Merciless Legacy: Merciless Murder - A Thrilling Closed Circle Mystery Series

by Tikiri Herath

  This was our first client. Our first case, which, if we solved it to Madame Bouchard’s lawyer’s satisfaction, would allow us to build another nursery at our children’s shelter and foster home in New Orleans. I couldn’t mess up our chance now.

  I cleared my throat.

  “My team has worked with Madame Bouchard for years and she has always been satisfied with our service.” I hesitated, gauging how much I could share with this stranger.

  “I wish she’d have given us more information, but as you know, she is no longer with us...” I let my sentence trail off, hoping she’d understand.

  Mrs. Robinson nodded somberly.

  “I was so sad to hear of her passing.”

  She glanced out the window, a faraway look coming over her face.

  “I knew her since I was a teen. I looked up to her. She was like this beautiful princess who lived in this castle. I wanted to be like her. It broke my heart when she started traveling after she got married. She was hardly home anymore after that.”

  “Home?” I asked, unsure if I’d heard right. “Are you saying Madame Bouchard used to live here?”

  Mrs. Robinson turned to me, as if she’d just realized we were standing in her kitchen.

  “Yes, my dear. This is Madame Bouchard’s childhood home.”

  It took a while before any of us could speak.

  “Are you kidding me?” said Katy finally. “This is her home?”

  Mrs. Robinson gave Katy a quizzical look, like she was sizing her up. Then she turned back to me.

  “I see you didn’t come alone.”

  “Sorry, these are my colleagues, Katy McCafferty and Tetyana Shevchenko.”

  She didn’t move to shake their hands, but regarded them politely.

  “Madame Bouchard was familiar with all my team members,” I said. “We each bring unique skills to the job and we’re looking forward to helping you out. I’m sorry if I didn’t mention this earlier.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” said Katy with a bright smile. Tetyana gave her a grave nod.

  Mrs. Robinson stared at Tetyana for a second longer than would be considered polite.

  “Are you a cop?”

  Her tone was accusatory, but Tetyana merely shook her head.

  “Never have been and never will be. I’m just here to help Asha.”

  That seemed to satisfy Mrs. Robinson. Katy flashed her another one of her million-dollar smiles.

  “Mrs. Robinson, I can’t wait to solve these mystery letters you’ve—”

  “Hush!”

  “Sorry,” said Katy, giving her a sheepish look.

  Mrs. Robinson stirred and straightened up.

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m usually a better hostess than this, but this affair... it has made me all jittery.” She sighed. “Y’all must have had a long trip. Would you like some ice tea with a slice of pumpkin pie? I just baked it.”

  I turned to my friends. Mrs. Robinson didn’t realize what a bombshell she’d dropped on us when she told us we were standing in Madame Bouchard’s childhood home. I knew Katy and Tetyana were burning with curiosity as much as I was.

  “Actually, we’d like to ask you a few questions if this is a good time,” I said. “Would that be all right?”

  Mrs. Robinson glanced behind her and turned to us with a worried expression on her face.

  “Not here. Come with me.”

  With another apprehensive glance behind her, she took me by the elbow and steered me through the kitchen, with my friends coming behind me.

  A cold gust of air hit us as we stepped out of the kitchen through a side door and entered an empty hallway.

  It was like we’d stepped back in time to the nineteenth century.

  The passageway floor was made of stone and ancient wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling. There were small wooden doors along the hallway, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if a woman in a white bonnet and a long crinoline gown had stepped out with a candlestick in her hands.

  “Is anyone else home?” I asked as we walked through the passageway, going deeper into the belly of this mansion.

  “Everyone’s home,” replied Mrs. Robinson. “They always are. No one ever leaves this place.”

  No one ever leaves this place?

  “Madame Bouchard traveled a lot with her diplomatic husband,” I said. “She had apartments in New York, Paris, and London. I didn’t realize she owned a home in New Hampshire.”

  “Ah, that one was different from everyone else. She enjoyed the high life. Didn’t think much of us.”

  “But she wanted me to help you with your, er, problem.”

  “Guilt.”

  “Guilt?”

  She stopped so suddenly, I jerked back. She put a hand on my arm and leaned in close, her dark brown eyes boring into mine.

  “As much as I admired that woman, I can guarantee you she died with many regrets in that stony heart of hers. Do you know how much she neglected her own flesh and blood?”

  I shook my head, feeling a chill at those words.

  Without explaining herself any further, she let go of my arm and started walking again.

  After throwing a surprised glance at my friends, I turned around and caught up to Mrs. Robinson. We kept walking through the hallway, not speaking.

  “Are we the only guests here tonight?” asked Katy hesitantly, after a while.

  “The pastor’s staying overnight. He comes every weekend.”

  “Who else lives here?” I asked.

  “You’ll see soon.”

  “Does everyone know we’re coming?”

  “Not a soul. I want them to be surprised.”

  With that, she opened the door at the bottom of the corridor and ushered us into a spacious but cold room.

  “Come in and close that door. We can talk in here.”

  I looked around.

  An old-fashioned brass bed had been placed in the middle of the room, surrounded by neatly arranged vintage furniture. A bookshelf lined one wall. Displayed in it were trinkets from a bygone era between old tomes. Everything here was spotless. Not one speck of dust had escaped Mrs. Robinson’s keen eyes.

  As soon as Tetyana closed the door behind her, Mrs. Robinson clutched at her chest and started wheezing.

  I stepped forward.

  “Are you okay, Mrs. Robinson?”

  She stood in place for a minute, gasping for breath. Then she straightened up and gave us a rueful smile.

  “This is what happens when you become a senior citizen. Aches and pains everywhere.”

  “Would you like some water?” I ventured, seeing how pale her face had become.

  She shook her head.

  “I got another letter last night,” she whispered hoarsely. “Do you want to see it?”

  “Please.”

  She reached into a pocket in her skirts and brought out a small beige envelope.

  I stared at this thing that had terrified this woman for weeks. This thing that had brought us up here.

  “Why didn’t you share this with the police?” I asked what had been troubling me all along. “They could have searched for fingerprints and done something about it.”

  “They won’t believe an old woman like me.”

  She paused.

  “Besides, I can’t trust anyone anymore.”

  Chapter Eight

  I dug out a pair of gloves from my purse, put them on, and took the envelope from Mrs. Robinson.

  Katy was peering over my shoulder while Tetyana was standing by the door, on guard.

  I opened the envelope. Inside was a thin beige piece of paper, the kind you’d find at a high-end stationery store.

  “Mrs. Robinson, do you know anyone in this house who uses paper like this?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ve been cleaning this house for many years, so I pretty much know what everyone has in their drawers and cupboards. It’s hard to hide anything from me, but whoever sent this is doing a good job.”
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br />   I opened the letter gently, trying not to crease the paper, and stared at the words inked in blood red.

  If you tell anyone what you saw that day, I will cut your throat while you’re sleeping and leave you to bleed to death. Don’t ever think I can’t do it.

  A chill went down my spine as I read it.

  “That’s horrible,” said Katy. “So nasty.”

  I peered at the letter. Even in the dim light, I could see the specks of powder on the paper.

  “What’s this?” I said, shaking the letter. A few flecks of white powder fell on the floor.

  Mrs. Robinson shrugged.

  “A sick joke,” she said. “They put baby powder inside.”

  Tetyana shifted at her station.

  “Put it away,” she said, a note of warning in her voice. “Don’t touch it.”

  I folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope. I was about to put it in my purse when Mrs. Robinson reached over and yanked it from my hand.

  “We could get it tested for you,” I said.

  “I’ll keep it for now,” she said, sticking the envelope back in her pocket. “Don’t want these things floating around. That’s how vicious rumors start. It’s bad enough getting these letters.”

  I stared at her, but her face said she’d made up her mind. I had to change tactic.

  “When did you get this letter?” I asked.

  “Three nights ago.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Where I always do. Under my bedroom door. They come between two and four in the morning. On different days, so I never know when.”

  I glanced over at the sturdy wooden door where Tetyana was standing.

  “Do you have a video, intercom, or a peephole to see who’s on the other side?”

  Mrs. Robinson gave me a look.

  “This house was built a hundred years ago, my dear. There weren’t no intercoms and such back then.”

  “Who do you suspect it is?” asked Katy.

  “It could be anyone.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Anyone?”

  Mrs. Robinson was the type of grandmother anyone would want to have, the one who loved to feed strangers pumpkin pie with ice tea. Then again, looks could be deceiving. I’d seen my share of evil on earth, and sometimes it was those I least suspected who surprised me.

  “Does anyone in this house have a vendetta against you?” I said, softening my voice. “Was there anything you did in the past that made someone angry at you?”

  She looked away.

  We waited.

  I wondered what was going through her mind. Was it fear that was stopping her, or was she too embarrassed about something she’d rather not share?

  Near the door, Tetyana shifted impatiently.

  Tetyana was a woman of action and hated these long, drawn-out conversations. If she had her way, she’d line up everyone in the house against the wall, put a gun against their heads, and ask them point-blank if they were harassing their caretaker.

  I was glad I was in charge.

  It took a while for Mrs. Robinson to talk again. When she did, it was in such a low voice, I had to lean in to hear.

  “This house has many secrets.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Ever since I came here, I knew no one was who they said they were.”

  “Can you tell us who lives here?”

  She raised her head and gave me a surprised look.

  “Why, Madame Bouchard’s family, of course.”

  I wanted to shake her by the shoulders for speaking in riddles, but I knew better than to rush her.

  “Yes, but exactly who?” said Katy, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Her children? Siblings? Cousins?”

  “I thought you knew her well.”

  Katy and I exchanged a glance.

  I’d never seen Madame Bouchard without her pristine white Chanel suit, shiny pearls, and gray hair swirled on the top of her head. I always thought of her as a septuagenarian supermodel.

  That woman had power, and she knew how to wield it.

  Her friendship circle included the most prominent people in the world. From royalty to celebrities, from politicians to business moguls, she had them all in her pocket. She’d been the matriarch of the international diplomatic community.

  But no one had known about her family.

  “I don’t think anyone knew Madame Bouchard well,” said Katy. “She liked to keep her private life private.”

  “I always thought she was Canadian,” I said, remembering my first encounter with her in Toronto.

  “She is,” said Mrs. Robinson. “Through her husband. But her own family is from New Hampshire.”

  “Okay, let’s start with her children,” I said, recalling Madame Bouchard’s last words at her deathbed.

  Find my children and tell them I did it because I loved them.

  I was getting a funny feeling about this case. It wasn’t just Mrs. Robinson asking for our help. This had Madame Bouchard’s name written all over it.

  “How many children did she have?” I asked.

  “One son and one daughter.”

  “They must be middle-aged now?”

  “Barry, the son, is forty-three this year and Lisa is forty-six. I grew up with them. My mama was the caretaker of this house before me. They treated us well, so when she passed away, I took over.”

  “Did you work closely with Madame Bouchard?” I asked.

  “She took off to college at nineteen. That’s where she met her husband from Canada. After that, she only came home to have her babies.”

  “She never lived here after she got married?” asked Katy.

  “Madame Bouchard was relieved when my mother and I took over the housekeeping and childcare. She wanted nothing to do with household stuff.”

  “And Mister Bouchard? What was he like?” I asked.

  “He hardly came here. I think he hated it here. Always traveling. At fancy parties in Europe and Washington DC. He only came here for a few Christmases.” She paused. “Poor man. He was only thirty-six when he died.”

  I nodded. I’d seen the old news clippings of the promising young diplomat dying of a heart attack. It had been a shock to the diplomatic community then.

  “What are they like, their son and daughter?” I asked.

  Mrs. Robinson looked out the window, her face pensive.

  “When you grow up in a faraway place like this with only the mountains for company, it’s hard to grow up normal.” She turned to give me a piercing look. “Do you know what I mean?”

  I shook my head.

  “School was a private tutor and a brown paper envelope that came via mail once a week,” she continued. “They never had other kids to play with. That makes you... a different kind of child.”

  “Different? How?”

  “You’ll find out when you see them tonight.”

  I raised my eyebrows and exchanged a quick glance with Katy. I guessed we were in for an interesting evening.

  “Does the rest of the family sleep on this floor?” I asked.

  “They all have rooms on the third floor.”

  “But you sleep down here?”

  She shrugged. “I like it here. This has always been my room ever since I was a girl. I grew up here.”

  “How long have you lived in this house?”

  “Most of my life. So many years I’ve lost count.”

  “How did you come about staying here?”

  Mrs. Robinson let out a sigh and looked down at her feet.

  “My mother brought me here when I was fifteen. Her boyfriend... my father... treated her badly. He liked to rough her up. I remember those days.”

  She shivered as if she could still feel the pain.

  “It got so bad one day, she bundled me in the car and said ‘baby, we’re going somewhere safe.’ Then, we drove north. That’s all I knew. Just the two of us, like Thelma and Louise. We drove for so many days, I was sure we were going to
end up in Santa Claus’s house in the North Pole.”

  “You came to Cedar Cottage instead?” I said, keeping my voice soft.

  “We slept in the car but we were running out of gas and money. There was a bad storm one night and I remember us getting lost and scared. So we drove up to this big house and asked to stay the night. I was surprised they let us in here. I mean, the only home I’d known back then was the projects....”

  Mrs. Robinson paused to wipe her eyes.

  “Wow,” said Katy in a hushed tone. “What a story.”

  Mrs. Robinson looked up and smiled at her.

  “It was Madame Bouchard who said my mother and I could stay. She was just a teen then, ready to go to college, but she was already bossing everyone around, you know what I mean?”

  I nodded. That much I knew very well.

  “So my mama and I stayed. We never left.”

  She looked out the window, even though everything outside was bathed in midnight black now.

  “I grew up on these mountains.”

  She turned back to Katy and me.

  “Mama’s bruises disappeared, and I didn’t have to wake up every night and listen to her cry anymore.”

  I put a hand out and touched Mrs. Robinson’s arm. I had no words, but I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.

  We’d all seen violence in our lives. We’d seen things worse than an abusive father, but I knew it hurt even more when it was someone who was supposed to care for you. Someone who was supposed to love you.

  “I’m fine now, my dear,” she said, giving me a genial smile. “I don’t know why I’m telling you girls these stories from so long ago. Y’all have friendly faces. Maybe that’s why. These letters have nothing to do with my past.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  Don’t be too hasty to come to that conclusion.

  “My mother lived a long and happy life. She worked hard, and she liked it here. Everything I know, I learned from her. Rest her soul.”

  “What about you, Mrs. Robinson?” asked Katy. “Did you ever marry?”

  “My husband was a farmhand from town. We were together for ten years, but he died in an accident eleven years ago. I never could have children, so that just left me here.”

  “This is a beautiful place to call home,” I said.

  “As long as I do my work, no one complains. I get my space. I hardly see anyone except at mealtimes. Some may say it’s lonely up here, but I like it quiet.”