Case of the Highland House Haunting

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  I leaned forward so that I could get a better look at the picture Katherine was tapping. From my upside-down vantage point, it looked like a matronly lady cooking something on a huge, antique gas stove. Well, I guess back then, those giant stoves were the norm.

  “Is that your grandmother?” I asked. “And she’s cooking something?”

  “Heavens above,” Katherine sighed. “You aren’t that observant, are you?”

  Jillian giggled softly.

  “I’m talking about this here. Through this doorway? What can you see?”

  “Crates,” I reported. “Lots of crates, and they look like they’re stacked all the way to the ceiling.”

  Katherine was nodding, “Exactly. Now, what do you think are in those crates?”

  Jillian crossed her arms over her chest as she considered her answer.

  “What was the year?”

  Katherine peeled back the protective plastic covering the photo and peered at the back.

  “1924.”

  “Right smack in the middle of Prohibition,” Jillian softly mused. “It’s booze. Alcohol. Something which had been deemed illegal to possess.”

  “That’s right. Good for you, dear. Now, why do you think I showed you those two pictures?”

  “Stolen paintings,” I began, “and crates of booze. So, that’s how the Highlands earned their money. Smuggling?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Katherine sighed, and leaned back in her chair.

  I glanced down at the open album and spotted the photo on the opposite page. I immediately recognized Dame Highland. She and another woman, who looked to be the same age, were standing next to a slick, gleaming car that looked as though it could belong to Bugsy Malone.

  I whistled appreciatively.

  “She was a looker, wasn’t she?” Katherine idly commented.

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I guess so.” I leaned forward to tap the picture of the car. “I was actually referring to this. That’s a nice looking car.”

  Katherine nodded knowingly, “Aunt Hilda’s car. She told me she purchased that car on her 21st birthday. Aunt Hilda loved that car more than anything.”

  “What kind is it?” I asked, as I peered closely at the picture. “It doesn’t look like a Ford. I mean, it’s kinda shaped like a Model A, but it looks flatter. Stretched, even.”

  “It’s not a Model A,” Katherine confirmed. “She told me once what type it was, only… I’m sorry. I don’t remember what it is. If I think of it, then I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “It’s not important,” Jillian assured the elderly woman. “Do you know the identity of the other woman?”

  Katherine’s eyes dropped to the album and she smiled.

  “Why, that’s my mother, of course. Penelope. She and Hilda were as close as sisters could be.”

  “That’s sweet,” Jillian softly murmured. “They look very happy together. From the looks of things, I’d say they were about to go out for a drive. They certainly looked as though they were enjoying life.”

  “And why wouldn’t they?” Katherine countered, her voice becoming strong. “Aunt Hilda’s businesses were booming. She was making money hand over fist. And yes, before you object, I know she wasn’t making her money honestly, but that’s in the past.”

  “No one is judging her,” I assured the old woman.

  Katherine patted my hand, “Good for you, dear. As I was saying, my aunt loved fine clothes, she loved her jewelry, and she loved to have a good time. Especially dancing. She was such a fine dancer.” Katherine’s expression darkened. “All good things must come to an end, I’m afraid. Aunt Hilda must have frequented the wrong speakeasy. Somehow, and I don’t know if we’ll ever figure out how, my aunt caught the eye of several degenerates. Oh, I’ll never forget that day. Mother wasn’t the same after Hilda was gone.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Jillian softly asked.

  “It was August 17th, 1947,” Katherine began. “I had returned home from school to find my mother crying. When I asked her what was wrong, she could only tell me she was gone. I didn’t learn she was talking about Aunt Hilda until several days later. Strangely enough, no one would talk to me. It’s not like I was a child, for heaven’s sake. I had to take it upon myself to find out what had happened.”

  “How old were you?” Jillian quietly asked.

  “15.”

  “What did you find out?” I wanted to know.

  “Well, two men had broken into Aunt Hilda’s house and ransacked it. They practically destroyed the interior of the house as they searched high and low. It was the jewelry, you see. Since they had been unsuccessful in locating her hidden stash of jewels, they turned their attention to my aunt. They…”

  At this, the elderly woman choked up. She pulled a tissue from a nearby box and gently dabbed the corners of her eyes.

  “They tortured my aunt mercilessly as they tried to get her to disclose where she had stashed her jewels. When the police found her, she was still alive, but passed away several hours later at the hospital. The doctors said she had undergone extreme physical duress at the hands of those two men.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jillian all but whispered. My girlfriend’s eyes had filled. Without saying anything, Katherine reached for the tissue box and held one out to Jillian. “Thank you. No one deserved to be treated like that. At least they got what they deserved.”

  Katherine hesitated and looked up.

  “Those thugs? They were captured? When? Where? How do you know this?”

  “They were discovered a week later, in Medford,” Jillian answered. “It’s the only thing my realtor could tell me about what had happened to the previous owner of Highland House.”

  “They were caught that quickly? I’m glad. Wait. You said ‘discovered’. Were they found dead?”

  Jillian nodded, “Yes. As for how they knew, well, that was, er, because of the smell.”

  “What do you supposed happened to them?” Katherine asked as she first looked at Jillian, and then me.

  Jillian helplessly shrugged and looked hopefully at me. I thought about the two dead men, and the fact that they were found, together, and finally nodded.

  “If I were to guess, then I’d say that they probably turned on the other. Are we certain no one found any of your aunt’s jewelry?”

  “It’s what I was told,” Katherine answered. “Unless someone tried to sell a piece or two, we will never know.”

  Jillian reached into her purse and pulled out the picture from last night. She held it out to Katherine, who hesitantly accepted it. Her wrinkled face lit up once her eyes focused on the photograph.

  “Oh, my! I didn’t think there any pictures left of it.”

  I eagerly leaned forward and tapped the picture of Aunt Hilda.

  “Is this a gem?”

  Katherine frowned, “I thought you didn’t care about her jewelry, young man.”

  “I still don’t care about it,” I insisted. I put a protective arm around Jillian’s shoulders. “I care about her and her ability to stay safe.”

  “Can you tell us about this?” Jillian hopefully asked.

  Katherine’s face became grim and her lips thinned.

  “Please?” Jillian continued. “Is this why Hilda was killed?”

  Katherine finally nodded, and her answer came out in a strained whisper, “Yes.”

  “All for a damned necklace,” I grumbled.

  The look Katherine gave me suggested she believed I wasn’t playing with a full deck.

  “What?” I asked, growing defensive.

  “That, dear boy, is the Czarina’s Tear.”

  “It has a name?” I skeptically asked.

  “All famous gems do,” Katherine informed me.

  It was at this time, Jillian confided later, that she had taken a few steps back and Googled the gem. In the meantime, I was still reluctant to believe a simple jewel would have a name like Czarina’s Tear, and an unremarkable one at that. That’s when I heard Katherine sigh.
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br />   “Very well, dear. You have me convinced. You don’t care about the stone.”

  “Not at all,” I confirmed. “So, it has a name. Big deal. That still doesn’t tell us anything about it.”

  “It’s a demantoid garnet,” Jillian announced.

  “It’s a demon what?” I asked, certain I had heard that wrong. “And how did you learn that?”

  “A demantoid garnet,” Jillian repeated. “And I looked it up.”

  I shrugged, “A garnet. Okay. Well, those aren’t worth as much as diamonds, but I guess it’s still considered a semi-precious stone. What else do you know about it?”

  “It’s 504 carats in size.”

  I thought back to what I knew about gemstones and their respective sizes. I was pretty sure a one carat diamond typically retailed for around $4,000 to $5,000, and that was for a decent quality stone. Nice stones could retail for twice that. This garnet was over 500 carats? I was shocked to discover my mouth had become bone dry.

  “That’s, um, big, isn’t it?”

  “Men,” Katherine scoffed. “You don’t appreciate the finer things in life, do you? Yes, it’s big. I saw it once. It was the size of a chicken egg.”

  “A 500 carat garnet,” I mused. “Wow. That’s gotta be worth something to someone.”

  Jillian, who was still reading about the gemstone on her phone, suddenly grasped my arm. Tightly.

  “Zachary, it says here that the largest known demantoid garnet is around 200 carats. This one is more than twice that! Do you know what that means? That stone must be priceless!”

  SIX

  “What do you think?” I asked Jillian. It was Sunday, the day before Robert, Jillian’s foreman, had told us that he’d find another crew and be back to work. “Do you really think this Czarina’s Tear thingamajig could be hidden somewhere in this house?”

  “She died in 1947,” Jillian reminded me. “The realtor told me the house sat vacant for all those years. If that gem was in here somewhere, then it would have been found long ago. I can’t even begin to imagine how many people probably searched this house upon learning it was vacant. No wonder Hilda’s ghost is roaming the halls.”

  “Not funny,” I scolded, as I turned to look at her. “And you don’t fool me. I know you don’t believe in ghosts. You’ve said so yourself, on many occasions.”

  “True,” Jillian admitted. She shrugged and let her purse slide off her shoulder and down her arm. She caught the purse before it could fall to the floor and placed it on a table just inside the foyer. “Lock the door, would you?”

  “Already did,” I assured her. I looked down at the dogs. Both were staring at me as though they couldn’t believe we were back here. “Don’t look at me like that. We’re going to take a closer look at things, okay? You guys might’ve missed something the first time around. Jillian? How would you like to start? What are we looking for this time?”

  “I really don’t know, Zachary. Your dogs have a knack at finding anything out of the ordinary, so I’m hoping they’ll do the same again here. And this time, we’ll thoroughly investigate anything that catches their interest.”

  I nodded. It was a plausible plan, provided either of the dogs would become interested in anything. Just then, as if he was reading my thoughts, Sherlock tugged on his leash. Had he found something that quickly? Or was he simply anxious to begin exploring?

  I took my jacket off and flung it over a tarp-covered chair just inside the living room on my left. I looked over at my girlfriend and passed her Watson’s leash.

  “I was about ready to say we should split up, but scratch that. I think I’d like us to stick together while we’re in here. That way, we can both study the dogs and, hopefully, not miss anything.”

  Jillian flashed a smile at me and slid her arm through mine.

  “It sounds like a plan. Watson? Are you ready to go? It looks like Sherlock wants to check out that door just behind us, to the right.”

  “There’s not much through there, right?” I asked.

  “I believe it’s the den. Then, the room directly to the right of it is the billiard’s room.”

  “There’s more to see on this side,” I said, as I tried to pull Sherlock towards the living room. “Come on, buddy, let’s check out this side first, okay?”

  Sherlock wouldn’t budge an inch. I actually tried to pull him over to me, but the little corgi dropped as low as he could go to the ground and threw his weight in the opposite direction. The meaning was clear. He didn’t want to go that way.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “Right, it is. Come on, gang, let’s head to… okay, he doesn’t want the den.”

  “Looks like he wants to go to the billiard’s room,” Jillian observed. “Come on, Watson. Let’s follow Sherlock, okay?”

  The small red and white corgi shook her collar, looked adoringly up at Jillian, and then myself, and then turned to watch her packmate trot towards the large double doors on the right. This room, I decided, as we all stepped through the doorway, must have been home to the snooker table currently sitting in the basement. Was Jillian planning on keeping this room as it was originally intended?

  “What are you thinking about?” Jillian wanted to know. “You are either zoning or are in deep contemplation about something. Care to share?”

  “Snooker.”

  Jillian blinked at me, “Huh?”

  “I was just wondering if you were planning on keeping this room as a game room.”

  “Oh. As a matter of fact, I was.”

  “Perfect.”

  We stepped into the large, mostly empty room and eyed the covered furniture that had been placed along the wall’s perimeter. There was also several large paintings on the walls, and these suckers were huge. Several were almost floor to ceiling. One was a variant of the ‘Dogs Playing Poker’ motif, while another reminded me of the ballerina on a tightrope picture found inside the Haunted Mansion in Disneyland. And the third?

  I’ll admit. This one was strange. It depicted a dark cavern, with fog – or mist, I guess – covering parts of the ground. And, I swear I could see what looked like a pair of eyes staring out from the depths of the cavern. What a picture like this was doing in here was beyond me.

  “That’s a little on the creepy side,” I decided.

  Jillian studied the painting and finally nodded, “Agreed. That, I’m sorry to say, will be one of the first things to go in this room.”

  Sherlock, much to my surprise, plunked his butt down in front of the creepy painting and stared up at it, unblinking. A few moments later, Watson joined him. I tried to give Sherlock’s leash a gentle pull, indicating I wanted to leave, but Sherlock again decided he didn’t want to move.

  “Now what?” I asked, as I returned to the painting to give it a second glance. “It’s dark and it’s creepy, buddy. Let it go. There’s much more pleasant things to see in here. Trust me, okay?”

  Sherlock wasn’t having it. He looked up at the picture, whined, and then looked back at me. I eyed Jillian before turning back to the painting. All right, Sherlock wanted a closer look?

  “I’m not sure what you want me to see here,” I admitted, as I ran my hands along the surface. “I… hmm.”

  “What is it?” Jillian wanted to know, as she appeared by my side.

  I gently rapped my knuckles on the painting.

  “Do you hear that?” I asked.

  “It sounds like you’re knocking on wood,” Jillian decided.

  I nodded, “Right. Hollow wood. Let me see something.”

  I gently gripped the picture’s frame and pulled, intent on seeing what was on the other side. Imagine my surprise as I discovered the frame seemed to be a part of the wall itself. That picture wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Confused, I knocked on a section of wall to the left of the painting.

  “Sounds normal,” I said. I moved to the other side of the painting and knocked again. “Same thing. It sounds like what you’d expect to hear if someone knocked on a wall. However, when I knock on the p
ainting…”

  I moved back to the picture and knocked again.

  “It does sound hollow!” Jillian excitedly agreed.

  “Coupled with the fact that the frame doesn’t pull away from the wall suggests… let’s see.”

  I began poking and prodding the painting. Jillian, on the other hand, began running her hands along the frame. Once she hit the lower left corner, she let out an exclamation of surprise. I then heard a soft ‘click’ and the entire painting – minus the frame – swung inward, like a door.

  “Way to go, Sherlock!” I exclaimed, as I gave the corgi an enthusiastic scratching behind his ears. Not wanting Watson to feel left out, I did the same for her. “I’m liking this place more and more. What opened it? Was there something on the frame?”

  “There’s a small button,” Jillian confirmed. “Should we see where it goes?”

  I pointed at the dark, narrow passageway.

  “I think we’re going to need flashlights if we’re going to try and navigate through that.”

  Jillian held up her phone and waggled it.

  “I’ve got my phone. So do you. That’s two flashlights. Will that do?”

  I activated the LED flash on my phone and held it high.

  “Follow me, m’lady.”

  “After you, kind sir,” Jillian returned, giggling.

  We followed the narrow, dusty corridor for at least five minutes, stopping only to pick up the dogs a few times so they wouldn’t have to jump over some fallen debris in the way. Before I knew it, the passageway had ended, and I was running my hands along the smooth surface of the wall directly in front of me.

  “What do you have there?” Jillian wanted to know.

  I raised my hand so I could illuminate as much of the area in front of me as possible.

  “Well, we’ve got a wall, only it feels perfectly smooth. It’s odd.”

  “Smooth, like tile?”

  I ran my hands along the surface.

  “I don’t feel any grout lines, or any breaks in the tile. I’m going to have to say no, it’s not tile.”