“Can’t say that makes me much happier,” Strutter grumbled, but she tucked her handbag firmly under her arm and braced herself to revisit the scene.
The door creaked open two inches, and Ada Henstock peered out at us. John displayed his badge and introduced himself. At first, Ada looked uncertain, but when she spotted us behind him, she threw the door open widely and all but dragged John across the threshhold and into the front parlor. Strutter and I followed. Lavinia Henstock slumped in the corner of a rather musty settee, a damp cloth pressed to her forehead. She opened her eyes and smiled weakly.
“Lavinia, dear, do pull yourself together,” Ada urged. “This is Lieutenant John Harkness of the Wethersfield Police Department and Kate Lawrence of MACK Realty. She’s Mrs. Putnam’s partner along with, oh, what is that flirty southern woman’s name?” She frowned at her own forgetfulness. I sneaked a peek at John, whose mouth twitched in amusement.
“Margo Farnsworth,” I supplied quickly. “Why don’t we all sit down, and you can tell Lieutenant Harkness just what happened.”
“Of course, of course.” She waved at an assortment of overstuffed furniture that had seen better days, and we all perched uncomfortably on the edges of various pieces. Ada recounted essentially the same story that we had heard from Strutter. Lavinia recovered enough to sit up and embellish her sister’s narration with a detail from time to time. “And there it was, a skeleton, right there in that old closet in our basement,” Ada finished almost triumphantly. “I saw it with my own eyes, and so did Mrs. Putnam!”
“From what you told me, Dear, it was more of a mummy, really,” Lavinia offered diffidently, ineffectually tucking wisps of gray hair behind her ears, “but of course, I didn’t actually see it like Ada did.” She deferred to her older sister’s judgment on the matter. It occurred to me that she had probably been deferring to Ada for most of her life.
John nodded solemnly, then stood. “Thank you. I’m sure this will all be very helpful. And now, I believe I’ll just have a look for myself. No, there’s no need for you to upset yourselves,” he reassured the ladies. “In fact, it would be better if we disturbed the scene as little as possible until I can get a crew in here to investigate things properly.” At the mention of an investigation, Lavinia fell back against the cushions and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes once again. “I’ll just ask Kate and Mrs. Putnam to come with me as witnesses for the record.” He beckoned to us to join him, but Strutter demurred.
“I’ve seen it once. I don’t need to see it again,” she begged, and after gazing at her thoughtfully for a second or two, John wisely let her off the hook.
“I’m sure your statement will be sufficient. If you’ll stop by the Department sometime today, we’ll get that taken care of.”
“I’ll do that. Now you go right down the hall there past the stairs leading to the second floor. You’ll see the door to the basement on the left just before you get to the kitchen.” Strutter waved us into the hall and sank back onto a tufted ottoman. She still looked queasy to me, and who could blame her?
I was surprised to find myself a bit jittery as I joined John in the hall. It wasn’t as if I had never seen a dead body before. In fact, it was safe to say that over the past couple of years, I had seen more than my share, what with one unexpected development or another. The first had been a murder at the law firm where Strutter, Margo and I had all worked. The second murder had been right here in Old Wethersfield not a year ago. And now here I was again with a Wethersfield police officer at the scene of a grisly death. So much for the peaceful life of small-town New England.
Just as Strutter had said, we passed a wide staircase leading upstairs, then spotted the door to the basement. It was ajar. John paused long enough to snap a thin latex glove on his right hand, then used two fingers to pull the door open. He flipped an ancient-looking switch on the wall inside, and the stairs were weakly illuminated by a bulb hanging from a cord. “How very Psycho,” I murmured, peering past John. “Do you suppose we’ll find the mummified Mrs. Bates rocking in her chair?”
He grinned and led the way into the gloom. We descended the stairs with care, made cautious by thoughts of what we were about to see, as well as by the questionable condition of the steps beneath our feet. At the bottom, the smell of long-established dampness wrinkled my nose and, I admit it, raised a few hairs on the back of my neck. John fished a flashlight out of his pocket and clicked it on. It produced a surprisingly powerful beam, which he panned back and forth slowly across the floor and wall to the right of the stairs. I was glad for the comfort of the light, not to mention the solid police officer standing between me and whatever lurked in the corners.
A pile of old bricks, mortar, splintered wood and other debris attested to the recent demolition of a narrow section of wall at the back of a closet next to a huge, ancient furnace. The new opening revealed a narrow space. John’s flashlight shone on the pipes leading to the ancient boiler, one of which was leaking visibly. On the floor at the rear of the closet next to the pipes lay something that looked like a rag along with more bits of mortar and brick. I thought the cloth was dark blue, but I couldn’t be certain. Except for some shelving filled with books and files along the back wall of the closet-like space, it was empty. I blinked and looked again. No body, no bones, nothing.
“Well, do you see it?” Strutter, unable to sit still, had followed us to the top of the stairs. “How long do you think that nasty thing has been behind that wall?” The Henstock ladies craned their necks behind her.
“Hard to say,” said John, stalling for time and flashing his beam around the remaining walls to augment the meager light from the overhead bulb. The floor seemed to be poured concrete. Both it and the stone walls appeared unbreached and blank. John and I exchanged shrugs and retraced our steps. We peered up at the little group huddled at the top of the stairs. “How long ago did you say you discovered the, uh, remains?”
“It couldn’t have been much more than two hours ago,” Strutter replied, looking to Ada for confirmation. “Wouldn’t you say so?”
Ada nodded vigorously. “Oh, no, it couldn’t have been longer than that. The plumber started yelling and clanking around down there, and I went to see what in blazes the trouble was.” She swayed a little, and Strutter grabbed hold of her arm. “And then he went tearing up the stairs and out of here, and I climbed back up to tell Lavinia, and then, well, we called you. Isn’t that right, Sister?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right,” Lavinia affirmed. “And then Mrs. Putnam came right over and saw it for herself. She told us to sit tight while she ran back to your offices, and we made ourselves a nice cup of tea …”
“ … and here you all are,” Ada finished up. “We didn’t even have time to drink it,” she added a bit reproachfully, I felt.
“Well, you may want to make yourselves another cup,” said John as we climbed carefully to the top of the stairs and rejoined the trio, “because I’m afraid that what I have to say will surprise you.”
“Oh, no! Not more than finding a corpse in the basement,” Lavinia gasped, hanging onto her sister for support.
“I believe I would classify it more as a skeleton, Dear, than a corpse. Not so gruesome as a really fresh body, I should imagine.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t have to imagine, but I was impressed by Ada’s zeal for accuracy. Again, John suppressed a smile. “Corpse or skeleton or mummy, it doesn’t really matter. The thing is, Ladies, none of those things is in your basement. At least not now,” he added hastily as he took note of the shocked and mutinous expressions confronting him. He switched off the light and shepherded us into the kitchen off the hall.
Ada promptly filled the kettle and set it to boil on the front burner of a gas stove, circa 1950. I was willing to bet I wouldn’t find a microwave oven in this kitchen, and a quick glance around confirmed it. We all took seats at the vast, scrubbed oak table that occupied fully half of the room. I shivered and found myself looking forward to the tea that Lavinia m
easured carefully into an old-fashioned tea ball as John reported on our findings, or lack thereof, in the basement.
Ada came to sit by Strutter, bound by their common knowledge of what they had seen. “That simply cannot be, Lieutenant Harkness,” she asserted firmly. “I know what I saw, and Mrs. Putnam knows what she saw. Why else did that plumber take to his heels, I’d like to know?”
“That’s right,” Strutter backed her up. “Miss Henstock saw a body in the basement, and I saw it, too. And what about that plumber? Why don’t you ask him what sent him running out of this house?”
John hastened to ease their rising agitation. “I plan to do just that. I’ll just need his name and a phone number, if you have it handy. Thank you,” he added as Ada placed a steaming cup of tea before him before serving the rest of us, and Lavinia pushed a bone china creamer and sugar bowl a bit nearer. I imagined the sisters serving the Judge the same way in this very room some forty years ago. It probably gave them comfort to be pouring tea for a man at this table once again.
“Now where did I put that young man’s card,” Ada asked herself, fumbling through a stack of junk mail and bills on the counter. “I know I have it here somewhere. He gave it to me a few days ago when he was in the neighborhood drumming up business. Ah, here it is.” Triumphantly, she presented a white business card to John, which he read aloud.
“Handy Plumber of Connecticut. Licensed, bonded and insured. Eight six oh, six nine oh, fifteen fifteen.” He looked questioningly at Ada. “No name, no address. Did he give you a name, Miss Henstock?”
Ada looked flustered. “Why I was almost sure he did … but now that I think of it, he just knocked on the door here by the kitchen,” she waved at the side entrance that was reserved for family members and service people, “and said something like, ‘Handy Plumber. You called for service.’ And of course I had, so I let him in. He was wearing one of those tool belts filled with things that jangle, and he carried a toolbox. Well, at least there’s a telephone number. I spoke to him myself on it, or at least I left a message on his answering machine. You can find him that way, surely?”
John looked again at the card and slowly shook his head. “Doubtful. That’s a cell phone number. A cellular phone is portable, you see, not tied to one address. May I use your phone?” Ada nodded at an ancient wall phone by the stove, and John made use of it, checking the number on the card as he pressed the keys. He listened for a few moments and hung up. “No answer. Just a canned message saying that the user is unavailable.” Ada and Strutter exchanged crestfallen glances.
“But there must be a billing address for the phone, ” Strutter offered.
“ … and a name on the account,” I chimed in.
“… all of which are traceable, I believe is the expression,” Lavinia contributed surprisingly.
John smiled kindly at us all, then finished his tea in a gulp and pocketed the business card along with his notebook. “We’re certainly going to try to trace it. In the meantime, I’m going to take a look around outside before I head back to the station. I’ll send a forensics team over later to take a closer look at the basement to see what they can turn up. I’d appreciate it if you would keep the door to the basement shut and have everyone stay clear of the area until the team gets here.”
“Well, that’s certainly fine with me,” Ada assured him. “I’ve had quite enough of that basement and vanishing bodies for the time being.”
Lavinia smiled tremulously at John and patted at her rebellious hair once more. “I do hope we haven’t been any trouble, Lieutenant. You must be a very busy man.”
“That’s what the police are here for,” he reassured her. Another conquest, I thought, amused.
John led the way through the short hallway to the side entrance. “Is this door kept locked?”
The sisters looked at each other for a moment. “Why, no, not during the day,” Ada said slowly. “We generally go out this way for the newspaper and the mail and so forth. Of course, we lock up before retiring for the night.”
John thanked her for the information and let himself out, but before Strutter and I could follow, Ada put a trembling hand on my arm. Obviously, she was more shaken than she had let on, and my heart went out to her. The morning could not have been an easy one, and even though she was only a year older than her sister, she clearly felt obliged to put on a stoic front for Lavinia, who hovered at her elbow.
“We are so very grateful to you for coming … grateful to you both,” she stressed, including Strutter in her thanks. “If Mrs. Putnam hadn’t come so promptly and seen that awful body in the basement …”
“… why, that nice lieutenant would think we were both as crazy as bedbugs,” Lavinia completed the thought. I didn’t say so, but I thought they might just be right. Two old ladies living by themselves in that cavernous old house might well be susceptible to an imaginative turn or two.
“I hope I’m not being too inquisitive, but I would have thought that a smaller house would be a lot easier for the two of you to keep up. Why do you prefer to go on living here?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Yes, why not move into one of those snug little places they’re building over near
Jordan Lane, or a great apartment-style condominium like the ones on Ridge Road?” Strutter was obviously as curious as I. This time, Lavinia answered first. “This is our home. Always has been. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Can you, Dear?” She looked confidently at her sister.
“It’s true that I believed that Papa’s trust fund would allow us to live out our lives here,” Ada hedged uncharacteristically, “but I had no idea how expenses would rise and rise. That hideous war in the Middle East, and the cost of home heating oil. Our taxes …” She glanced at Lavinia, then quickly averted her eyes. “Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you.” She cleared her throat. “But we have to face the fact that there simply isn’t enough money to keep this place going, and there are major repairs that cannot be ignored any longer. This leak in the boiler pipes is just the tip of the iceberg.”
Lavinia’s eyes clouded over, and her expression turned sulky. “Ada! You can’t mean that you’re thinking of selling our home!”
Ada threw us an apologetic glance at Strutter and me for having involved us in this personal conversation, but she held her ground. “Now, Lavinia, you know we’ve had this conversation before. We’re not as young as we once were, and we need to consider the future. Selling this house is our only reasonable alternative, if anyone will have it, that is.” She patted her sister’s shoulder and shooed her off toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you get started clearing away the tea things, and I’ll come help in just a moment.”
Strutter and I watched Lavinia trudge off, stricken. “We’ll do everything we can to help, Ms. Henstock,” Strutter offered rashly.
Ada beamed at her. “It’s Ada, please, and I felt certain you would.”
“Please call me Charlene or Strutter, as my friends do. I answer to either,” Strutter smiled back.
I sighed. Selling this monstrosity would be difficult enough. Selling a monstrosity that had recently had a body walled up in the basement might well be impossible.
* * *
“What do you mean, impossible?” Margo and I sat on the back stoop of the Law Barn in the long twilight, alternating swigs from a shared can of Diet Coke. We had already locked up but were sharing a few minutes before heading out. “This is gettin’ really interestin’.” Mindful of her white linen and her dinner date with John, Margo had centered her svelte haunches on a magazine from our reception area. I wasn’t worried enough about my washable Citiknits to bother. “That old mausoleum needs some panache. A body in the basement might be just what the doctor ordered. Remember how many people turned up at the open house we held where that murdered waitress used to live?”
I stared at her. Although I had encountered it before, Margo’s tolerance for gore never failed to surprise me. I tended to get woozy when confronted with blood, which Margo found
amusing. But she did have a point. “Yes, I do remember. But we don’t really know that a body was in the Henstocks’ basement at all. It certainly wasn’t anywhere in sight when John and I took a look around.”
“Don’t you let Strutter catch you sayin’ that,” Margo warned. “As far as she’s concerned, she saw a skeleton or a mummy or some other kind of dead body, and you’ll never convince her it was a pile of old rags or a discarded Halloween costume.” She snorted into the Coke can. “So if we’re goin’ to get stuck tryin’ to sell the Henstock house, a nice, tawdry murder works for me.” She changed the subject and handed me the soda. “Seein’ Armando tonight, Sugar?”
“Nope. End of the month closing at Telcom. Everybody in the department works late tonight.” Armando was the controller of a small, but growing, telecommunications company headquartered in East Hartford. We had met there seven years ago when I managed public and investor relations for the company, and our relationship had endured through my mid-life career crisis. I had spurned my management position to return to my roots as an administrative assistant to a noted Hartford lawyer. That had lasted only a few months, and then I had opened MACK Realty with Margo and Strutter.
A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) Page 3