Murder at the Mansion

by Janet Finsilver

  Daniel paused.

  “And then . . .” I prompted.

  “He called Gertie, and she called Stevie and . . .”

  I laughed. “I get the drift.”

  “Then when Mary saw the coroner’s van go by, she called Gertie . . .”

  “I can see where this story goes, and I can finish it. The phone lines must’ve been sizzling. I hope they didn’t melt.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.”

  We reached the back porch. The visitors were beginning to drive away. Two couples chatted with each other. Their laughter floated up to us. I settled in an Adirondack chair, gazed at the towering redwoods, and breathed in their fresh scent.

  Daniel leaned on the porch railing. “Are you going to Stevie’s birthday party tonight?”

  “Yes, unless I have to be here for some reason.”

  “Stevie’s a great guy. A real salt-of-the earth type.”

  “He has one of the softest voices I’ve ever heard.”

  “Matches his personality. Gentle. Quiet. Compassionate. He rescued Jack and Jill. When he got them, they had some serious issues. He had the patience of a saint with them.”

  “They’re sure a happy pair now.”

  A car door slammed. We looked at the lot. A car drove out and the last couple got in their vehicle and left.

  Daniel turned to me. “I’ll go see if there’s anything else I can do.”

  “I’m off to inventory the parlor.”

  Walking through the kitchen, I decided a cup of coffee would help the afternoon speed along. After pouring some from the pot on the coffee warmer, I took a sip, hoping the taste matched the invigorating aroma. It did. Resorts International served blue ribbon coffee, in my opinion.

  I entered the parlor and put my camera and inventory sheets on a table near the display case. A routine task with a murdered woman upstairs. It seemed surreal. The ticking clock on the mantel sounded louder. I hadn’t noticed it before. Now it destroyed the silence in the room. I picked up the list and forced myself to concentrate.

  These items had been photographed in groups and there were notes made below each picture. I planned to take individual photographs and label each one. A backdrop for the pieces would be nice. In the credenza, I found a stack of starched white linen napkins, removed a couple, and spread them on the table.

  I took the small shiny metal key from my pocket and unlocked the cabinet. This one held jewelry, beaded evening purses, and a number of items I couldn’t identify. My ex-husband would’ve known what they were. Ken, a university history professor, would be in seventh heaven telling me about each item and what purpose it served.

  I pulled out twelve well-crafted silver spoons with intricate designs. From museum trips with Ken, I knew they were apostle spoons. They were used as christening presents, and the spoon represented the baby’s apostle.

  I had learned about them on our European honeymoon. Ken’s passion for history flowed through his voice as we viewed the different exhibits. And I remembered his passion for me.

  I sighed, photographed the spoons, and put them back. I pulled out another piece of silver. It seemed to resemble a fish, with fins on one side and a split tail. I had no idea what it was. Betsy, once my best friend, would have recognized it. While I thought history was interesting, Betsy and Ken lived for it. Now they lived for each other.

  My mind drifted back to how it all started. Betsy and I had met at a local stable where I volunteered to exercise horses a couple of times a week. Betsy boarded her mare there, and we became riding buddies. I discovered she taught high school history and invited her over for dinner, thinking Ken might be able to give her some ideas for her classes. She ended up getting a lot more than some lesson plans.

  I shook my head. Get over it. It’s time to forget and move on.

  I reviewed my list, decided it was the knitting sheath, and checked it off. A note said it held knitting needles and explained how it was used. A needle was put in it, allowing the woman’s right hand to be free to handle the yarn. It helped her to work more quickly and efficiently, especially when walking. I remembered from my history classes it was a hard time for many people, and every minute was precious in terms of what it took to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, even knitting while walking.

  Retrieving a glittering evening bag, I marveled over the detailed beaded pattern. I ran my fingers over its surface and then opened it. Was it my imagination, or did I detect a scent of lavender?

  Next, I pulled out a blue velvet cushion full of hatpins, their jeweled array creating a sparkling bouquet of colors and shapes. I smiled as I remembered seeing a display and reading about how young women had used them to protect themselves against unwanted advances such as in a public carriage when a stranger’s hand moved where it shouldn’t.

  My camera’s battery light blinked, indicating it was low. I’d have to finish this tomorrow. I put the things away and locked the case. Maybe there would be a chance for me to check the landing. I headed for the reception area. Bad timing. They were bringing Sylvia’s body down. I averted my eyes and walked to the office.

  I knocked and heard Hensley say, “Enter.”

  The deputy sheriff sat across from her at the desk, an open notepad in front of him.

  “Deputy Stanton, I need to recharge my camera battery. Would it be okay for me to go back to my place and work on the boxes from the carriage house?”

  Before he could answer, his phone rang. “I see . . . interesting . . . thanks.” He looked at Hensley, then me. “Sylvia Porter’s emergency contact information led us to a disconnected phone.”

  I wondered what had happened. As an administrative secretary, Sylvia had to be good with details. I found it hard to believe she’d made a mistake.

  Stanton continued. “I gave them the name of the company she told you she worked for. They have no record of a Sylvia Porter.”

  I knew I had the company name right. Preston was my mother’s maiden name, and I’d fleetingly wondered if there was a connection somewhere in the family tree.

  “What that means is”—Deputy Stanton leaned back—“we don’t have any idea who the dead woman is.”

  Chapter 8

  “We’ll find out,” Deputy Stanton added. “It’ll just take some time.”

  Sylvia not who she said she was? Why had she lied? “Did she have identification in her purse?” I asked.

  “No purse.”

  “She had one with her on the whale watching trip,” I said.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Deputy Stanton said. “Working at your place is fine as long as the detectives can reach you when they get here.”

  “You have my cell phone number and the inn’s number.”

  “Right,” he said.

  I stepped outside and filled my lungs with the scent of redwoods and tangy ocean air. The light mist carried by the breeze cooled my face and slowed my racing thoughts. The soft melody of the rustling leaves soothed my raw nerves. The short walk back to my inn didn’t give me answers, but it helped clear the cobwebs in my mind. I got in my Jeep and headed to the carriage house. On the way, I passed Stevie and his bouncing pair of beagles. They were harnessed and looked ready to work. We exchanged waves. As I went by the four-car garage, I saw part of the side of his RV peeking out from behind it; the sign advertising the beagles and their trade was covered as promised.

  I parked and grabbed the faded denim shirt I stored on the backseat for whatever need might arise. The last time it had encased a terrified poodle ready to make my hand into a sausage. I’d stopped traffic in both directions on a busy road when I saw him running between cars. The same dog melted into his grateful owner’s arms, then smiled at me and licked my hand when I’d reached to retrieve my shirt.

  After slipping it on, I loaded the dust-covered boxes and drove back to the B & B. The work shed housed a large wooden table, convenient for a variety of projects. I put the boxes on it, sneezing as the dust found new life from th
e action. I’d unpacked two of my moving cartons the night before and decided I’d go into the house to get them in order to transfer some of these things into clean containers.

  The kitchen held the sweet lingering fragrance of the morning’s baking. A warm, embracing smell, it helped to push out some of the cold memories of the afternoon. A plastic-wrapped plate sat on the counter. A croissant laced with miniature chocolate chips called my name, and I ignored it . . . at first. Then I gave in and savored the rich butteriness and the hint of chocolate. This was my new life. How lucky could one get? I allowed myself a sigh of pleasure and continued on to my living quarters.

  I returned to the shed and got to work. Legal documents went into one box. I planned to examine them in my room. In the other, I placed the pictures and newspaper articles, glancing at them as I did so. There was some fascinating history in those yellowed papers. The Silver Sentinels might have fun sorting through them. I called the Professor.

  “Hello, my dear. So wonderful to hear your voice and have you back with us.”

  “I’m glad to be here, too.”

  “I’m sorry to hear there seems to have been foul play at the Heights. Not a fun start to your return.”

  Startled, I asked, “What do you know about it?”

  “It’s a simple equation. The coroner’s van and the deputy sheriff’s car go by. People are being questioned. You can’t talk about it. In all probability, it’s murder.”

  “But . . . how . . .”

  “You sound a bit surprised. I called Daniel to find out what he knew. As you know, we all take part when something is afoot, and that was my assignment.”

  The sleuthing Silver Sentinels are on it again.

  “I’ll bring you up to speed when I can,” I said.

  “We know you will.”

  “I called because I have a project the group might be interested in.” I explained what I found.

  “Delightful idea. I’ll call the others and get back to you.”

  I turned my attention to the box full of Christmas ornaments. Placing them on the table, I didn’t think they looked special. Probably common ones used around the house. After photographing them in batches, I packed them in the carriage house box I’d emptied.

  The books in the last carton didn’t appear rare. Nothing jumped out at me from the titles, authors, or copyright dates. I lined them up six at a time and photographed their spines and put them back in their box. An Internet search would tell me if they were valuable.

  I looked around for something to label them with, but no luck. I’d take care of that tomorrow.

  I put the ornaments and books back in my Jeep. As I started to pick up the box of legal papers to take to the inn, my phone rang.

  “The group’s excited about seeing what you’ve unearthed,” the Professor said.

  “Great. I’ll get the conference room ready for you for tomorrow morning.”

  “Perfect. We’re looking forward to it.”

  I transferred the clippings and photos into the other clean box and carried it to the meeting room. It would be fun to have them here, and work with them again. I retrieved the last box and headed back inside the inn. Helen stood at the kitchen counter.

  Fred was stretched out in a rectangle of sun and beat a tune with his tail in greeting.

  “Hi,” she said. “Are you going to be able to make the party tonight?”

  I put the box on the counter. “I think so.”

  “I’ll leave directions for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Helen opened the refrigerator, and I noticed a cake. But this wasn’t just any cake. Bright spirals of color—orange, red, green, purple, and blue—swirled around the sides and top. It was the first psychedelic-looking frosting I’d ever seen. It matched Stevie’s tie-dyed top.

  She pulled it out and put it on the counter.

  “Wow! That looks amazing.”

  A little pink colored her face. “Thanks. I made it for Stevie’s party. I still have some decorating to do.”

  “It’s a real work of art.”

  The conversation halted as Tommy burst into the room. “Hi, Mom, Miss Kelly.”

  But he wasn’t looking at us. He only had eyes for the dancing hound in front of him.

  Fred began baying, and Tommy chimed in, howling along with him.

  “Good grief! Enough, you two.” Helen said. She looked at me. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  I laughed. “Absolutely!”

  Tommy got a bottle of juice from the refrigerator and sat at the counter.

  “I’ve started a side business doing custom baking,” Helen said. “It’s been fun. I love to cook, and I’m beginning to get to know some of the locals.”

  Tommy managed to bounce up and down on the flat wooden stool. “I’m the official taste tester.”

  “I look forward to hearing more about it. See you two later.”

  I picked up the carton and went back to my room. Putting it next to the couch for later, I stretched and thought about another cup of coffee. My phone rang, and I recognized Hensley’s number.

  “Kelly, Deputy Stanton would like you to come back. The detectives are here, and he has more questions for you.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I paused in the kitchen. Helen was bending over the cake and writing on the top with a piping bag, like my mom used. The name Stevie appeared in bright turquoise letters.

  “I have to go the Heights. Unless something unusual happens, I should still be able to make the party at some point. I might be late.”

  “Okay. I’ll let the others know.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Oh, Phil and Andy checked in yesterday.”

  Sommelier Phil—short for Philopoimen—Xanthis provided the wine for the inn. He and cheese monger Andy Brown created pairings for the guests. They were supplying Redwood Heights the cheese and wine for the Whale Frolic festival. I’d told them they could stay at Redwood Cove B & B, even though we weren’t officially open for guests. There were still a few minor details that needed to be taken care of, but the rooms were ready.

  I opened the Jeep’s door, took off my denim shirt, and tucked it away for its next adventure. Daniel’s VW bus was ahead of me as I drove down the road to the mansion. We parked next to each other and walked in together.

  “Have you heard anything new?” I asked him.

  “Nope. Hensley didn’t have anything else for me to do, so I left.”

  We went to the office in silence, where we found Hensley and Stanton seated at the desk.

  Deputy Sheriff Stanton ran a roughened hand over his face. “I appreciate your promptness. Do either of you have anything to add to what you’ve already told me about the woman called Sylvia Porter?”

  We both shook our heads. Neither of us had had much to do with Sylvia . . . or whoever she was.

  “We’re trying to figure out what besides her purse might be missing. Did you see her carrying anything?”

  “She had a camera,” I said.

  “Did you notice what kind?

  “No, sorry.”

  “I have a list of the jewelry she had on,” he said. “I’d like the three of you to look at it.”

  Hensley spoke up after perusing the items. “She had an unusual pendant that isn’t listed here. Belonged to her mother.”

  “I’ll get a description of it later from you.” Stanton jotted in his notepad. “You’ve had some jewelry thefts here. Refresh my memory.”

  “The last couple of days a few items have gone missing. I’m still reluctant to call it robbery. I’m hoping it’s a coincidence two guests misplaced their things. However, the jewelry’s gone, and I needed to report it. Both incidents happened during afternoon tea. The guests left their rooms unlocked when they went to the parlor.”

  Has the thief upped the ante?

  “I understand all the current guests were staying here at the same time as the murdered woman,” Stanton said.

  “That�
�s correct.”

  “Do you know what any of them were doing between eleven thirty and twelve forty-five?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Twelve people went on a whale-watching trip and then had a catered lunch accompanied by Claude Baxter, a chef who works with us part-time, and a wine steward he knows. They explained the special attributes of the meal. The others were on an all-day horseback riding excursion we arranged.”

  “So they all have alibis, sounds like,” Stanton said.

  “Except for Jerry Gershwin,” I volunteered. “He came back with Sylvia.”

  “Is there anyone else who stayed here and has left who might have had contact with her?”

  “The only person would be a Robert James,” Hensley replied.

  “I’d like to see his registration and payment information.”

  Hensley pulled a paper from a manila folder on her desk. “I can show you what he put down, but there’s no payment record. He paid cash.”

  “That seems unusual,” I blurted out. Oops. No one asked for my opinion.

  Hensley handed the form to the deputy. “Identity theft has caused more people to do cash transactions. I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?” Deputy Stanton asked.

  “He was a walk-in. We’d had a last-minute cancellation, so it worked out. He only stayed one night. Checked out yesterday.”

  Daniel volunteered, “I ran into him while I was working outside. He asked me about some of the outlying buildings. Wanted to know their history.”

  Stanton nodded. “We’ll see what we can learn about him, though there’s nothing to indicate finding him is a priority.”

  Daniel spoke up. “He’s still in town. At least he was as of lunchtime today. We were celebrating my daughter’s good grades with a pizza, and I saw him.”

  Hensley’s brow creased. “I wonder why he checked out, since the room was still available.”

  Daniel shrugged. “He was with some guy I didn’t recognize.”