They probably thought a raccoon crawled into the empty building, got trapped, and died.
With the thick brick wall separating the two shops, the sealed up tarp and the insulation they found surrounding the body, Libby wondered if perhaps that was enough to keep the lingering smell of a decomposing body to a minimum.
Her attention turned to the overpriced dress shop, as Ida called it. How long had that shop been open? Harry Hobson’s real estate office had been there at least into the late seventies or the early eighties. There must have been other businesses in that building in between.
Perhaps I can do a computer search to find out what was in that space between the real estate office and the dress shop.
Maybe that’s why Eleanor started burning candles, to cover up the lingering smell.
Before moving to Florida a little more than three years ago, Libby was an attorney working in the Clermont County Prosecutor’s Office near Cincinnati, Ohio. A big believer in visuals and the need to get her head around the time lines of a case, it had always helped her to draw it out. Deciding a time line was in order, she drew a line on her legal pad. She wrote ‘Nov. 2019’ above the line on the right side. Below the line, she wrote ‘body discovered.’
If Annaliese was seventeen when she disappeared in December 1978, then she was born in 1961. She wrote ‘1961’ at the left hand side. Libby decided to put in as many dates as she could now, and then fill in the specific dates as she was able to verify them. She added ‘Dec 1978’ about two inches to the right and wrote ‘Annaliese disappears’ below it.
Steve closed on the building in late October, so she added a tick just to the left of the ‘Nov 2019’, labeled it ‘Oct 2019’, ‘Steve closes on the building.’ According to Steve and Ida, Eleanor’s shop had been in that location for forty years. But, when exactly did Eleanor take possession of that building, Libby wondered. Was it a full forty years or about forty years? Libby decided that forty years could, in reality, be between thirty-nine and forty-one years, meaning that Eleanor could have taken possession anywhere been 1978 and 1980, but if Annaliese disappeared in December 1978, it was most likely not 1978.
About midway down the page on the legal pad, she wrote ‘Questions.’ Under it, she wrote ‘When did Eleanor close on the building?’ She would ask Steve that question as he should have that information in his aunt’s papers. She looked at her watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. A little late to call tonight. She would ask him about that tomorrow.
She remembered the old picture Ida had of the Inn. She went to the Mariposa Inn website and discovered they opened in September 1977 after purchasing the old Hobson Inn in 1976. After a significant renovation, they reopened as the Mariposa Inn. The old photos on the website revealed that they must have made additional improvements over the years because the hotel was now more extensive with the lobby expansion and the addition of the Veranda Bar, though the original, twin, red-domed spires and the red tile roof were well preserved. She added this information to her time line.
As she added more entries to the time line, she realized that the missing information surrounding how long the building was empty was key to determining when the body could have been placed there. Also, she had questions about renovations in the building. Who did the construction to split the original shop into two shops and who put them back together?
Libby leaned back in her chair, stretched her back and yawned. Her phone rang, and Jack’s name displayed. She smiled as she answered.
“Hello.”
“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m sitting in my living room drinking a beer. You?”
“I’m sitting on my porch drinking a beer.”
“What did you find out?” she asked.
“Not much. I completed my reports, and that’s about it. By the way, Sam thanks you for the cookies.”
“I’m glad he enjoyed them,” she said, then added, “I was just wondering how could a body have been in that wall all these years without someone noticing some kind of odor, even if it was mostly or even partially decomposed when it was entombed?”
“Good question, but if the building sat empty a significant amount of time, then when Eleanor moved in, perhaps it wasn’t as noticeable,” Jack said.
“Ida said that Eleanor always had candles and such burning. Perhaps that was a habit started because of a funky smell when she moved in.”
“We’ll never know,” Jack said. “Eleanor can’t tell us, and not too many people are going to remember much other than Eleanor liked to burn candles.”
“I know,” she said. “The time line is a puzzle.”
“You do like a mystery.”
“I want answers,” she said.
“Don’t we all,” he said.
“Thanksgiving is next week,” she said. “Are you going to your father’s?”
Jack’s mother had died more than a decade prior. Libby knew he was the youngest of five, with two older brothers and two older sisters.
“I hope so, but I’m on call. Is Julia having dinner?”
Libby’s Aunt Julia lived with her son, David, on Longboat Key, about forty minutes north of Mariposa Beach. “Yes, actually, my mother is coming down from Ohio. I hope you will be able to meet her while she’s here.”
“I hope so, too,” he said. “Please be careful poking around in old family secrets. They have a habit of coming to light in unpleasant ways.”
They chatted for a few more minutes. He promised to call her the next day, and then, after sweet goodnights, they hung up.
• • •
Early the next morning, Libby walked into the café to the glorious smells of baking pastries and morning coffee. Louisa had been baking since before five o’clock. Scones, muffins and cookies were already in the display case. Libby loved mornings in the café. They opened at seven, and usually, hungry patrons waited at the door to pick up a cup of coffee, a scone or a breakfast sandwich on the way to work or school.
Mimi flew in the back door a few minutes behind Libby. “I’m so sorry. I overslept.”
“You’re not late,” Libby said, handing her a cup of coffee. “We have ten minutes before we turn on the lights and open the doors.”
“I barely slept. I kept seeing that horrible face in my dreams.” She took a sip of coffee. “That tastes so good. I jumped out of bed, ran through the shower, jumped into my clothes and now I’m here. Paul is getting the kids ready for school. Thank goodness podiatrist’s office hours aren’t this early.”
“Take a breath,” Libby said and laughed.
“I am so glad that I did not see that horrible thing,” Louisa said, her brown eyes squinted. “So scary.”
She placed a cookie sheet of turkey-shaped sugar cookies on the prep table. After they cooled, Mimi would spend the morning icing and decorating them.
Libby pushed through the saloon doors into the café. She was proud of what she and Mimi had accomplished in the almost three years that the restaurant had been open. The Mariposa Café had been Mimi’s dream. Libby had moved to Florida after being shot by a ricocheted bullet during a police operation that had involved her now ex-husband, Tony. She was recuperating at her Aunt Julia’s house on Longboat Key, spending her days sitting on the beach gazing out to sea. A chance trip to Mariposa Beach for an art fair led to an introduction to Mimi. Mimi needed someone to help her with a business plan, Libby had the time and a divorce settlement. They became partners, and the Mariposa Café was born.
A knock on the door brought her back to the present. Taryn Bellingham’s round face peered through the door. She was pointing at her watch. Libby laughed, flipped on the lights and opened the door to start the day.
About ten o’clock, Libby was clearing and wiping tables when Steve came in, somewhat bleary-eyed, wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and the same cargo shorts he’d worn the day before.
“Coffee,” he muttered.
“Did you have trouble sleeping?” Libby asked, going behind the counter to pour
the coffee.
Steve collapsed onto the leather sofa. “I couldn’t stay in my apartment. There’s still too much of Eleanor there, even after I threw out all of her shabby chic stuff.”
Libby handed him the coffee, and he took a long gulp. “I tried to sleep, but I kept thinking about the girl in the wall, all the work I have to do in the gallery, the launch, and, on top of all of that, my mother wants me to come home for Thanksgiving.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well,” Libby said. “You and Mimi have something in common. She didn’t sleep well last night, either.”
“I finally gave up,” he said. “I got a room at the Inn at about ten o’clock last night. I slept like the dead. Sorry, poor choice of words. I just now woke up.”
“Can I get you something to eat?” she asked. “The breakfast sandwiches are delicious. I can ask Louisa to make you one.”
“That sounds awesome.” He laid his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.
By the time she returned with the sandwich, he had moved to a table and was reading the morning paper. She set the sandwich on the table and retrieved a pot of coffee to refresh his cup.
“This is delicious,” he said. “Hits the spot.”
Libby set the coffee pot on the table, but before she could sit down, Fletcher Smith called from the corner, “Libby, can you refresh mine, too?”
“Of course,” she said, retrieving the coffee pot.
Smith, Jones, Strauss and Chevkov were having their regular Friday morning breakfast discussion, heads together, voices low to limit eavesdropping from neighboring tables. Today’s conversation involved the possible identity of the person in the wall and how she happened to be there in the first place.
“Have you heard anything from the detective about the remains in Eleanor’s shop?” Jones asked.
He had curly dark hair sprinkled with gray giving him an aristocratic air that, along with his British accent and the twinkle in his eye, reminded her of an older version of the actor, Hugh Grant.
“Not really, and I haven’t heard from him this morning,” Libby said, refilling their cups.
“Because of the condition of the remains,” Chevkov said, “we believe she must have been killed elsewhere and moved to this location.”
He was lean and balding with piercing, ice blue eyes.
“Jack mentioned that possibility last night,” Libby said. “The remains are with the ME now.”
“You will let us know if you find out anything, won’t you?” Smith asked.
“Of course,” Libby said.
She returned to Steve’s table, where he had finished his sandwich and returned to reading the paper.
“Steve, do you mind if I sit down for a minute?” she asked. “I have something I want to ask you.”
“Ask away,” he said, putting down the paper.
“Do you have your aunt’s papers that identify exactly when she bought the building?”
“Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”
“I was working out a time line last night.”
“And?”
“I’m trying to establish exactly how long the building was empty. That can help us narrow down the window of opportunity for when the body could have been placed inside the wall. So, if we know when she bought the building and opened the store, as well as when Hobson closed his store, then we have that piece of the time line.”
“I see. Do you know when Hobson closed his store?”
“I looked it up online last night.” Libby leaned forward. “Hobson’s Market opened in January 1978 out by the highway. That means the Five and Dime here in Mariposa Beach must have closed in late 1977.”
“So, depending on when Aunt Eleanor opened her store, that could help determine when the body was placed in the wall,” he said.
“Exactly. Jack says that she was most likely killed somewhere else and then placed in the wall sometime later, after she had mostly decomposed, otherwise, there would have been a lot more…uh…stuff in there.”
“That sounds disgusting,” Steve said.
“Sorry to ruin your breakfast, but decomposing bodies are disgusting.”
“Sounds like you know from experience.”
“It’s a long story that…”
“I need an Almond Coconut Dream Latte,” Rachel announced, referring to one of Mariposa Café’s specialty coffee drinks, as she came in from the courtyard door.
Libby stood up and went to make her latte. “Opening day nerves?”
Rachel groaned in response and plopped into the chair that Libby had vacated.
“Hi. Steve, isn’t it?”
Steve nodded. “So, you’re opening next Friday?”
“I’m going to do a soft opening this Saturday. Black Friday will be the grand opening launch.”
“Congratulations,” Steve said. “I’ll be there.”
Libby arrived with the latte and set it on the table in front of Rachel.
“Did you decide not to go to your mother’s for Thanksgiving?” Libby asked Steve.
“I just don’t have the time, especially if I can be working in the shop.”
Rachel held the coffee mug in both hands, closed her eyes and inhaled. “Ahhhh. Heaven. Chocolate, almond and coconut. The nectar of the gods.”
• • •
Detective Sam Stacey, a cup of hot coffee in hand, slipped into his office chair across from his partner, Detective Jack Seiler.
“What ‘cha got here?”
“It’s a preliminary report on the skeleton in the wall,” Jack said, holding up the document. “The ME’s office just faxed it over.”
“That was quick,” Stacey said, taking the report from Jack. “Not much here.”
“They gave the skeleton the once over first thing this morning. They were hoping to get some DNA to help with identification.”
“Were they able to get any?” Sam asked, flipping through the pages.
“They think so, from the bones, and they found some follicles on a few of the hair strands. They’ve sent it off to the lab, but I think it’s probably a long shot, at best.”
“There’s animal and insect evidence, so that proves your theory that the body was someplace else before it was sealed up in that wall,” Sam said.
“But where?” Jack asked. “And why was it moved?”
“Perhaps something was going on with the old location that would cause the discovery of the body, so they had to find a new place to stash it.”
“Like an auction?” Jack muttered.
Sam leaned forward. “What?”
“Never mind. We need to find some Hobson relatives for comparison,” Jack said. “Without the comparisons, we have nothing. There’s no way Annaliese Hobson’s DNA, from forty years ago, would be in any database.”
“That’s who Ida Sullivan thinks was in that wall?” Sam asked.
“Yes, Ida was pretty shaken up about this. She knew the family. But it could just be a coincidence that the Hobson girl disappeared around the same time the building was empty.”
“You’re right. It could be someone else. Have you looked through the old missing persons' cold cases?” Sam asked.
“That’s what I was doing before I got this report,” Jack said, taking the report back and turning to the last page. “So far, no luck.”
“Something’s bothering you,” Sam said, taking another sip of coffee. “You have that look on your face.”
“Possible fetal remains. There were a few, small, extra bones that indicate the girl in the wall may have been pregnant.”
“That would be a motive for murder, especially if it were someone like one of the Hobson brothers. They wouldn’t want an illegitimate child running around.”
“We don’t know it even was the Hobsons. It could have been someone who knew the building was empty and under construction. Maybe someone on the work crew,” Jack said. “A good drywall guy could have built that compartment and drywalled it up without anyone the wiser.”
“Thi
s is a forty-year-old cold case. How are we going to get that kind of information? Who worked on a construction crew or who knew what when? It’s hard enough with a current case, much less one this cold.” Sam leaned back in his chair.
“You’re right, but that’s not what’s got me bothered,” Jack said.
“Another case?”
“No, Libby is going to ask about the ME report, and I don’t want to tell her what the ME found.”
“You don’t have to tell her anything.”
Jack laughed. “You know her. When she gets involved in something, she’s like a dog with a bone. She won’t let it go until she gets the information she wants.”
“Like when she figured out that money laundering scheme, gave us the slip and went to Key West alone last August?” Sam asked. “She’s a smart cookie.” He laughed. “Hell, she could probably solve this case for you.”
“Very funny.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell her?” Sam asked. “This isn’t a high priority case. We may never figure out whose bones those are.”
“Remember Libby was shot back in Ohio? In that stake out gone bad?”
“Yeah, but I’m not connecting the dots between our victim and Libby.”
“Libby was pregnant when she was shot. She blames herself for losing the baby,” Jack said.
“Wow. I see what you mean, partner. This news could make her even more determined to figure out what happened.”
“She comes across as strong and confident, but there’s a side of her that can be quite melancholy,” Jack said. “I ran into that old guy, Mr. Mendelson, at the café awhile ago. He lives next door to Libby’s aunt. He said Libby was pretty much a basket case when she first moved down here.”
“Man, you’ve got it bad for her,” Sam said.
“Yeah, and there’s that.” Jack tossed the report on his desk and leaned forward towards Sam. “Don’t tell her I told you this.”
Mistletoe & Missing Persons Page 4