Chapter Seventeen
The letters were gone. They weren’t in the desk where she’d found them originally, and she’d even searched the room, thinking Owen or Angie might have moved them. “Where have they put them? The letters have to be here somewhere!”
“Meow!” Arun trotted from Araminta to the door, glancing at her over his shoulder as if to agree she would find nothing in the room and should leave.
Loathe to admit defeat, Araminta took one last look around and followed him out.
“Well, if you two have any other ideas, I’m all ears,” Araminta said to the cats, who had trotted into the hallway and were pacing in front of the closet door.
Hadn’t Angie said something about seeing Prudence in front of the door?
Araminta tried the knob. Locked.
“Hmm… that’s odd. Why is this locked?”
Arun looked up wide-eyed, as if to indicate he had the same question. Sasha had trotted over to the dumbwaiter again and was pacing back and forth, tail straight up in the air.
“There’s nothing in there, Sash. I have already checked…”
Araminta started and then paused. No, she hadn’t checked. Not really. She had opened the panel and realized the dumbwaiter wasn’t on this floor, but she hadn’t looked down into the shaft…
“I’ll need a light. It’s very dark inside. But if there’s aught to be found, rest assured, I shall find it,” Araminta promised. After a quick trip to her own bedroom, where she collected the small penlight from her nightstand, Araminta again stood in front of the panel covering the opening for the dumbwaiter. She slid it open and leaned in with the light to have a look inside.
“I’ve found the letters!” she called back to the cats. “But they are inaccessible. The dumbwaiter is lodged in the shaft down near the basement. The papers are on top of it.”
Meow!
Araminta withdrew from the entrance to the service elevator and snapped off the light then closed the panel. “I’ll have to dislodge the box, but the only access is through the basement.”
If she could get a look at the letters, she could determine if Angie was left-handed. If not, then she likely wasn’t the killer. Of course, that didn’t leave Owen out, but at least one suspect would be eliminated. She glanced at the closet and thought about Prudence. Was Prudence a leftie, and what did the closet have to do with anything? Maybe Angie had seen Prudence at the dumbwaiter and mistaken it for the closet?
Araminta turned her attention back to the dumbwaiter. With the police searching the house for the murder weapon, it made sense that Angie would get rid of the letters—even if they didn’t mention the murder, the letters would expose their affair. No one would look in the dumbwaiter, and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t look on top of it. That made Araminta wonder… had someone broken it on purpose so they could hide something on top or inside… like the murder weapon?
Araminta shined the light inside, this time looking for the rope. One end lay twisted beneath the tangle of letters Angela had dropped inside the shaft, but the other end… was cut.
The rope hadn’t broken. It had been cut clean through! But why would Angela cut the rope to try and hide the letters? Peering intently at the severed end, she noticed something on the cording, and she didn’t need to get closer to figure out what it was.
Blood. There was blood on the rope to the dumbwaiter. Was it blood from the knife that had killed Shirley?
Araminta blinked, trying to make sense of it all.
Whoever had knifed Shirley had probably done the deed in the solarium, then rushed upstairs to their room, but then realized they would need to dispose of the murder weapon and decided to hide it in the dumbwaiter.
So why cut the rope?
Anyone who remembered the dumbwaiter from their childhood, like she had, might have opened the thing and found the knife. Then it would only be a short time before the killer was exposed, so they’d cut the rope but held on to the carriage long enough to hide the knife inside it then sent it to the basement to collect and get rid of later.
Yes, Araminta decided. That must have been it. But the dumbwaiter had lodged in the shaft, making it impossible to collect the knife. Someone would have to try to jiggle the box down to the basement to get it open. And that would create a lot of noise.
There were never any mice in the manor. What there was, however, was a murderer!
Chapter Eighteen
What person in their right mind went into a dark basement alone while looking for a murder weapon? None, Araminta belatedly realized. She was alone, and the only thing she had with her for protection was a tiny penlight and two Siamese cats. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brushed off Trinity’s offer to accompany her when she rushed past the girl in the kitchen.
Hesitant now, she wondered if she should go back and bring the police down with her. No. That would take too long, and the killer might hear them and get there first. Hopefully, they weren’t already down there, and Araminta could check her theory about the knife and then call in the police. She didn’t want to ruin her reputation by making an announcement that the murder weapon was here and drag everyone down, only to discover she was wrong. She’d learned her lesson long ago to double-check before alerting the authorities.
Araminta crept slowly into the basement, swinging her small light back and forth.
Her heart leapt when the beam of light fell on a figure crouched in the corner.
“Aha!” Araminta shouted even as her brow creased in confusion. This wasn’t where the dumbwaiter was located. Had the killer already retrieved the knife and was now hiding it?
The figure spun around, shading their eyes from the light. “Araminta, what in the world are you doing?”
It was Prudence!
“Catching a killer.” Araminta angled the light to the left so she could see the guilty look on Pru’s face. Except Pru didn’t look guilty; she looked confused.
The cats had trotted over to Prudence and were sniffing around at something behind her—ferreting out the murder weapon, no doubt.
“Killer? what are you talking about? Have you gone daft?” Prudence asked.
“I caught you red-handed trying to hide the evidence. Now step aside and let me see.” Araminta gestured with the flashlight.
She expected more of a fight, but Prudence simply gave her a funny look and then stepped to the side to reveal…
A mousetrap?
“What is that?” Araminta trained the light on the trap.
“Figures you don’t know what it is. It’s a mousetrap.” Prudence fisted her hands on her hips and looked disgusted. “Someone has to take steps to catch the mice in here instead of denying that they exist.”
“Where did you get a mousetrap?” Araminta stepped closer. She could see a piece of Swiss cheese in the trap. The cats were circling it, their whiskers twitching as they looked at each other with knowing glances.
“I ordered it online and had it delivered here,” Prudence said. “Do you think I’m too old to order stuff online? And then I simply got some cheese from the fridge. Your cook didn’t seem too happy, but someone has to do something to get rid of these things.”
“So that’s what you’re doing down here? Setting mousetraps?” Araminta asked.
“Actually, I was checking this one. That’s why the lights are off. I don’t want to scare any mice off, so I sneak up with my tiny penlight.” Prudence took a small keychain flashlight out of her pocket and showed it to Araminta, then she reached over and flicked a switch on the wall.
The basement lighting consisted of dim bulbs that hung from the ceiling, casting circular beams of light below them. It was still pretty dim down there, but the bulbs were a lot better than the flashlight Araminta had been using. Now she realized how silly it was to use it when she could have just turned on the basement lights. Perhaps she’d been watching too many scary movies.
Araminta eyed the empty trap. “Have you caught any mice?”
Prudence looked disap
pointed. “No. Not here. Not in the closet. Not in the butler’s pantry.”
Araminta felt a little better that the manor really didn’t have a mouse infestation, which reminded her of the real source of the squeaking. “What about the dumbwaiter?”
Prudence’s eyes lit up. “The dumbwaiter! I had forgotten all about that. That’s a good idea. I bet there will be some mice in there.”
“Well now, hang on there.” The last thing Araminta needed was Prudence going to the dumbwaiter and finding Angie’s letters. Her mention of it had served a purpose, though. Pru’s eagerness to put a mousetrap in there indicated she wasn’t the killer. Nor did she have anything hidden in there, as she would surely want to avoid Araminta exploring the dumbwaiter in that case.
“Did you put a trap in the hall closet near the bedrooms and lock it?” Araminta asked.
“Of course. That seems to be the direction where the most noise is coming from.” Prudence produced a small skeleton key from her pocket. “These old skeleton keys work on all the doors. I didn’t want that nosey maid removing the trap.”
“Good thinking.”
Prudence looked pleased at the compliment, then her expression turned suspicious. “What are you doing down here? You mentioned something about the killer?” Pru glanced around as if the killer could be lurking in the shadows.
Araminta waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind that. I was just talking to the cats. I was wondering if the cats had killed some mice down here.” She didn’t want Prudence in on her theory about the knife being in the dumbwaiter.
“Well, if you ask me, judging by the noise in the walls, they have their work cut out for them.” Prudence glanced down at the cats, who were now grooming themselves, and shook her head, then she started toward the stairs. “Now don’t let them touch this trap. It’s all set up, but if I want to put one in the dumbwaiter, I better get upstairs and order another one online.”
Araminta let her go, relieved that she was leaving. Prudence wasn’t the killer, but she still hadn’t ruled out Angie.
“One suspect has been ruled out. Now to see if we can rule out another,” Araminta whispered to the cats as she headed toward the dumbwaiter. She needed to get a look at those letters.
The dumbwaiter was in the dimmest corner of the basement. Spiderwebs and dust were everywhere, but Araminta soldiered on. The sooner she could figure out who the killer was, the better.
The old door opened easily enough, but she could see that the dumbwaiter itself was lodged a few feet up in the shaft. She could also see fresh scrapes in the metal and chips in the wood. Someone had been trying to pry it down.
“You always were too nosey for your own good.”
Araminta had been too intent on the task to notice the cats’ warnings or see someone sneaking up behind her.
She whirled around to see Olive standing there, a look of rage on her face and a crowbar held high as if to strike Araminta with it. It didn’t escape Araminta that the weapon was in her left hand.
Chapter Nineteen
Images of Olive under the tree with her compact bubbled up. Darn! Araminta cursed herself for not realizing that she’d been holding it in her left hand, as one who was left-handed would do. But Olive had seemed so upset about Shirley’s demise… would she really have killed her own sister? Araminta needed to buy some time, to get Olive talking.
The cats might have had a plan too—they were meowing and doing circle eights around Olive’s ankles.
“Olive! What do you mean?”
Olive’s gaze flicked to the dumbwaiter. “You know what I mean. You’ve been asking questions and investigating. Clearly, you think the dumbwaiter is of interest, and I suppose you’ve figured it all out.”
There’s was no point in trying to get away by pretending she didn’t suspect Olive at this point. By the menacing look on Olive’s face, she meant business, so Araminta simply said, “I did. I should have realized from the beginning, Olive, when you were so eager to spill family secrets. But then, the apple never does fall far from the tree, does it?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Olive demanded.
Araminta shrugged. “Shirley was a bad apple, stooping to anything to get her way, and now it appears you’ve followed suit. And taken up some of her methods, such as trying to frame Angela and Owen for her murder and using Stephanie’s gardening glove to throw things off track.”
Olive’s arm must have been getting tired. She lowered the crowbar a few inches, an evil smile spreading across her face. “There’s no proof to tie me to it. Haven’t you heard? The police cannot find a murder weapon.”
“Not yet,” Araminta agreed, slyly creeping closer to Olive. “But I suspect they will have a better idea once they piece things together.”
Olive’s eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer. Araminta shrank back, thinking she might strike.
The cats meowed in alarm.
Olive scowled at the cats. “Quiet, you two.”
Araminta got ready to assume her karate stance, but instead of attacking her, Olive went to the dumbwaiter.
“I see you didn’t make any progress getting this thing loose either,” Olive said over her shoulder.
“I barely got a chance.” Araminta watched as Olive got to work prying the side of the box away from the shaft.
With Olive’s attention on freeing the dumbwaiter, Araminta could have taken the opportunity to run, but she didn’t. Now that she had Olive in this crazed state, she could get a clear confession, and since Olive was doing all the work to free the murder weapon, why not let her?
“So, why did you do it? Was it Yancy?” Araminta had a pretty good idea now, but she wanted to hear it from Olive.
“He loved me,” she said without pausing in her attempts to free the dumbwaiter. In fact, her attempts to loosen the box became more frantic. “Me. Not Shirley. Never Shirley.”
Araminta noticed the dark flush staining Olive’s cheeks and realized she was likely furious and battling herself over the truth of the matter, though her version existed only in her imagination.
“I suppose you must have seen them together on the grounds? You realized they’d rekindled their old relationship.”
Olive spun around to face Araminta, her expression full of fury. “They were talking about the future! Where they would go when Yancy retired, to live out the rest of their lives together.” She shook her head then went back to work at the dumbwaiter. She seemed to have forgotten Araminta was still in the room.
Still not quite a confession and there was one thing still bothering Araminta.
“Is that how you knew about the special cake Daisy had made for the memorial? You were in the solarium that night after it was delivered,” Araminta said. She needed Olive to pay attention—at least until she got a specific confession. With Olive focused on the events as they had happened, Araminta was sure she would get the truth out of her.
“What? I guess. I didn’t much pay attention to the food.”
But Araminta remembered she’d mentioned it when Prudence had noted all the food would go to waste. Then later on, when Daisy had confessed that she’d been in the solarium late, Araminta should have realized that Olive could have known about the cake only if she’d been in the solarium even later than Daisy.
“You knew that Shirley was using her knowledge of certain family members’ secrets for her own personal gain and that she was having secret meetings to collect her payments, so you simply left a note in her room to meet in the solarium. You knew Shirley would show up to collect, didn’t you? Then you went through the kitchen before making your way back to the solarium. That’s where you got the knife.”
A loud thump followed by a crash made Araminta jump reflexively, and Olive flinched too. She stepped back from the dumbwaiter portal for a second as a couple sheets of paper swooshed out with the dust when it landed. She waved at the dust, shooing it away from her face, then reached inside the separate section on the side of the dumbwaiter box that was used to ke
ep food cold and took out the knife she’d used to murder her own sister before turning at last to face Araminta. “You’re right, Araminta. You are always right. But this time, it won’t do you any good, because you know too much, and now I have to kill you.”
The cats went crazy meowing and clawing at Olive. Arun even jumped up and hung off her sleeve, his claws ripping into the cotton fabric.
She shook them off easily and then advanced on Araminta.
“You did come in handy,” Olive continued. “My little tidbit about Angie and Owen sent you right to her and caused her to get rid of those letters.”
“You knew about those too?” Araminta asked as she glanced around for a weapon.
“Of course. You were right about the apple not falling far from the tree. Shirley wasn’t the only one that knew the family secrets. And since Angie knew her secret was out thanks to you, she decided to hide them in the dumbwaiter, which I’d conveniently reminded her of.”
“You wanted her to toss them in the shaft.” Araminta spied an old coal shovel to her left. If she could just distract Angie, she could grab it and have a fighting chance.
“That’s right. Now I can prove to the police that she is the killer. It’s too bad you were going to tell the police about her little affair and she had to kill you too. Luckily those letters will prove that she had the perfect motive.”
Olive glanced toward the letters that had spilled out of the dumbwaiter, and Araminta saw her opportunity. She lurched sideways, grabbing the shovel and swinging it high over her head. To her dismay, the metal blade flew off, leaving her with a useless wooden handle.
Olive lunged forward!
Araminta held her palms up to ward off the attack. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the painful stabs, but there was no pain. Instead, she heard a loud “oomph.”
She opened her eyes to see Olive crumple to the floor.
Stabbed In The Solarium Page 7