as the cab pulled under the portico. “It may well have spurred her to considerable thought.”
What do You think about The Connicle Curse (2015)?
