by Patricia Fry
Savannah grimaced, then said to Ruth, “Well, you felt something… odd here, too, didn’t you?”
Ruth nodded. “Yes. It was almost unbearable before Mrs. Peyton had her worker put that wall up in the affected area of my room.” She then asked, “Aren’t cats supposed to be sensitive to such things?”
“I think so,” Arthur said, deferring to the others.
“I’ve heard that,” Savannah said. She looked at Ruth. “Why?”
“Well, Artie might remember that the cats stayed away from there.”
“That’s right,” Arthur said, looking off into space for a moment. “Almost every new cat we’d bring in would explore the place, and before getting to Ruthie’s room, they’d react by either hissing or appearing frightened, or they’d just split.” He looked at Savannah. “We all saw Rags’s reaction last night. There’s something that frightens them or puzzles them in that area.” He swallowed a sip of coffee before continuing. “You know how Koko loves to chase her ball? But if I toss it into that one hallway, she won’t go after it.”
“So whatever upset Rochelle and Rags last night has been there for a while?” Savannah asked.
Arthur and Ruth nodded.
“Now that’s odd—like that area is corrupted somehow,” Michael said. “—like there’s a vortex there. What is a vortex, anyway? Is that what they think is in the Bermuda Triangle? An out-of-control evil energy or something?” He glanced around the room and saw most of the diners shrug and look to someone else for the answer.
“I guess that’s a question for Rochelle,” Savannah said. “… or Iris.”
Arthur peered at Ruth, expecting her to respond, but she chose not to.
“I’m interested in your mother’s construction people,” Michael said to Arthur.
“In what way?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Well, you were a well-kept secret for many years. But whoever did the construction down there had to know about you… at least they knew someone was being hidden away in luxury in the basement with the main door being closed off and hidden doors being built.”
Arthur looked wide-eyed at Ruth and Rupert. “Gosh, I don’t know who did that work or how Mother kept them quiet. Probably money, I guess.” He asked, “Rupert, you didn’t know anything was going on did you?”
He shook his head.
Ruth put her hand on Rupert’s and explained, “Before you were brought home from the burn center, Artie, your mother insisted that your stepfather take her on an extended trip abroad. They closed up the place and gave all the staff two weeks off. Those who lived here were given travel money. Remember that?” she asked Rupert.
He looked puzzled for a moment, then said, “Yes. Yes, I do. That was the first and last time the staff were ever given a vacation all at the same time.”
“That’s right. And you’re right, Artie,” Ruth continued, “the construction company was paid very well to keep the secret. But I do not think they actually knew the whole truth… that you would be living in the secret quarters.”
“Mother is sly, isn’t she?” he said, grimacing. “She even kept the secret from her husband.”
No one spoke for a few moments, then Michael asked, “So did you girls learn anything about the people whose documents we found?”
Savannah shook her head. “Not really.”
“What do you mean, not really?” he asked.
She looked at Suzette, who said, “There was one piece in an old newspaper about a missing man named Richard Marshall. It seemed that he and his buddy had hopped off a train in Frisco. His friend reported him missing, but there was no follow-up that I could find.”
“A hobo?” Laura said.
“Hobo?” Suzette questioned.
“Yeah, like the homeless,” Laura explained, “only they were called hobos or tramps or bums in the forties and fifties… maybe sixties. They’d ride the rail—hop a train—and travel to find work or handouts, depending on how motivated the individual was.” She chuckled. “That was before trains began going so fast.”
“Oh,” Suzette said. “Interesting.”
“We lived near a train station,” Laura reminisced. “I remember hobos coming to our house—usually on a Sunday, biscuit day. My mother would fix a plate for them and my dad would invite them around to the back porch where they’d sit and eat.”
“Gosh, can you imagine that happening today?” Michael asked.
Ruth nodded. “Yeah, people were more trusting then.” She turned to Savannah and Suzette. “What else did you find?”
“Oh,” Suzette said, speaking in a more animated manner. “We found a wedding announcement for a Roy Simpson and Beverly Cardinelli and then an obituary for the wife a few months later.”
“Yeah, they didn’t have a big wedding—just went to the Justice of the Peace,” Savannah added. “He would have been about the right age to be our Roy Simpson.”
“We did find an Albert Cobos in the census roll for 1960, but we can’t be sure it was the same one whose driver license we have—I think the age was different—so maybe it was his father or grandfather.”
“And Suzette talked to someone who dated a man with the same name as one we found,” Savannah reported.
“Yeah!” Suzette said, excitedly. “Jeffry Gibbs. He worked for the same company this woman did and it seems that he disappeared into thin air.”
Michael was quiet for a moment. “I wonder if we should be looking for graves around the place. Do you think these people died out here?” His face brightened and he said, “… or maybe the Randalls ran an identity-change operation—giving criminals new identities. Did you check to see if any of these people had criminal records?”
“Criminal records!” Suzette almost shouted. “Savannah, why didn’t we think to go there? Man, investigating is tough. There are so many places to look—so many possibilities. Do they all have new identities and they’re living new lives, or are they all dead?”
Savannah and Suzette looked at each other and shook their heads.
“If they wanted to hide the identities of those people, then why didn’t they burn the papers?” Ruth asked.
“Good question,” Michael said.
“Blackmail?” Suzette suggested. When the others continued to look at her, she said, “Yeah, maybe someone was instructed to destroy those documents, but they kept them hidden well away in case they wanted to use them against the person in some way.”
Michael sighed deeply. “Good lord, girl, where’d you get that imagination? I think you’ve been hanging around my wife too much.”
Ignoring him, Suzette said to Savannah, “Hey, your friend the psychic—do you think she could do a reading and find out if those people are buried here—if their spirits are here or something?”
Savannah laughed. “Maybe. I’ll have to ask her.” She then spoke more quietly to Ruth, “Can you tell us something about the things you sensed in that room downstairs? What do you think it was?”
Ruth stared down at her hands in her lap. When she looked up, she seemed close to tears. “In our culture, spirits are very much… well, we believe in them and I am sensitive to them. I did not want to believe that there could be evil in Artie’s world, so I chose to dismiss my sensing completely. When I began seeing… spirits… ” She fought back her emotions. “… so close to where Artie slept, I had him moved to another room.”
“You saw spirits, Ruthie?” Arthur said. “You never told me.”
“I did not want to frighten you. You were just a child. These spirits seemed angry—vengeful. Their energy was… frightful. I did not know how to get rid of them—my parents died knowing how and never taught me. So I just got you out of there, where they seemed to swarm.”
“There’s a swarm of them?” Suzette asked.
“It seemed so,” she said quietly. “So what the cats sensed and what Rochelle felt was real—well, real spiritually-speaking.”
Arthur looked confused, as if he were trying to recall something. “I don’t
remember being moved.” He looked at Ruth. “That was my room?”
She nodded. “Yes, I convinced your mother to move you away from there and close off the most active part of the area and that became my sleeping quarters.”
“I don’t remember that,” he said again.
“Well, Artie, you were still young. We had just brought you home from the burn center.”
Arthur seemed stunned. He reached for Suzette’s hand and squeezed it. She smiled at him and squeezed back.
After a few moments, Michael asked, “When is Rochelle coming here again?”
Ruth wiped her lips with her napkin and placed it on the table next to her plate. “I believe she is bringing Miriam out tomorrow afternoon.”
Chapter 4
It was four in the afternoon when Peter and Rochelle arrived at the mansion with the mysterious Madam Randall’s granddaughter.
“How’s the sale going?” Peter asked, stepping inside and glancing around the room. “Looks like more stuff than when we were here before.”
Laura laughed. “Well, it does seem that way, because we keep bringing more in as things sell. We’re actually down to the bare bones.”
“So you could come every day and find new goodies?” Rochelle asked.
Laura nodded. “Yes, and some people do.” She turned her attention to Miriam. “Hello, Ms. Randall. Nice to see you again.”
“Hi,” she said. “… it’s Moore. The Randalls were my mother’s people.” She rushed to the other side of the room and knelt down next to an ornate standing ashtray. “This was my grandfather’s. He had it made in Belgium.” She faced the others, “… when times were good. Our company failed, you know. That’s why they kicked me out of here.”
“When was that?” Rochelle asked.
“What?” Miriam said.
“When they kicked you out.”
She blinked and then scowled. “Oh, that was before I was thirty—around 1990, I think. Father said the money was gone, and a lot of our servants had already left.” Suddenly Miriam glanced up, a look of horror on her face. She let out a yelp and stepped back toward Rochelle and Peter, moving behind them.
“What’s wrong?” Rochelle asked, sounding concerned. She looked in the direction the woman stared. “That’s Savannah and baby Lily. You’ve met Savannah and her baby before, haven’t you?”
She shook her head and gulped.
“No we haven’t met yet… ” Savannah started.
Miriam interrupted, “The cat. Where did that cat come from?” she asked, terror in her eyes.
“Oh,” Savannah said, quickly picking up Rags. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were ailurophobic?”
“What’s that?” she asked, peering out from behind Rochelle.
“Someone who’s afraid of cats.”
“I’m not afraid of cats,” Miriam insisted. “But that one’s spooky. I don’t like that one. He scares me.”
“Why do you think that is?” Rochelle asked, gently.
Miriam thought for a moment, furrowing her brow as if trying to remember something. “I don’t know.” She looked across the room at a painting on the wall, and pointed. “It used to be there!”
Everyone looked where she pointed. “What did?” Rochelle asked. “What do you remember being in that spot?”
She slumped a little. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head slowly.
“Oh, I just put that painting up today,” Gail said.
“What was there before?” Savannah asked, still holding Rags in her arms.
“Uh, let me think.” She looked around the room, then said, “There it is.” Gail picked up a smaller picture, looked at it, and gasped. “It’s him!” she said, turning it to face the others.
No one spoke at first when they saw the uncanny likeness of Rags painted on the canvas and framed in an elegant black-and-gold frame.
“My gosh, that does look like Rags. He could have posed for that picture.” Savannah walked closer and examined the painting more carefully. “It’s Rags, right down to the snip of white on his nose.”
After everyone peered at the painting for a few moments, Rochelle turned to see Miriam’s reaction, but the woman was no longer standing behind her. The front door was open and she was gone. “Miriam!” Rochelle called as she stepped out onto the porch. “Miriam!”
Peter joined her and they quickly scanned the front gardens. “Well, that’s strange,” Peter said. “Maybe she went back to the car. I’ll go look.”
Rochelle headed in another direction. When she walked onto the covered patio on the southwest side of the house, she heard sobbing. “Miriam?” she called quietly as she moved slowly in the direction of the sound. When no one responded, she continued her approach toward one of the massive pillars supporting the vine-covered arbor. “Miriam, where are you?” she whispered. “I can hear you, but I can’t see you.”
Rochelle heard a giggle.
“I fooled you, didn’t I?” Miriam said. “I used to fool them, too.”
“Well, where are you? Would you like to come out so we can do some work together? You want to get rid of those nightmares, don’t you?”
“My night-screams? Yes.”
Rochelle suddenly noticed a hand appear from a thick tangle of vines growing up one of the pillars. She watched as Miriam emerged—her ruddy face was stained with tears and there were bits and pieces of flowers and leaves in her unkempt graying dark-blond hair. “So this was your hiding place when you were a child?” Rochelle asked, smiling.
Miriam nodded. “That I did not forget. I did forget Spirit—my grandmother’s mean cat. I hated that cat. It always got more attention than I did.” She shook her head. “Grandmother and Father never believed me when I told them he bit me. Once he attacked me and knocked me down. I was bleeding from his claw marks. The servants found me and everyone thought I just fell and skinned myself up.” The woman looked Rochelle in the eyes. “Spirit was evil, I know he was,” she insisted.
“Well, we’ll have Savannah put Rags away.”
“Rags?”
“That’s Savannah’s cat’s name, Rags. He won’t attack you, but we’ll put him away so you aren’t distracted while we work together, okay?”
Miriam nodded.
“I’ll go in first to make sure the cat isn’t around, then we’ll get started. Savannah?” Rochelle called when she stepped into the living room.
“She took the cat to their room,” Peter said.
Rochelle nodded. “Good.” Then she walked out the front door and called to Miriam, “The cat’s gone. Come on in.”
When Savannah returned, she approached Miriam. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would frighten you.”
Miriam nodded, looking down at her feet. “Okay.” Then turning to Rochelle, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rochelle said. She asked Savannah, “What do you think? I want to eventually take her down to the… affected area, but I feel like it’s too soon.”
“There are a couple of empty bungalows; how about out there?” Savannah suggested.
“Perfect. A more neutral environment.” Rochelle turned to Miriam. “Okay with you?”
Miriam nodded, and Savannah ushered the two of them to the Lilac Bungalow, pushing Lily along in the stroller.
On her way back, Savannah texted Michael: “Where are you?”
“Atrium,” came the quick reply.
When Savannah arrived in the atrium with Lily, she found Peter, Arthur, and Suzette relaxing with Michael.
“Come join us,” Michael said, pulling a cushioned wicker chair up next to his. He lifted the baby out of the stroller and placed her on his lap.
“Hi, pretty girl,” Peter said, reaching out for Lily’s hand.
“So is Rochelle with that gal?” Michael asked.
“Miriam? Yes, out in one of the bungalows,” Savannah said. She glanced around the room at the others. “She freaked out when she saw Rags. It seems that her grandmother had
a cat almost identical to him… ” she paused. “There’s a painting of him in there,” she said, nodding in the direction of the living room. “It’s uncanny how much Rags looks like that cat. Well, Miriam says her grandmother’s cat was mean and she hated him. When she saw Rags, she remembered that cat and got really scared.”
“Yeah, that’s probably going to cause a rough start for Rochelle’s session,” Peter said.
“Maybe it will help shake Miriam’s memory,” Arthur suggested.
Savannah nodded, then turned toward Michael. “I’ve been thinking about calling Craig and telling him what we’ve discovered. I wonder if we should report what we’ve dug up to the authorities.”
Everyone glanced at one another in contemplation. “What do we really have?” Michael asked. “… only a few pieces to some bizarre puzzle—nothing, really, to tell the police.”
Arthur leaned forward in his chair. “But Detective Craig might like to be in on our investigation. He could possibly help us find enough incriminating evidence of… ” He looked around at the others and shrugged. “Heck, we still don’t know what.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Savannah said. “If he doesn’t want to get involved, he may have some tips for us amateur sleuths, right?”
Arthur and Suzette nodded. “He could more easily check criminal records,” Suzette said.
Ignoring Michael’s look of uncertainty, Savannah stood. “I’ll be right back, then. I’ve been itching to call him all day.” When she returned, all eyes were upon her.
“Well, what did he say?” Michael asked.
“He’s driving down.” She asked Arthur, “Do you have space for him and Iris?”
Arthur nodded. “Sure.” He chuckled. “We could accommodate another… ” he looked at Suzette, “… how many do you think?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t actually seen the whole place yet, have I? It’s massive.”
“So you didn’t live in a big place growing up?” Savannah asked.
Suzette chuckled and shook her head. “No way. Relatives kind of shuffled me around between them and none of them had much. I come from sturdy, hard-working stock, but no one that I know of ever made it rich. I lived on a small farm once with a horde of cousins. There was land and animals, but the house had only four rooms, as I recall. Mostly it was apartment-living for me.” Her eyes widened when she reported, “I stayed in a big hotel once. This place reminds me of a hotel more than a home.”