Dig Deep My Grave

by Cheryl Honigford

  Vivian stopped and glared at him, unwilling to admit she knew what he was getting at.

  “It just doesn’t work that way in reality, Viv. We’d have to get a license. There are residency requirements, blood tests, a waiting period… Even if I agreed to such a harebrained scheme, it’s not possible tonight. Not even in the next week.”

  Vivian stuck her lower lip out and exhaled in exasperation. He was right. She did watch too many movies. She knew nothing of Wisconsin’s marriage laws—or any state’s marriage laws, really. Besides, she had no idea where to find a justice of the peace in the middle of the north woods. What would she do, go skulking about the countryside knocking on cottage doors? No, that wouldn’t be suspicious at all. Not to mention all the bears lying in wait out there.

  “Well, we have to do something,” she said.

  “Look, Freddy spoke to me too. He said that it was in our best interest to lock ourselves into wedded bliss as soon as possible, and I told him I’ve been trying to do that for months.” Charlie smiled slightly. Even he could see the dark humor in the situation.

  “What did he say to that?” Vivian asked quietly.

  “Nothing. He just shook his head. The man knows you almost as well as I do, Viv.”

  “But now I’m offering to marry you,” she said. “Quite willingly.”

  “And I’m very gently turning you down.”

  “Even if I’m forced to testify against you in a court of law? Even if I’m the one to send you to the electric chair?” She’d meant to sound firm, but her voice cracked, ruining the illusion.

  “It won’t come to that.” He sounded like he believed that as he folded her into his strong arms. “And just know I’m not turning you down permanently. I have every intention of making good on your offer when all of this is settled. If I had the engagement ring with me, I’d put it on your finger myself.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her throat softly, his lips roving over the sensitive skin just beneath her earlobe. “Don’t worry. I’ll make an honest woman of you yet,” he said. She nuzzled into him.

  “And vice versa,” she said. “You’re prone to finding trouble, Mr. Haverman. Once we’re married, I plan to tie you down and keep you at home where you belong.”

  He laughed, his breath hot against her cheek. “Promise?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Vivian left the cabin the following morning with Charlie’s solemn vow that he would leave shortly after and not tell her where he’d gone. She worried someone had seen them, but people in the north woods had a long history of keeping their mouths shut. There had certainly been dubious activities taking place at that cabin during her father’s heyday with Capone, and no one had ever said a word to the authorities.

  That code of silence didn’t hold true everywhere in Wisconsin though. She thought of John Dillinger’s gang’s shoot-out at the Little Bohemia Lodge and the murder of gangster Jake Zuta at the roadhouse outside Milwaukee while he picked out songs on the jukebox. People had talked there, and people had gotten killed. She shook her head. This train of thought wasn’t helping.

  Vivian didn’t know where Charlie would go, or how he would contact her again. For her own safety, he’d refused to give her any way to get in touch with him. Once she cleared everything up with the police, he’d find her. She just hoped she could clear everything up.

  She made the five-hour drive to Oakhaven in four and a half. The answer to everything was there, after all. If she couldn’t solve the mystery around Hap’s death in the next day or so, she might never see Charlie again. What if the police found him before she could figure out what had really happened? No, she wouldn’t let herself think of that possibility. Her nerves jangled and her lower back ached, but the old jalopy made it to Lake Geneva. She unfolded herself from the driver’s side and stretched.

  The sky was clear, and the late-morning sun was warm on her skin. The cicadas were already in good voice, their song a low hum among the trees.

  The bushes along the path in front of her rustled and then Gwen emerged, dressed in her bathing suit, a towel slung over her arm. Gwen stopped short. She blinked, her eyes narrowed as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Vivian?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Gwen’s eyes widened. “What are you doing here? What about California and your screen test?”

  Vivian shrugged. “Postponed.”

  Gwen frowned and glanced over her shoulder at the house. “But what are you doing here?”

  “Well, I’m going to find out who killed Hap and clear Charlie’s name for starters.”

  Gwen’s eyebrows rose. The towel slipped from her grasp, and she bent to retrieve it. When she straightened back up, her mouth was set in a grim line. “I don’t think Father’s going to like that.”

  “Why ever not? He doesn’t want to know who killed Hap?” Vivian asked innocently.

  Gwen glanced over her shoulder again at the house. Cicadas whirred in the trees from all directions. “You should probably go,” she said.

  “Go? I just got here.”

  “I…” Gwen’s eyes darted again to the woods behind Vivian. Then she sighed and started over. “I’m sorry, Viv. This has been a terrible few days for all of us,” she said.

  Vivian eyed Gwen’s bathing attire. So terrible that the girl was going out for a leisurely morning swim?

  “I know it has. It’s been terrible for me as well, Gwen. After all, my fiancé is on the run for a murder he didn’t commit.”

  Gwen eyed her, the frown still curving her mouth downward. There was a shout from the dock.

  “Gwen, come on. Shake a leg! I don’t have all day!”

  Vivian turned. A young man stood with his toes curled over the edge of the dock, his bronzed torso bared and his shoulders hunched toward the water. He pressed his hands together in front of him and mimed diving into the lake.

  “Strapping boy,” Vivian said.

  “Marshall Wentworth,” Gwen said, every exposed portion of her skin going pink under her early-summer tan. “He’s…the neighbor. We swim together in the morning sometimes.” She glanced over her shoulder again at Marshall.

  “By all means, run along. Don’t let me keep you,” Vivian said.

  Gwen looked at her for another long moment, brow furrowed, as if she was struggling to decide whether she should say something else. “See you later” was all she said before turning and heading toward the dock and Marshall Wentworth.

  • • •

  There had been perhaps a hundred people at that garden party, and Vivian had only known a handful personally. That meant she needed to whittle down the suspect list. Who had Hap known? Did he have any enemies? Was there someone who had wanted him dead? She knew virtually nothing about Hap’s life in the eight years prior to his death.

  Vivian gazed up at the house. It was splendid. A beautiful piece of Victorian gingerbread, frosted at the edge with intricate wooden lacework. Several of its ilk had burned to the ground in recent years—victims of bad wiring or lightning strikes. But Oakhaven was still standing, a testament to a family that would not quit, she thought, despite whether it should or not.

  She opened the front door and stepped inside, pausing for a moment in the cool silence of the front hall. Both the parlor and the sitting room were empty. Someone stepped down into her line of vision from the stairway halfway up the hall. Aunt Adaline.

  Adaline’s mouth fell open. She snapped it shut and glided down the hallway. “Vivian. This is a surprise.”

  “Yes, the trip to California’s been postponed.”

  “You haven’t brought that man here, have you?” She looked over Vivian’s shoulder as if she expected Charlie to burst through the door behind her.

  That man? Vivian took a breath. She could not let Adaline get her ire up. “You mean Charlie? No, unfortunately, I have no idea where he is.” />
  “He’s run from the law, you know.”

  “Of course I know.”

  “But what are you doing here of all places?” Adaline’s eyes darted around the hall as if she might find the answer somewhere in the pastoral scene of the wallpaper.

  “I’m going to find out who really killed Hap.”

  Adaline blinked, but her face betrayed no emotion. “That’s a job for the police,” she said.

  “And the police have the wrong man.”

  Adaline didn’t answer.

  “Charlie didn’t kill anyone.”

  Adaline narrowed her eyes at Vivian and then glanced into the empty parlor, her mouth pressed into a thin, white line. “Constance heard him threaten Hap’s life,” she said. “I was standing next to her on the lawn when she gave her statement to the police.”

  “That simply isn’t true.”

  “Are you calling Constance a liar?” Adaline glared at Vivian, her dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “No, I just think that Constance may be under a misapprehension about Charlie’s intent.” Vivian chose her words carefully.

  Adaline looked down the hall toward the kitchen before turning slowly back toward Vivian. Adaline looked so much like Vivian’s mother. The same brown eyes, same strawberry-blond hair turning to gray. But unlike her mother, Aunt Adaline was all razor-sharp edges. Julia Witchell had her moments of genuine motherly affection. There were no soft spots to Aunt Adaline—figuratively or literally. No warmth for anyone, not even her own children. Vivian had never seen Adaline offer the slightest scrap of affection to any of them.

  Vivian thought of the first time she’d stayed overnight here as a child. It was the first time she’d slept anywhere other than her own home, and she’d been homesick. She’d gone up to her aunt, intending to give her the good-night peck on the cheek she gave her own mother and perhaps get a little comfort in the exchange. Aunt Adaline had given her the same stony look of contempt she’d given Vivian and then turned her face sharply away. “Little girls should be in bed at this hour,” she’d said.

  “I think you’re the one who’s under a misapprehension, Vivian.”

  “Meaning?”

  Adaline leaned forward, her voice low. “Meaning just how well do you know that friend of yours? I think you might want to look a little deeper into his people, his background, where he comes from…”

  Vivian felt the sting of the words as if she’d been slapped. So all of that at the garden party had been an act of exaggerated politeness. They’d tolerated Charlie’s intrusion into their lives for a few hours in order not to cause a scene. They hadn’t accepted him, and they never would. To them, Charlie was a lowlife. The kind of scum that would walk into a garden party and stab the first man that looked at him sideways—or threatened to take what belonged to him. Vivian clenched her hands at her sides to stop them from wrapping around her aunt’s neck.

  The thump of footfalls on the stairs caused both of them to look up. David and Lillian were coming down, David struggling with a large suitcase.

  David set the suitcase on the floor at his feet. When he lifted his head, he spotted Vivian and his eyes widened. “I thought you’d gone to California.”

  “Change of plan,” she said.

  David nodded, but his forehead creased in confusion. He was opening his mouth to ask another question when Adaline interrupted.

  “Who’s leaving?”

  “Lillian,” he said. “She’s going back to the city. Her nerves can’t take it.”

  “Her nerves?” There was the slightest tinge of disgust in Adaline’s voice.

  “Yes, Lillian’s a gentle creature. Aren’t you, dear?” He turned to his fiancée as she made her way down the last few steps. Her fingers were pressed to her temples.

  “I’m afraid I have the worst headache.”

  “Prone to headaches,” David said. “In times of stress.”

  Lillian’s eyes snagged on Vivian before she moved toward the front of the house.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Adaline said. “You’re driving her back to the city?”

  “David offered, but I told him it’s not necessary,” Lillian said from the front door. “I’ll take the train.”

  “I don’t mind driving you,” David said.

  “That’s ridiculous. A two-hour trip into the city and then a two-hour back here? I can’t ask that of you. I’ll be fine.”

  “We can get a driver,” Adaline said.

  “No, no, really. Stop fussing.” Lillian winced and put a hand to her temple again.

  “David, it’s not right. You’ll drive her.”

  “Mother, will you listen for once? She said it’s not necessary.”

  Adaline blinked. Vivian saw her aunt’s jaw clench. It was the same reaction her mother would have had to such insolence in mixed company.

  “Goodbye,” David said to Vivian. “I’ll return shortly.”

  “Goodbye, Lillian. It was lovely to have met you. I hope we get a chance to catch up soon.” Vivian said.

  Lillian nodded and forced a faint smile before leading David out the door.

  Vivian stood next to a silent Adaline. They both looked at the closed front door for a moment in silence. Vivian could feel the anger coming from Adaline like heat waves radiating from a radiator.

  “Lillian seems like a nice girl,” Vivian said.

  “I only just met the girl,” Adaline said, her voice measured and impersonal. “She seems to be of good stock…went to boarding school in France. I’ve heard of the Dacres, of course, but have never met any of the family.”

  The perfect nonanswer, Vivian thought.

  “Her family isn’t from Chicago?”

  “New York and Paris, I believe.”

  Well, la-di-da, Vivian thought. Lillian was perfect. If Adaline had made a list of credentials for a potential daughter-in-law, Lillian would check every box. So why was animosity rising off Aunt Adaline in waves?

  “And she and David are marrying after only three weeks?”

  “It’s not as unusual as you might think,” Adaline said, pursing her lips. Then she lowered her voice. “Does your mother know what’s happened?”

  Mother, Vivian thought. So Adaline had pulled out the dagger she knew would strike home. Vivian knew the next thing out of Adaline’s mouth would be a threat to track Julia Witchell down in Washington and inform her of Hap’s murder and Charlie’s arrest. As if Vivian were still a naive seventeen-year-old and would be cowed by such threats.

  Before she could respond, the front door opened again and David came striding back in. “Mother, a word?”

  Vivian held Adaline’s icy gaze for another moment, then turned to David with a smile. “Excuse me,” Vivian said, stepping politely down the hallway as David and Adaline moved into the parlor. She heard the whispered beginnings of an apology before she walked out of earshot. Poor David, she thought. He wasn’t known for his even keel, and today he seemed very much off-kilter. You’d have to be to rail at someone as formidable as Aunt Adaline.

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was nothing for it. Much as she never wanted to step into the game room again, Vivian would have to go back to where Hap had been stabbed. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was alone in the hall, then hitched in a breath and pushed the pocket doors apart. The drapes were closed and only let in one bright slit of sunshine. Vivian took one small step forward and waited for her eyes to adjust before entering all the way. She turned and locked the doors behind her. It wouldn’t do to be surprised poking around a crime scene.

  She surveyed the room. The rug where Hap had fallen had been taken away, exposing the polished hardwood floor underneath, but that was the only change as far as she could tell. Nothing about this quiet room made it seem like the place where a man had lost his life. Balls were scattered over the green
felt surface of the billiard table, as if play had just stopped in the middle of a game. She reached out and touched her fingertips to the cue ball, rolling it back and forth under her palm, cool and smooth.

  The clippings that Charlie had mentioned were still on the desk, little rectangles of newsprint scattered over the blotter. She bent down to survey them and sucked in her breath. Her own face smiled back at her. Vivian’s eyes skittered about the dozens of photos and articles clipped from newspapers and magazines. She brushed her fingertips over the papers, separating them. That was her at the Blackhawk with her blue velvet backless number. There was the one of her and Graham from Chez Paree just after Marjorie Fox’s murder, the picture where she looked out of sorts and Graham had his hand out to shield them from the photographer’s lens—but with his fingers deftly splayed so that their faces could still be seen. Charlie said that Hap had been looking at these just before his death. Had he clipped them himself?

  She glanced about her, but the scissors, of course, were gone. The police would have taken them, since the scissors seemed to be the murder weapon. The thought sent a chill up her spine. She’d have to call Freddy and ask him about what the police knew—if anything at all.

  The game room didn’t feel especially melancholy or tinged with something foul, like the actors’ lounge at WCHI had felt after Marjorie Fox’s murder. There had been a heaviness to the air in that room, a certain charge that rang in her bones. Here, Vivian felt nothing. She knew she needed time to process all of this—to think everything through. But there just wasn’t any time. Each minute wasted was another minute the police had to catch up with Charlie. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they found him.

  Vivian turned in a slow circle, surveying the room, and her eyes fell on the deer head mounted on the wall behind the desk—the majestic eight-point buck stared down at her with glassy eyes. Then her eyes slid down to the wooden case underneath the buck. A gun case, she presumed. She pulled the latch up, but the case was locked.

  Then she walked slowly back the way she’d come, her fingertips trailing along the floor-to-ceiling bookcase that ran the entire length. Then she stopped. She turned. The hidden door. How could she forget? She scanned the shelves, finally spotting that vertical line running down all of the shelves, making it so the two halves of each shelf didn’t quite line up. There was a door hidden here—a door camouflaged to look like part of the built-in bookcase, not for any nefarious reason but for the decorative purpose of not breaking up the wall of bookshelves with a doorway. She ran her fingertips down that vertical stripe and found the latch. She and David had pretended this door led to a magical fairyland when they were children. She pushed the latch, and the door opened upon the less-than-magical back stairs.