The Squeaky Clean Skeleton

by R A Muth

  Hazel peered at me, waiting for a response. I nodded and reassured, "Yeah. I'm okay."

  "Are you sure?" She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward a little.

  "I can honestly say that some days are harder than others, but I promise I'm okay."

  "If you're ever not-"

  "I remember. You're a phone call away," I cut her off, punctuating my words with a smile.

  "Good. Now let's blow this popsicle stand!"

  Chapter 3

  Mrs. Livingston was so happy with our progress, she gave us a code for the cipher lock on her front door so we could come and go at our convenience. We left with plans to return on Monday.

  Once home, I rushed through my microwavable dinner-for-one and enjoyed a long soak in my clawfoot tub before changing into clean yoga pants and a sweatshirt. As soon as I stretched out on the sofa, my eyes closed before I could bring up "Antiques Roadshow” on the DVR.

  Sunlight streaming through the living room windows woke me at what I considered far too early for a Saturday, but I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I was up for the day. Besides, the memory of the bottle refused to leave my mind. If I was going to research the contents we’d uncovered so far, I was going to need coffee, and it had to be something better than the store brand I had at home.

  Locking the door behind me, I left my house and headed on foot to Mocha Joe's, my favorite coffee shop in all of Blueberry Bay. A shrill yapping filled the air as I reached the end of the block.

  "Hi, Mrs. Benefield!" I waved to my neighbor, who lived two houses away. When they were closer, I knelt and held out my hand, allowing her Pomeranian to sniff my fingers. "Hey, Puff Daddy. How's it going? Are you taking your sugar mama for a walk?"

  Mrs. Benefield giggled, the effort causing the hot pink velour tracksuit she wore to jiggle around her ample body. "The veterinarian said Puff Daddy and I have to start walking around the block twice a day. It's because he's gained a few p-o-u-n-d-s." She lowered her voice and spelled out the last word.

  I didn't point out that the walk would do them both a world of good. It would not only have been impolite but also more than a little hypocritical considering the p-o-u-n-d-s I'd put on since my husband's death.

  "Well, Puff Daddy is lucky to have you to look after him."

  We chatted a few more minutes before heading off in opposite directions. Walking the remaining blocks to the shop's location on the corner of Main Street and Webster Circle wasn't the most intense workout, but I planned to reward myself as if it was.

  The myriad of delectable scents inside Mocha Joe's caused my mouth to water. Behind the counter, the shop's owners, Ivy and Joe Coyle, worked like a well-oiled machine to fill each customer's order. A police scanner on a high shelf periodically squawked to life, momentarily shushing the conversation inside the cafe to a low din as everyone listened for details of the latest incident. Cooper's Cove didn't need a town newspaper. We had a coffee shop filled with gossip mongers from the four corners of Blueberry Bay.

  "Tori!" Ivy called when she spotted me in line. "You’re here early. Where's Hazel? Are you two working today? Weren't you over at the old Livingston place yesterday? What's she on, some Marie Kondo kick? Throwing out everything that doesn't spark joy?"

  When Ivy paused for breath, I approached the counter and answered all of her questions at once. "Hi, Ivy! We're not working today, but we'll be back at Mrs. Livingston's Monday. I'm not sure why she's decluttering, but I'm enjoying it."

  Ivy leaned forward, her elbows on the counter. "What's it like in the mansion? Is it true she has a room where she keeps her dead husbands' skulls in glass display cases?"

  "Um, I haven't seen anything like that." I gave a nervous laugh and changed the subject, "Could I please get a cinnamon latte and a sack of donut holes?"

  "We're all out," Joe barked from behind the espresso machine. A retired police chief, he was as intimidating now as he was during his years of active duty during my childhood.

  "What? No! I need them!" Panic rose in my chest. Were those palpitations? Before I could start begging and pleading, Ivy reached beneath the counter to produce a white paper takeout bag branded with the shop's logo.

  "Joe! Why do you insist on tormenting this poor girl?" she chastised before turning back to me. It didn't matter that Hazel and I left our twenties behind a couple of years ago. We'd always be “the girls” to Ivy and Joe. We became regulars in middle school, shortly after the shop opened. Ivy's voice pulled me from my thoughts, "Here you go. The high school cross country team stopped by after their run, but I pulled a batch of donut holes for you before they wiped out everything else we had."

  I clutched the proffered treats with glee, but my spirits sank at seeing the empty display case behind the counter. Tucking the paper sack into my tote bag, I asked, "Is it just me, or do you seem to have a bit less of these every weekend?"

  "Our beach plum sources are drying up." Joe slid the venti-sized to-go cup across the counter in my direction. Lowering his voice, he added, "Extra whip, on the house."

  I thanked them, settled up payment, and turned to leave, but an obstacle in the form of Gavin Rjasko prevented it. His silver badge gleamed against his navy-blue uniform. Swinging my forearm to one side, I barely missed smacking him in the stomach with my latte.

  "Watch where you're going, Queen Victoria," he barked. "I might have to ticket you for assaulting an officer with a scalding hot beverage."

  "Thanks for the warning, Gavin." Sarcasm dripped from my words, but I didn't care. I lacked the appropriate amount of caffeine to deal with Hazel's brother. "I always have room for another ticket in the glove box of my Beetle."

  He sneered. "Speaking of your Volkswagen, I didn't see it parked out front. Do you need a ride somewhere?"

  "It's too gorgeous outside to spend the entire day inside a car, dontcha think?"

  Without waiting for an answer, I sidestepped around his burly form and waved a final goodbye to Ivy and Joe. I smiled at my little dig at Gavin’s expense, knowing he would spend the day like he did every Saturday, working the speed trap on the corner of Main Street and Highway 47.

  "Tori? Tori, hold on!" a male voice called.

  I turned to see Asher Sparrows approaching me at a steady clip. Once he caught up with me, I replied, "Hey there, Asher. What's up?"

  "Did I hear you're in the cleaning business?"

  Asher and his partner, Thom focused so much of their time and energy on running the Blue Bear Brewery at the edge of town that I gave him a pass for not knowing more about our smaller business. "Yes, you did. Hazel and I do both housekeeping and estate cleaning," I informed him, placing more stress on the latter. One day in Mrs. Livingston's attic had reformed me. I never wanted to scrub another person’s toilet ever again.

  "Oh. Would you be interested in cleaning out some old sheds?"

  "Sure! What's in them?"

  "A little of this, a little of that. Thom says it's mostly stuff the former owners left behind with whatever we've thrown into the mix. Everything needs sorting out and going through, and we don't have the time."

  "We're always willing to come out and look at a potential job for no fee." I rummaged in my tote bag until my fingers found a business card that I passed to Asher. "Besides, that's pretty much the same thing we're doing with the contents of Mrs. Livingston's attic."

  "Thanks! Can you come out on Monday when Thom and I are both there?"

  "Um, probably! I'd have to talk to Hazel about the timing."

  "Thank you, Tori. We want to start as soon as possible, and we're happy to work around your schedule." Asher fished one of his business cards from the back pocket of his skinny jeans and handed it over to me.

  I promised I would let him know what time we’d be out on Monday and made my way back home. I had coffee to guzzle, beach plum donuts to devour, and research work to do.

  Chapter 4

  “How was your weekend?” I asked Hazel while getting comfortable in the passenger seat of the van.

/>   “Sven surprised me with a trip to Boston!” She spent the next few minutes gushing about their gondola ride on the Charles River, couples’ massages, and romantic walk on the Skywalk. After pausing for a happy sigh, she added, “We were so overdue for a weekend like this.”

  “I’m so happy for you two!” And I was, but Duffy would never in a million years have planned something like that for me. The longer that he was six feet under, the less I made excuses for his Neanderthal behavior during our marriage.

  “You should be as happy as I am! Who could you go out with? What about Gavin?”

  “Your brother? Um, sorry, but no. You know he and I are like oil and water.”

  “Opposites do attract. What about Luke, that hunky guy over at Blueberry Acres?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s off the market, and besides, I’m not sure I’m ready to date anyone. Maybe I’ll get a cat.”

  “Tori, there is no way I’m letting you become a crazy cat lady. You deserve a happily ever after, too.”

  “One cat doesn’t make someone a crazy cat lady.” I laughed. Luckily, we had reached the mansion. I grabbed my tote bag and leaped from the van, rushing across the porch only to bang on the door with the cast-iron knocker.

  “Why isn’t she answering? Her car is in the driveway.”

  Hazel reached the spot next to me as I lifted the knocker and let it fall three more times in quick succession.

  “Mrs. Livingston gave me the code to the cipher lock, remember?” Hazel pushed past me and, within a few seconds, she had the front door open. I followed her into the entryway and pushed the door closed until I heard the latch click.

  The atmosphere inside the home was museum-like. Marble floors and gleaming hardwood accents failed to absorb sound so that even the softest noise echoed. An ornate candelabra hovered overhead, its incandescent bulbs casting a warm glow across the windowless room. Motes of dust trapped within the shafts of light spun in lazy. Elsewhere in the mansion, a grandfather clock bellowed nine times, the last reverberating for several seconds.

  “She has the finest kind of treasures,” I said, repeating Ivy’s turn of phrase. “Could you imagine living here? I feel weird about letting ourselves in. Should we see if anyone is home?”

  “Nah. She said to use the code if she didn’t answer. Come on.” Hazel beckoned.

  Following my friend proved challenging as I gave in to the temptation to peek around every corner. Each room was like something from the cover of a New England Home magazine. I avoided snooping before as to not offend our client, but this could be my lone opportunity to satisfy lifelong curiosities, and I planned to grab it. As we walked, I used my phone to snap a few photos for future reference.

  “Tori?” Hazel’s voice pulled me from my state of distraction.

  “Yep. I’m right here.” I zoomed in on the side chair and captured a close-up shot of the tapestry on the upholstered seat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting photos for our website.”

  “We didn’t ask Mrs. Livingston how she feels about snapping photos of the rooms.”

  “Except I did ask her, and even if she hadn’t agreed to it, she let Mandy Leigh post some on her Careless Whispers blog.”

  “Well, if she let Mandy Leigh put them on that digital gossip rag...” Hazel’s words trailed into laughter. “Whatever. Come on!”

  I took a few more photos with my phone’s camera app before scurrying to follow Hazel up the staircase to the second floor, where all the doors remained closed. At the top, I stopped to catch my breath while she continued. Even without the FitBit on her arm, it was obvious which of us maintained a gym membership.

  I realized the final door at the end of the hall sat ajar by a few inches and, in my rush to peek through the narrow space, I stumbled forward, knocking the door open to reveal a bedroom. Whoops. I snapped pictures of the untidy room. A thick quilt lay in a disheveled heap in the middle of the Queen Anne-style, four-poster bed. Items I assumed once sat on the matching dresser lie on the floor. My reflection stared back from a full-length Cheval mirror, its glass tilted a little forward instead of back. What had happened here?

  “Hey,” Hazel said behind me.

  “Ah!” I simultaneously spun around and shrieked. “You scared me.”

  “Did you open this door?”

  “Me? No. It was already open.”

  “I don’t recall it being open.”

  “Okay, fine. I fell into the door while trying to look into the room. After that.” I cast a disapproving glance at the ornate mahogany door as if it were responsible for Hazel discovering my snooping.

  “How convenient, but remember that one good review from Mrs. Livingston could mean never having to scrub toilets again.” Hazel tugged my shirt sleeve. “Now, come on. Let’s try not to do anything that will upset her.”

  Securing the handles of her tote bag over her shoulder, Hazel led the way back to the attic and started up the narrow staircase with me following close behind.

  No sooner had Hazel opened the second door at the top of the stairs, she exclaimed, “Ugh! Brace yourself!”

  A stench assaulted the insides of my nostrils. It smelled worse than the summer when the town sanitation workers went on strike, leaving cans of rotting trash across town during the hottest week of the year.

  I gagged and waved my hand in front of my face to no avail and choked out, “Ew! Ew! What is it, a dead mouse or something?”

  “Oh, my God! I have no idea but help me open this window again.” Hazel begged as she strained to raise the bottom half of the attic’s single window.

  Together we managed to raise the window enough to allow a blast of crisp air into the room. I stuck my head into the open space and gulped deep breaths of fresh air. By the time I pulled myself back into the room, Hazel had plugged in the vintage fan. The blades on the antique accessory spun within the inadequate wire case, circulating the humid outdoor air throughout the attic.

  “I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” I lamented.

  Hazel pinched the tip of her nose between her forefinger and her thumb and pulled a face. “Let’s start by finding the source of that hideous odor. I’ll take this side, and you check back in that corner.”

  “What am I looking for, a dead mouse?” Why did I keep asking if it was a mouse? I really hoped it was anything else.

  “Mouse, squirrel, or anything else that might have crawled in and died over the weekend.”

  I fanned my hand in front of my face but wasn’t sure it helped. “Whatever that is, it’s getting stronger by the second. We have to be getting close to the source.”

  The foul stench was strongest by a steamer trunk of exceptional size. The outer wooden surface showed normal wear-and-tear beneath faded labels reading London, Paris, Dublin, and other international destinations. Closer inspection revealed a sticky substance pooling around the bottom of the trunk. I took a step back to avoid stepping in it. Whatever that puddle was, it had no business befouling the canvas Keds I’d donned that morning.

  “Hazel? I may have found it. Something in this box is leaking.”

  Peering at the mess beneath the trunk, she grimaced. “Oh, that looks disgusting.”

  “And it smells even worse. Did something spill inside the trunk?”

  “We have to look inside to find out.”

  I pointed to a deep scratch surrounded by splintered wood near the rusted metal lock, of which the bottom half swung from its remaining nail. “Someone has forced the lid open at some point.”

  “Makes it easier for us to get into it now.” Hazel nudged me and said, “Go ahead. It’s your find, which means you get first dibs at whatever is in there.”

  “Gee, thanks, I think.” I hoped it was something that would go for a tidy sum at the auction house. Judging from the smell permeating from the trunk, I didn’t hold out a whole lot of hope.

  Putting my fingertips under the edge of the lid, I lifted the top. It swung freely on its hinges,
connecting with the back of the container with a resounding clatter that echoed in the otherwise silent attic.

  The trunk’s contents, however, found Hazel and me clinging to one another and screaming at the top of our lungs.

  Chapter 5

  A skeleton stared at us, a grim smile frozen onto the gaunt visage. Although its clothes had all but disintegrated into the sticky gunk pooled in the bottom of the trunk, there was no mistaking the pink silk, bucket-style hat atop its skull, and the string of freshwater pearls draped across its bony shoulders.

  Hazel screamed at me, “Oh my God! Who is that? Whoever it is, it’s wearing Mrs. Livingston’s church hat! Ahh, is that her? Tell me it’s not her!”

  “I don’t know! Did she mention her weekend plans on Friday?”

  “I don’t remember, but while we’re at it, did she happen to mention that someone was trying to kill her?”

  We stopped shouting and stared at the skeleton, looked back at each other, and screamed again.

  I began backing away, tripped, and landed flat on my back. Something black and furry jumped onto my thigh. I prepared to resume screaming until I realized it was nothing more than a cat. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I stared at the animal and asked Hazel, “Did Mrs. Livingston happen to say anything about having a pet?”

  The cat tilted its head as it stared at me. I stared back, noticing for the first time a faint scar on the creature’s chin.

  “What? No. I didn’t see it here last time.” Hazel’s eyes remained fixed on the inside of the trunk, and the remains of what I assumed used to be Mrs. Livingston.

  “Do we call the cops or the ambulance for this?” I scooted backward in hopes of escaping the stench. “I mean, how long has Mrs. Livingston been there?”

  “We can’t assume the identity of whomever this is, but it’s obvious that they’re a bit beyond the help of our local EMTs. I’ll call Gavin. Let’s go downstairs, where it smells better.”

  As much as I’d rather not be in the attic, I hesitated. “Is it okay for us to leave? What if this is a crime scene? Aren’t we witnesses? We didn’t see a crime, but we did find a body.”