Dead of Night

Lexy Timms

Published by Dark Shadow Publishing, 2021.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

DEAD OF NIGHT

First edition. October 6, 2021.

Copyright © 2021 Lexy Timms.

ISBN: 979-8201837365

Written by Lexy Timms.

By Lexy Timms

Copyright @ 2021

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

All rights reserved.

DEAD OF NIGHT

Copyright 2021 by Lexy Timms

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Dead of Night Blurb

PEOPLE ARE CAPABLE of anything—especially when they’re desperate.

Jane Westen comes from a broken home, with demons from her past she can’t escape. Between her painful secret and her dead-end job, she isn’t supposed to want things. Not love. Not money. Not the fairytale castle she discovers she’s in line to inherit. Owning the castle would change her life, but one obstacle stands in Jane’s way: the darkly handsome lawyer determined to take the castle away from her.

When murder happens at the castle, suddenly everyone looks like a suspect and no one is safe.

Contents

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Dead of Night Blurb

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

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Chapter 1

A WOLF HOWLED IN THE darkness.

Jane Westen trudged through the snow, her legs stiff and numb from the cold. Another howl. Low and mournful. Maybe it wasn’t a wolf. It sounded too much like a man groaning for it to be an animal. There had been some detail about wolves being hunted to extinction in this part of Germany, but leisurely scrolling through travel websites felt like a lifetime away.

A chilly blast of wind slapped at her, nearly tearing her small suitcase from her grasp. Only the vise-like grip of her frozen hand kept the suitcase secure. That was the cause of the howling. The wind was suddenly picking up, and if she didn’t make it to the castle soon she’d freeze to death out here. With the light fading fast, it would be dark soon. Too dark to see her way up the hill.

Against the sting of the wind on her face, Jane chanced a look up at the hilltop. She must have started her climb up the hill twenty minutes ago, but the castle seemed no closer. It appeared to float over the world, the conical roofs of its towers and turrets almost disappearing behind clouds as they reached heavenward. It was like something out of a fairytale, this castle overlooking a thickening blanket of silver snow. And it could all be hers if she just reached its front gate.

No, she would have to do a lot more than that if Wintergarten was going to be hers. Especially since she couldn’t afford a lawyer to help her win her inheritance case. That was the whole point of this trip. It was why she had taken the vacation days from her crummy job answering the phone at the motel. Why she had gotten on a plane for the first time in her life, using frequent flyer miles to pay for the trip to Germany.

Just four months ago, she never would have believed that she would have gotten a phone call in the middle of the night from a lawyer in Germany. The lawyer had called to notify her that her distant relative, Friedrich von Westen, had died with no living heirs. Friedrich’s will had requested that the castle be handed down to his closest surviving relative. That left Jane, her father, and a Wall Street banker she had never met. But her father was in an insane asylum and in no mental state to inherit anything, so it was down to Jane and the banker.

She shivered. Not from the cold wind, but from thoughts of her father. He had abandoned her mother when Jane was just four years old. And thank goodness for that, because her father had ended up becoming one of the most notorious mass killers in New York State history. He had chopped up a dozen innocent people with an ax by the time Jane was ten years old, and she would never be able to get the horror of the crime scene photos out of her mind.

That was why she was here. To prove that she was the rightful owner of the castle and restore a little bit of honor to the family name. And not only that. After years as a single mother working her fingers to the bone, Jane’s mom deserved to finally retire. Turning the castle into a hotel would guarantee that her mother never had to work again.

Finally the castle gatehouse came into view, giving her enough hope to forge ahead. When she reached the gatehouse Jane stopped to catch her breath, exhausted after the long trek up the hill.

The sound of a low voice speaking German startled her, and she peered through the portcullis.

H-hello? Jane called as she noticed a hunched-over figure on the other side of the gate. Is anyone there?

She cringed. Whoever it was probably didn’t speak any English. She’d have to use the rudimentary German she had been learning over the past couple of months. Mein name ist Jane Westen.

The figure came closer and she saw an elderly man holding a flashlight come into view.

I speak English, the man said, eyeing her suspiciously.

Are you Herr Kramer? she asked. Wintergarten’s solicitor?

The man shook his head. No. I am the groundskeeper.

Well, Herr Kramer should be expecting me, she said.

The groundskeeper’s lips thinned in response.

Please. I’ve come all this way. The wind began to pick up in earnest and she shivered. Jane didn’t know what she would do if she was turned away now. Going back down the hill wasn’t an option. The tour company only drove to the hill’s base every few days, and the small car certainly couldn’t drive up the steep slope to the castle. Is Herr Kramer here?

Yes. He is here. The groundskeeper sniffed loudly, eyed her again for a long moment, then motioned for her to step back.

She did as he instructed and the portcullis slowly went up.

Thank you so much, she said gratefully, dragging her suitcase with her.

The groundskeeper said nothing. He merely beckoned for her to follow him across the snow to the castle entrance.

At the castle’s double doors, the groundskeeper produced a set of huge metal keys from his pocket and let her inside.

She followed him into an immense great hall with a vaulted ceiling that made her feel tiny and insignificant. Despite the large fireplace on the far side of the hall, the place still felt drafty. The air was stale and smelled faintly of mildew. As if nobody had lived in the castle for some time. Old armor and deer heads mounted on the walls cast long, dark shadows, the light from the fireplace doing little to illuminate the place.

There were scores of paintings on the walls. Each one was some long-ago ancestor—the grand dukes and duchesses who had lived at Wintergarten, starting with what looked like a fifteenth-century nobleman and ending with a photo-realistic painting of Friedrich von Westen. As she moved through the hall it was impossible to shake the feeling that they were all watching her, the painted eyes following her down the hall.

Jane suppressed a shudder and glanced to her left in an effort to find something less creepy to look at. Mounted on the wall was an assortment of medieval weapons. Swords, spears and, most horrifying of all, a gleaming ax.

At the sight of the ax she quickened her pace after the groundskeeper, the sound of their footsteps echoing eerily off the walls.

The groundskeeper stopped at the fireplace and motioned for her to sit down in one of the antique arm chairs. You sit, he instructed. Get warm.

Jane had never been so grateful to see a chair