Murder at Blackstone castle

MURDER
AT BLACKSTONE CASTLE
By William and Henry

This is the start of a short story I am writing with a friend.

I looked out at the countryside quickly moving past us. Rattle rattle rattle, went our carriage as the wheels jumped through through the potholes. “Why do we have to go so fast?” I juddered as we bumped through a particularly big pothole. “Because,” detective James Walker answered. “We are in a rush!” “That's not a real answer,” I complained. “Well, what do you define as a real answer?” “What about something that answers my question?” I said sarcastically. “But did I answer your question?” He answered innocently. “Ugh,” I groaned. It was impossible to argue with him when he was in this mood. I sat in silence for a while, the whole time the roads getting worse and worse and worse until we were riding across little more than a bumpy dirt track through some farmland. I thought of another approach to my question “Where are we going?” I inquired, to which he replied, “Blackstone Castle, why didn’t you ask?”

As James began one of his famously long and annoying lectures about Blackstone castle, The roads began to improve until we were riding on a nicely kept track through some thick woods. Then finally the apparently prestigious castle was in view. According to James, it had existed for centuries, no one knew who built it. Right now, Count Tray Tor was living in the castle. He wasn’t exactly the sole heir, but every time someone tried to take the estate, they “mysteriously” disappeared. Tray Tor had been the owner of the place for decades. Before James could finish, there was a bumpy stop as the driver of our carriage shouted. “We’re here!” He yelled at us in a gruff voice. James clambered out of the carriage, motioning me to follow him. I stepped out and gawked at the massive gates on the wall.  James noticed me staring and said “Come on, we’ve got a mystery to solve!”