Meg drove to the front entrance. She had intended to call Gloria anyway to inform her of the auction plans, but Meg decided to phone her cousin right away. It was a moment before she realized that Ashford House now sat like a dark Gothic monster amidst its sentinels of twisting, black-as-pitch trees. “What happened to the porch lights?” she said as she angled her car so the headlights shone on the veranda.
She remembered Jenny telling her that the power often went out. Perhaps that’s all this was. She dug through her purse until her hand closed around her cell phone and then she got out and walked to the house. Once on the porch she listened for any sound that wasn’t part of the chorus of moans that regularly emanated from the old place.
She slipped the key into the front lock but never turned it because the door swung wide with just the pressure of her hand on the knob. She peered across the threshold into the foyer. Nothing was as she had left it. Debris littered the hallway floor, the contents of drawers still yawning open from the hall stand. A lamp was overturned on the foyer table. Even the finial from the front newel post, her Uncle Stewart’s favorite hiding place, had been removed and sat on the maple floor.
Meg’s hand covered her mouth, trapping a scream. “Oh, my God.” The car’s headlamps weren’t strong enough for her to see through the doorway and into the parlor, but Meg’s instincts warned her that the same chaos existed in that room, perhaps in all the rooms.
Blood surged through her veins and drummed in her head. For a moment she couldn’t move, even though she knew someone might still be in the house. And then, her initial fear mutated into a burning anger. How could someone so brazenly break into Amelia’s house?
She stood immobilized by shock and fury, though somewhere in her head a rational voice told her that the inability to act often proved fatal to victims of similar invasions. She might have remained rooted to the threshold indefinitely had not a creature streaked by her, emitting a high-pitched wail of alarm and whipping a furry tail against her leg.
“Mr. Cuddles,” she cried, scooping the terrified cat into her arms. She ran with him to her car and tossed him ahead of her into the passenger seat. Only when she closed and locked the doors did she punch the three keys on her cell phone which would connect her to the police. She responded to a woman’s kindly, calm voice. “This is Meg Hamilton at Ashford House. There’s been a break-in.”
CHAPTER NINE
HAVING JUST CHECKED the security locks on the back doors of Mount Esther’s Center Street businesses, Wade fished his keys out of his pocket and headed out of the alley to his patrol car. When his cell phone rang, he stopped, took it out of its belt pouch and said, “Wade Murdock.”
“Wade, it’s Bert.”
Wade continued his leisurely progress around the buildings. Mount Esther’s sheriff often called at the end of the evening shift to assure himself that all was running smoothly in his town. “How ya’ doing, Bert? Everything’s okay downtown….”
“Well, that’s not the case out of town. I just got a call from county dispatch. Your house has been broken into.”
Wade’s pace ratcheted into a sprint. “What? I just spoke to Pop. He said…”
“Not your rental. The Ashford place. Somebody broke in there.”
Meg! “Who called dispatch?”
“The lady who’s staying out there. Miz Ashford’s niece.”
Wade slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Is she at the house now?” he asked while backing out of his spot. “Are the intruders still on the property?”
“She’s there, but it’s not known at this time if she’s alone. I’m on my way out there myself, but I thought you’d want to know.”
Wade was already headed in the direction of Ashford House, lights flashing. “Absolutely. I’ll meet you there.”
WADE REACHED the property before the sheriff. He pulled behind Meg’s vehicle, heaved a breath of relief when he saw her inside, and got out of his car. She did the same and stood waiting for him, her eyes round and glassy in the headlights of the patrol car. She was trembling. He wrapped his hands around her arms. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m okay. I’d just come back from Shady Grove, and…” Her voice broke on a sob. “Wade, somebody’s been in the house!”
She leaned against him and he put his arms around her. Over the top of her head, he scanned the property, looking for any signs that the perpetrators could still be in the vicinity. He’d already determined that unless they’d hidden transportation somewhere in the yard, or, more logically, out on the county road, there was no evidence of a getaway vehicle. The burglars must have hit and run before Meg got home.
He held her a little away from his body and looked down into her face. She was pale, shaken, but she seemed to be in control. “You didn’t go in the house, did you?”
She shook her head. “When I saw that the porch lights were off, I thought the power was out, so I went to the front door. That’s when I saw that the foyer had been vandalized. I ran back to the car to call 911.”
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You did the right thing, Meg. Coming out to the car was smart. In fact, I’m going to suggest that you get back in it now and lock the doors.”
Her hand covered his where it remained on her arm and she stared at up at him with wide, glistening eyes. “Are you going inside alone?”
Was it his imagination, or was that fear he saw in her eyes? It was kind of nice to think that a woman cared about his well-being again. It had been a long time. He brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “It’s what I do, Meg. And I do it pretty well. Now get back in the car. Sheriff Hollinger will be here in a minute to provide backup.”
She slid into the car and gathered Mr. Cuddles in her lap.
“I see you haven’t been completely alone,” Wade said.
She ran a hand down the cat’s back. “No. I picked up a hitchhiker on my frantic run to the driveway.”
He closed the door and pointed to the lock button. She pressed it and he went toward the house. For the second time during his employment in Mount Esther, his gun was drawn.
MEG STARTED SHIVERING all over again. She squeezed Mr. Cuddles tightly to her chest and nuzzled her nose into the cat’s neck. She watched Wade stalk cautiously to the veranda and approach the front door.
She said a silent prayer that he would be all right, that the vandals had left, that the sheriff would arrive before Wade stepped over the threshold and that she wouldn’t jump out of her skin.
Another pair of flashing lights appeared in her rearview mirror, and she spun around to watch the approach of the second car. Sheriff Hollinger pulled alongside Wade’s vehicle, and he stepped onto the driveway. Hollinger was a big man in both height and weight, obviously years older than Wade but still a formidable presence. Meg darted a glance at the house as the sheriff strode to the side of her car. Wade had disappeared inside. She rolled down her window.
“I’m Sheriff Hollinger. You okay, ma’am?” he said, his southern accent smooth and slow as the ripples in the Suwannee on a hot summer’s day—and the exact opposite of the trip-hammer beat of her heart.
“He’s inside,” she said. “Wade went inside.”
Hollinger patted her shoulder. “It’s gonna be all right. I’m goin’ right in behind him. You stay here.”
The sheriff drew his weapon and headed toward the house, his posture bent nearly double as if reducing his towering frame might make him less noticeable to the intruders. He took nearly twice as long to reach the porch as Wade had, and with each plodding step, Meg grew more anxious. Hurry up! she screamed in her mind.
And then Wade came through the door and stood on the veranda. The two men spoke, nodding their heads. Sheriff Hollinger went down the steps and around to the back of the house, and Wade entered through the front door again. If the sheriff intended to check the rear of the property and come in the back way, she assumed Wade had unlocked the door.
Within moments, lights appeared thro
ughout the first floor of the house. Soon after, the upstairs lights came on, and Meg saw Wade moving about in her bedroom. He came to the window, and assuming she was watching, he gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Next the attic was illuminated, probably with the meager little boudoir lamp they’d used on Saturday. But it was enough to provide a glow in both dormers as Wade’s body moved eerily behind the windows of Stewie’s ghostly casino. He moved to the turret, and with a powerful flashlight shining in the trees and on the ground, he scanned the property in all directions from that third-floor vantage point.
Soon, both men returned to the porch. Sheriff Hollinger waited while Wade walked across the yard and opened Meg’s car door. She stared up at him, suddenly aware that her relief went far beyond concern for the well-being of Mount Esther’s deputy. It was Wade’s safety that truly mattered to her, and the revelation was as unsettling as it was comforting.
“Whoever broke in is gone now,” he told Meg. “But it’s a mess in there. Maybe you should wait….”
She’d already set Mr. Cuddles on the ground and was climbing out of the car.
Wade stepped out of her way and scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, well, I can see that waiting is not part of your game plan.”
Focusing her concern on Ashford House, Meg strode toward the porch. “How bad?”
He followed her. “At first glance I don’t think any of the furniture is broken. Only you can tell if something’s missing.”
They passed Sheriff Hollinger on the steps. “I’m getting the kit from my car,” he said, and when he urged Meg not to touch anything, she assumed he was referring to a fingerprint kit.
“How did they get in?” she asked, entering the foyer which looked much worse in the light. Papers were strewn everywhere, and Amelia’s precious knickknacks lay scattered on the floor, many reduced to bits of broken china.
“Back door lock was busted,” Wade said.
She entered the parlor and literally had to make herself breathe. Drawers were overturned, the contents covering chairs and tables. Cabinet doors swung open on their hinges since the treasures they protected had been tossed onto the carpets. Even the sofa cushions sat askew on the cheerful chintz frame.
Wade followed Meg through the rest of the first-floor rooms where the damage was similarly disastrous. The second floor was the same. Whether the vandals found what they were looking for, Meg had no way of knowing.
In her bedroom, Meg stood gaping at her personal belongings flung on the floor around the upended mattress and box springs, her toiletries, clothing, even her underwear. She felt sick. Tears threatened at the backs of her eyes. Her throat constricted. She clutched her hand around her neck and walked toward the window and the fresh breeze it offered.
With a handkerchief he found on the floor, Wade picked up a few bottles by their lids and set them back on the dresser, a kind but futile attempt to put Meg’s world in order again. Then he stood beside her at the window that looked over the dark landscape. In contrast to the chaos inside, the lush trees and shrubs of the grounds were serene and calm, unaffected by the invasion.
Wade put his arm around Meg’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Meg. I can’t imagine why anyone would do this.”
She let his strength support her and savored the temporary security of his hold. “Do you think this was an act against Amelia, or me?”
“Hard to say. In a town like this, where everybody knows everyone else, it doesn’t seem likely that this was a random act.” He moved his hand up and down her arm while he continued staring out the window. “But Amelia has lived here all her life. I don’t know why anyone would do this to her.”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.” Now that her anger had faded, Meg fought an overwhelming exhaustion. But for the first time since returning from Shady Grove, she wasn’t afraid. The warmth of Wade’s body against hers made her limbs weak. She relaxed and drew a couple of slow, easy breaths. But she knew her unease would return when Wade and Sheriff Hollinger left the house. “I suppose I have to consider that this vandalism was directed at me,” she said.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Wade advised. “Who in Mount Esther knows you well enough to inflict this kind of damage to the property?”
She didn’t have an answer.
“Hey, Wade!” Sheriff Hollinger called from the first floor. “Everything okay up there?”
He gave Meg’s shoulder an extra little squeeze. “We’re fine. Be right down.”
Meg stepped away from him and went to the bedroom door. “Do you think he’s found anything?”
“Hope so. If not, we’ll keep looking.” He turned around and surveyed the room once more. “I’ll come back up in a while and set that mattress back onto the frame again.”
She managed to smile. “Thanks, but I can’t imagine that I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.”
Sheriff Hollinger was waiting at the base of the stairs with the fingerprint kit.
“Get anything good?” Wade asked.
“No. Looks like our boy was wearing gloves.”
“What makes you think there was only one of them?”
Sheriff Hollinger took another look around the room. “I don’t, really. From the looks of this place, it seems more likely that a small army came in that back door.” He addressed his next question to Meg. “Do you think anything’s been stolen?”
Knowing where Amelia kept her most valuable treasures, Meg went into the dining room to check the built-in china cupboard. The doors were open, revealing the Ashford silver. All the pieces of sterling, the candlesticks, punch bowl, flatware, and other items were still in the cupboard, though they had been slid along the shelves and knocked over. “If anyone knew what was in this house, they would have taken these things,” she said. “And as far as I can tell nothing is missing.”
Wade rubbed his index finger over his upper lip. “It’s not a robbery, then. Strange. What other motive could the perpetrators have for breaking in?”
“I think we’ve got to consider that it was a robbery,” Sheriff Hollinger said. “But who knows if the burglars found what they were looking for.”
“What would that be?” Wade asked.
Meg sat down on a chair and stared up at him. “All I can tell you is that if they were looking for the Quit Claim Deed, I can vouch for the fact that it’s not in this house.”
His lips curled up at the corners. “Glad to see you’ve kept your sense of humor, Hamilton,” he said.
Not privy to the joke, Hollinger continued with his theory. “No, I don’t think our guys were lookin’ for a deed. They came in search of cold, hard cash. Old money.”
Wade and Meg both stared at him. “What?”
The sheriff pulled up a dining room chair and sat opposite Meg. “My guess is, the rumors I’ve been hearing for years are true. At least there are people in Mount Esther who believe they are.”
Meg glanced at Wade and saw the same confusion she felt reflected in his eyes. “Rumors? What rumors?”
“That there’s a small fortune hidden in this house.”
“Oh, Sheriff, I don’t think so,” Meg said. “I’ve been told that my aunt lived frugally.” She stole a glimpse at Wade to see if he was paying attention. He was. “At least until she got Deputy Murdock’s money.”
“Maybe so,” Hollinger admitted, “but it’s possible she didn’t know about the other money. Or maybe she forgot about it. I’ve only been in this town twenty years. I came here right after old Stewart died. But I remember hearin’ whispers every now and then, from the old-timers especially, about how Stewie had hid a bundle of cash in this place.”
Wade’s expression indicated that this revelation was as new to him as it was to her. “Where would my uncle have gotten a large sum of money?” she asked. “I was always led to believe that he squandered his wealth on…well, various enterprises.” Some of which I now know were illegal.
Hollinger chuckled. “Where’d he get it? I can’t say for sure, but folks
tell of Stewart Ashford gettin’ his hands dirty in all sorts of ways. I heard he sold Suwannee spring water during the Depression as an elixir of hope. One story has it that he sold bottom land a few miles down river to northern investors who came down to find their property flooded every rainy season.” Hollinger raised his eyes to the ceiling as though he were trying to see through the floorboards overhead. “Some say he even ran a gambling parlor in here.”
Wade stared off in the distance, his lips pursed as if holding back a verbal reaction to the sheriff’s explanation.
“And you think the profits from those ventures are hidden in the house?” Meg asked.
“Could be,” the sheriff said. “Folks say that Stewart never trusted banks.”
“But that was a long time ago,” Meg added. “Uncle Stewie’s been dead over twenty years.”
“I don’t know anything for sure,” Hollinger said. “But there are a few people around here who believe it.” He scrutinized the mess the intruders had left of Ashford House one more time. “And I’ve got to give it credence. I think our vandals might have been lookin’ to get their hands on some of that cash.”
Wade raised his hands in question. “But why now, Bert? If what you say is true, that money’s been here for over twenty years. Why did they pick tonight to break in and look for it?”
“’Cause Miz Ashford’s in the nursing home,” he explained. “We’ve got basically good folks in Mount Esther. Nobody’d come here while she was livin’ in the place. It wouldn’t be the thing to do.”
Wade squeezed his eyes shut while he took a deep breath. Unfortunately the calming gesture didn’t remove the frustration from his features. “But it’s okay for those good folks to rob Miss Hamilton?”
“I’m not sayin’ it’s right,” the sheriff amended. “I’m just sayin’ it’s the way our citizens think. Miss Hamilton is an outsider. It could be that the money’s suddenly fair game now that Miz Ashford isn’t comin’ home.”
Your House or Mine? Page 11