Loved From The Grave

by Maggie Carpenter

  Turning his head, he saw the grey fog.

  It was transforming into a grotesque monster.

  Unable to pull his eyes away, he watched the ghastly grey beast continue to grow, then looming over him, it released a low menacing growl.

  George's terror-filled scream began deep in his gut, exploding from his mouth with the force of dynamite. Suddenly feeling something in his hand, he discovered his fingers were wrapped around the large sliver of glass buried in his uncle. Unable to fight the power controlling him, sobbing uncontrollably, he heaved it from Ned's back. Feeling as weak and helpless as a drooping, dying weed, he couldn't stop his hand moving the blood-soaked, razor sharp shard to its opposite wrist, and gaping in horror, he watched it slice into his skin.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Climbing from the SUV, April had walked up to the front door. It was reassuringly still bolted, but as she'd slid the key in the lock she heard a car coming up the driveway. Looking over her shoulder expecting to see Jonathan, she was surprised to see Maude rolling to a stop behind the BMW.

  "April, wait," Maude called, all smiles as she popped up from behind the driver's door. "I have something for you."

  April hesitated. Ben's mother had told her some disturbing things about the vicar's wife. Things that made April want to run inside and bolt the door, but as she turned the key and opened it, she was greeted by a blood-curdling scream.

  With Maude approaching and blocking the path to the SUV, she did the only thing she could think of. She took off running towards the thicket. She knew its every nook and cranny. She'd be safe there.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Turning into April's driveway, Peter brought his car to a screeching halt behind Maude's. Jonathan could see April running through the backyard, and Maude standing halfway towards the front door looking completely confounded.

  "You take Maude Jackson," Jonathan ordered, jumping from the car.

  Not to be left behind, Terrence leapt over the console and ran after him.

  "Mrs. Jackson? I'm DC Peter Shoebridge," Peter said, flashing his badge as he approached. "Are you feeling all right?"

  "Someone screamed. They were inside the house," Maude whimpered, her forehead crinkling in fear. "April must have heard it too. She went running off. I didn't know what to do. I tried to walk back to my car, but my legs wouldn't work."

  "It's all right. I'll help you back to mine. You'll be safe in there."

  "Yes, good idea. Yes. Thank you."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  April had made it to the thicket behind Troy's grave, and was hiding in a clump of trees. Terrified by the ungodly scream, her heart had been pounding as she'd bolted across the lawn. As she caught her breath, she tried to think who could be in her house, and what had caused them to let out such an almighty shriek. Ruth had told her Ned carried a menacing grudge against the Hammonds, but April couldn't imagine him wishing her any harm, and it also seemed unlikely he and his nephew would break into her house in the middle of the day.

  "April!"

  "Jonathan? Over here!"

  Hurrying out on to the path, she saw Terrence galloping towards her. He had picked up her scent and was only a short distance away.

  "Terrence," she said breathlessly, crouching down to greet him. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

  "April, are you all right?" Jonathan asked anxiously. "What happened? Why were you running away?"

  "I was going into the house when I heard a scream."

  "A scream?"

  "Yes, a scream, then Maude arrived. After what Ben's mother told me I don't know who's dangerous and who isn't. Oh, Lord, I have so much to tell you, but it has to wait. Something's going on in the house. Something bad."

  "I'll check it out. You stay here with Terrence, and don't worry about Maude. She's harmless."

  "I'm not so sure."

  "I am. Do you have your phone?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Stay here until I get in touch," he said firmly. "I mean it, April. Stay! Here!" Then reaching out, he placed his hand on her upper arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be gruff. I'm just worried about you. I don't want anything to happen to you, and you have a habit of ignoring my orders."

  "I know. Troy used to tell me if I saw a sign that said quicksand, I'd want to test it."

  "Sounds about right," he said, the edges of his lips curling into a half smile. "Try not to worry. I don't know what's going on in the house, but I have everything else figured out. I'll be in touch the minute I know what's going on in there."

  He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze, paused for just a moment, then jogged off towards the kitchen door.

  "Hey, Terrence. You'll watch out for me, right boy?"

  The dog barked, then turned and looked towards the grave.

  "That's a very good idea."

  Walking across to the headstone, she took off her jacket, laid it on the damp grass and sat down. Terrence started to lie beside her, but stopped and stared into the trees. Following his gaze, April saw the grey fog on the path. She watched, mesmerized, as it began to change its shape. Wide shoulders, became obvious, then arms and legs, and staring at the faceless head, she could almost make out Troy's features. The leaves in front of him began to rise up, forming a tight tiny vortex, then stopped, falling back to the ground. As the fog slowly dissolved, she rose to her feet and moved across to the spot. Feeling a shroud of warm comfort, she gazed down at the path and found words carved in the dirt.

  IT IS OVER.

  IT IS TIME TO LIVE.

  IT IS TIME TO BE FREE.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Unlocking the kitchen door, Jonathan moved cautiously inside. The laundry room door was open, but the tracks on the floor were pointing towards the dining room. He paused to listen. Hearing nothing he cracked the door. It was empty. Continuing on, he poked his head into the living room. Also empty. His pulse was racing, reminding him of his days with the Met. Stealthily but quickly darting into the foyer, he looked up the stairs. There were noises, but he wasn't sure what they were, then to his great relief he heard Peter offering words of reassurance.

  "Peter?"

  "Sir. Up here."

  "Where," he pressed, trotting up the stairs.

  "Master suite. Double doors at the end. Careful coming in."

  Jonathan was completely unprepared for the gruesome sight that greeted him.

  Ned's body was lying face down, a gaping hole in the center of his back and his body drenched in blood. A few feet away George was propped up against the wall. His clothes were splattered red, and his wrists were wrapped in what looked like tightly knotted pillow cases. Peter was crouched next to him, helping to hold them upright.

  "I've called an ambulance, sir. He's going in and out of consciousness. Looks like he stabbed Ned with that piece of glass, then cut his own wrists."

  "My God! Why?"

  "I don't know, sir. Ned had a gun. I kicked it over in the corner, and it looks like someone was going through April's dresser."

  "Ghost, a ghost," George mumbled. "It was a m-monster ghost."

  "He keeps saying that over and over again," Peter said. "He's panicked a couple of times."

  "You've done well, Peter."

  "Thank you, sir. Oh, Maude Jackson is in my car. Did you find Mrs. Hammond? Is she okay?"

  "Yes, she's fine. That must be the ambulance," he added, hearing the sound of an approaching siren. "I'll go down."

  As he moved quickly from the room and down the stairs, the frightened words George had muttered were ringing through his head.

  A ghost.

  He almost believed him. Jonathan knew Ned and George had returned to Hammond Hall with the sole intention of murdering April.

  "If Troy really is in the house, could he have known that?" Jonathan mumbled. "And if he did, would he have the power to kill Ned and put the glass in George's hands? No, that's ridiculous. I'm letting my imagination go wild."

  But if Troy had been responsible for the macabre a
ct, Jonathan could understand it. He remembered all too well his own desire to seek vengeance on the man who had taken Ivy away from him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After several hours of frenetic activity the house was finally quiet. Standing in the living room feeling slightly overwhelmed, April was watching Jonathan through the window. He'd been standing in the driveway deep in conversation with his two junior detectives. As they finally walked away and climbed into their cars, Jonathan headed back to the house. A moment later she heard the front door open and close.

  "April, it's over," he declared, walking in from the foyer. "You can rest easy."

  She tilted her head to the side.

  It's over. Rest easy.

  "I have a suggestion. It's been a helluva day and neither of us have eaten. How would you feel about popping over to The White Goose for a pub dinner? We can sit down, have a drink, and I'll tell you how all this insanity began and where the pieces fit."

  "Ooh, I really like the sound of that. I use one of the guest rooms upstairs as a second closet. I can shower and change in there. I won't be long."

  "Take your time. I'm going to sit down and have a shot of that great whiskey."

  "Help yourself to the bottle."

  Walking from the room and through the foyer, she started up the stairs and turned down the hall. In spite of what happened in her bedroom, she felt no trepidation as she moved past the taped off doorway. Since seeing Troy in the thicket and reading his message in the dirt, her deep heartache was slowly easing.

  LIVE. BE FREE.

  "I will," she murmured, as the image of his scrawled message danced in her mind's eye. "It will take some time, but I will."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  A short time later, Jonathan and April were walking into the cozy White Goose pub and settling into a booth.

  "Thank you for this," she said gratefully. "I'm really glad to be out, and this is perfect. It's relaxing and comfortable."

  "You're welcome. I'm glad you said yes. I needed to be here too."

  "Hammond Hall," she said with a sigh. "Even after everything that's happened I still love it. I'm going to research its history. I want to know what other dramas its walls have witnessed."

  "I'm sure it has a colorful past. What would you like to drink?"

  "A glass of cabernet," then taking a breath, she asked, "Do you know if they serve Yorkshire Pudding and roast beef?"

  "They do."

  "And Sticky Toffee Pudding?"

  "They certainly do, and it's excellent."

  Jonathan was surprised. Considering the traumatic day she seemed remarkably upbeat.

  "I'll think I'll join you for a glass of wine. I'll get us a bottle."

  "Don't they have table service?"

  "I need a drink right now, and I think you do too."

  "I do. Thanks."

  As he rose from the table and headed to the bar, she closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and let the memory take hold. Her first date with Troy had been at a pub in London called The Tartan Tavern. She'd had Yorkshire Pudding and roast beef for the first time, then he'd introduced her to Sticky Toffee Pudding with ice-cream. Every year, on the anniversary of that first date, they found a pub and enjoyed the same meal. Although it wasn't their anniversary, when the thought had floated through her head when she'd sat down, it had felt right. Jonathan returned as the waitress arrived to take their order. She poured the rich Cabernet into the bulbous glasses, and as she moved away, he smiled across the table.

  "Would you like to make the toast?"

  "I would. Live and be free."

  "Those are wise words. May I ask who said them?"

  "A man who loved life," she replied, silently adding, and who loved me.

  Jonathan knew it was Troy she'd been quoting, and he could see her fighting a rush of emotion, but he also saw it quickly pass.

  "So, April, shall we fill in the blanks? Do you want to take a guess who was behind all the mayhem?"

  "Ned and George, obviously, but who is the woman? I thought it was Maude."

  "Initially I wondered about her, but I've lived in this village for five years. I've had dealings with her and the vicar. She's a sweet lady with a good heart. She's part of a complex history, but she's not involved with any of the madness."

  "I know about Ned being in love with her, and Foster seducing her. It's so sad."

  "I don't think Foster's involvement in Maude's young life had anything to do with Ned's failure to win her over. That became his excuse. He's a nasty man, and I suspect his nature was obvious even back then. I'll bet if you asked her, she'd tell you she wanted nothing to do with him, Foster or no Foster. I've seen her and her husband together. It's a real relationship. She married him because she loved him."

  "I'm glad you think so. She's been very good to me. It was upsetting to think she could have anything to do with all the craziness."

  "Getting back to Ned! I knew from the start he didn't have the brains to deal with expensive works of art, let alone how they could be sold."

  "You're saying Ned was a lackey?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying. It was Sylvie who set this whole thing in motion, and she started it years ago."

  "Oh, my gosh."

  "An old informant of mine confirmed her dirty dealings. She'll be arrested any time now. Whether Charles and her mother will be implicated is still a question mark, but I have a feeling they weren't involved."

  "But Troy is her brother."

  "A brother, who, like Foster, refused to follow the family traditions. Sylvie needed money to keep her gallery afloat, and fresh inventory to please her customers. She told Ned what to steal from Hammond Hall, had him deliver the items to her in London, and made his wife open an account in a bank there. Sylvie also made sure Ned was careful with his local deposits. When we raid his house I suspect we'll find plenty of hidden cash."

  "But why did she have to, uh, do what she did to Troy?"

  "The family has wanted Hammond Hall and its treasures for a long time, and her operation was about to come to a screeching halt. To make matters worse, Troy told the family you would be his beneficiary."

  "Oh, dear."

  "Getting rid of Troy was supposed to send you packing. I think Troy was supposed to go down to the cellar that night and not come back, but George will have to confirm that."

  "I don't understand."

  "If Troy had disappeared into thin air, and really scary things began happening around the house, when you were made an offer would you have stayed?"

  "I see your point."

  "But Ned and George messed things up. Troy was fit, and when they attacked him, he managed to get away. He fought them all the way from the cellar to foyer. In a panic they moved him to make it look like he'd fallen down the stairs, then bolted back to the cellar and turned on the lights. They had to in order to clean up their mess."

  "Oh, my God."

  "Sorry, is this too much?"

  "No, no. Keep going."

  "I'm sure Sylvie was absolutely furious, and when you didn't leave you had to be disposed of as well. She came to take care of you herself. She tried to poison you just a couple of days ago."

  "No!"

  "She was staying in the servants' quarters. Those were her footprints we saw."

  "I can't believe what I'm hearing."

  "But you weren't eating, then Maude showed up with her casserole. The night Terrence woke us up, Sylvie had come out of the servants' quarters to make sure you'd had it for dinner, but we'd had pizza."

  "But Jonathan, you would have eaten it too."

  "So much the better. You'd be gone, and my death would have resulted in a huge wrench being thrown into the investigation. And poor Maude. She would have been blamed for giving you a tainted casserole. Accidentally, of course."

  "This is positively evil."

  "Yes, well, murderers usually are."

  "But how do you know Sylvie tried to poison the casserole?"

  "You and I
both wondered why someone would break in when they must have known we were home. It got me thinking. The culprit must have thought we were knocked out, and that casserole was the only food that had come into the house from the outside, except for the pizza, but that was too spontaneous. They found Sylvie's fingerprints on the dish, and enough Salmonella in the casserole to kill."

  "How did you know they were her fingerprints?"

  "She was in the system. She'd been picked up for shoplifting a few years ago."

  "Sylvie? Shoplifting? What the hell?"

  "It was probably done on a whim. She was fined and that was that, but she was fingerprinted."

  "The night of the storm she discovered she'd failed, I assume that's when she decided to use Ned after all."

  "Unbelievable. You don't think she'll still come after me, do you?"

  "Hardly, besides, Terrence is in the house, and so am I."

  "From your lips," she said, raising her eyebrows. "What about that shawl pin we found in the foyer?"

  "It has no relevance to the crime. Just a coincidence. You'll get it back tomorrow. Tell me what Ben's mother said about Margaret Finch."

  "Jonathan, it's such a sad story. You already know Margaret died in childbirth. One of Margaret's dearest friends was there. It was a bizarre twist of fate. She was married, but she was unable to have children. Foster financed an extended trip for her and her husband, and when they came back they had a baby. Even though Foster wasn't the father, he took care of this person throughout their life. But the tragedy is more than just Margaret dying. The reason Foster didn't want to marry was a noble one. He knew he couldn't have children, and he didn't want to deprive a woman of that great blessing. He and Margaret were deeply in love, and Margaret refused to accept his decision. She set out to become pregnant. She had sex with several men in London so she'd never have to worry about who the father was. If she hadn't died they would have married and he would have raised the child as his own, but he wasn't equipped to be a single parent, and he was heartbroken. From what Ruth said, he could barely cope for months after her death."