“This is the one that goes out to the front hall,” she said, indicating the door on the left. “The one you don’t notice from out there.” She pushed it partly open, giving Callie and Lyssa a glimpse into the area of the house they’d just passed through. “And this is the office door.” Paula tapped the one opposite. She slid a key into its lock and turned it.
The door swung open to reveal a windowless room with a desk, two chairs, and a large file cabinet. A printer sat on a low table in the corner, against the back wall, with an overly large framed print looming above it. The walls were paneled in dark wood.
Lyssa grunted. “Ugh! What a dungeon. I can’t imagine being holed up in here for any length of time.”
Paula switched on the overhead lights, which brightened the room.
Callie stepped in, noting that the air was fairly fresh. Ceiling vents apparently kept the warm or cool air circulating as needed. “Did Ashby spend a lot of time here?” she asked Paula.
“I guess. I didn’t really pay attention. I had my own work to do. He didn’t always leave through the kitchen, either. Sometimes I’d go back to ask him something and found he’d left by that hall door.”
“Handy,” Lyssa said. She stepped out to try the hall door herself. It opened easily and silently.
Callie circled the possibly twelve-by-twelve room, not knowing exactly what she was looking for but trying to take everything in. “Is this an outside wall?” she asked, tapping on the wall directly opposite the door. The paneling, she noted, was elaborate, with molding that framed large squares from floor to ceiling.
Paula shook her head. “There’s a storeroom on the other side, half pantry, half catch-all. That room has the outside wall and a window. You get to it from the kitchen.”
“So it seems like this room was blocked off to make the office and the narrow passage with access to the hallway,” Callie said. “The first time I was here I rang a small brass bell that was on the hall table. Cliff Ashby popped out through that invisible door within a minute. Could he hear the bell through these two doors?”
“I doubt it,” Paula said. “The bell was there to alert me if he wasn’t around. He thought it added a Victorian touch. But he had a security camera connected to his computer. Without any windows, he could still see who was coming in.”
“Where is his computer?” Lyssa asked. “Oh, wait. The police probably carried it off, right?”
Paula nodded. “And things from his desk and the file cabinet over there.”
Callie glanced at the file cabinet, perhaps five feet tall, then gazed around the room one more time. There wasn’t very much to see. She moved closer to a framed photo on the wall. It was of Clifford Ashby’s retirement party, the clue coming from an overhead banner, and she remembered Jane saying he had worked in the court system in Annapolis. She scoured the faces and finally spotted Dorothy some distance from Clifford and not appearing to be having a good time, despite the corsage pinned to her dress and the drink in her hand.
Callie slid open the desk drawers, one by one, but all that was left were basic supplies such as notepads, staplers, and paper clips. She left the office and turned to her right, taking three or four steps down the short passageway to where it ended beneath the hall stairs. The area there was dark and shadowy, so she pulled out her cell phone and switched on the flashlight app. All it illuminated were dust and cobwebs that obviously hadn’t been disturbed for some time.
She went back to the office. Lyssa had opened the file cabinet drawers. “Nothing interesting,” she pronounced. “Shall we move on?”
“Sure. Is George Cole in his room?”
“You want to see Mr. Cole’s room!” Paula asked, surprised. “I can’t let you in without his permission.”
“It’s okay. He told me he wouldn’t mind,” Callie said, heading back to the kitchen.
“And he’s in there,” Lyssa said.
“But what do you think you’d find there?” Paula asked.
“We won’t know until we find it,” Lyssa said with a grin. “Probably nothing.”
“Seems like a waste of time, then,” Paula said, not returning the grin.
Paula was obviously growing annoyed, so Callie asked if they were keeping her from heading on home.
“No,” she said, shoving her hands into her deep apron pockets. “I’ve been staying here at the inn since the murder, in one of the smaller rooms. We had cancellations, so there was space available.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Callie said. “Dorothy Ashby will appreciate that, I’m sure.”
Paula nodded with a small smile. “I can’t do it too long. She’ll have to decide what she wants to do with the inn. Keep it or sell it. I know there’s someone who’s interested in buying.”
“Is there?” Lyssa asked. “Who’s that?”
“Vernon Parks. I think he was a friend of Clifford Ashby.”
“So Dorothy would know about this?”
Paula shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”
“Well, I want to head upstairs,” Lyssa said. “Ready?”
Callie nodded and began to turn toward the kitchen until Lyssa stopped her.
“Might as well take the short cut through the hidden door.”
“Oh, right!” Callie placed her hand on the door and pushed it open, feeling like she was part of a magic act as she stepped through to the hall. Ashby must have loved springing that surprise on people. With anyone else, Callie would have taken it as childish fun. With Ashby, though, it had a sinister tinge.
The door closed silently behind them, disappearing into the wood paneling. Paula had gone directly to the kitchen, so Callie headed over to the stairway, stepping aside to let Lyssa lead the way to George Cole’s room, which she did with energy.
“We’re here, George,” she cried, giving two sharp raps to his door.
Cole opened it quickly. He had a paperback book in one hand, one finger marking the page he’d been reading.
“Are we interrupting?” Lyssa asked, nodding toward the book.
“Not at all. Just passing the time, but in a good way.” He held it up. “It’s one of yours.”
Lyssa laughed. “You’ve found the way to my heart, George Cole, you devil, you.” Cole laughed, too, but Callie noticed a blush creep into his cheeks. “So, where’s that ghost closet of yours?” Lyssa asked.
Cole led them across the room, whose decor was in keeping with the Victorian style of the inn with flowered wallpaper and heavy curtains over the window. A comfy-looking chair still rocked slightly from its recent occupant. The closet was at the far right-hand corner, adjacent to the bathroom, whose door was partly open. Cole slid the closet door open to reveal a dark suit hanging beside two shirts, khaki pants, and a windbreaker. The long back of the closet was against the wall that separated Cole’s room from the next one. He pushed aside the suit and rapped at the closet’s short end on the left.
“That’s where the creaky noise I heard seemed to come from.” He stepped aside to let them see.
Lyssa tapped several times at the panel. “It doesn’t sound solid, does it?”
Callie had been eying the room’s outside wall and comparing it to the closet’s inside length. “The closet doesn’t extend all the way to the outside wall, although it appears to with the door closed.
Lyssa stepped out to see. “You’re right. The closet is shorter inside than it looks from out here. By about two, maybe three feet, I’d say.”
“Wide enough for someone to stand in?” Callie asked.
“Maybe,” Cole said. “But how would they get there? Perhaps it’s just a heating duct, or space for pipes?”
“That’s one possibility.” Lyssa pressed an ear against the narrow end. “No sound of anything: running water, rushing air, or creaks. We should look at the room next door. It’s empty, right?”
When C
ole nodded, Lyssa said, “Good. I’ve got Paula’s keys.”
She led the way out to the next door, unlocking it quickly. They all marched in and over to the closet in the left hand corner, against the dividing wall from Cole’s room. A quick examination showed it to be identical to George Cole’s closet, with its shorter inside length and hollow-sounding end panel.
“Hmm,” Lyssa said. “Now I’ve got to check my own closet.
Lyssa’s room was on the opposite side of the hall. It was larger than Cole’s, with a four-poster bed and broader view of the landscape. Her closet was also larger and crammed with many more clothes.
“No secret compartment as far as I can tell,” she said, after struggling through hanging tops, pants, and jackets to reach all the closet walls. “Mine is against the hallway wall, so that’s the difference. We should probably look at the rest of the rooms on George’s side.”
They went into the two remaining rooms on Cole’s side of the hallway. Both had the same arrangement as his, with closets hugging the outside wall and mysterious end panels.
“Okay,” Lyssa said, hands on her hips. “So what does that tell us?”
“That something is behind the wall of Mr. Cole’s closet and possibly the other closets on his side of the inn. But we don’t know what.”
“It’s a pretty narrow space,” Cole reminded her. “I think it’s for utilities, myself, though not being much into building construction I couldn’t say exactly what.”
“So, what do we attribute the creaking noises you heard to?” Lyssa asked. “Water pipes or heating ducts?”
Cole shrugged. “Wood shrinkage or expansion?”
“Ghosts?” Lyssa said it with a combination of humor and wishfulness.
“The major question is what it has to do with Clifford Ashby’s murder,” Callie pointed out. “Right now, I don’t see any connection, but it’s still an unanswered question which I’d like the answer to. Remember how Mike, Brian’s brother-in-law, said he’s a construction inspector?” she asked Lyssa. “Maybe he can help us.”
“Great idea! Call and get him over here.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Callie said, smiling. “But I’ll see if I can get him soon.”
They all agreed that would be their next step. As they said goodbye, George Cole asked about Lyssa’s book event.
“It’s Tuesday evening. At the park, right?” Lyssa turned to Callie for confirmation.
“Right.” Which gives me four more days to get everything ready, Callie thought with a slight feeling of panic. But she smiled confidently at the guest and star of the event, who shouldn’t have to worry about any behind-the-scenes hassles. “It’ll be a terrific night!” she added. Assuming it doesn’t storm, that people actually show up, that the sound system is in place, and, and, and …
Thirteen
The next morning, Callie was finishing her breakfast when she heard a tap at the cottage door. Glancing out the living room window, she was surprised to see Brian on the doorstep.
“Hi!” she cried, pulling open the door. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to come by this early. But I wanted to tell you something before I opened the café.”
Callie waved him in. She was holding her mug of coffee but didn’t bother to offer Brian a cup. Besides making superior coffee himself at his café, his body language fairly shouted not much time!
“My car club met last night,” he said, referring to the club for antique car enthusiasts that Callie had heard him mention occasionally. “After the meeting, a few of us went out for beer. One of the guys is a deputy with our local police.”
“Oh!”
Brian dropped onto the sofa, apparently not noticing Jagger, who’d been cleaning himself nearby and leapt away with jack-in-the-box swiftness. Callie sank onto a chair.
“Clifford Ashby’s murder case has been turned over to the state police, so this guy, Jason, isn’t involved anymore, though maybe he still shouldn’t be saying anything about it. But after a couple of beers, he let slip something that came up early on in the case.”
Callie was all ears. “Yes?”
“A friend of Clifford Ashby’s pointed the finger at Dorothy almost immediately after the murder was discovered. A guy name Vernon Parks.”
“Vernon Parks!”
“You know him?”
“I heard his name just last night. Paula, the woman who’s been keeping the inn going, told us Vernon Parks has an eye on buying the place.”
“Well, that’s interesting.”
“Isn’t it? He’d have a motive for having Dorothy charged with murder. But does he have a motive for murder?”
Brian shook his head. “He has the perfect alibi. Apparently he’s a friend of our police chief, and they were both out of town that night at a golf tournament. The chief hurried back when the murder was discovered the next morning, and Parks came with him. He had the chief’s ear with his opinion of Dorothy.”
“But the chief isn’t in charge of the case anymore.”
“No. But we have to assume that everything was passed on to the state police.”
“I imagine so,” Callie said. “Did Jason indicate they were following any other leads?”
Brian shook his head. “That’s all he said about it.”
“Hmm. How good of a friend are you with him? ”
Brian smiled. “He was looking for someone to help him with a job on his ’58 Ford. I could volunteer.”
“That would be very generous of you. And maybe take along a few beers? You know, in case you and he get thirsty.”
“I just might,” Brian said, grinning wider. He glanced at the clock. “Gotta go,” he said, popping up from the couch.
“Thanks for the info,” Callie said. “I’ll see if I can talk to Dorothy about Vernon Parks.”
Brian nodded and dashed out the door. Callie’s thoughts churned as she stood in her open doorway, still holding her coffee mug, until she shook herself to get started on her own day. She longed to get on her laptop and run a search on Vernon Parks, but that would have to wait. First she had to open up House of Melody. Saturdays were often her busiest day of the week, but she hoped to catch a moment to investigate.
The moment came after several browsing customers left her shop later that morning, one clutching a purchase of a favorite of Callie’s: an angel figure outlined in crystals, which rotated on its base as the music played, casting rainbow colors as it caught the light. When the shop door had closed behind them, Callie hurried back to the office and opened her laptop.
Typing Vernon Parks’s name and “Maryland” into the search box brought up plenty of hits. After rejecting several that were obviously not right (assuming Parks was not ninety-nine years old nor a retired clown of Barnum and Bailey’s), she zeroed in on the correct man.
Parks, she discovered, had owned a brunch-and-lunch place in Annapolis, as the caption of a newspaper photo of him stated. It was a place apparently frequented by many state and city employees as well as passing tourists. So that might be a connection to Clifford and Dorothy Ashby, who had worked in Annapolis. She also found his name mentioned in golf articles, which gave his current place of residence as Mapleton. That probably explained his friendship with Mapleton’s chief of police. But there was nothing that offered a clue as to why Vernon Parks would be so quick to point a finger at Dorothy in her husband’s murder. She would have to find that out from Dorothy herself.
As she waited for Tabitha to arrive, Callie placed a call to the Barbarios, hoping to catch Mike at home. Annie answered, and Callie explained why she hoped to get her husband over to the Foxwood Inn.
“I’m sure he’d do it if he were in town,” Annie said. “But Mike is off on one of his work trips. He won’t be back until late Monday.”
“Darn! Lyssa’s book event is Tuesday, which will be a super busy day. So we’l
l have to put off any inspection of the inn until after that.”
“I’ll tell him what you need the next time he calls,” Annie said. “He’ll work something out.”
“Thanks, Annie.” Callie hung up, disappointed at the delay. But a call concerning the book event came soon after and perked her up.
“Miz Reed? Del Hodges here.” Callie recognized the name of the farmer she’d contacted about the hay wagon and held her breath until he added, “The wagon’s set, so’s I can bring it just about any time. When do you want it?”
She thought about that. The weather prediction was frustratingly iffy. “Will the hay go bad if it gets rained on?”
Hodges chuckled. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll tie a tarp over the bales. You can pull it off anytime, no problem.”
“Great! Then bring the wagon whenever it works for you between now and, say, Tuesday morning.”
“Will do.”
Callie hung up just as Tabitha walked in. So focused was she on the many things she needed to do that she barely registered what her assistant was wearing that day. Or perhaps Tabitha’s creative attire had become the expected unexpected, barely triggering a reaction anymore? Whichever it was, Callie was happy to see her.
“I need to run over to Stitches Thru Time for a minute,” she said, grabbing her cell phone and waving it to show she would, as always, be reachable. “I’ll catch you up on things when I get back, okay?”
“Sure, no problem,” Tabitha said cheerily.
Callie held the door for two arriving customers before taking off, knowing they’d be in good hands while she was gone. She had thought of simply calling Dorothy, but she’d decided that seeing the woman’s reaction was important. After all, she had leaped into this investigation on pure faith and conviction that her older friend could never be capable of the awful crime she was suspected of. That faith needed to be bolstered once in a while with face-to-face, look-in-the-eye conversations. If Jane protested that her cousin must not be disturbed, Callie would apologize but insist.
Happily, that wasn’t necessary. Jane, who was once again minding the vintage sewing shop, gave no argument. “Just let me give her a head’s up,” she said. She called the cottage, spoke briefly, then nodded to Callie. “Go on back. She’s glad to see you.”
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