The Murder Of Reinhart Manor - McCarthy series Book 1 - COMPLETE

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Brigitte McCarthy stood at the door, wearing lazy jogging bottoms and a jumper, hair scrawled back and a frying pan with an undercooked pancake slumped into it, music booming from the stereo. She nodded her head to the beat, shaking the frying pan a little.

"What'dya need?" she shouted over the music to the young man standing outside her apartment.

"I was wondering whether you could help me?"

"What?" she screamed back.

"I was..."

"Wait, come in." She turned the music off and set the frying pan down. "Do you have a case for me?"

"Yes, miss."

"Oh," she replied. "I was only expecting a parcel." He laughed half-heartedly.

"Something horrible happened yesterday..."

"Sit down, please." She let him in and he joined her on the sofa. "Sorry, this probably wasn't the welcome you were looking for if something bad has happened.."

"Thank you, Miss McCarthy, and of course not, don't worry." She grinned at his politeness. "I'm Jacob Hunt. My sister was murdered yesterday," he explained, face falling. "Her name was Caitlin. She was stabbed by someone in our house." Brigitte watched as the sparkle in his blue eyes disappeared. "I'm so sorry," she soothed. "How on earth do you know it was someone living with you?"

"I found a note," Jacob said, "In her shoe. The night before last she told me she found out something about our family... she wouldn't tell me because then I'd know too. I have the note here."
The note was short and to the point, covered in neat, curly writing.

'If I die, it was family. Know I've gone to police.'

Brigitte squinted. "You found it in her shoe?"

"A joke we had when we were kids," he chuckled. "There are some bullet holes in the wall, but Caitlin dodged the bullets."

"Who was in the house? Reinhart Manor houses all of the Hunt family, correct me if I'm wrong."

"Correct," he replied, "and everyone except my father, who was away for work."

"Is this everything you know?"

"My great uncle has a small collection of German Bayonets from the second World War, but they're too big to fit Caitlin's wounds. And my great-grandma Coralina is almost too old to function, so it's unlikely she's responsible."

"Is this all I've got clue-wise?" She asked, biting her lip in thought. He nodded back to her. "Everyone was in the house with no way of anyone getting in, bullet holes in wall by only knife wounds, no weapons found and only relative absent was your father. Got it." She breathed deeply before adding, "Thank you, Jacob."

She tried to make him feel a little better, and told him she was sorry.

"Well," Brigitte sighed, getting up. "We best go now." She picked up the frying pan from her worktop.  "Oh, pancake?" she offered just before it fell on the floor: she smiled sheepishly.

"Ah, sorry. Let's go, forget the pancakes."

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