Secrets at Spawning Run

by Sally Roseveare

  He squeezed her hand. “Go on.”

  “After breakfast, Luke left. He said he’d report the boat attack to the cops. I needed to clear my head and relax a bit, so I launched the canoe to see if I could find the grebes’ nest. King was swimming near the dock and didn’t want to go with me.”

  Now came the hard part, the part she didn’t want to recall. “Sam, when I returned in the canoe, King was pulling on something in the water. Whatever he wanted was hung up in some branches, so I leaned over and pulled, too.” She trembled. “It was a body, Sam.”

  Sam stared. “A dead body?”

  “Yes. And then the canoe capsized, and Sam—oh this is horrible—I fell on top of the body! I can still smell it and see it.”

  “Good heavens, Aurora! Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I tried, but you were already on your way here, remember?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Where’s the videotape? I want to see it.”

  “You don’t suppose, do you, Sam, that the body is Mr. Lampwerth? After all, his dog Russell is here. And he was shot.”

  At the sound of his name, Russell lifted his head from Sam’s leg, whined, then dropped back off to sleep.

  Sam kissed his wife’s cheek and said, “I doubt it. Did you give Lampwerth’s name to the police when they were here this morning?”

  “No, I was busy and just forgot. So much was going on. I’ll tell them the next time I talk to them.”

  Aurora retrieved the tape from the living room and took it to the bedroom. She pushed it into the bedroom VCR and hoped the vandals hadn’t damaged the VCR when they knocked it on the floor. Miraculously, it still worked. Now she needed Sam’s comforting and analytical mind. He could watch the tape while she was busy doing something else. Besides, the tape would help keep him occupied. And maybe he’d come up with some answers.

  “Whom should we trust? I have a tendency to trust

  everyone, you know.” She handed him the remote.

  “Well, the police for starters. And you’ve known Carole nearly all your life, so I guess she’s okay. That leaves Luke, and my gut feeling is that we need to be careful how much we tell him. I know you think he’s nice, but you really know nothing about him. Let’s take it slow with Luke. Do you agree?”

  “I guess so.”

  Aurora hurried to the front door when the doorbell chimed. Maybe the cleaning service had arrived. She hoped so. But standing on her front porch were Robert Reeves and a woman she’d never seen before.

  “Hello, Aurora. This is Jill Hathaway; you spoke with her yesterday about Russell.”

  “Yes, I remember talking with you,” Aurora said to Jill as the two women shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Hathaway. I didn’t expect to see you. As I remember from our phone conversation, you said you’d send someone from Washington to pick up Little Guy—sorry, Russell—in a few days.

  “And, Robert, seeing you is both a surprise and a treat. Haven’t seen you in eons. I didn’t expect you today, either. Do you two know each other?” Aurora quizzed, looking from one to the other.

  “Please call me Jill. And yes, we do know each other. In fact, both of us work for the same company, Lampwerth International. J. Melton Lampwerth IV is president and also Russell’s owner.” Jill explained why she’d come herself rather than sending someone else. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. Little Guy—sorry, I did it again—is stretched out on the bed with my husband. Sam had an accident day before yesterday, and, uh, Russell, if he’s the dog you’re looking for, is keeping him company.”

  “Did someone break in here, too?” Robert asked, gazing at the destruction around him.

  “Yes, and someone attacked Sam, but … What do you mean, ‘Break in here, too?’”

  “I’ve been robbed. Lost most of the smaller valuables, including some paintings, even that Perigal you liked so much. You remember it? The one painted in 1865?” Aurora nodded. “Some Persian rugs are missing, too. And the police found a trace of dried blood on the foyer floor.”

  “Whoa!” Aurora exclaimed. “Sam needs to hear this.”

  As Aurora led them toward the bedroom, Little Guy barked ecstatically. Jill called, “Russell, is that you?” The dog whined and howled, and jumped repeatedly against the closed bedroom door.

  “Aurora, you’d better get this dog before he hurts himself in here,” hollered Sam. “I’m afraid he’s gonna rip out some stitches.”

  Aurora, Jill and Robert entered the bedroom, and after a three-minute wiggling, jumping and licking spree, Russell calmed down and again rested on the bed, his head nestled against Sam’s thigh.

  “Tell him, Robert,” Aurora said.

  “Maybe I’d better start from the beginning,” Robert said. “When Jill told me Melton Lampwerth was missing, I assumed Melton had acted on my long-standing offer to use my house. Evidently I was correct, only Melton is still missing, and Russell has turned up injured. Jill and I arrived around four o’clock this morning and discovered I’d been robbed.” Robert repeated everything he’d told Aurora earlier.

  “That’s incredible,” Sam said. “I wonder if the two break-ins are related. Did they vandalize your house, too?”

  “That’s the strange thing. The only damage in the house is the missing property. The house was neat, just a whole lot emptier.”

  “But there’s blood on your floor, and blood on the bat that hit me,” Sam added.

  “You were hit by a bat?”

  “That’s what I’m told.”

  “My prize baseball bat, autographed by Babe Ruth himself, is missing. Do you suppose my bat is the one that hit you?”

  “Good point. I’ll call Lieutenant Conner. Maybe the bat and the blood are links the police have overlooked,” Aurora said.

  Something occurred to Aurora. She asked, “What kind of car does Lampwerth drive?”

  Jill replied, “A silver BMW.”

  Aurora excused herself, went in the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed the number Lieutenant Conner had left with her.

  “He’s not here, ma’am, but I’ll leave a message for him to call you as soon as he and Sergeant Johnson return.”

  “I’ll just call back later. Thanks, anyhow.”

  Aurora returned to the bedroom and sat quietly in the chair beside Sam’s bed as he, Robert and Jill discussed the two break-ins. The two incidents were not the same, and yet she had a gnawing feeling they were related. She excused herself again, walked back into the living room, and picked up the phone. Unfortunately, it always seems to boil down to whom you know.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Judge Charlie Anderson here,” answered the gruff voice.

  “Uncle Charlie, this is Aurora.”

  “Aurora, dear, how are you?”

  “I’m okay, Uncle Charlie, but I do have a problem. Do you have a minute?”

  “Anything for my favorite niece.” Actually, Aurora was Charlie Anderson’s only niece, his brother Jack’s daughter, but he knew she’d still be his favorite even if he had a hundred nieces. She was fun, inquisitive, loving. Always had been. He remembered the excitement in her voice a year ago when she called from Augusta and told him she was pregnant. Sam was thrilled, she’d told him, and had dashed out of the doctor’s office to buy his unborn son a football—NFL size. The next day Sam came home from work with a doll baby, one whose eyes opened and shut, tucked under his arm. Just in case, he’d said.

  Then tragedy struck. Four months into the pregnancy, Aurora miscarried. Aurora, Sam and Jack were devastated. Margaret, in a nursing home by then, was unaware of the loss. And five months after the miscarriage, Jack drowned. Some folks called it suicide, said the unborn baby’s death, coupled with the guilt of no longer being able to care for his wife, drove him to end his life. Others said that the spark in him had died, that he no longer paid attention to details, and that simple carelessness caused him to get his foot tangled in the anchor rope that dragged him to his death.

  Aurora had
taken her father’s death hard. Her inability to accept his death as either a suicide or an accident had kept her feelings in turmoil, but a few days ago when he was out of town, she’d left him a message saying she had finally accepted the official verdict of accidental drowning. He was glad. Suspicion and anger could eat your insides up. He’d seen it happen to too many good people.

  And then, as if the card game of life hadn’t dealt her a bad enough hand, last week her mother died. A blessing? Charlie didn’t know. He knew that his wife Annie’s death five years ago from colon cancer was a blessing for her. People told him it was a blessing for him, too, that he no longer had to watch Annie suffer in agony. Theoretically they were probably right, but the long days and sleepless nights without her…. Lord, he missed her so much, missed caring for her, fixing her meals, rubbing her back, hearing the sweet sound of her voice.

  “I always have a minute for you, Aurora, dear. More, if you need it,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Someone broke into Mom and Dad’s house. Unfortunately, Sam surprised the intruders and received a concussion and cracked ribs.”

  “And you didn’t call me?”

  “You were out of town. You left from the cemetery immediately after Mother’s funeral. Some convention or something in Acapulco. I called your office and left a message. Your secretary said you were due to return very late last night, that you’d be back in the office today.”

  Then Aurora told him about the theft at Robert’s house. “Uncle Charlie, instinct tells me the vandalism of my house and the robbery of Robert Reeves’ house are tied together.”

  Silence. Or was that a soft groan she heard coming from her uncle?

  “But Aurora, dear, from what you just told me, the crime scenes weren’t at all alike. The M.O. isn’t the same.”

  “But different policemen investigated the two crimes. Investigators Conner and Johnson are on this case; I don’t know the names of the deputies who are looking into Robert’s burglary. And listen to this. Someone tried to ram the boat I was in. A hotshot businessman from Washington, D.C.—his name is J. Melton Lampwerth—has disappeared and his dog Russell showed up at this house, and he’d been shot. I fell on top of a body floating in the water, but it was gone when Conner and Johnson searched for it. There’s a bloodstain on the foyer floor where Lampwerth was probably staying, 214 Spawning Run Road, and the house had been robbed. My house was ransacked. Sam was hit with a baseball bat. There was blood on the bat, even though there were no open wounds on Sam. And I would bet anything that the bat is the one stolen from Robert Reeves’ house.”

  “Aurora …”

  “I’m not through. The abandoned car discovered less than a mile from my house was a BMW. I just learned a few minutes ago from Jill Hathaway—she works for Lampwerth—that Mr. Lampwerth drives a BMW.”

  “Aurora, I haven’t been a District Attorney for nearly fifteen years. I’m a judge. Besides, Smith Mountain Lake isn’t in my jurisdiction. You know that.”

  “Uncle Charlie, please won’t you check into it? At least find out if the blood on the bat and the blood in the foyer match. You’ve got lots of contacts; you can pull strings and make people listen to you. Aren’t you and Sheriff Rogers good friends, golf buddies? Won’t you please help me?”

  “I guess I could make a few phone calls. What you say makes sense. I’ll suggest they run a check on the blood samples if they haven’t done so already. Now what’s this about a boat nearly ramming you, and a body in the lake?”

  Aurora felt the tension drain out of her. Uncle Charlie would look into the two cases. Then she told him about the videotape of the boat. By the time she hung up the phone, she felt much better. At least now someone was paying attention to her. And that someone had lots of clout.

  She returned to the bedroom to join Sam, Jill and Robert.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When Aurora opened the front door for Jill and Robert to leave, a woman was standing on the porch. The woman, her finger poised to push the doorbell, looked startled.

  ‘“I know you!” exclaimed Aurora. “You wanted to breed your female Lab to King.”

  “You have a good memory for faces, honey. I’m surprised you recognized me in this ugly old uniform.” She smoothed down her tight pale-pink slacks and adjusted the collar on the matching blouse. “I’m Sheila.”

  “Did you come for our friends’ address and phone number? You know, the folks who bred King?”

  “Actually, no. I’m from the cleaning service. Mr. Johns sent me. The rest of the team will be here any minute. I’m the advance guard, you might say.” She smiled at Aurora.

  “Please come in. You can see we’re desperate for help.”

  Aurora waved goodbye to Robert and Jill, promising to see them later. For now, Little Guy would stay with Aurora. Besides, Sam could use the company.

  Sheila turned slowly as she looked around the living room. “What happened? Did a tornado roar through here?”

  “Not unless a tornado’s capable of slicing cushions.”

  “You’re kidding! A person did all this? Whatever for?”

  “Beats me. The police are working on that as we speak.”

  “Did they take anything?”

  “Nope. Only my sense of security.”

  “Aren’t you scared to stay here alone?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” She has a point. If the intruder were after the videotape, he may come back. And somebody robbed Robert, and the police found blood on his foyer floor.

  But she said to Sheila, “I don’t think there’s a thing to worry about. And I’m not alone; my husband’s here with me.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Where’s King? I was hoping I’d get a chance to see him again.”

  “King is staying with a friend right now. He thought he should be in charge of the investigation.” Both women laughed. “The police told me King wanted to solve the attack on my husband and the vandalism here all by himself.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me at all if King could do that,” said Sheila. “After all, he’s a Labrador retriever.”

  They discussed the break-in, then Sheila said, “I’ll just take a walk-through to see what needs to be done, then when the rest of the team gets here we’ll be ready to work. Don’t you fret yourself one little bit, Mrs. Harris, honey; we’ll soon have you neat and tidy.” She gave Aurora a little pat on her shoulder.

  “Let me get out of your way, then. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me. And please call me Aurora.”

  Aurora picked up her cross-stitch bag, walked in the bedroom, and shut the door. Sam slept peacefully, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his light snoring. Little Guy opened one eye to see who had come in, then dropped back off to sleep. Smiling at the recuperating pair, Aurora moved Sam’s guitar off the bed and turned off the television. Sam must have fallen asleep as the tape played. For him, watching TV was more effective than a sleeping pill. She wondered how much of the videotape he saw before zoning out.

  Not again, she thought as the vivid memories of the bloated body reappeared in her head. The feel, the sight, the smell enveloped her as if she were back in the lake. She shuddered.

  Determined to put all depressing thoughts out of her head until she talked with the police, Aurora settled down on the floral-covered chaise longue between the bed and the wide, water-view window. She looked around at the comforting room, her bedroom when she was growing up. Her parents’ bedroom, actually a suite, was much larger, but she couldn’t bring herself to claim it. In her room, with its antique cherry four-poster bed, armoire, the old cherry chest of drawers, and the cottage pine dressing table, Aurora felt comfortable, at home. And safe.

  She pulled the latest cross-stitch project from the tote bag. Cross-stitching always relaxed her, and she hoped it wouldn’t fail her now. This particular project depicted the shoreline of Washington, North Carolina—known to locals there as “Little Washington” or “the Original Washington.” She had used a picture s
he’d taken of Washington Park from the river to design the cross-stitch. The town enchanted her. Old stately homes peeked through moss-laden trees and weather-beaten piers reached out into the Pamlico River. Aurora smiled. What stories those piers could tell.

  Computers now simplified the design of a cross-stitch kit. Before leaving Augusta, she had scanned the picture she wished to use from the travelogue onto the computer, then loaded the image into the cross-stitch program. Next she chose the colors of the threads, and the computer did the work. Occasionally, however, the program could not produce the exact shades she desired. That was the case with this project. Aurora sorted through her well-stocked bag and pulled out a board containing skeins of floss in varying shades of gray. Settling on a dull gray with a slight hint of green, she threaded her needle and began stitching a facsimile of the Spanish moss onto the cream-colored 18-count Aida fabric. Good, the moss was easy; this shade would work perfectly. Selecting the colors for the piers hadn’t been this simple. She mingled several different grays and silvers to obtain the exact look she wanted for them.

  Aurora usually worked on a new travelogue as she created a cross-stitch work of art from an old one. Friends didn’t understand how she could do both at the same time, but she had perfected a system that worked well for her. She would thread her needle, then turn on the tiny dictating machine she always carried in her tote bag, thereby freeing her hands for needlework. Sometimes she would have scrawled notes beside her, but not today. She began dictating, confident Sam wouldn’t be awakened by her voice.

  First she would paint a word picture of Smith Mountain Lake at sunrise. A brief history of the Lake’s origin would come next, then a view of the dam and the numerous recreational opportunities the lake provided. She would weave in the shops, restaurants, the different types of housing, some local churches, night spots, and the small towns that helped give the lake its charm. She’d end the promo with the spectacular sunset she and Luke had recorded. The completed brochure and videotape would pair well together or separately, depending on what Carole wanted to send to prospective clients.