Wicked Deeds

by Heather Graham

  Unpruned bushes with a few withering blooms suggested the remains of a rose garden to the front, and awkward shapes to the left were an indication that sometime in recent history—perhaps as close in the past as Gary’s parents—someone had kept a topiary.

  “It’s right out of ‘The Fall of the House of Usher!’” Griffin said.

  “Exactly! I mean...it looks like it could fall down at any time. All the vines...the paint, the columns...” Vickie said.

  The gate had been left open; Griffin drove on through. The front door to the house opened even as they were maneuvering the overgrown drive.

  Alice came running out. She seemed overjoyed to see them.

  Strange. Vickie hadn’t been certain that the girl had even really liked either of them.

  “You’re here!” she cried, her voice bright with pleasure.

  Alice was closest to Griffin as he stepped out of the driver’s seat. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him.

  She surely took him by surprise. He looked over her head at Vickie, a little bit helpless.

  Vickie just smiled.

  But she needn’t have felt neglected. Alice came racing around to the passenger side of the car, throwing her arms around Vickie as well.

  “Hey!” Vickie said. “It’s nice to see you, too. What have we missed, a day?”

  “A day is forever when the cracked-out virago is on the property!” Alice said.

  “Cracked-out virago,” Griffin repeated. “You don’t mean—”

  “She doesn’t mean drugs. She means crackpot. As in Liza?” Vickie asked.

  Alice nodded dully. “She’s chasing my father. Oh, not romantically—my dad is no spring chicken, but she has him by more than a decade, I’m certain. No...she just has to be near him! She’s afraid for him. And if the dead are around and trying to get a message to him about who to watch out for, well, she’s the only one who can help him.”

  “I see,” Griffin murmured. He looked up at the house. “So, it’s you, your dad—and Liza?”

  Alice flushed. “And Jon.”

  “Jon is here, too?” Griffin asked.

  Dylan and Darlene had told Griffin and Vickie that Jon and Alice were a couple.

  Griffin evidently wanted to hear Alice say it.

  Alice’s flush deepened and Vickie laughed.

  “I see,” Vickie said, as if she was only just “seeing” what was going on.

  “Ah, you two are dating,” Griffin said.

  Alice nodded. “We had been keeping it on the down low, you see, just because...well, my dad owns the restaurant, I’m his daughter and Jon is an employee. But I told my dad I wanted Jon out here with me. I mean...” She paused to shudder. “I know that this house is family property. Historic and cool. I know I should be grateful that my dad belongs to the Sons of the American Revolution. Yeah, it’s all special, huh? But as you can see, we haven’t been out here a whole lot lately. And at night? There are no timers or anything—you have to make sure you have lights on before it gets dark. It’s a stygian pool inside if you don’t. There’s a nice full moon tonight, which is cool, because I actually freaked myself out the other day when we were inside and I came running out. Then Dad got the lights on...and I was okay. But besides crazy séance lady, it’s creepy—and it’s good to have Jon here.”

  “Well, then, great,” Griffin said.

  “Lacey is coming out. She’s another hanger-on. She can’t let my dad get too far out of her sight. And she’s bored, I guess. She has plenty of money, so...we have Liza and Lacey—and I can almost bet one of them has called Alistair Malcolm and asked him to come out, too,” Alice said.

  “Well, Liza did speak to us about a séance out here. Maybe she wanted the same grouping—especially since she is convinced that she contacted the dead,” Vickie said, glancing at Griffin.

  His quick stare made her smile. Griffin simply wasn’t fond of Liza Harcourt. He didn’t want to believe she was capable of summoning so much as a living puppy.

  Gary Frampton appeared on his porch. He was beaming—definitely looking ten times better and certainly more cheerful than he had appeared the day before.

  “Hey! I’m so glad you two made it. Miss Preston, I hear that you’re quite the historian—in fact, I hadn’t realized that I’d read one of your articles in one of the museum magazines I have a subscription to—you are something. ‘Adams and Hancock—two very different men who came together to make a difference.’ Excellent, excellent. You’re going to have to attack Maryland history now.”

  “Beautiful state, great history,” Vickie said cheerfully.

  Gary walked down to meet them at the car, slipping an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I wish Alice loved it all the way you do. In fact, now that you’re here, I’m embarrassed. I should have been paying so much more attention to this property. The house is special.”

  “So special,” Alice said. “It needs paint. Oh, wait—it needs decent electric. And plumbing.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the plumbing,” Gary said.

  “If you’re into nice cold showers,” Alice said drily. “Honestly, Dad, it’s almost rude to ask people out here when they have to freeze to bathe!”

  “You don’t freeze,” Gary protested.

  “Not to worry. We’re both from Boston. We’re good at freezing,” Griffin assured him.

  “Well, the electric sucks,” Alice said. “The lights are always switching on and off.”

  “We’ll just have to make our way around in the dark,” Vickie told her. “It’s okay, really. I can see your problems—it’s difficult to live with history over modern conveniences. But it really is incredibly cool.”

  “Okay, so it is,” Alice agreed. She swept an arm out as they headed up the porch steps. “It was built in the mid-1700s.”

  “This is the center of the main house, as you can see,” Gary explained, pointing out the wings to the sides. “The main house has a date etched into a brick—May 7, 1750. Baltimore was just beginning to get on her feet. Like most of the East Coast, the history of European settlement goes way back. And John Smith took a trip up the Chesapeake Bay, but in general, the city itself isn’t as old as Jamestown or Plymouth or some of the other sites of original colonization. Of course, the city was named for Lord Baltimore, and it’s an incredible harbor—”

  “And Baltimore has Fort McHenry! ‘Oh, say can you see!’” Alice announced, showing unexpected enthusiasm. She blushed suddenly. “See, Dad, I’m not that big a jerk. I do have pride in my home. Anyway! This house was first owned by General Hamish McCartney—and he reported directly to General Washington during the Revolution.”

  “Washington slept here?” Vickie asked, smiling.

  “You bet! Or so they say,” Gary told them. “Supposedly, Washington was here. The house is quite secluded. History claims the British never even knew that it existed, making it a key meeting place for generals and leaders when the army was near.”

  “So, we dine where great leaders of the Revolution dined?” Griffin asked. “Nice.”

  “See—there’s a man who has it right. Appreciate it all—but don’t live for it!” Alice said. She tossed back a long lock of hair. “Anyway, it badly needs renovations. Dad had started, but then he became fixated on opening the restaurant.”

  “Fixated isn’t a fair word,” Gary argued. “The restaurant makes money.”

  “I’m sure we could sell this place to a history hound and make a small fortune,” Alice argued. “And then you wouldn’t have to worry about a restaurant. Where people have been murdered,” she added, wincing.

  “This has an amazing heritage!” Gary told her.

  Alice looked at Griffin and shook her head—she seemed to think that he was on her side. “What’s heritage without an in-ground swimming pool?” she asked. �
�Other friends even have diving boards. Me—I get a creepy old family cemetery!”

  “Wow. Cemetery, huh?” Griffin asked Gary.

  “Yes, we have a family cemetery,” Gary said.

  “Not to worry, Dad, I’ll make sure you’re in it—one day, a long, long, long time from now!” Alice told him. “As for me—I want to be cremated, and my ashes thrown into the Atlantic!”

  “Hey, I’d just as soon not talk about what we’ll do when we’re gone,” Gary said. “Not...not today. Not here. Not... Just not! Anyway, let’s bring our guests up to their room, eh?”

  It wasn’t going to be quite so simple to get to their room. They had packed small overnight bags, and it was easy enough for Griffin to grab both out of the car, assuring Gary he needed no help. But once they were inside the house, a number of others descended upon them.

  “How awesome that you came!” Jon Skye said, greeting them. “Let me help you!” he told Griffin.

  “I’m good, thanks,” Griffin told him. “We’re traveling really light. Literally.”

  “Okay, sure,” Jon said. “I’ll let you get upstairs then—”

  But as he spoke, Liza Harcourt came hurrying down the stairs. “You’re here! How delightful. It’s wonderful to have the law in the house.”

  Griffin glanced at Vickie with surprise before asking Liza, “Why? Do you think that there’s some kind of illegal activity in the house?”

  “No! Of course not,” Liza said, frowning. “But you must know, you must see! Obviously. There is evil afoot. Franklin is dead. Brent is dead. This is a darkness that hangs over all of us. Brent Whaley is trying to speak with us. Perhaps Franklin would like to speak as well. We must pray that they can bring us to the truth. And we must be on guard should the evil follow us here, and you mark my words, that evil very much exists!”

  Alice Frampton was standing behind her. She made a motion with her fingers, indicating that she thought Liza was insane.

  “We really should get our things upstairs, and then we can come down and talk,” Griffin said.

  “Yes, it’s just about lunch—we waited for the midday meal for you, hoping that you’d make it out here in fairly good time,” Gary said.

  “That was very nice of you,” Vickie told him.

  “Who is the chef?” Griffin asked.

  “Me,” Jon told him proudly. “I love restaurants—noticeable by the fact I’m a waiter, I assume. But I am an excellent cook, and one day—as soon as there is an opening—I hope to start working in the kitchen at the Black Bird.”

  “If there still is a Black Bird,” Gary said, his shoulders hunching.

  “There will be, Gary. There will be,” Liza told him.

  Griffin cleared his throat. “Well, excuse me, if you will. Where am I going with these bags?”

  “This way!” Alice said, sliding around Liza and hurrying up the stairs. Griffin followed her; Vickie excused herself and did the same.

  Alice turned left once she was up the stairs, leading them by three doors before stopping at one at the end of the hall.

  “It’s the old master’s quarters,” Alice said proudly, throwing open double doors to a very large room.

  “The master’s quarters? Should this be your dad’s room, or your room?” Vickie asked.

  “Oh, no, not while you’re here. My dad has the room at the other end of the hall—it’s cool, too, has a massive dressing room and private bath and all.”

  “What about you—and Liza?” Griffin asked.

  “Not to worry—someone in the family had a major pack of kids. There are actually ten bedrooms up here, just on this floor alone. There are ‘servants’ quarters upstairs, not that we have the servants to fill them. There’s just Hallie.”

  “Hallie?” Vickie asked.

  “Hallie Long. She looks after things when we’re away, the best that she can. And she hires in a cleaning crew when we’re on our way out. She’s impressive—about six feet even, slim and pretty, and strong, like a bull!” Alice said, laughing. “Her boyfriend, Sven Moller, does a lot of the patching up of the place for my dad. Anyway, they live upstairs. You’ll meet them somewhere along the line.”

  “Hallie and Sven. Okay,” Vickie said. “Still...this room is really lovely.”

  Alice laughed. “That’s the point! We want you somewhere lovely, of course. These wings were added on about ten years before the Civil War,” she said. “My ancestors were entranced by the homes they’d seen deeper in the South. They just loved the whole plantation thing. Of course, they had no plantation—or farm. This was just kind of a wilderness retreat—my family made their money in shipping back then. I honestly don’t think we ever owned slaves—there’s no record of it, but I do believe we were pretty brutal to some indentured Irish servants back in the day. The Civil War era... It really was still the South, but the Union kept troops here so that the state wouldn’t secede. Maryland was all split back then—the state never did leave the Union, but my Lord, there were dozens and dozens of Southern sympathizers. You know, of course, that John Wilkes Booth was from Maryland and that a bunch of the stuff in the conspiracy to kill Lincoln and others came from Maryland? Whatever—my great-great-whomever was never actually a traitor, but he might have been, given the opportunity. They say that he hid escaping prisoners here at the house. Some people get to be nice and proud—they were part of the Underground Railroad. Not us—we just helped the Rebels escape.”

  “It’s not as if they were all bad men,” Vickie said. “They were just convinced of a different cause.”

  “Nice of you to say so—being a Bostonian and all,” Alice told her. She grinned suddenly. “Anyway, the South did produce better generals. So there. Whatever. It’s over now. Even if there are weirdos who like to dress up and do it all over again. Me—I’m far more into the future, but... Anyway...the grandest part of this room is the view. Voila!”

  She walked across the expanse of the room to the French doors that led out to the balcony. They were covered with drapes—which Alice dramatically threw back. “Come, come over! Please. Even I love this part of the estate.”

  They quickly walked over to join her, Vickie stepping in front, Griffin standing behind her, looking over her head, his hands on her shoulders.

  The view was fantastic.

  An extended wooden porch stretched out behind the house. A tangled garden was to the left; a winding path lined with statuary was to the right. The garden was edged by columns and several ponds—only somewhat filled with algae from this viewpoint. The path laden with the statues led to a little fence, beyond which was the family graveyard. There appeared to be a tiny chapel and a number of small mausoleums. There were all kinds of graves.

  The family had been buried at the estate for quite a while. Vickie assumed that employees and their children might have been buried there as well.

  “Personally, I like my room. It looks out over the overgrown front and the gates. This view...well, this one is just a wee bit too creepy for me.” She perked up suddenly. “Actually, I’m surprised that old Liza Harcourt didn’t scream at you and scratch your eyes out—she was really miffed that Dad insisted you two have this room instead of her. But what the heck, she is next door. She just doesn’t have the French doors to the balcony. She has a window. God knows, the foolish woman will probably crawl out the damned thing!”

  “It is all impressive,” Vickie assured her.

  “Yes, you’ll be happy here?” they all heard.

  Spinning around quickly, Vickie saw that Gary Frampton was standing in the doorway.

  “It’s terrific,” Vickie said. “Really, your house is wonderful.”

  “And you’re thinking it’s a crime that I own something that is such an incredible piece of history—and I treat it so badly,” Gary said.

  “Not at all, sir. We’re not here to judge.
”

  “No, you’re going to catch a killer, right?” Gary said. “And you came out here because you think you’ll find him or her here. Well, maybe you will.”

  He stared at his daughter.

  Alice stared back at him.

  “What’s your problem?” Alice demanded.

  Gary Frampton shook his head. “I love you, Alice,” he told her softly.

  “And I love you, Dad. But give it a rest. Let the cops do their job. We’ll survive,” Alice said. She grinned. “Even if I’m dating a would-be cook rather than a lawyer. Okay?” she asked. Then she looked at Griffin and Vickie, flushing. “Sorry!”

  She turned and fled the room.

  Gary looked after her helplessly. “Lunch is just about on. Come on down as soon as you’re ready!” he said.

  He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  “So, Gary Frampton thinks Jon Skye is involved in the murders,” Griffin murmured.

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think the jury is still out,” he told her. “But lunch is almost on. And, joy of all joys, Liza Harcourt is here. I’m sure we’ll be having a séance. And really, what could be better here? This house is, beyond a doubt, the perfect setting for a gothic ghost story.”

  * * *

  “All right, so, here’s the thing. All these foods that are suddenly so popular,” Jon Skye said, “really come in fads. I mean, seriously, who actually looked for a kale salad a decade ago?” He lifted a hand. “I’m not saying one or two people weren’t out there, I’m just pointing out the fact that it wasn’t on many menus. Same thing with quinoa. And some of the wild hot sauces. How often did you used to hear the words sriracha sauce? Now, there’s nothing wrong with all these new culinary delights, but a menu should also include comfort food made well, made right. This is Baltimore—of course, crab cakes must be on a menu. But also, some simple pleasures. Shepherd’s pie, turkey and potatoes—meat loaf!”

  “Normal meat loaf,” Alice said. “As in, just meat loaf. No weird things in it.”

  “A little honey, and a little oatmeal. Salt, pepper, ground beef, ground pork, a bit of tomato, onion and bell peppers. I think it’s really good—I hope you do, too!” Jon said.