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Red Mask: Into Death
Red Mask: Into Death
Red Mask: Into Death
Ebook58 pages34 minutes

Red Mask: Into Death

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Isabella receives a disturbing letter—only for it to be stolen before she deciphers it.

The letter claims that a spy is aboard the Garipoola, but is that the only person hiding their true identity and purpose on the passenger ship?

. ~ . ~ . ~ .

M.A. Lee is the multi-published author of over 15 historical mystery novels and two novellas. Her Into Death series, including Digging into Death, Christmas with Death, and Portrait with Death, features Isabella Newcombe. The 12-book Hearts in Hazard series combines mystery and suspense with a Regency England setting.

With Edie Roones, she penned 10 short stories in the Wild Sherwood series, featuring characters in the Robin Hood legends combined with the dangerous faeries of British mythology.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJul 21, 2023
ISBN9798988473916
Red Mask: Into Death
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    Book preview

    Red Mask - M.A. Lee

    Red Mask

    1

    Isabella stopped at a cloth covered with carved bowls. The vendor had placed the bowls rim-down, to display the carvings of monkeys, elephants, and swirls. Intrigued, she knelt for a closer look.

    The bowls spanned a wide spectrum of wood tones, light to dark. She touched a light-colored bowl with monkeys in palm trees. What is this wood?

    Sagwan. He repeated it. When she touched a rose-colored wood with little carving but lovely arches, he said, Sheesham, sheesham. He hovered his hand over a series of bowls. Nilambur was a mandala. Nagpur had columns like a palace collonade. Tigers slinking through reeds was Mango.

    And cedar she named the rust-red bowl.

    He plucked the bowl off the ground cloth and turned it upright. Warmed by the sun, the redolent cedar reminded her of clothes presses and chests. Elephants with lifted trunks paraded around the bowl balanced on his hand.

    May I? She extended her hand.

    He bobbed his head. Dark hair fell over his forehead. You look. You look good. Like any merchant from ages old, he knew touching the product would often sell it.

    Closer inspection revealed that each elephant wore a headband and a cloth over its back, this one ornamented with beads, that one with cross-hatches, a third with swirls, and all parading before a different background. The elephant with flowers marched before a temple; the one with cross-hatches walked through a jungle. Eight elephants in all, which the missionary Miss Harlow had claimed was a fortunate number.

    Isabella hadn’t found anything that called to her like these elephants. Within a few minutes, she owned the bowl, and the vendor grinned from ear to ear. She had likely paid too much, but she had no taste for haggling over a price. Mindful of Col. Werthy’s advice at the market in Bombay, before they’d parted ways, she had halved the man’s amount. He countered, she paid, and they were both happy with the transaction. The vendor even wrapped the bowl in a vivid green cloth.

    When she stood, a passerby knocked into her. She stumbled.

    A hand from nowhere steadied her. Missy good? her vendor asked.

    Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, she directed at the man, but he was gone.

    The vendor settled cross-legged at the back of his cloth. Isabella stepped into the flow of the market and let the current take her forward.

    The artist in her loved the vivid colors of the canopies over the booths and open shop fronts. Saffron yellow, emerald green and spring green, poppy red and persimmon, tangerine and heavenly azure, and peacock blue, the colors rioted along both sides of the street. The myriad objects for sale, the varied faces of the vendors, male and female, all started a longing to capture the market with its energy. She would need oils. Watercolors would be too diluted. She yearned for a faster paint than

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