THEN THERE WERE NONE MEETS DEATH TRAP
The Gay Detective: The Man Who Murdered Himself
Who doesn’t love a good locked room mystery? Maybe the guy locked in the room
If only I’d known… Famous last words. But the signs were there. And I’d missed them — no-one to blame but myself.
“You wouldn’t play to save my life — maybe you’ll play to save theirs.” The whisper from Harry’s tablet echoed in the eerie silence of the shuttered room. Slanted rays of the late afternoon sun filtered though chinks in the louvers, casting the corners into deeper shadow.
Something underlay the musty, closed-up smell — a familiar scent I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But the sheet-draped furnishings spoke of long disuse. Even the paintings and a floor-to-ceiling mirror in its heavy gilded frame were swathed in linens.
Mine were the only footprints in the thick layer of dust covering the floor of every room I’d been in so far. And the only sign of either Ian or Harry was Harry’s tablet, sitting open on a dark, wooden end table.
“What do you mean — play? What do you want?”
“I want you to save your friends. If you can.” The voice gave a fat, oily chuckle. “Oh, they’re fine for now. But the air in the panic room…
