Murder at the Mansion

by Janet Finsilver

  I took a deep breath. “Is her husband still alive?”

  “No. Boozin’ son-of-a-gun. Died in a car accident when the littlest kid was only eight months old. She went back to usin’ the family name.”

  “What about the children?”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about them. Other side of the family raised them. They were grown when the rest of the family died off. Just disappeared.”

  I heard a loud chiming in the background.

  “I gotta go. They’re servin’ dinner. If you’re at the back of the line around here, you don’t get much.”

  I rested my forehead in my hand. “Henry, thank you so much for your time. I really appreciate it. Oh, wait, one other thing. Were the children boys or girls?”

  “Both. Two boys and a girl. I gotta go.”

  “If you think of anything else, please call me collect.” I gave her the number but doubted the woman was writing it down. I thought fast. “There’s a reward for whoever helps me figure this out,” I said. I heard rustling sounds.

  “What was the number again?”

  I repeated it and winced as Henry’s phone slammed down. Anybody in the way of the food line had better watch out.

  I leaned back on the window seat. What had I learned? There was at least one cranky relative left, that was for sure. Iris Reynolds, who sued the Brandons, was dead. She had three children who’d been brought up believing Redwood Heights belonged to them. Their ages could be a match for Hensley and Lily. There could be grandchildren, which would put Cindy, Tina, and maybe Jerry in the running. I didn’t know enough about Robert James to place him on one list or the other.

  No new lawsuit had been started, so that would mean there was no compelling evidence of ownership of the mansion. It still came back to why kill Sylvia, a hotel spotter? What did she know or have that someone would murder for?

  Chapter 19

  There wasn’t any more for me to do regarding the box. Tomorrow I’d go to the carriage house and see if I could find more paperwork regarding the lawsuit. The clock read four. The chowder competition sounded fun, and I had time to make it.

  I called Scott. “Hi. I’m done with the papers. Do you still want to go to the Whale Frolic event?”

  “Sure.”

  “Gertie said the line is long if you don’t have tickets, so we should go early.”

  “I can take care of the tickets. I have to go by the town hall, where it’s being held, on my way back to Redwood Heights.”

  “Thanks. See you there at five thirty.”

  “Okay.”

  So, let’s see. A list of Scott’s attributes. Thoughtful. Helps in the kitchen. Always polite. I shook my head. Stop it. This isn’t helping me keep my distance. I decided to go to the multipurpose room and change the subject in my mind.

  Tommy and Allie had papers spread out over the top of the oak table. Fred’s head rested on Tommy’s shoe, and his back paw touched Allie’s foot. He wagged a greeting but didn’t move other than that. Helen and Daniel sat at the counter, cups of coffee in front of them.

  I walked over to the table. “Hi, kids. What are you working on?”

  Tommy looked at me. “It’s a project for school. Allie and I aren’t in the same grade, but the school has the same theme for everyone. We have different assignments, but we can still help each other.”

  Allie joined in. “We’re learning about whales. I didn’t realize how smart they are. It’s fun.” She stopped, a surprised look on her face.

  I think she’d startled herself. School being fun wasn’t what anyone would have heard from Allie a few months ago. Back then she’d been struggling both with school and home life. Her mom had walked out on her and Daniel. Getting in trouble had been happening regularly.

  Tommy’s help, along with Gertie’s, had turned around her grades. I guessed Gertie threw in some motherly advice as well. It was heart lifting to see the change.

  “Miss Kelly,” Tommy asked, “is it all right to leave the papers out over the weekend?”

  “It’s okay with me if it is with your mom. I won’t be using the table.”

  Helen nodded. “That’s fine. Kelly, come join us. I made fresh coffee.”

  “I’d love some,” I said, taking the seat next to her.

  Helen took a mug off a hook and poured dark, steaming liquid from a carafe. “Do you still like it black?”

  “I do.” I took the mug, gave an appreciative sniff, and sipped.

  Daniel leaned against the counter. “We’re going to head over to the chowder competition in a bit. Are you going?”

  “I am. The Sentinels said it’s a lot of fun.”

  “It is. The chefs at the local restaurants get very creative trying to outdo each other.”

  Helen poured herself more coffee. “The samples are small so there’s not really enough to make a meal. They sell food there, and that’s what we’re all going to do for dinner.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  We chatted a bit and then I went back to my room to change. I was still wearing my carriage house clothes, as I had now named them, having left them on as I sorted through the box of legal papers. I was ready to put on something clean.

  This was a jeans-and-fleece town. My kind of place. I faced the big decision on whether to wear blue denim or black jeans and decided on black. I chose a light blue turtleneck that would match the Redwood Cove B & B embroidery on my black fleece. Black-on-black. Wasn’t that considered dressy? Twisting my hair in a knot, I clipped it into place and switched the contents of my fanny pack to my purse. I was ready to go out.

  I arrived at the town hall a few minutes before five thirty. There were two lines—one to buy tickets and another for those who already had theirs. I saw Scott in the latter line and joined him.

  “I’m glad you were able to get tickets.”

  “Me too.”

  The doors opened and our line filed in. We traded our tickets for a chowder-voting sheet and entered a cavernous room filled with savory smells. Men and women wearing white aprons and signature chef’s hats lined one wall, hovering over enormous metal containers on hot plates. People all but sprinted for them. Scott and I went to the closest one and were handed paper cups half full of creamy, steaming soup. The label on the table said CREOLE SHRIMP AND CORN CHOWDER.

  Pieces of shrimp and kernels of corn filled the rich, thick broth. There was nothing low-calorie about this dish, and I didn’t care. We made our way down the line, then took a breather to walk around and look at the local crafts being displayed. People laughed, joked, and compared notes on their favorite soups.

  “You talked about the sense of community in a small town.” Scott looked around. “I understand what you were saying in the camaraderie I see here. We never stayed in one place long enough to develop close relationships with people.”

  “What do you think about it?”

  “It looks special. It’s not something I’ve experienced.” He sampled a spoonful of chowder. “What do people do in places like this when they’re not working? In big cities there’s always a long list of choices.”

  I pointed to the tables holding homemade white crocheted doilies, pot holders, and a myriad of other items. “Many get a hobby.” There was a table with birdhouses built to look like two-story homes from the 1800s. “You could build those.”

  Scott looked at me with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “Right.” He pointed to the pot holders. “It’d make more sense if I made some of those.”

  I laughed. “Pot holders? Why?”

  “I have a hobby of sorts.” He took another taste of chowder. “Hmmm. I think I detect a hint of lemongrass and maybe some saffron.”

  While I was impressed with his food knowledge, I wanted to know what he did for fun.

  I persisted. “What’s your hobby?”

  “I cook.” He flashed me a big grin, knowing he’d caught me by surprise. “I can whip up a mean crepe filled with Brie, basil pesto, and chopped tomatoes.”

&
nbsp; A feather would’ve knocked me over. “What got you interested in that?”

  “I eat out so much, I decided when I was home, I wanted to cook my own food. Started by watching the cooking channels.”

  He used gyms regularly, so I could see him watching exercise programs. But cooking shows? I tried to imagine him watching one of those and couldn’t do it.

  He tossed his cup in a bin and placed his voting sheet in a box on a nearby table. “I need to leave to meet Michael. I’m glad you suggested this.”

  “Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow at Redwood Heights.”

  He left, and I looked around for familiar faces. It was hard to find anyone I knew in the now packed building. I spied Daniel towering above the crowd and started in his direction. People parted a bit, revealing Tina, Cindy, and Jerry chatting and tasting.

  My eyes met Tina’s. Her face reddened, and she turned away. I wondered if Deputy Sheriff Stanton had questioned her and the others yet.

  I made my way to Daniel, Helen, and the kids.

  “Miss Kelly, did you try the last chowder in the line? It’s yummy good.”

  “Not yet, Tommy. I was about to go back. I’ll go there first.”

  A familiar voice at my elbow said, “So glad you could make it, dear. What do you think of our little event?”

  I turned to the Professor. “Overwhelmingly delicious. The combinations they’ve put together are over the top.”

  He could have walked out of one of the halls of an Ivy League school in his tweed jacket and matching cloth cap. Gertie and Mary were with him.

  I looked around. “Where are Ivan and Rudy?”

  “Making a second round,” Mary said.

  “Have you found Robert James yet?” I asked.

  “We’re not sure. We found some men who look like him. We have a few more pictures to take tomorrow morning,” Mary said.

  Gertie shifted her position on her cane. “Daniel’s going to come over as soon as we have those photos to see if any of them are Robert James.”

  The Professor added, “A couple of them really look like the man in Gertie’s photo. I think we have him.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see if he has anything to add that’ll further the investigation,” I said.

  I told them what I’d found that morning. The kids bombarded me with questions. A hidden passageway was a thing of intrigue. The Sentinels said they’d be over to the mansion in the afternoon for the event. After sampling the offerings from the few restaurants I hadn’t tried yet, I voted for my favorite and drove home.

  It had been a full day. Sleep came quickly.

  In the morning I showered, slipped into my carriage house clothes, and fixed a light breakfast in my kitchen. I didn’t have to be at the Heights for the Whale Frolic event until one, giving me plenty of time to do more searching. As I headed for my truck, I noticed the B & B was quiet. Apparently the Sentinels hadn’t arrived yet and the kitchen was empty.

  I pulled in next to the carriage house. Opening the door, I looked for a way to prop it open. Inside, on the floor next to the threshold, I found several wooden wedges. Someone before me had had the same idea. Probably one for the small door and a couple for the larger ones. I pushed the door back and slipped the device under the bottom edge, allowing the morning rays to brighten the gloomy interior.

  As I did so, I noticed a pile of greasy rags next to the building. A gardener or a workman must have forgotten and left them there. I’d take care of them on my way out.

  I hadn’t walked through the whole building on my earlier visit and decided this was a good time to do so. Flipping on the lights, I began along the right-hand wall by pulling back dusty cloth covers and revealing chairs and couches. Miscellaneous gardening equipment leaned against the side of the building. Empty wooden barrels, the kinds I’d seen in wineries, were stacked on end along the back wall pyramid style, with six on the bottom and narrowing to two on top.

  I found four more storage boxes and browsed their contents, hoping for more about Iris Reynolds and the lawsuit. The first one had black-and-white pictures—the paper as hard as thin cardboard. Each had two identical pictures on it. My grandmother had ones like these. She’d put one in a device called a stereoscope. When you looked through it, the photo came together as one picture. The other containers had books.

  My attention was drawn to a glass cabinet hanging on the wall with a display of bridle bits. There were some very unusual pieces. One in particular had long silver sides with intricate engraving. These could be valuable.

  A noise overhead made me look up. The rafters were high, and it was hard to see the upper portion of the building. I went over to my fanny pack and retrieved my flashlight. The beam revealed an intricately woven structure of branches and twigs on a crossbeam. I’d seen ones like it on the ranch and guessed it was a raven’s nest.

  As if to prove me right, a glossy black bird poked its head over the edge and eyed me.

  “So, my dear raven, how are you getting in?”

  The accommodating bird jumped onto a beam, ducked under the roof, and disappeared. I went outside and pushed through the low bushes along the edge of the building, peered up, and could barely make out a gap between the roof and the wall. Probably some dry rot there. I was becoming an expert on the stuff.

  I felt something under my foot and looked to see what I’d stepped on. I found a quarter. There were a couple more coins next to it and a silver tab off of a soda can. Someone must’ve dropped them. I picked them up and put them in my pocket.

  Back inside, I went over to the bit case, wondering if I should take the one I’d been admiring for safekeeping. I tried the door, and it opened easily. Stepping closer, I started to reach for it but stopped when my shoe scraped against something loose on the ground.

  A couple more soda tabs were under foot. Next to them . . . a diamond ring. I snatched it up and studied it. It matched the description on the list of missing pieces. I looked up. It was directly under the raven’s nest. I’d heard they were attracted to shiny items and had read a story about a raven stockpiling coins it stole from a vending machine. I’d noticed windows had been left open in many of the rooms on warm afternoons.

  Maybe we had our thief! My heart raced. I’d noticed a tall metal ladder next to the fire extinguisher. I got it, put it under the nest, and looked up—a long way up. I hesitated. I’d learned from my days on the ranch, the higher the ladder, the more unstable. Even a sturdy ladder like this one could fall over. Then I thought of Stevie and Tina. If I was right, they’d be cleared of the thefts. I began climbing. The ladder wobbled a bit, but I kept going. Luckily, the nest was on the crossbeam and not all the way at the top of the building.

  Standing on the last rung, I straightened up as tall as I could, holding the top of the ladder with both hands. I could barely see in, but I saw enough to have one answer to our problems. The hoard included a variety of bright objects, including jewelry and a few golf balls. The nest was too high for me to reach into it. I could only hope the bird wouldn’t relocate anything until we’d had a chance to get the stolen goods back. I couldn’t wait to tell Stanton . . . and Hensley. Stevie and Tina were in the clear.

  A clattering near my right shoulder announced the raven’s return. Before I could pull back, the raven was next to me, wings beating my head. I shrieked and covered my face with one arm, the other holding tight to the ladder.

  “Stop! Get away!” I yelled and struck out at the bird.

  My precarious perch wobbled, then toppled.

  The ladder and I hurtled downward.

  Chapter 20

  I grabbed the ladder with both hands and threw my body to the right, attempting to twist it enough so the front of the ladder would fall on the stack of barrels. I was partly successful, as the front edge of the ladder hit the top two barrels, sending them cascading end over end and smashing into the back wall. The ladder bumped down to the next row of three and settled at an angle . . . tilting precariously.

  My h
eart raced, but I froze in place, waiting to see if there would be any further shifting. After a minute that seemed like an eternity, I moved my right foot down a rung and stopped. No movement. Two more steps and the ladder slid down a few inches. I clung to the sides, waited a few seconds, and then continued down even more slowly than before. Making it to the bottom, with a few more scares, I sagged against the ladder, trembling from the adrenaline racing through my body.

  That was too close for comfort. I felt like kissing the ground.

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and walked over to view the damage. The barrels had gouged a couple of very large holes in the wall. I peered into one, but the meager light in the room couldn’t penetrate the pitch black. I searched for my flashlight and found it where I’d dropped it during the fall. I turned it on and looked through the opening of one of the broken areas.

  I gasped.

  I’d expected to see a retaining wall at the back of the cave. Instead, my light showed stacks of steamer trunks and wooden traveling boxes in various sizes, and—I blinked—an old-fashioned horse carriage. Redwood Heights was full of surprises.

  One of the holes was almost big enough for me to squeeze through if I pulled the shattered boards off. I removed the canvas cover off of the furniture and used the material to protect my hands as I took off the loose pieces of wood. If I was careful, I’d be able to get through without snagging myself on the jagged edges.

  I crawled through the opening and flashed my light around. A blanket of undisturbed dust covered everything. I examined the first trunk. It was wooden and decorated with brass stars dulled with age. I aimed my light at a large tag with bold, black writing. Unfortunately, the swirling penmanship on the yellowed tag was impossible to read.

  I pulled on the metal handle and flipped the heavy lid back. My light flickered and went out, reminding me of how little light was making it into the room. Darn. The fall must’ve loosened something. I shook it and was relieved when it came back to life.

  Ruffles, lace, and beads adorning the bodice of a midnight blue dress showed in the light. I turned the beam to the edge of the box. There was enough room for me to run my hand down the side and flip through the contents. Silk, cotton, and wool garments in the colors of the rainbow with a few plaids thrown in. A lady’s wardrobe.