The Very Thought of Murder

Love, marriage, and murder collide while Florence Chase is spending a weekend at the old ancestral home of her childhood friends, Camelia House. Before the weekend can even begin though, one of the guests dies unexpectedly in a car accident. But how much of an accident was it? And, more importantly... who knows more than they're letting on?


1. Preface

12:36am, 4th August, 1934.


The country lane was far from welcoming in the dark. As the automobile trudged down it at as fast a pace as was safe in this velvet blackness, the driver took a swig from the flask of rum that sat in the seat beside him.


He drove on faster.

His eyes soon began to fail him, and his grip on the wheel became slack, twisting it towards the left. Further. Further. The blue car swerved off of the road and into the fields. He pushed on the brakes, but his normally considerable strength failed him. He pulled on the handbrake, but to no avail. The car continued at speed; there was no stopping it now. He opened the door, but before he could leap from the vehicle, the car had rammed into a huge oak tree. He was dead within minutes, and his blood stained the grass that burned slowly around him until morning broke, hours later.

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