Loved From The Grave

by Maggie Carpenter

  "Um…there's the old servants' quarters, but it's completely closed off, and I don't know of any door leading in there from the outside."

  "Show me."

  "Can you give me that towel? I need to get some of this water off Terrence."

  "Priorities, April."

  "It will only take a minute. At least let me wipe off his muddy paws."

  "Tell me how to get there," he said, handing it to her.

  "The laundry is through that swinging door. On the far wall there's another door that leads directly into the servants' wing, but you won't be able to get through. It's been locked since I arrived. Troy couldn't find the key, and it was at the bottom of our list of things to do."

  "Maybe that's because someone took it," Jonathan said gravely.

  "Oh, my gosh! Do you think so?"

  "There's only one way to find out. I'm going in."

  "Wait. I'm done. I'm coming."

  With Terrence following they entered the laundry room, but as they approached the door, Jonathan held up his hand and placed his finger against his lips. Creeping forward, he put his ear to the door. April felt her pulse tick up.

  "I don't hear anything," he said softly, then studied the old lock. "A piece of cake. Do you have a wire coat hanger in here by chance?"

  "Um, I'm not sure. I haven't been in this laundry for ages, but there's a hanging rack in this cupboard. Bingo. How many do you want?"

  "Great. Just one."

  Handing it to him, she watched, fascinated, as he unwound the hook, then moved the straight end into the lock. It took him less than thirty-seconds to slip the latch.

  "There we go," he proclaimed, turning the handle and pushing it open. "The lights are on. They were in a hurry. Or should I say, she."

  "I can't believe it," April muttered. "This is…I can't think of the word. I don't know if there is one."

  "Deeply disturbing?"

  "Something like that."

  "Don't worry, they'll be long gone, her and anyone else who was here."

  "Are you sure?"

  "They know we're up and around. They didn't even bother to turn off the lights. Yes, I'm sure."

  "Jonathan, there's something I don't understand," she said as they walked down the narrow passageway. "Your car was in the driveway, and they must have known I was home. Why would they risk coming in?"

  "I was thinking the same thing. If the only place they were planning to go was the cellar, they may have figured we wouldn't have heard them over the storm. They had no way of knowing there was a superhero watchdog in the house. It's not very nice back here," he remarked, opening doors and staring into the tiny bedrooms, "but that's the way it used to be. It was splendor or servitude."

  They'd reached the end of the hall, and walking through double doors, they found themselves in a large kitchen, complete with a long, roughhewn dining table with benches on either side.

  "The lights are on in here too," he exclaimed, "and look, there are the wet footprints."

  "The servants' kitchen," she muttered. "This is incredible."

  "I'm more interested in following these. Don't touch anything and stay off them. I should have left Terrence behind. Keep him close to you. Jake won't be happy, though I have a feeling he'll find plenty of evidence down here regardless."

  Following the footprints, they turned down a short hall, but stood aside as Terrence pushed past them and began barking at a closed door.

  "Stand back in the kitchen," Jonathan said sternly. "Stay there, and this time, please do as I ask."

  He had a look in his eye that told her to do as he said, and moving away, she stood with her back against the stove and held her breath.

  Pulling the sleeve of his bathrobe over his fingers to protect any prints, he turned the handle and cracked open the door. The room was dark.

  "Police! I'm armed and I'm coming in. Stand up with your hands in the air."

  Jonathan's head was spinning with several scenarios, but when he burst in he was met with silence. Seeing the light switch on the wall he flicked it on, and his eyes grew wide as he stared around the room.

  "April. You won't believe what Terrence found. Come over here."

  Moving quickly into the short passage, as she walked in, she caught her breath. Paintings were leaning against the wall, and bronzes, urns, and porcelain figurines were lined up on a table.

  "Holy crap."

  "They were moving the pieces from the cellar and storing them here ready to be picked up. They were probably worried about being seen carrying them across the lawn and into the driveway."

  "This is why Troy was killed," she murmured, a wave of heat filling her throat. "Because of stuff."

  "Very valuable stuff, but still just stuff," he said solemnly. "Are you okay?"

  "No! I want to choke the life out of them."

  "I know you do," he murmured, placing an arm around her shoulders. "We'll get the bastards, and soon."

  "Don't let me anywhere near them. You'll be locking me up if you do. I'll fucking kill them. Slowly. Really slowly."

  "There's a trick I learned. It will help. You need to breathe through the pain. Let the tears come, and take long deep breaths. There, just like that. Long deep breaths. That's it."

  "It works."

  "It got me through many rough patches. Are you ready to keep going?"

  "Yeah. No. Yeah."

  She wiped her wet face as she left the room, and opening the door across the hall, they found themselves in front of concrete steps leading up to a gate.

  "I didn't even know that was there," April exclaimed, staring up at it through the rain. "I'm trying to get my bearings, but I can't figure out where we are."

  "We'll find it tomorrow. Another mystery solved, and it's thanks to Terrence sounding the alarm."

  "Bringing him here was brilliant, Jonathan," she said as they closed the door. "Do you realize someone has been coming and going through this house as they please. It's so creepy. Do you think they were spying on Troy and me?"

  "It's possible. Your arrival would have certainly thrown a wrench in their works. I'll call the forensic team first thing in the morning."

  "I just remembered…I had a dream. I think I know where there's a secret passage."

  "From a dream?"

  "Uh-huh. I'll check it out tomorrow while you're busy down here. Terrence, you're a star," she said softly, reaching down and petting him, "even if you are all wet."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  They separated at the bottom of the stairs, but Jonathan didn't return to bed. He'd only seen a few rooms of the grand home, and he thought wandering around for a while might relax him and set his mind free. April's comment was bothering him. She was right. His car was in the driveway. She was in the house. It had been a brazen move.

  "Why did you think we wouldn't hear you?" he mumbled as he wandered into an elegant sitting room. "Even with the noise of the storm it just doesn't add up. You tried to get into the cellar, but slipping away through the servants' quarters if you heard us coming wouldn't have been an option. You'd have to come back up the stairs and into the kitchen. I can't imagine you opening up that wall and going out into that dark area full of wild brush. For some reason, you felt confident you wouldn't be heard, but what was it?"

  He'd entered the stylish room barely looking at it, and as he took in the magnificent surroundings he could feel its history. Decorated in burgundy and gold, the room was the grandest he'd seen thus far, and above the fireplace was a magnificent portrait of a handsome man. A man who bore a striking resemblance to Troy. Moving forward to study the brass plaque on the bottom of the fame he wasn't surprise by what he read.

  Harrison 'Foster' Wilfred Hammond 1951

  Raising his eyes, he spied a tiny can of Foster's beer hiding behind the leg of the chair upon which Harrison was seated. The tiny detail made him search for more, and he noticed a small globe on the floor directly in front of him. Only when he looked at it intently did he realize it was the planet ear
th.

  "He had the world at his feet. Good heavens. What other secrets are hidden here?"

  Traveling his eyes to the basket lying nearby, he realized it was filled with tiny valentines. Harrison 'Foster' Hammond had been a collector of hearts.

  "You weren't a very nice man, were you Foster? Or perhaps you were. You were probably a contradiction in terms. Let's see who painted this?"

  Focusing on the right hand corner he saw the name M. Finch, but as he made the mental note a heavy yawn swept over him. His wandering had worked.

  "Goodnight, Foster. I'll be back to study more of you tomorrow."

  He ambled away, but when he reached the door he heard something that sent a shiver shuddering through his body. Afraid to look behind him, he hastily turned off the light and hurried to his room.

  The sound he'd heard was a man's faint laugh.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  April had rubbed the wet off Terrence as best she could, then placed a dry towel on the floor.

  "You were wonderful," she said softly as he laid down. "I think I might be falling in love with you. I hope Jonathan will let you stay here while he's at work."

  He gazed up at her, licked her face, then dropped his head between his paws. He was tired too. Climbing into bed, she lightly touched the daffodils, turned off the light, and once again pulled Troy's pillow into her body.

  "You tripped me up when I was running after Jonathan," she murmured as she closed her eyes. "I know it was you. I don't know how you did it, but it was you."

  A few moments later she was almost asleep when she felt the tickle of his breath against her ear.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Although he'd been up half the night, Jonathan was on his way to the station by nine o'clock. April hadn't surfaced, and guessing she was in need of a late morning he'd crept quietly from the house. Settling behind his desk with a cup of tea and a freshly baked blueberry muffin from the village cafe, he picked up his phone and called Jake.

  "Wow. That's quite a night you had. Sounds like the case might be breaking open for you. Dan and I have to be somewhere early this afternoon, but I'll wrap some things up and head over there shortly. I'll call you when I'm on my way."

  "That would be great. Thanks, Jake. I didn't think I'd be able to get you back so soon."

  "Sometimes things have a way of working out, and it's not every day I get to work on a murder with a DI from the Met."

  "I wish I could say I'm happy for you."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "Of course you didn't. All murders are rough, but this one is particularly distressing. See you soon."

  "Yep. See you soon."

  Powering up his computer, Jonathan entered M. Finch, artist into the search engine. To his disappointment and surprise it didn't return a single result.

  "That's odd," he muttered to himself. "It will have to wait. I need to get started on this report."

  Writing the detailed reports that went into the case files helped him to process information. As he began to describe his discovery of the wet footprints on the kitchen floor in the servants' quarters, he recalled a passing thought; they were surprisingly small. They must have belonged to the woman he saw at the wishing well.

  "But why was she out there?" he muttered. "Is there something in the bottom of that well? I should have checked it out."

  A quick knock on his door made him look up. It was Mary.

  "Good morning, sir. I have some information about that piece of vintage jewelry."

  "Excellent. Come in."

  Walking across to his desk, she handed him two sheets of paper. The first was a blowup of the round decorative head of the broken pin. In raised letters, the words Forever Love, Forever Mine were written in gold against a silver background. Surrounding them were tiny hearts bearing sparkling stones.

  "What's in the center of the engraving etched around the edge?"

  "Tiny diamonds. The piece is in remarkable condition considering its age."

  "Hearts," he mumbled, thinking back to the portrait of Foster Hammond.

  "It's probably Victorian. Most vintage pins aren't very expensive, but if you look at the back there's a maker's name. The blowup is on the page underneath the one you're holding."

  Moving to the second sheet of paper, he stared at it for a moment, then raised his eyes.

  "Tiffany's."

  "Yes, sir, and the piece isn't silver, it's platinum. Most of these vintage pins aren't worth very much, but one of the collectors I spoke with last night said it could have a value of over a thousand pounds, possibly more. Sir, do you think we could be looking at a woman?"

  "We could, but we have no proof this was lost the night Troy Hammond was killed. That's just a theory. Where's Peter? I have some updates of my own."

  "Here he comes now, sir."

  "Ask him to come in."

  As she leaned out the door and waved him over, Jonathan considered Mary's suggestion. She could well be right. The small footprints in the servants' quarters could well have been left by a woman.

  "Sorry I'm late, sir," Peter said, panting slightly as he entered. "I was at the local bank trying to get information about Ned and George."

  "And?"

  "The manager wasn't happy about providing me with anything, but when he disappeared into the back, Cathy gave me what I needed. It only took a minute. She was printing it out while I was arguing with him."

  "Cathy is…?"

  "A girl I've gone out with a few times."

  "If it turns out we need it, we'll have to get it by the book, but I didn't say that, and I didn't hear anything you just told me or are about to."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What did you find out?"

  "Over the last year Ned has been depositing small amounts of money. At first glance it doesn't seem like much, but when you add it up it's not chicken feed, and there's no history of anything like that in the past, except…"

  "Yes?"

  "There is in George's account. He was doing the same thing for about a year, then it stopped and Ned started."

  "Isn't that interesting? Anything on Charles or Sylvie Hammond?"

  "On the surface the gallery seems to be doing well, but I can't dig any deeper without being noticed."

  "Take a seat, both of you. Peter, I want you to research an artist by the name of M. Finch. Whoever that person is, they painted a very interesting portrait of Foster Hammond. It was a long time ago, but this case has roots in the past. I also have reason to believe the artist also painted a large number of forgeries, copying the Hammond collection. Now I'll tell you what I stumbled across last night."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  While Jonathan was meeting with his junior detectives, April was waking from another wonderful dream, one she never wanted to end. In the vision it was a bright spring day, lambs were playing in the yard, and she and Troy were slow dancing by the daffodils. Taking her by the hand, he led her back to the house and into the servants' quarters.

  It had been transformed.

  The grim bedrooms and the hall were gone, replaced with a lemon and white nursery, complete with toys and a large play area where the floor was covered in soft foam. Where once there were narrow windows that allowed only a little light, a row of French Doors led out to a playground with swings, a slide and a sandpit. The kitchen was modernized, with a cheery breakfast nook next to a bay window that overlooked the yard. They'd both wanted a house full of children, and though it would never come to pass, the dream had left her feeling happy.

  "I should be sad," she mumbled as she came fully awake, "but I'm not. How odd."

  Hearing her voice, Terrence sat up and placed his paw on the side of the bed.

  "Good morning, you lovely boy. I'll bet you're dying to go out. I'll take a quick shower and we'll go."

  Moments later, as the hot water streamed over her, she thought back to the dramatic events of the night before. It had been frightening, but not as frightening as it would have been if Jonathan had
n't been there. She suddenly felt immensely grateful. He had gone far beyond the call of duty.

  Toweling off and pulling on a warm sweatsuit, thick socks and slippers, she smiled at the daffodils on the nightstand, then followed Terrence down the stairs and through to the kitchen. As she let him out the back door, for the first time since losing Troy she was actually hungry. She was also burning with curiosity about the secret passage. Finding a box of granola in the pantry, she poured herself a bowl, grabbed the milk from the refrigerator, and saying a silent thank you to Maude for having brought it over, she sat down at the table. The rain had stopped, but it was windy, and munching her cereal she watched Terrence run around the yard. He was nearing the wishing well when he came to an abrupt stop and sat down. She squinted. Her eyes were telling her something her brain wasn't accepting. A tall grey cloud was forming next to the daffodils.

  "A patch of fog. It must be a patch of fog." But even as the mumbled words left her lips, she knew it wasn't. "Troy," she whispered. "I can see you."

  Goosebumps sprang across her skin. She wanted to run into the yard, but she was afraid if she moved, or even looked away for a split second he'd disappear. Her mobile phone suddenly jangled on the table. She jumped, then realized she'd been holding her breath. She stared at the screen. It was Jonathan. Taking a deep breath and picking it up, she looked back outside. The form was gone and Terrence was trotting towards the house.

  "Hello?"

  "Hi, April. I hope I didn't wake you."

  "No, I'm up and around."

  "I wanted to let you know Jake and Dan will be arriving shortly. I'm leaving the office now."

  "Thanks. Let yourself in. I'm anxious to find that hidden passage I saw in my dream."

  "Good luck, and keep your phone with you."

  "Thanks for the reminder. I will, and I'll take Terrence as well."

  "You sound convinced you're going to find it. What makes you so sure?"

  "Just a feeling."

  "That's good enough for me. By the way, does the name M. Finch mean anything to you?"