“Oh, Kate, I’m so glad you’re still there,” blurted a voice that could only belong to Ada Henstock.” I looked at my watch and saw that it was past four o’clock.
“Ada? Yes, the office is still open, although not for long. Actually, I had no idea that it was so late. No wonder I’m hungry. What can I do for you?”
Ada lowered her voice conspiratorially. “It’s Lavinia. Frankly, I’m becoming quite concerned about her. All of this business about the skeleton in the basement, you know. She’s become quite agitated, worrying about what’s to become of us if we are unable to sell the house. I wonder …” She paused.
I hastened to reassure her. “It’s too early to assess possible interest in the property, since we can’t list it until this mystery is resolved, but I’m certain that it’s way too early to give up hope.” I paused in my turn, then cleared my throat. Should I tell Ada my idea and risk raising her hopes falsely? “Actually, I’ve had an idea about the house. It’s just a concept, and I haven’t had time to think to think it through, but I would like to discuss it with you and your sister sometime. I know Strut … er, Charlene has had the full tour of the property, but I would appreciate having an opportunity to see the upper floors, as well. It would be helpful if more than one of us were familiar with the entire layout of the house.”
“I’m sure we would be very glad to see you whenever your schedule would permit. In fact,” she rushed on, “if you’re feeling a bit peckish, we’d be pleased to offer you tea this very afternoon. Nothing elaborate, but I do make a tasty cucumber sandwich, and Lavinia baked a batch of ginger snaps just this morning.”
My stomach growled hungrily. I thought of the chaos awaiting me at home. Who knew when I would get dinner tonight? “I could come right now, if you like. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Oh, my pleasure entirely,” she assured me. “Do come right over. Lavinia will be so pleased to see you, as of course I will.”
Half an hour later, replete with three cups of excellent Earl Grey tea and cucumber sandwiches, which were far tastier than I had anticipated, I followed Ada up a wide staircase across the main hall from the Henstocks’ kitchen. “It’s good of you to give me the grand tour,” I offered as we climbed the curving steps at a decorous pace. Lavinia lingered in the kitchen to wash up.
“Oh, it’s my pleasure,” Ada assured me a bit breathlessly. She was well past eighty years of age, after all. “I don’t often get the chance to show people around these days. Not that there’s much to show any more,” she concluded wistfully, glancing about her. Though tidy and obviously well dusted, the second story, when we reached it, had a sad, neglected air like a once-proud beauty when the bloom of youth had departed.
A second hallway, even wider and grander than the one on the first floor, spoke volumes about the wealth and status of the structure’s original designer. Clearly, the Judge had had a taste for the finer things in life and the bank balance to procure them. Turning right off the landing, we made a complete circuit of the second story, opening doors into a series of bedroom-and-bathroom suites that must have constituted the height of elegance back in the day. Each suite offered some architectural detail—a marble-tiled fireplace, crown molding, or leaded windows framing a cozy windowseat—and boasted the wide-planked flooring and once dazzling Oriental carpets I had admired on the first floor. Throughout our round, Ada’s hands trailed lovingly over this piece or that of what I was certain had to be valuable antique furniture, now piled willy nilly under dust covers.
“How charming! So inviting,” I murmured as we moved from room to room, ending with the master bedroom suite. Ada confided that the massive four-poster that had once taken pride of place had been removed a few years ago. In its place stood two twin beds.
“We share this room now,” Ada answered my unasked question. “Of course, we could each have a room of our own, but at our age, we prefer the company, frankly.” I smiled to myself, wondering if Armando and I would ever reach an age at which we preferred to share sleeping quarters instead of having our own space. Thinking of Armando made me remember my promise to him that morning to prepare a home-cooked dinner for us that evening. Guiltily, I looked at my watch.
“Who used all of these lovely rooms?” I asked as we paused at the foot of yet another beautiful staircase leading to the third and top floor.
Ada smiled dreamily. “Guests,” she replied, “lots and lots of guests. Nearly every weekend and all summer long the house was fairly bursting at the seams with houseguests. Mama was so beautiful and lively, and she adored fine music. And dancing! Oh, my, she loved to dance, and the Judge indulged her.” Remembering her glamorous, young mother, Ada’s eyes sparkled in her seamed face, and I could see the vestiges of the animated beauty Ada herself was reputed to have been in her own youth. “Let me show you something,” she whispered. She held a cautionary finger to her withered lips, then pointed downstairs to where Lavinia lingered. “I haven’t brought anyone up here in years. Lavinia finds it too upsetting.”
Ada led the way to the third story, keeping to the outer edge of each stair to minimize the creaking. I did the same. At the top, we faced double doors of such ornateness, such beautiful craftsmanship, that I couldn’t help but gasp, earning a disapproving shush from Ada. “Sorry,” I whispered apologetically, “but even the hinges are works of art.”
Ada’s eyes shone at the compliment. “There’s more, much more, but you must be as quiet as a mouse, or Sister will be up in arms.” So saying, Ada produced a huge key from her apron pocket and used it to unlock the doors before us. She slipped the key back into her pocket and eased open the doors. She stepped into the room beyond, and I followed, heart thumping with excitement.
Despite the sunlight streaming through a half-dozen arched and recessed windows, it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the relative gloom. Slowly, I understood that we were in the fabled ballroom, which ran the entire width and length of the third story. The sheer beauty of the room’s graceful proportions took my breath away. I stood silently gazing around me, jaw agape.
Ada laughed softly. “It’s quite something, isn’t it? Oh, the parties Mama and the Judge held here, often until the wee hours of the morning. Sister and I were supposed to be asleep, but our bedrooms were just downstairs. We couldn’t help but hear the music and the laughter, and, well, children will be children.” She leaned closer and confided, “Sometimes, we would take our pillows and sit on the floor near one of the air shafts in Lavinia’s room. We could hear everything quite clearly, you know.” She gestured to the ironwork grill of a nearby opening to what must have been the same airshaft.
I smiled, imagining the two little girls in their braids and nightgowns, giggling in the dark at the sounds of the mysterious goings-on in the ballroom upstairs as their parents socialized with their privileged friends against the backdrop of live dance music.
A noise from downstairs startled us back to the present. Ada collected herself and shooed me back to the landing. She relocked the ballroom securely before we hastened down the stairs as quietly as we could manage it. Once safely back on the second floor, we grinned at each other in sheer pleasure.
“Thank you so much for sharing that with me, Ada. Tell me, why is the ballroom kept locked? It seems quite empty of valuables.”
Ada shrugged. “Papa locked it after Mama passed, and I guess Sister and I have simply continued to honor his wish. After Mama’s death, the joy just went out of this house,” Ada explained sadly. “Papa loved her so. We were very young, of course, but we knew that. He never got over it, and I don’t recall there being a single party of any kind here after that.”
“Not even when you graduated from high school?”
Ada shook her head. “No, the Judge kept to himself, for the most part, and we soon stopped inviting our friends here. One by one, we just shut up the rooms, and after Papa died, well …” her voice trailed off sadly.
Impulsively, I blurted out the idea that had been taking shape in my mind ov
er the last couple of days. “Ada, have you and Lavinia ever considered reopening those rooms? Filling them up with guests and throwing parties again?”
Ada stared at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. “Having houseguests and throwing parties? My dear, even if we were so inclined, which it is difficult to imagine, in our present circumstances, we can barely afford essential repairs, let alone entertain a houseful of guests.” She tsked to herself, obviously aghast at the thought of such frivolity.
“No, no, I haven’t made myself clear.” I collected my thoughts and began again. “What I meant to say was, have you ever considered opening the house up to paying guests, opening a bed and breakfast? Old Wethersfield attracts thousands and thousands of tourists every year, and with all of the other historical attractions and restaurants in this area, I’m sure people would stand in line to spend the night in an authentic French Second Empire house. And that ballroom! Just imagine a wedding reception with a small orchestra in the corner and round tables scattered around the perimeter with fresh flowers and people dancing …” I stopped to assess the effect of my impetuous words on my companion.
Ada stood stock still, her eyes searching my face. She’s probably wondering whether to call her sister for help, since I’ve obviously lost my mind, I thought, holding my breath. Then a slow smile curved across Ada’s mouth and moved upward into her eyes. They glittered with an emotion I could not at first identify. Then I could. It was hope. “Do you think?” was all she could say at last.
“I do think,” I replied confidently. “All it would take is someone who knows what they’re doing and lots and lots of money.”
As suddenly as it had appeared, the light faded from Ada’s eyes. “But who would want to invest in a house where a body had been walled up in the basement?”
“You’d be surprised,” I said wryly. My experiences of the last few years in the real estate business had opened my eyes to the public’s thirst for gore. “In some buyers’ eyes, a body or two in a house’s history only adds a dash of drama, a little panache.”
“Even if we never solve the mystery of how the body got there?”
“Especially if we don’t,” I reassured her sturdily. “People will happily supply their own explanations, however removed they may be from the facts.” I’d had some experience in that area, as well. “Solving the mystery is only important in terms of closing the police file so that we can put the property on the market. For all I know, that might not even be required.” I made a mental note to ask John or Rick about the legalities of the situation.
Ada apparently knew enough about human nature to recognize that what I said was true. She brightened immediately. “A bed and breakfast,” she repeated softly to herself. “How Mama would enjoy knowing that.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the stairs. “Let’s go tell Lavinia your idea right now. It could be just the thing to perk her up. She hasn’t been at all herself lately.”
* * *
However much I had tried to prepare myself for the invasion, the full impact of Armando’s arrival in my territory still hit me like a kick to the solar plexus. I stood motionless in the kitchen and viewed the chaos of the center hallway, too shocked to speak or move. A dozen or more cartons blocked the doors to every below-counter cabinet, the oven, and the dishwasher. More were stacked slapdash against the front hall closet door, draped in a pile of coats and jackets. Instinctively, I set down my briefcase and went to hang them up the clothes before I realized that I couldn’t possibly get the closet door open.
I went through the outerwear absently, recognizing most of the pieces from the years that Armando and I had been seeing each other. It was odd to see them stacked in my front hall awaiting a new closet. There were six windbreakers in varying weights and colors. Two raincoats, one long and black, and one brown and belted. Two winter-weight dress coats. Four sleeveless down vests, two with the TelCom logo on the left chest. The carton atop the stack contained piles of scarves, a dozen pairs of gloves, and assorted ear muffs and headbands.
The need for a medicinal glass of wine overcame my growing despair long enough for me to wrestle two cardboard boxes away from the cupboard that served as my liquor cabinet. Carrying a glass of shiraz carefully, I picked my way through the debris into the living room. More cartons, two televisions, and several side tables of indeterminate function blocked the couch. I changed direction and padded silently past the laundry closet and the powder room to my bedroom at the end of the hall. The door was closed, and for a moment, I couldn’t think why. Then I remembered Simon and Jasmine. Poor kitties, presumably locked up in here all day.
I opened the door quietly and peeked in. Blessed serenity met my gaze. My neatly made bed with its coordinated floral-print pillow shams and dust ruffle looked as cozy as ever. The colors echoed the brushed velvet upholstery of my sofa, faded with age but still elegant under the windows on the back wall. Among the plumped cushions lay my two old friends, who rose sleepily to greet me. The used litter box and empty crunchies dish assured me their basic needs had been met, and I sank down on the sofa to stroke them. For several minutes, I sipped my wine in the late afternoon sunshine and savored the orderliness of my familiar space. A choppy purr emanated from first Jasmine, then Simon. The short hallway leading to my bathroom was flanked by closets. It was blissfully free of clutter, and I knew that the bathroom beyond would be as tidy as I had left it that morning before leaving for work.
From the second floor, I heard muffled thuds and curses as Armando struggled with one piece of furniture or another. Let the adventure begin, I observed wryly. I thought of the long, upsetting day Armando must have had – was still having, I amended guiltily, and my heart at last went out to him. This can’t be easy for him either. At least I get to keep my address and phone number, as well as my bedroom sanctuary. He hates change as much as I do, and he’s having to change just about everything. Spotting the open door, the cats lumped off the sofa and went to investigate the interesting noises drifting down the hallway. I followed them back to the chaotic kitchen, where I poured a glass of wine for Armando and ordered a pizza. Then I climbed the stairs to see what I could do to help.
Eight
Despite the chaotic clutter that threatened to derail my civility, I took the first tentative steps toward establishing a daily route when I arose the next morning at my customary 5:30. I tiptoed into the kitchen, where I brewed a small pot of my half-caff coffee, fed Jasmine and Simon, and set out some frozen chicken breasts to thaw for dinner. Then I retraced my steps to my bedroom sanctuary, trailed by the beasts. We shared a blissful half-hour back under the covers while I planned my workday in my head. Returning to the kitchen, I poured my second mug of coffee, rinsed out the pot, and made a batch of Armando’s special Gevalia brew while one of his favorite cranberry muffins from the Town Line Diner warmed in the microwave.
I readied myself for the office and tidied my bedroom. At 7:00, when I heard his clock radio click on to his favorite oldies station, I poured out his coffee and took it and the muffin upstairs to his room. Simon snored on the living room sofa, but Jasmine followed me curiously as I carried Armando’s breakfast to him. He looked so vulnerable, curled up under his blue plaid bedspread, that I leaned over to give him a good morning kiss. My intentions were good, but the poor man almost suffered cardiac arrest when my lips touched his cheek and Jasmine simultaneously jumped onto his stomach.
“Whaa …!” he yelped, jolted out of somnolence. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked around himself wildly. When his brain processed the reality of his new surroundings, he managed a bleary smile.
“Sorry, Sweetie,” I apologized. “How did you sleep?” I looked around for a place to put down the coffee mug and muffin. The surface of his bedside table was entirely covered by the clock radio, a lamp, a pile of magazines, his glasses, and what looked like a pile of mail. Determined to ignore it—his space, his rules, I perched carefully on the side of the bed, still holding his breakfast.
&nbs
p; “As if someone had hit me with a sledgehammer. And you?” Noticing that my hands were full, he sat up and pushed things around on the bedside table until there was just barely room for me to deposit my burdens, then sank back against his pillows.
Jasmine, enchanted to find her favorite person in the whole world in her house at that hour of the morning, walked up Armando’s chest, purring, and licked his ear. Armando grimaced and scooped her off his chest, where she settled down next to him. “Who invited you here? I don’t want cat hair all over my bed.” Despite his protestations, he reached out to stroke the old cat under her chin. She squeezed her eyes shut in bliss and raised the volume on her purr.
Armando’s eyes drooped shut again, and I decided to make my exit. He didn’t have to leave for his job at TelCom for a couple of hours, so why not let him sleep?
“Don’t let your coffee get cold,” I admonished, then gave up. I dropped another peck on his whiskery cheek and gave a thumbs-up to Jasmine, now curled within the protective curve of Armando’s arm. I had faith in her ability to train him as completely as she had trained me in very short order.
Walking the circuit of the Broad Street green before work wasn’t any fun at all without Emma, but with weeks still to go before her return, I knew I’d best get used to it. I completed my solitary lap at the Nathaniel Foote memorial monument, then headed toward the Spring Street Pond, where my car and camera awaited. I was well aware that Strutter was in crisis mode, and Emma was quite properly going about the business of living her own life, but it really was too bad of Margo to desert me during my domestic upheaval. Armando and I had survived our first night under a shared roof reasonably well, due mainly to our joint state of shock. Mutual exhaustion by ten o’clock had ensured a good night’s sleep, which also helped. One day at a time, I told myself.
A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) Page 10