Loved From The Grave

by Maggie Carpenter

  "Absolutely. What's the problem?"

  "If he was gone a while, then you heard the banging, he couldn't have fallen when he left your bedroom."

  "You're right."

  "That means he must have come back upstairs, so why weren't the lights back on?"

  "Why weren't the lights back on?" she repeated. "You mean, they should have been if he'd come back up?"

  "Unless he couldn't find the problem, but you said they went back on supposedly of their own accord after you called the ambulance. Have they gone off again since?"

  "No, they haven't, and the electrician came over and checked everything. He had no explanation."

  "I'm sure you can see why I have grave concerns about this."

  "Jonathan! I just realized something. We turned the lights off downstairs when we went up to bed. After I called the ambulance, it wasn't just the lights upstairs that came back on, the lights in the foyer and the living room did too. Does that mean they must have been on downstairs after we'd turned them off and went up?"

  "That would be a logical conclusion, but anyway you look at it none of it makes sense. And there are other things that don't add up. What caused him to fall? His bathrobe came to his knees. He couldn't have tripped on the bottom of it. He was barefoot, so his slippers couldn't have caught in the carpet the way mine sometimes do. And there's a bannister. Just by habit we reach out and rest our hand on it as we walk down or up stairs. If he tripped, why didn't he take hold?"

  "You're right. What's the other thing?"

  "If he was walking up the stairs, he would have fallen backwards. He should have landed on his back or his side, but he was lying face down."

  "I just got chills. Jonathan, what does all this mean?"

  "In my book, it means he didn't check the fuse box, come back up, and fall backwards down the stairs. I think he was murdered, and whoever did it might have made those banging noises to make you think he had. Either that, or you heard a fight."

  "Jonathan, I just remembered. He said something right before he…"

  "What? April, what did he say?"

  "He said—it's not real."

  "He could have meant the scene was staged. What you were seeing wasn't real."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Someone had murdered Troy! Her sweet, wonderful, loving Troy.

  "But why?"

  April whispered the question, then abruptly jumped to her feet.

  "Please excuse me. I'll be right back."

  As she raced from the room, Jonathan could only assume she needed a moment to herself, and he turned his gaze towards the idyllic garden to ponder her question.

  Why?

  "Find the motive and I'll find the killer," he mumbled. "It'll be money or love. It's always one or the other, and sometimes both."

  "Sorry," she said, walking back in. "Ever since that night I've had an upset stomach."

  "It's the trauma, and I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't come here to upset you."

  "No, please, you mustn't blame yourself. It was shocking to hear, but I'm glad you told me what you did. I have to know the truth. What happens now?"

  "I'll be opening an investigation, and if it's all right with you, I'd like to start by having a poke around the house."

  "Of course it's all right."

  "I assume your fuse box is in the cellar?"

  "It is, but it's still a bit of a mess down there."

  "April, what will happen to this house? Does it revert back to the Hammonds?"

  "Interesting you should ask," she said thoughtfully. "I don't know how it came up, but Troy told his mother he'd be leaving it to me, and, well, it caused quite a stir. I think he did it because he wanted the family to understand they weren't welcome in our lives."

  "Things between them were that strained?"

  "They were, and it was the same with Foster. When he went off to the sanitarium after his stroke, he made it clear Troy was the only person allowed on the property. He also said he'd be back. That's why the house was empty for so long. When Jonathan brought me here I fell in love with it on sight. It was run down, but I didn't care."

  "Did you know about the rumors?"

  "Do you mean the ghost stories?"

  "Yes. Didn't you have concerns?"

  "Troy warned me, and it is a noisy house. I can understand why people might get spooked, but Troy said any ghosts would be his relatives and we'd be welcome. I laughed, but there was something comforting about that. Anyway, in answer to your question, Troy wanted to make sure it would be mine if anything happened to him, and he did. Now I wonder if he had some kind of premonition. Regardless, I'm not going anywhere."

  "So the two of you planned to stay here."

  "We did. Stay and raise our family here and…sorry," she said, her eyes suddenly brimming. "These waves of emotion, they come out of nowhere."

  "I know. That's exactly what they're like. Waves. One minute you're fine, and the next, you're not. Sometimes you can push through them, other times you have to surrender."

  "Jonathan…I want to help you uncover the truth," she said earnestly, then casting her eyes out the window, she added, "I have to, for him."

  Following her gaze, Jonathan spied a simple headstone under the first row of trees that led into a thicket.

  "We used to walk in those woods all the time, even if it was raining. We'd talk about how much fun it would be for our children. They'd have their very own magical forest. I'm putting up a monument," she said softly. "A boy and a girl holding hands. He wrote children's books. Did you know that?"

  "Yes, and you're an artist?"

  "I am," she nodded. "I might go into my studio this afternoon. I haven't been in there since that night. I'm sorry I'm still such a mess, but I really am very glad you came."

  "You don't have to apologize. Not for anything. I think I'll mosey on down to that cellar," he declared, drinking the last of his tea.

  "Let me show you. The door is just over here."

  Walking together across the kitchen, she opened the door, reached in and flicked on the light. "There you are."

  "Great. Thanks."

  "Be careful. I haven't been down there in a while, but I know there's still a bunch of stuff lying around. I'll be in the garden. I'm going to tell Troy what's going on. I suppose that sounds strange, but it helps to go out there and talk to him."

  "It doesn't sound strange at all, and I'm sure he wants to be kept in the loop."

  "Thank you for saying that. Help yourself to more tea and scones when you come back up."

  "Thanks. I might do that."

  As he disappeared down the stairs, April walked through the kitchen and out into the garden. The air was warm, but a cool breeze tickled her skin. Ambling across to the wishing well, she paused for a moment to admire the daffodils, then continuing to the grave, she sat down and rested her back against the edge of the arched headstone.

  "A detective has come to visit me," she began. "His name is Jonathan Banks. He doesn't think you fell down the stairs. Troy, when you said—it's not real—is that what you meant? I wish you could talk to me. Every night I feel your breath in my ear, and I hear you say you're not going to leave me. I'm sure I'm not imagining things, but I wish there was something I could cling to. Something tangible. I miss you so much I can hardly bear it."

  The tears started, and as they cascaded down her cheeks, she brought her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and buried her face. It was all so wrong. So absolutely wrong. When the wave of emotion finally started to wane, she slowly raised her head and wiped her face.

  "I love you, Troy," she sniffled, kissing the cold stone. "I will love you forever."

  As she rose to her feet, a breeze kicked up and whistled around her legs. Letting out a heavy sigh she started towards the house, but she'd only gone a few steps when she came to an abrupt halt.

  On the pristine lawn, a daffodil was laying directly in her path.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Jonathan
had been studying the electric panel box. It was obviously old, and he didn't understand why it hadn't been replaced. He needed to speak to the man who had done the rewiring, and he wanted his own electrician to check it out, but as he closed the cover he noticed something else. It had been wiped clean. He paused for a moment, then withdrawing his mobile phone from his pocket, he called Ben Cooper, an enthusiastic young constable he'd taken under his wing.

  "Hello, Detective Banks. Do you need me?"

  "Hello, Ben, yes, I do. Drop what you're doing, grab the Luminol case, and come to Hammond Hall right away."

  "I'm on my way, sir."

  "And, Ben, keep it under your hat."

  "Will do."

  Ending the call, Jonathan turned around and studied the room. Against the far wall, boxes were piled on top of old steamship trunks and wooden crates. The floor had been swept, though he could see fresh dust had already begun to collect. On the adjacent wall were several shelves holding cans of paint, some tools, and a large number of empty bottles. He frowned. Something didn't look quite right. It took him a minute before he realized what it was. The wall had been recently painted. Glancing around the room, he saw the other walls had been as well.

  "Now that's odd," he mumbled. "I'll have to ask April about that."

  "Ask me about what?"

  Startled, he spun around, then smiled as he saw her halfway down the stairs. She looked different. Not as sad.

  "I decided to join you. Did you find anything interesting?"

  "As a matter of fact, I did," he replied, thinking her voice sounded lighter. "When did you have this room painted?"

  "We didn't. There were far more important things to do than paint the cellar."

  "That's what I thought. And the electric panel. Why wasn't it replaced?"

  "It's on the schedule. This house had so much deferred maintenance we had to prioritize. We fixed what was broken first, and we were starting on the list of things that should be replaced. That was one of them."

  "I see. You said you don't come down here much."

  "Hardly at all. Troy did."

  "What about your housekeeper? Do you have one?"

  "Emily Lake."

  "Ah, yes, I know Emily."

  "She hasn't been here since the day after the funeral. I asked her not to come back until she heard from me. Why do you ask?"

  "The electric panel cover has been wiped clean."

  "That's weird."

  "Not something Troy would have done?"

  "No. Why would he?"

  "Exactly. Why would he? Why would anyone?"

  "What do you think it means?"

  "It may not mean anything, but it may mean a great deal. I have a constable on his way. Can we hear the knocker from down here?"

  "I have no idea, but I'll pop back in case."

  As she turned and started up the stairs, there was no doubt in Jonathan's mind something had lifted her spirits. Everything about her was lighter. Gladdened by her unexpected change, he turned his attention to the shelves. Ambling across to them, he studied the support brackets and the screws holding them in place. They were dusty, but relatively new. Stepping back, he scrutinized the items the shelves were holding. Paint cans and tools made sense, but all the empty jars and bottles?

  "Your constable is here," April declared from the top of the stairs. "Should I send him down?"

  "Yes, please, and you're welcome as well, but it might be a bit disturbing."

  "I'm used to being disturbed."

  "Hello, sir," the constable said as he and April reached the bottom of the steps.

  "Hello, Ben. Thank you for getting here so quickly."

  "You said right away, sir, and the station is on this side of town."

  "You're right. You probably could have walked here. April, do you know if Troy moved all the boxes against that wall?"

  "He must have. The last time I was in this cellar was, gosh, about four, maybe five weeks ago, and it wasn't like this."

  "Forgive me for asking, but was Troy's family here for the funeral?"

  "His mother, his sister, Sylvie, and his brother, Charles. I don't know about anyone else. That day was a complete fog."

  "I'm sure it was," he said kindly. "All right, Ben, it's time to see if my suspicions are correct. Give me the case, then go up the stairs and wait by the light switch. It's on the wall to the left just as you come in the door," then turning to April, he lowered his voice and said, "This is the disturbing part. Are you ready to hear about it?"

  "You're going to test for blood."

  "Uh, yes."

  "I've seen CSI like everyone else."

  "Ah, of course. Don't tell anyone I let you watch this. It's not forbidden, but it's not exactly allowed either. One of those gray area things."

  Turning his attention to the small case, he lifted out the can of Luminol with one hand, and the small ultra-violet flashlight with the other.

  "It's amazing how this works. I feel as if I'm in a TV show."

  "That's understandable. Television made this famous. Okay, Ben, cut the light."

  "I'm getting goosebumps," she whispered, then hastily added, "Why am I whispering?"

  "I don't know. Maybe because it's dark? Here we go."

  Jonathan sprayed the Luminol around the handle and along the sides of the panel, then shone the violet beam across the area.

  "There it is," he declared. "Look, in the seam of the panel and around the handle. There are even some spots on the wall."

  "I already know the answer to this question," she said solemnly, "but I'm going to ask it anyway. Who do you think it belongs to, and how do you think it got there?"

  "I feel confident saying it's Troy's blood, and probably left there by the hands of his killer."

  They stared at each other, the weight of his words hanging in the darkness. A silent second ticked by, then a sudden crash made them both jump.

  "Detective? Are you okay?" Ben called, flicking on the lights and hurrying down the stairs.

  "Fine! I just don't—"

  "Look! Over there! On the floor!" April gasped, cutting him off.

  Jonathan stared down at the broken glass just a few yards away. One of the bottles had fallen off the shelf.

  "That is really weird," she said breathlessly. "What do we do now?"

  "I don't know why that happened, but I've got a potential crime scene. The first thing I'm going to do is seal off this room, then call in a forensics team."

  CHAPTER THREE

  The constable had left, and after taking Jonathan on a tour of the house, April had walked him to the front door.

  "Make sure you put my mobile number into your contacts," he said firmly, scribbling it on the back of his card. "Call me any time about anything. I mean that."

  "That's so kind of you. Do you have mine?"

  "It was in the report, and I already have it in my phone."

  "Thank you for not taking everything at face value. You didn't have to make the effort to follow up and chase the truth."

  "It's my job."

  "Why do I think there's more to it than that?"

  "When I read the report my nose twitched."

  "Maybe, but I can sense you're holding back. Please tell me."

  "You're right. Your situation and the circumstances. They touched me."

  "Because of your wife?"

  "Yes, because of my wife. I know what happened to Ivy, and you have a right to know what happened to Troy. If he died by someone's hand I want to find that person. I want you to have justice."

  "I'll never forget what you're doing for me—for him. Not ever."

  "All in the line of duty," he replied, feeling his face flush. "I'd best get back to the station and start the balls rolling. There are quite a few of them. Can you make me a list of everyone who had access to this house before you moved in, and when those people knew you'd be taking possession?"

  "I'll get to work on it right away."

  "I'm going to have the boys on patrol keep
an eye on this place. They'll drive by, park out front for short periods of time, just generally make their presence known."

  "Are you worried about me? You don't think someone wants to hurt me too, do you?"

  "It's my job to worry, and I'll sleep better if I know they're watching over you."

  "That's very kind of you. Thank you."

  "Goodbye, April. I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Goodbye, Jonathan."

  She watched him stride down the path, then locking the door, she headed back to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea and try one of Maude's scones. She'd placed the daffodil in a tall crystal vase and set it in the middle of the table by the window, and walking back in, it brought a smile to her lips. Picking up the teapot, she cleaned it out and set it on the counter to wait for the water, but as she did she was suddenly overcome with an urgent need to return to the cellar. The area around the door had been cordoned off, and ducking underneath the tape, she opened the door, flicked on the light and started down the stairs.

  "Troy? Are you here? It was you who sent that jar to the floor, I'm sure of it," she said softly as she reached the bottom step. "What were you trying to tell me?"

  She stared at the shelves, then across the room to the pile of boxes.

  "Why did you move them? I remember they were in front of the shelving. I wanted to clear out the bottles and I couldn't get to them. That's strange. That shelving isn't centered in the middle of the wall. Why was it put off to one side like that?"

  Jonathan had wanted the broken glass to stay where it was for the forensics team, and stepping carefully around it, she approached the shelves and pushed aside the paint buckets.

  "I knew it. I knew there had to be a reason."

  She was staring at a distinct vertical line, and running her fingers down it, she felt a ridge. Her heart began to race, and grabbing her phone she called Jonathan.

  "Hello, April. Is everything all right?"

  "Jonathan, I found something behind the shelves. I think it's a fake wall. Or maybe the wall has been cut out then put back again. Whoever did it wasn't very good. I can see the edge as plain as day."