A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery

by Beverly Connor

  Both looked up to see an all-too-familiar sightthe sheriff-striding toward them. This time he seemed to have a look of excitement on his face.

  Lindsay glanced beyond the sheriff to the parking lot. Three men and a woman were standing near the sheriff's car. Lindsay recognized two of the men as deputies. The other man and the woman were strangers.

  "I have a warrant," said the sheriff, "to search Tylerwynd. It was not easy to get. I thought you might like to come to the mansion as a consultant."

  "A consultant?" Lindsay smiled. "Are you expecting to find bones?"

  "No, but you never know."

  Derrick put an arm around Lindsay's shoulders. "She doesn't step into any spider's web without me"

  The sheriff grinned. "I figured as much. We'll just call you a consultant on this case, too"

  "We need to clean up a little," Lindsay said.

  "Make it real quick."

  After Lindsay and Derrick took quick showers, they changed into fresh jeans and shirts and joined the sheriff in the parking lot.

  "This is Paul Durant and his daughter Estelle. Mr. Durant owns The Magic Emporium in Atlanta. I called him after I talked to you this morning, and he agreed to come down," the sheriff said.

  Paul Durant looked to be in his late fifties. He was tall and lean, with silver hair. He looked cool in his cream-colored suit, and his mannerisms as he took Lindsay's outstretched hand seemed vaguely French, though he had a completely American accent.

  "I'm glad to meet you, Lindsay and Derrick." His blue eyes twinkled.

  At first Estelle Durant looked to be in her late twenties, but a closer look revealed that she was probably in her late thirties. She had dark hair, a dimpled smile, and the same blue eyes as her father. "We've never done anything like this," she said. "It sounds exciting."

  The Durants obviously knew little of the recent history of the Tyler family. Lindsay and Derrick smiled back at them as best they could.

  "The Durants can ride with us," the sheriff said. "I thought Derrick and you could follow in your Jeep"

  "Sure," Lindsay said.

  "Does this strike you as kind of strange?" Derrick asked when they were alone.

  "What do you mean?" asked Lindsay.

  "I mean, the sheriff taking us over to the Tylers," he said. "Not that I have any love for the Tylers, but it strikes me as a little cruel. After all, I did kill Patrick."

  "I see what you mean. Remember the story the sheriff told us about when he and his friends were caught by Isabel Tyler in her strawberry patch? He made it sound funny at the time, but I wonder if there was more to it. I've seen how the woman can terrorize little kids-like the one in her house looking for a bathroom on the Fourth of July."

  "You think maybe the sheriff is getting even after all these years?" Derrick asked.

  "Perhaps not consciously. But maybe he is exorcising an old ghost," she replied.

  "Maybe so. Or maybe he is helping us exorcise ghosts"

  "You may be right. Are you okay about Patrick?" Lindsay asked.

  Derrick didn't answer right away. He looked as if he hadn't heard the question and simply stared at the road ahead.

  "It's not easy," he finally said. "I'm angry he made me have to do it and live with it. But when I picture the scene in my mind, I see you on the ground, shot, bleeding, and trying to get away from him, and him aiming that gun to shoot you again. Then I think of what he wanted to do to you" Derrick looked over at Lindsay sitting beside him. "I'll cope with it. It won't ruin my life."

  "We've never talked about it. I didn't know if I should ask."

  "Lindsay, you can always ask me anything."

  "Well, I didn't know if you wanted to talk about it."

  "When I think about it, I think of saving you, not killing Patrick."

  "Me, too"

  When they reached the huge wrought iron gates of Tylerwynd, a deputy was holding them open for Derrick's Jeep. He followed the sheriff's car through and stopped to wait for the deputy to close the gate and walk to the sheriff's car. They drove around the curved drive and stopped in front of the house. They all met on the sidewalk leading to the house.

  Estelle Durant sidled up to Lindsay. "They told us on the way over what happened to you. I'm glad to see you're much better."

  Lindsay looked into her sincere blue eyes and smiled. "Yes, I'm much better. Thank you."

  The sheriff walked up to the door, carrying what looked like a thick briefcase, and knocked. The group followed but hung back when they reached the porch. It was several minutes before the doorbell was answered by a young woman dressed in a black-andwhite maid's uniform. The sheriff showed her the warrant and explained that they were coming inside. The woman stared at the paper with a wrinkled brow, then looked behind her, as if searching for someone to tell her which authority to obey.

  "I'll have to ask," she said timidly.

  "I don't need permission," the sheriff said, not unkindly. "I have a search warrant"

  The maid's eyes grew wide, as if she just understood the implications of a search warrant. She opened the door and stood aside.

  "Please," she said. "Let me get Mrs. Tyler."

  The sheriff nodded and entered the house. Lindsay, Derrick, and the others followed and stood in the foyer.

  "This place is a museum," Estelle whispered. "Look at the old furniture."

  "What's this about?" The voice came so suddenly and was so full of hostility that they all jumped slightly.

  "I have a warrant to search the premises. In particular, the possessions of Jacob Edgar Tyler." The sheriff handed her the search warrant.

  Mrs. Tyler made no move to take it from his hand. "I don't care what it says. You are not searching my home"

  "I'm afraid you are wrong, ma'am," the sheriff said. "As I explained to the maid, I have all the permission I require. Now, will you show me to Jacob's room? We will begin there"

  "What is this about?" came a voice from the stairs. They all looked up to see. Jacob standing halfway down the stairs, his hands clutching the polished banister. He looked like an overgrown child coming down to see what the adults were doing. "Winifred just told me the strangest story."

  "I'm glad you're here," said the sheriff. "You can show us to your room. I am particularly interested in seeing your magician's equipment."

  Jacob looked nonplussed. "Well, I ... why? Mother?"

  "Sheriff Duggan. Haven't we been through enough, and why did you bring them here?" She pointed a gnarled hand in the direction of Lindsay and Derrick.

  "They are here for their expertise," the sheriff answered. "Now, the sooner we get on with this, the quicker we will leave. Jacob, will you show us to your room?"

  Jacob looked at his mother, who nodded her head. He turned and climbed the stairs to the second floor. The sheriff, the deputies, the Durants, Derrick, and Lindsay followed, leaving Isabel Tyler standing at the foot of the stairs staring malevolently at their backs.

  Jacob led them down a long, dark hallway that held sepia photographs of dour Tyler ancestors. Their footfalls were muted by the long Persian carpet that had grown bare in spots. The rooms off the hallway were closed. A few doors had open transoms, and Lindsay thought she could hear soft music from one. Suddenly, a door behind them burst open. They all turned to see a madwoman in black advancing toward them.

  "Rachel?" Lindsay whispered. No, Rachel rushed out behind the woman and put an arm around her shoulders. Ruth Tyler, thought Lindsay, mother of Patrick.

  "You killed my son," she said, glaring at Derrick through red-rimmed eyes.

  "I'm sorry," Derrick softly said. "I truly am. I wish things could have ended differently."

  She seemed not to hear him, but turned her sorrowful mad gaze to Lindsay. "Couldn't you have just gone to dinner with him? He just wanted ... he just ..." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  "It's all right," Rachel soothed, though Lindsay and the others knew nothing would ever be all right for her. "Come back to your room. I'll get Winif
red to bring you some hot milk."

  Lindsay felt sad for her, sad for them all in this dark mausoleum of a house with its darker secrets. Derrick put his arm around her waist, and they turned around to follow Jacob, who stood watching the whole scene with a pitiless expression on his fleshy, round face. Lindsay felt someone take her hand. She turned her head to see Estelle standing beside her with a friendly smile spread across her face.

  "I think we need to stick together in this creepy place," she whispered.

  Lindsay smiled back, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill out onto her cheeks. "I agree. "

  The first thing that anyone noticed when they entered Jacob Tyler's bedroom were the posters and photographs covering his walls. There were several posters of Harry Houdini advertising a variety of his famous escape tricks. A poster of Howard Thurston and the floating lady hung over the head of the bed. There was a large black-and-white photograph of P.T. Selbit sawing a woman in half, and several posters of Blackstone, Dante, and an autographed photograph of David Copperfield. Lindsay did not see any photographs of Jacob himself. The rest of the bedroom consisted of a four-poster dark mahogany bed covered with a white chenille bedspread, a matching mahogany chest of drawers and nightstand, a bookshelf containing only books and catalogs about magic and magicians' paraphernalia, a stuffed chair, and a threadbare Oriental carpet-all rather bland compared to his wall decorations, but easy to search.

  Jacob stood by at stiff attention as the sheriff and the deputies put on rubber gloves, searched the drawers, the nightstand, the books, the backs of the posters, and between the mattress and springs. Jacob's closet held few clothes, all hung precisely four inches apart. His shoes were lined up just as neatly. The single top shelf held two hats, a brown fedora, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. The search turned up nothing, but no one had expected to find anything in his bedroom.

  "Now," said the sheriff, "where is your magician's equipment?"

  "What do you want it for?" Jacob asked. Lindsay noticed that he did not seem unduly nervous.

  "Where is the equipment?"

  "In the basement."

  They followed Jacob down the main stairway and through a door under the staircase, where he turned on a light switch and took them down another flight of stairs. The room at the bottom was for storage. Stacked so that there was only a narrow passageway through the room, a hundred years of memorabilia filled the large basement room. As she passed, Lindsay noticed old baby furniture, toys, broken tables and chairs, and boxes filled with gilt-framed photographs, probably of all the relatives and marriage partners that had fled Tylerwynd. The room smelled like old dried roses.

  Jacob led them through a door at the far end of the room to where he kept his equipment. Here the walls were decorated with pictures of him and his performances. Several cabinets having a vague Oriental look with their red-and-black lacquered finish and numerous drawers stood against one wall. A long, polished wooden box for sawing people in half sat in the middle of the hardwood floor looking like a coffin. Beside it stood a curtained wardrobe. Large metal hoops stood against one wall, and several objects Lindsay didn't recognize hung on hooks. Five trunks covered with travel stickers sat side-by-side against another wall. It was a tidy room, but with so many trunks and cabinets it looked like the search would take a long time.

  Lindsay and Derrick stood with the sheriff, and the deputies stood near Jacob. Lindsay watched Jacob as Sheriff Duggan handed the Durants each a pair of rubber gloves. Jacob looked puzzled but did not seem to recognize the Durants. Lindsay wondered why. Surely someone as interested in magic as Jacob would have frequented a magic shop as close as Atlanta, but perhaps they were a mail order place.

  They started with the wardrobe and a box in the center of the room. They found nothing, but watching them quickly find hidden places and doors was interesting. Next they went to the cabinets, and Lindsay noticed that Jacob was becoming fidgety.

  Paul and Estelle Durant opened the drawers and searched with expert hands for hidden drawers or panels. They found many, but all were empty in the first cabinet. They went to the next, continuing the same methodical search. Estelle slipped out a false bottom to a drawer and whispered something to her father. She reached in and came out with a stack of magazines. Estelle carried them to the sheriff while her father continued the search. Lindsay looked at the top magazine. It contained child pornography. A chill ran up Lindsay's spine, and she felt sick. Derrick grasped her hand and squeezed it.

  The sheriff took the magazines, kneeled down, and opened his case. He took out a large plastic bag, sealed the magazines inside, took a magic marker, wrote some information on the outside, and placed the package in the case with the same efficiency that Lindsay bagged and labeled artifacts. The sheriff stood, grim-faced, and watched the search.

  Jacob was showing stress. His eyes were wide and his breathing quick and shallow, but he stood calmly enough.

  Paul and Estelle came to the third cabinet, which looked to Lindsay much the same as the others, but they approached it differently. They slid it out from the wall. Estelle searched the front as usual, but Paul studied the back. He placed his hands on the back in several places, then the sides. His hands looked like a baseball manager signaling to a pitcher as they moved over the cabinet-almost magical. A drawer suddenly sprung out. Lindsay saw Paul's mouth twitch slightly, as close as he would allow a smile under the circumstances.

  He reached in the drawer and took out a shiny black box shaped like a cigar box.

  "Oh, no. Oh, no," came breathy exclamations from Jacob. "Mother! Mother," he called, as if she could hear him and would come running.

  The deputies walked over to him and grabbed both arms, and he sagged slightly. Paul carried the box to the sheriff, who ignored Jacob as he opened the box and reached a gloved hand inside. Lindsay could see there were pictures, but she turned her head away and did not look.

  "Read him his rights," the sheriff said. He was as red-faced and angry as Lindsay had ever seen him as he bagged and labeled the box of photographs.

  "I can explain. I can explain," Jacob began babbling over and over as Deputy Andy Littleton droned out the Miranda rights.

  The sheriff told Estelle and Paul to search everything, then turned and walked toward Jacob. "Take him upstairs," he told the deputies.

  "I can explain. I can explain," Jacob continued as they led him up the stairs.

  Lindsay didn't quite know what to do-follow the sheriff or stay with the Durants. Suddenly, she wanted to be outside.

  " 1 need some fresh air," she whispered to Derrick.

  "Me, too," he said.

  "We're going outside," she told the Durants, and they nodded, continuing their search.

  When they reached the first floor, Jacob started calling for his mother again.

  "What is this?" Isabel Tyler demanded as she came out of the parlor. "What are you babbling about, Jacob? What are you doing to my son?"

  "We're arresting him for the molestation and murder of Marylou Ridley, Amy Hastings, and Peggy Pruitt."

  "I thought you had Mickey and that other boy for that," she said. "Can't you make up your mind?"

  "We have found evidence," the sheriff said.

  "What is he talking about, Jacob?"

  "I can explain, Mama. I can explain." His voice was rising to a higher pitch. It sounded as if he were a child trying to avoid a switching.

  "He took pictures of the victims," the sheriff replied.

  Isabel Tyler was visibly shaken, but it lasted only for a moment. She glared at Jacob, then turned and walked out of the room.

  "Don't leave me, Mama. Don't leave me here."

  He is in some other place and time, thought Lindsay. Where, she wondered. His room. The basement. A closet? She turned and walked with Derrick out of the house.

  They watched the deputies drive Jacob away, sobbing in the back seat. She heard the sheriff tell them to put him under a suicide watch.

  "I kind of feel sorry for him," L
indsay said to Derrick.

  "I know. He never had a chance in that family."

  Lindsay started to respond as her eyes left the sheriff's car and glanced at the house, but she gasped instead.

  "What's wrong?" Derrick asked.

  "In the window on the second floor. I thought it was Patrick for a second. It must be Jarvis. Remember him at the picnic? Jacob's son"

  Derrick looked up at the ghostly figure in the window watching the car with his father winding down the drive.

  "He didn't even come downstairs," Derrick whispered. "Let me take you home."

  "We may need to take the sheriff and the Durants back, unless the deputies return with the car."

  The sheriff came toward them, carrying his case of evidence. "You can go, if you want," he said. "Andy will send a car for us "

  "I think we will," Derrick said.

  "I know this was hard, Lindsay," the sheriff apologized, "but I thought you might want to see some kind of ending."

  "Yes, thank you. I did."

  "Smart thinking about his magician's stuff," the sheriff said. "Smart thinking about a lot of things. How do you do it?"

  Lindsay shrugged. "I suppose I just understand people and their artifacts. They always fit together."

  The sheriff shook his head in amazement and glanced back at Tylerwynd. "Hard old lady, isn't she?" he remarked.

  "Certainly cuts her losses," Derrick commented. "Think you can get her for murdering her sister?"

  The sheriff shook his head. "There's not a shred of evidence and none to be found after 60 years. We've got Jacob for the child murders, and I believe Patrick killed Plackert. It was Plackert's blood in the boathouse, and Patrick's fingerprints were on the door. But that is all we're going to get. Sometimes you just don't get to know everything."

  "Why do you think Patrick killed Plackert?" Derrick asked.

  "I think Isabel Tyler didn't want the site dug because she was afraid Augustine's body would be found. She started by hiring locals to try and scare you away. What she didn't know was that you all were so used to pothunters, you didn't think anything about it. Then she directed Seymour Plackert, the family lawyer, to try and get rid of you. I don't imagine Isabel understood anything about recovery laws. She probably thought the power company could just order you off with a little pressure from Plackert. Plackert knew the laws, but he probably got the idea of planting the marijuana to delay you, thinking that would satisfy the old lady. My guess is that when I told him about the body, he went to Isabel and tried to blackmail her, and she got Patrick to kill him and dump him in the river. But as I said, there isn't a shred of evidence."