Vampires, Bones and Treacle Scones

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  “Of course he does. The local grapevine aside, the report of your arrest was on the evening news. He couldn’t have missed it.”

  “Even so, why would he bother me?”

  “Did Gordon Tandy tell you anything else about Danby before you were released?”

  She shrugged. “Mostly, he just asked more questions. I told him what I’ve been telling the cops right along. I don’t know where the money Ned deposited came from. I don’t know who was out at the Chadwick mansion besides Ned and the members of your Halloween committee.”

  “And your nephews,” Liss said, turning to face her again while the coffee dripped.

  Hilary laughed. “That was before Ned got out of jail. I don’t think they count.”

  “I suppose not. They weren’t, apparently, searching for Blackie O’Hare’s treasure. Danby apparently was. And Ned. So was your son.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  While Liss filled two mugs with coffee and set out creamer and sugar, she ratted Boxer out to his mother. She felt bad about that, but not sufficiently guilty to keep the information to herself. Hilary fumed silently, falling on her coffee and downing half of it in one gulp.

  “He’s promised not to go back,” Liss added, “but you know boys. Until someone actually does find buried loot, the temptation to hunt for it will always be there.”

  “He won’t set foot in the place again. We’re starting fresh, Teddy and me. I had a lot of time to think while I was locked up. I want better than I’ve had for me and my son.”

  She might have said more, but at that moment Margaret bustled into the kitchen. She left the back door open, letting the warm spring air follow her inside. She went straight up to Hilary and hugged her.

  “My dear girl. I am so glad you’re out of that awful place. Welcome home.”

  For a moment, Hilary didn’t seem to know what to do with her arms. Then, slowly, she let them curl around Margaret and return the hug. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her face was flushed when Margaret finally released her.

  Sipping her coffee, Liss studied the two women as Hilary asked questions about Boxer and Margaret answered. Hilary, it appeared, had reevaluated her life during the three weeks she’d been away. That was why she seemed more willing to stand up for herself. But was that new attitude just with other women, or would she be able to hold her own against aggressive men, as well? Liss sincerely hoped Hilary’s brother was in for a rude awakening.

  “Oh, no,” Hilary said in answer to one of Margaret’s questions. “I didn’t have any problem getting my job at the High Street Market back. They knew I didn’t kill Ned.”

  Margaret winced. “I had a few doubts at first,” she admitted, “but not after I got to know your son. No one who could raise such a fine young man could possibly be a cold-blooded killer.”

  “I—uh, thank you.”

  It was clear to Liss that Hilary had mixed feelings about the fact that Boxer had stayed with Margaret all this time. She was anxious to take him home with her, even if her home wasn’t much compared to Margaret’s place.

  “I wish I could invite you to stay with me, too, Hilary,” Margaret said, “but I only have the one guest room.”

  “I couldn’t accept anyway.” Pride stiffened her spine as Hilary hopped down off the kitchen stool.

  Liss was reminded, suddenly, of her interview with Hilary at the county jail. The other woman had told her then that she’d never even applied for low-income benefits she was entitled to—like food stamps, Liss supposed. That had been before the epiphany Hilary claimed to have experienced, which led Liss to wonder exactly what “starting fresh” entailed.

  Would she now accept a little help, perhaps from Margaret, in spite of her determination to move back into that ancient, drafty trailer? Or did starting fresh mean that she’d be willing to accept a lot of help. Could Hilary’s real plan involve taking advantage of Margaret Boyd’s guilt over neglecting her grandson for so many years? Margaret wasn’t wealthy, but with her help, Hilary and Boxer could certainly improve their standard of living.

  Overactive imagination, Liss chided herself. Totally unfounded suspicions! Get a grip.

  Ashamed of herself, Liss resolved to keep an open mind. When Margaret suggested she close up the shop and all three of them spend the rest of the day moving Boxer’s possessions back to the trailer, she readily agreed.

  They spent the entire afternoon on the project, adding Boxer’s willing hands to the mix when he got home from school. At five, Margaret made a pizza run, and the four of them collapsed in front of the reinstalled flat screen TV to watch the local news. The first story banished Liss’s aching muscles and perked up her appetite. A relentlessly cheerful Channel 6 reporter announced that the state police were convinced that suspected murderer Lowell Danby had fled Maine for points south. The black Toyota, last seen pulling out of the mortuary’s garage on Friday, had been sighted on Monday in Rhode Island.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day, Jason Graye phoned Liss at the Emporium late in the afternoon. “Good. You’re there,” he said without preamble.

  “Where else would I be?”

  He ignored her question. “You need to come out to the Chadwick mansion as soon as you close up shop for the day.”

  “Why?”

  Over the line she heard a deep, annoyed-sounding sigh. “To clear out the leftover Halloween trash. I’ve just bought the place. I can’t begin renovations until all this clutter is removed.”

  Typical, Liss thought. Graye expects me to drop everything just because he’s in a hurry. “There can’t be that much,” she said aloud. “The police already returned everything I remember leaving there.”

  “They missed a few things. Come and get them.” With that, he disconnected.

  Liss held the phone away from her ear, staring at it for a moment before hanging up. She had no idea what he was talking about, but had to admit that she hadn’t gone anywhere near the front parlor or the dining room the last time she’d been inside the mansion.

  “The pulley,” she murmured. That had to be what Graye had found. She knew that the light and sound equipment was no longer there and that the manikins and Napoleon Bony-Parts had been returned to their rightful owners.

  Liss glanced at her watch. It stayed light much later, now that the “spring forward” date had passed. She could close at the usual time, pick up her three-step stepladder from the house, run out to the mansion, dismantle the rig that had been designed to make the skeleton rise up from the sofa, and still be back home before dark. If that hadn’t been possible, she doubted she’d have gone. She wasn’t superstitious. She didn’t believe in ghosts, or in vampires, either. But neither did she ever again intend to spend any time inside the Chadwick mansion after sunset.

  “Out and back,” she said aloud—to give herself courage? “A piece of cake.”

  She thought about phoning Sherri and asking her friend to come along, but Sherri was once again working the two-to-ten shift. Her job didn’t include babysitting nervous friends. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d be out there alone. Jason Graye was already at the mansion. Liss went back to work on the orders she’d been processing before the phone rang.

  At five o’clock, she locked up and headed home to pick up the ladder. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the small parking area in back of the Chadwick mansion. Graye’s caddy was already there. She called out his name as she walked through the unlocked kitchen door.

  “In here!” came a muffled shout from the direction of the parlor.

  Steeling herself, Liss headed down the hall, lugging the stepladder with her. She told herself it wouldn’t be too bad. She was certain the police had taken away the stained sofa and carpet. But the possibility that Ned’s blood had seeped through to stain the bare floorboards unnerved her.

  When she pushed open the door from the hallway into the parlor and entered the room, she found it in semidarkness. The dim lighting didn’t surprise her. The borrowed generator
had long since been returned to its owner. The only illumination came from daylight seeping in through cracks in the plywood and from the single battery-powered lantern Graye had placed on top of the parlor organ. He was seated in the deep shadows near the fireplace. She could just make out the vague shapes of straight-back chair and man.

  “You can take the boards off the windows now that you own the place,” Liss said as she set the ladder down and dusted her hands on the sides of her blue jeans.

  Her gaze shifted to the corner of the molding where the pulley had been attached. She had to squint to find what remained of it. The sturdy metal wheel dangled loosely. Whoever had tugged the skeleton free of its wire had almost succeeded in bringing it down, too.

  Graye said nothing, but at a strangled grunt from his direction, Liss glanced his way again, puzzled by the odd sound. Only then did she realize there was something unnatural about the way the realtor was sitting. She fumbled for the small flashlight she’d tucked into her pocket. The beam illuminated Graye’s bruised and bloody face just as a voice spoke from behind her.

  “You’ll end up looking a lot like that,” a man whispered, “if you don’t tell me what you’ve done with Blackie O’Hare’s loot.”

  Liss froze, her gaze riveted to Jason Graye in disbelief. He was tied to the chair. A gag had been stuffed into his mouth. One eye had swollen nearly shut. The other was open wide with fear and was fixed on the person who had spoken.

  Slowly, Liss turned to play her flashlight over the features of the man standing a few feet behind her. Homer Crane, aka Lowell Danby, held a gun in one hand. It was pointed directly at her.

  She had to swallow hard before she could speak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He was Homer Crane and yet he was not. The nose was the same, and the nearly bald head, but the milquetoast demeanor was absent. The thick glasses were missing, too. Obviously they’d been part of his disguise. The eyes they’d hidden looked as hard and cold as blue diamonds.

  “Oh, I think you do. Hands in the air so I can see them and turn around.” He gestured with the gun.

  Liss obeyed, one fist clenched around her little flashlight. It was the only potential weapon she had, and she was desperate to keep hold of it.

  Danby covered the distance between them in seconds. He shoved her up against the nearest wall to conduct a thorough but mercifully swift pat down. She bit back a protest when he gave her left breast a totally uncalled-for squeeze.

  “Just checking. You’d be amazed where some women hide stuff.” He laughed as, having found nothing more deadly in his search, he wrenched the flashlight out of her hand.

  That laugh should have been an evil cackle. Or the wild, unrestrained mirth of a madman. Instead, it sounded perfectly ordinary, as if they were two friends who’d just shared an amusing story.

  “What do you want from me?” Liss asked, frowning when she couldn’t control the tremor in her voice.

  “I already told you.” Danby grabbed her roughly by the arm and spun her around to face him. His gun was nowhere in sight, but he was stronger than she was. Liss gave no more than a fleeting thought to trying to fight him off and run.

  He aimed a flashlight—her flashlight—at the fireplace. A section of the decorative mantel jutted out, revealing a deep, hollow space behind it.

  It figures, Liss thought. Underground passage. Panic room. Now a secret hidey-hole.

  “I didn’t suspect you at first,” Danby said. “But then I didn’t know you were Ned Boyd’s cousin until after he was dead.”

  He’d overheard Julie Simpson’s comments at the post office, Liss remembered. Her heart contracted with fear when she recalled that Julie had also mentioned Boxer. Liss could only hope Danby didn’t know that the boy had been the one who’d dug up the basement. The possibility that he might go after Ned’s son next, if he got no satisfaction from Liss, turned her blood to ice.

  “There was never anything there,” she blurted. “That’s the truth, whether you believe it or not. There was never any treasure at all.”

  Danby hauled her closer, so she could see all the way inside the opening. The faint smell of a cedar lining wafted out at her. Caught way at the back was a strip of the distinctive brown paper banks used to wrap bundles of bills.

  “Blackie O’Hare himself told me there was money hidden in his house in Moosetookalook,” Danby said.

  He must have known Blackie pretty well in prison, Liss thought, and suddenly wondered if Ned had been the first man Danby had stabbed to death.

  “There really was a cache of cash?”

  “As if you didn’t know!”

  “The only cash I know about was what I thought Ned got from blackmailing someone.”

  Even in the dim light, Liss recognized Danby’s expression as one of chagrin.

  “I’m telling you the truth. There were three payments of six thousand dollars each. That money’s in the bank, where neither you nor I can get at it.”

  Danby swore. “There was at least two hundred thousand dollars in Blackie’s stash.”

  “And the eighteen thousand? Oh, wait—did that come from you?”

  He backhanded her. She landed hard on her backside, head spinning, cheek throbbing. He hauled her upright again before she could catch her breath. “Yeah, that came from me. Your cousin was no choir boy. He put the squeeze on me and I let him . . . for a while. He figured that I didn’t want anyone finding out my real name.”

  “So you paid to keep him quiet,” Liss whispered. “That was smart.”

  “For a while,” Danby repeated. He held her at arm’s length, his fingers biting into her shoulders.

  Liss’s mind had shifted into hyperdrive. It had to have been Hilary who’d identified Crane for Ned. She’d said he used to shop at the High Street Market. Liss could almost picture the scene. Ned was hanging around, keeping out of sight in the back room, waiting for Hilary to close up for the night. Then Crane came in for a few last-minute purchases. Ned recognized him as Danby and, being Ned, remembered his interest in the Chadwick mansion and Blackie O’Hare when they were both in prison. Maybe he overheard Hilary address Danby as Crane or maybe he asked her about him later. Either way, Ned figured out what Danby was up to. The threat to report him to their mutual probation officer had been enough to extort money from his fellow ex-con. Ned would have gotten an extra charge out of the fact that, in the hunt for Blackie’s treasure, he secretly had the edge, since he was the one actually living in the mansion.

  “If you know all about the money I gave your cousin,” Danby said, “I’m betting you know a lot more. In fact, I’m thinking the two of you were in this treasure hunt together from the first. All that haunted house nonsense was just a cover, a way to keep me away from here until after Halloween. I should have caught on when you came to my door pretending you’d heard I was a horror writer. You just wanted to get a look at me, didn’t you?”

  Liss debated too long over trying to explain Dolores Mayfield to Danby.

  He gave her a shake. “Do you think I’m stupid? It was all a plot to keep me away from this house while your cousin kept searching the place.”

  Keep him talking, Liss thought, until I figure out how to get away from him. “You’re not stupid. You invested a lot of time, money, and effort into setting up a new identity so you could take a crack at finding that two hundred thousand in cash.”

  He grinned. “Not so much. Fake papers are easy.”

  Modesty? Or did he want her to coax him into boasting about his own cleverness. She was game. It was better than the alternative.

  “But you had to buy the old mortuary. That couldn’t have been cheap.”

  “Didn’t cost me a penny. I heard what happened to the former owner. Checked to find out where the wife went. She’s long gone, so I just picked the lock and moved in.”

  Well, that explained why he hadn’t bought the Chadwick mansion, instead. His pockets hadn’t been deep enough. Liss tried to think of what else to say. It p
robably would not be wise to let on that she knew he’d broken into this house even before Ned got out of jail, or that he’d been helping himself to some of the more portable antiques. She wondered if that was where the money he’d given Ned had come from, but she didn’t ask him that, either.

  “What was in the U-Haul?”

  He laughed. “Stuff I left in a storage locker under another name. Why?”

  “You remember the librarian?”

  He grimaced.

  “She thought you unloaded office equipment. That’s where she got the crazy idea you were a writer.”

  “Stupid cow.”

  “Let me guess—you packed your stuff in boxes from Staples or Office Max?”

  “God, I hate small towns!” He peered more closely into Liss’s face as if he couldn’t quite figure her out. “You know I killed your cousin, right?”

  Liss felt herself blanch.

  “That’s right. Me. Not his girlfriend. Good riddance to bad rubbish. He kept demanding more and more until I got sick of playing games and put a permanent stop to it.”

  Liss felt sick. No matter what Ned had done in his life, she could not be casual about his murder. Lowell Danby had killed her cousin. In cold blood. In this room. And unless a miracle happened, he was probably going to kill her, too.

  Keep him talking, she told herself. “Ned always was too cocky for his own good.”

  “He was playing gracious host in the Chadwick mansion,” Danby said with a sneer. “He tossed that skeleton over the back of the sofa so he could stretch out. Acted like he owned the place.”

  That was how the wires on the pulley had broken, Liss realized. She’d been wrong in her reconstruction of the scene, but with this new information she could picture her cousin as Danby described him, lounging there, so self-confident, so certain he was in control.

  “I pretended to agree to another blackmail payment. Then I went away. Only I didn’t leave. I just slipped into the dining room, grabbed that fork, and came back.”