The preceding hour had been spent touring an immaculate six-bedroom house that confirmed a taste for quality furnishings but not quality taste. Almost everything was dark and oppressive and heavy, perfect for an old English manor owned by a lineage of dreary lords. The only room that offered color and light was the solarium, Percival"s domain and, according to Aunt Mat, his unequivocal pride and joy. It was filled with beautiful orchids, lush ferns, numerous herbs, and an abundant array of geraniums; it seemed out of place in the somber house. When I commented about the plants being left unattended for the week my aunt explained that Percival had hired a local professional and writing associate named Parr S. Lee to tend them. From the look of things, he"d done an ace job.
An officer had d
