# The Body in the Library The grandfather clock struck midnight as Detective Sarah Chen entered the sprawling Victorian mansion on Blackthorn Hill. Lord Edmund Ashworth lay motionless on the Persian rug, a silver letter opener protruding grotesquely from between his shoulder blades. His wife Margaret stood trembling near the fireplace, her face drained of color, mascara streaking down her porcelain cheeks. The study door had been locked from the inside when the screaming began, which complicated everything considerably. Outside, rain hammered against the tall windows as thunder rumbled across the Yorkshire moors in the distance. Sarah knelt beside the body, noting the still-warm skin and the peculiar smell of bitter almonds lingering in the air. Four suspects waited nervously in the drawing room: his son, his secretary, his estranged brother, and the housemaid. Each one had motive, opportunity, and secrets they desperately wanted to keep hidden from police scrutiny. Sarah stood slowly, her mind already cataloging inconsistencies in the stories she would soon hear from the assembled guests. The game, as they say in detective novels, was now afoot, and Edmund Ashworth would receive no earthly justice.