by Alex P. Berg
I swore again and considered my options. I could mount the faux balcony’s banister and climb back to the roof to keep searching for the real balcony I’d dropped down to the last time, but I wasn’t sure the railing would support my weight, and I didn’t relish the thought of putting more distance between myself and the ground. Or I could truncheon my way through the window and climb on through, but I’d undoubtedly ruin my jacket, if not sever any number of major arteries in the process. Then there was option number three, to continue my downward traverse, down rough bricks and the shutters of second story windows en route to the ground, where a host of other opportunities would present themselves.
I couldn’t explain what fit of lunacy caused me to choose option three, but I blamed the lingering effects of the same mental fog that afflicted Nell. I swung my feet over the railing and settled them on the lip of the windowsill underneath me. The entire structure groaned and creaked under my weight, sending my heart racing. I grappled down it with superhuman, fear-fueled speed and dropped the last ten feet, landing as lightly as a two hundred pound man could. Sending a silent prayer to the gods above for their mercy, I crossed to the nearest set of back doors and tested them, but to no avail. Like the window above, they remained locked.
That I more or less expected given nightfall’s arrival, but I still couldn’t help a rising tide of uncertainty from creeping in at the dusty, cobweb-ridden corners of my mind. I’d yet to spot a single lit lantern or torch within the estate’s walls, nor had I heard cries or shouts or any mumbled whispers. I had exited Angela’s painting into the world through which I’d entered, right? There couldn’t possibly be additional portals to additional worlds, could there?
I banished the conspiracy theories and took off at a jog around the side of the mansion. The back might be locked, but certainly I could rouse someone at the front. Only if that should fail would I resort to letting Daisy take her frustrations out on glass panes.
As I rounded the southern edge of the mansion and turned toward the front, signs of life finally greeted me. Lanterns burned bright at regular intervals, including one that hung from the enormous mitt of a security guard in a trench coat. Or rather not a security guard, as a second glance revealed the big lug’s gleaming head to be that of a grayish half-troll rather than the darker-hued one of an ogre.
“Quinto?”
The man mountain turned at the sound of my voice. He lifted the lantern to banish away the dark of night. “Daggers?”
I crossed the space between us with a few lengthy strides. The big guy swallowed me in a hug as soon as I entered snatching range.
“Holy harvest, where have you been? Daggers, we’ve been looking all over for you. You’ve had everyone worried sick, Steele most of all.”
I clapped the guy on the side and managed to pull out of his loving death grip. “Good to see you, too, big guy. How long have you been here? Did you arrive today? Please tell me it hasn’t been a week or something.”
The detective’s big, bushy eyebrows knitted. “A week? What are you talking about? You feeling okay?”
“So you arrived today? You got my message this morning? From a street urchin with greasy, shoulder-length hair and the world’s worst beard, I hope?”
“Yeah. The kid arrived before lunch. Said you’d sent him and needed Rodgers’ and my assistance, so the captain sent us over. But when we arrived you were nowhere to be found. We’ve been searching for you ever since, fearing the worst.”
“Good.” I nodded, feeling relived I hadn’t spent years within the painting while my brain trudged forward at a fraction of the same speed.
“Good?” Quinto narrowed an eye. “What do you mean, good? Seriously, what the hell is going on? It’s not like you to disappear, especially not without telling Steele. Well, you did that one time when you went undercover, but that turned out to be on the Captain’s instructions. You know what I mean.”
“I do, and I’ll explain eventually, I promise. But first, I need to find Steele. I may have cracked this case wide open while I was gone, but I’m going to need help sorting through the details.”
“You bet,” said Quinto. “Come with me. I bet I can rouse them.”
36
Quinto pushed his way through the enormous doors at the front of the estate and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Anyone around? I’m at the front. I found Daggers.”
“Well, technically, I found you,” I said, as his voice bounced around the entrance hall and faded into the corridors.
“Really? You’re going to quibble about my terminology?”
I smiled. “You know I’m a stickler for proper credit.”
Footsteps clattered on the hardwood floor, and a pair of individuals turned a corner: Vezig leading the way in a sharp suit, closely followed by Lothorien in his black and white.
“Detective,” said Lothorien breathlessly. “My goodness, sir, it’s good to see you. We’ve been looking all over for you. When Detective Steele and your newly arrived compatriots couldn’t locate you this afternoon, well, we all feared…”
“Yes, I think I can suspect what you feared,” I said. “But I’m fine. Physically, anyway. A little frazzled, perhaps. Anyway, I need to find Steele. Anyone know where she is?”
“I saw her about fifteen minutes ago in the main library,” said Vezig. “Looking for you, as is most everyone else.”
Steele had drafted the house staff into the search? She must’ve been really worried. “Great. Lead the way.”
We set off at a trot, with Vezig heading the quartet and Quinto bringing up the rear. Despite the manor’s size, it didn’t take us more than a minute to reach the library, into which we burst upon arriving.
I thought I’d grown used to the sheer size of the Aldermont, but I was wrong. I forced my jaw back up at the sight of so many books, two and a half stories worth, arranged around the perimeter on the first floor and the second, accessible via twin spiral staircases and by a balcony which swept all four walls. Freestanding bookcases lined the floor, interspersed with couches and loveseats and illuminated by a preponderance of lanterns.
A head popped around the edge of one of the bookshelves, one with long, chocolate brown hair and angelic features. “Daggers?”
Shay shot forth and slammed into me, wrapping me in a hug that made Quinto’s seem like a friendly squeeze. Where Steele developed the power, I had no idea.
“Good gods, Daggers,” said Shay, her face pressed into the side of my neck. “I was so worried. Nobody knew where you’d gone, who you’d talked to, or even what you’d been up to when you disappeared. When Quinto and Rodgers arrived having gotten your message, I knew something was wrong. You wouldn’t have sent for them without good reason, but for you to then disappear without a trace? Gods, Jake, I didn’t want to think the worst, but…”
I couldn’t move my arms, but I could give Vezig and Lothorien a nod. “Guys? A minute, if you don’t mind? Quinto, you can stay.”
The ogre and the elf nodded and exited the library, closing the door behind them. Shay filled her lungs with air, letting it out in a long, labored sigh that related her concern better than her words did.
“Shay. I’m so sorry. I…”
My partner released me from her grip, stepped back, and slammed me in the chest with a fist. Hard.
“What the hell is wrong with you Jake? How dare you disappear on me like that? We were supposed to split up, me to talk to Iolite and you to talk to Lothorien. I’m not sure how you go from that to, ‘I’m going to vanish into thin air without a trace, without telling a single soul what I’m up to.’ What in the world were you thinking?”
“Hey, I didn’t disappear on purpose. I didn’t plan any of this.”
“You didn’t?” She leveled a stern glance my way. “Well, you certainly don’t seem any worse for wear, so enlighten me. If you weren’t off investigating the case on your own, what the hell were you doing? Where were you exactly, while I was suffering, thi
nking you imprisoned or badly injured or worse.”
“That’s an excellent question. And one that’s extremely hard to answer.”
Shay lifted both of her brows. “I’m listening.”
“Well, as it turns out, I, ah…found a solid lead on Nell’s disappearance. Although I think it may only be tangentially related to Clarice’s murder.”
“Clarice’s murder?” said Steele. “Is that a suspicion, or did you find something to corroborate that, too?”
Now it was my time to play eyebrow games. “I did. What did you find?”
“I didn’t say I found anything.”
“You used the adverb ‘too.’ As in, also, in addition to, or as well.”
“I meant that in conjunction with your lead on Nell’s disappearance.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “But you did find something, didn’t you?”
“I asked you first.”
I smiled. “You asked if I found anything. I said I did. I asked you what you found.”
Shay groaned and turned to Quinto. “Has he been this obtuse and infuriating since you found him?”
“Technically, he found me,” said Quinto. “And to be honest, more or less, yes. But we didn’t have time to talk. He said he’d explain his disappearance later, that he wanted to find you first and foremost.”
“How sweet,” said Shay, regarding me with mock appreciation.
“Go on,” I said. “I’ll make you the same promise. I’ll tell you everything I know, describe my afternoon in detail, and I’ll show you what I came across, because words won’t do it justice, but only after you tell me what you’ve learned over the past eight hours.”
“What a deal,” said Shay, “but fine. I suppose you deserve to know what happened in your absence, especially given that I made a fairly substantive discovery.”
I cocked my head. “Being?”
“I found what I believe to be evidence of Clarice’s murder.”
I blinked, somehow taken aback despite the fact that I’d already found her body—maybe because of it. “Where?”
“I’ll show you. Come on. I’ll explain as we walk.”
Shay led the way out of the library. Lothorien and Vezig didn’t wait for us at the door, so I assumed whatever revelations Shay had discovered hadn’t cast the pair in a negative light. Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t have engaged their services in searching for me.
Steele spoke as she walked. “So, this morning following our rendezvous in the kitchen, I tracked down Iolite and spoke to her. Unfortunately, she didn’t tell me anything that she’d neglected to mention in our first meeting, but I did get a general sense of her unease. Unlike your initial supposition that she was protecting someone with her silence, I felt she was simply nervous. Afraid, either for her personal safety or her job or both. On the basis of that analysis, I decided I needed to interview the one person we hadn’t yet been able to track down. Iolite’s mother, Opal.
“It took me a while, but find her I eventually did. She wasn’t any more forthcoming with facts than her daughter, but if anything, her demeanor was even more skittish and uncertain. And she definitely didn’t want to provide me with theories about what might’ve happened to Mrs. Vanderfeller. Why, I asked myself? Her reasons must’ve been similar to Iolite’s. Fear, but of physical retaliation, or otherwise? If the first, then she might fear anyone in the household, but of the later, she must fear one of the Vanderfellers who was in a position of power.”
“Marcus or Sydney, then.” I had a sudden vision of Sydney, fingering that smooth, marble globe obsessively, followed by Clarice’s bashed in skull. The size of the wound seemed about right…
“Exactly,” said Steele as we mounted a set of stairs. “Now, it was about this time, after lunch, that I began to wonder what had happened to you. When Rodgers and Quinto arrived, my curiosity reached critical mass. We split up to search for you. I wasn’t particularly worried at first, and I figured my investigation could do double duty. I started the search in Marcus’s quarters, wondering if I might find anything there. I didn’t, so I moved onto his office. Lo and behold, I found something I’d missed the first time. Most of it had been cleaned up, but not all of it.”
“Blood?”
Shay nodded. “A pair of tiny splatters on one of the book’s top edges. Took some searching to find, too. The floors, walls, and shelving had been thoroughly cleaned, but blood has a way of spraying. It’s hard to get every last drop.”
“And you suspect it’s Clarice’s?”
“There’s no way of being certain without the body. Marcus certainly isn’t suffering from any paper cuts, but I didn’t have much time to give it thought. At this point, we were all starting to get concerned about your well-being, and I feared the blood might be yours. I pushed the matter aside.”
“So where’s Marcus?”
“Waiting in his office. When presented with the blood, he was adamant he knew nothing about it, and that he’d wait patiently while we searched for you to discuss the matter in more detail. To his credit, he was sincere and contrite. Worried, too.”
“Hold on. You found evidence to suggest Marcus killed his own wife, and you left him alone in the room where it may have happened because he seemed contrite?”
“Please, Daggers, I’m not an idiot,” said Steele. “Of course I didn’t leave him there alone. Rodgers is guarding the door. It was either him or Quinto, and Quinto was otherwise occupied at the time. Now, to be fair, we probably should’ve held him elsewhere, but cut me some slack. We were seriously worried about you at this point, and while I found a spot of blood, that’s far from enough to charge Marcus with anything. His continued assistance was and still is one of our greatest assets in solving Clarice’s disappearance. Ah. There’s Rodgers.”
The closed office doors came into view, outside of which stood Gordon Rodgers. The poor guy looked sleepy, as if he’d never recovered from his all-nighter, but he perked up upon spotting us. He rushed over, clapping me on the back and shaking my hand simultaneously.
“Gosh darn, it, Daggers. There you are. Where did you find this clown? Hiding under a pile of rocks? He wasn’t drunk was he?”
Quinto shrugged. “He doesn’t smell like alcohol, and he’s not covered with grass and gravel, but I’m not ruling it out yet. So far, he refuses to tell us what the heck he was up to all afternoon. Depending on the story he comes up with, that might determine whether he spent the last six hours in a ditch.”
“I wasn’t in a ditch,” I said. “It’s just that…the circumstances that led to my momentary disappearance are rather unbelievable, to say the least. Speaking of which, do we have eyes on Angela?”
“Angela?” said Shay. “Why? Do you have reason to believe she’s behind this?”
“Clarice’s murder?” I shook my head. “But Nell’s disappearance? Absolutely.”
“Seriously?” Shay lifted a brow. “How—?”
My partner’s question was lost amid a sudden explosion of noise coming from behind the closed office doors. Someone shouted, maybe more than one, and a crash sounded out.
Rodgers’ look of confusion indicated he had as little idea of what was going on as the rest of us. “What the hell?”
I didn’t wait for the situation to explain itself. I rushed forward and did what I do best, launching my boot into the center of the double doors.
37
The wood splintered as it flew in, revealing anything but Marcus in quiet contemplation. The elder Vanderfeller grappled on the floor with his younger doppelganger, Bertrand, the two of them grunting and squawking and slamming into furniture as they tried to land blows. One of the bookshelves on the far side of the room had swung away from the wall, revealing a pitch black gap in the stone.
“You killed her, didn’t you!” shouted Marcus as he threw awkward, half-strength blows at Bertrand from the confines of their mutual grip. “You little bastard! How could you!”
“Stop it! Sto
p it!” yelled Bertrand. “I’m trying to save you, you fool! I’m trying to protect you!”
I dove into the pile, as did Quinto. Together, we separated the pair with ease. Quinto pulled Marcus off Bertrand and deposited the man in his desk chair, his hair mussed, his shirt torn, and his eyes wild. I wrestled Bertrand to his feet, the young man easily the worse for wear of the pair. Blood trailed down his chin, and an angry, red welt underneath his right eye promised to swell in short order.
The pair kept yelling at one another despite being removed from arm’s length.
“You little sneak thief!” shouted Marcus. “How dare you? To think I took you in. Cared for you. This is how you repay me?”
“You’ve lost it, old man! I came here for you. To help you. I never laid hands on your wife, although we both know the opposite isn’t true.”
“Shut up, both of you,” I said, shaking Bertrand. “What the hell is going on here? Rodgers, you didn’t let this guy in, did you?”
“Nope. It was just Mr. Vanderfeller. I might’ve nodded off a time or two, but I was at the door the whole time. Although I’m pretty sure that’s not how he entered.”
Rodgers’ eyes shifted to the black hole in the wall, which had attracted Shay’s interests as well. My partner stood at the base of the opening, peering into the darkness.
“Daggers,” she said. “Come take a look at this.”
I passed Bertrand off to Rodgers and followed Steele to the gaping hole. On closer inspection, the built-in bookshelf hadn’t been pushed away from the wall. Rather the thing was on hinges. Someone had swung the system away from the wall behind it—from the inside.
The dark entryway led to a passage breezy enough to allow entry without ducking or sucking in one’s stomach. Old bricks lined the walls, and a tangy must hung in the air, just as in the subbasement passage through which Bertrand had surprised me. Clearly the system extended far past the edges of the manor’s roots as I’d initially suspected.