Legacy of Lies- The Haunting of Hilda

by Netta Newbound

  “Oh good.” He gulped. “Fancy a glass of wine?”

  I nodded. “Make mine a large one.”

  Chapter 14

  I didn’t tell Pete until the next morning. We’d gone to bed early after watching a little TV and, by 5am, we were both wide awake staring at the ceiling.

  “We need to get some thicker curtains,” Pete groaned.

  I laughed and turned to him, snuggling my head into the crook of his shoulder.

  “So, are you going to tell me what upset you last night?” he said.

  I exhaled noisily, shaking my head. “Mum told me she was also under suspicion for killing my grandparents and uncle. Apparently, they’d committed suicide in the same bedroom.”

  “Geez, Hilda, no wonder you were upset. Do you think she did it?”

  “No. I know she’s a little odd at the moment, but honestly, if you knew her back then, you’d know that she couldn’t possibly be guilty of murder. She lived for her family. There is no way she would jeopardise that.”

  “So, was she charged?”

  I shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. I froze when she told me, and you came in just after.”

  “How awful.” He took me in his arms and brushed my cheek with his lips.

  “Do you need me today?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Because Neil said he would come by today to spend some time with Mum. If he does, I might go to the library to see what I can find out.”

  “Are you sure? Digging in the past might upset you. You don’t want to be seeing any more ghosts.”

  I poked him in his ribs playfully. “Stop taking the piss.”

  He squirmed and laughed. “I’m not, honestly. But I just worry that you might discover something best left well alone.”

  “I need to know, Pete. This has been a mystery all these years. If Mum didn’t do it, and I honestly don’t think she did, someone else is responsible for killing my dad.”

  “Do you intend to go all Nancy Drew on me?”

  “Don’t be daft! I just wanna do a little snooping, that’s all.”

  “Why don’t you ask Neil? He should know.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I intend to.”

  Neil arrived just after 11am. Mum seemed completely fine after our heart-to-heart. In fact, I suspected she didn’t even remember it.

  “Do you mind if I do a little shopping while you’re here, Neil?”

  “No, of course I don’t. I was going to take your mum to see my bungalow anyway.”

  “Great. Pete’s in the back of the house if you need anything.” I picked up my handbag and the car keys, kissed my mother on the cheek and shot out the door.

  The library wasn’t where I expected it to be, so I asked a woman in the bakery who told me where to find the new library, and minutes later I was queueing at the front desk.

  I didn’t find out much more than I already knew. The library only kept the bare minimum information. But, twenty years ago, The Leader, the local newspaper, ran a story about my father’s death and the subsequent murder conviction of my mother. The report had even made the New Zealand Herald.

  Forty-two-year-old, acclaimed artist, Eliza King, was today sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Richard King, her husband of fourteen years and father of her two children. Mr King, a blasting technician for Newmont Gold, was found hanged in his own home after being reported missing by his wife. His hands were bound behind his back and there was evidence of a struggle. According to the coroner’s report, Mr King was not killed instantly and had taken a number of days to die. Eliza King maintains her innocence. The couple’s two children have been taken in by family.

  There was no mention of my grandparents’ or uncle’s deaths, so she couldn’t have been charged with their murders as well. I felt better about that. But the mention of my dad’s suffering caused my pulse to race. I’d never confessed to anybody that I’d heard Dad groaning and banging about in that room. The immense guilt I’d felt growing up enveloped me again. I was just as bad as the killer. If only I’d said something, Dad might still be here with us now. I knew I shouldn’t blame myself—I’d been just a child. It wasn’t my fault the front bedrooms had never been searched when he’d first gone missing. I’d been scared to tell Mum what I’d heard, as every time I had mentioned it prior to that night I’d been told off for scaring my sister.

  I wandered from the library in a daze. I hadn’t learned anything new, but, like Pete had suspected, it had stirred up a lot of emotions within me. As I strolled back to my car, I saw a sign above a shop. Prestwich and Prestwich Solicitors. I gasped. I’d meant to call them the day before to find out what had happened to Mum’s belongings.

  A woman, who appeared to be in her sixties, was typing rapidly as I entered the office. I stood patiently, waiting for her to finish.

  “How may I help you?” she finally said.

  “Could I make an appointment to see Mr Prestwich, please?”

  She glanced at me over her wire-framed glasses. “Certainly. Has he seen you before?”

  “No. He’s actually my mother’s solicitor.”

  “I have a thirty-minute cancellation at ten tomorrow morning, otherwise it will be next week.”

  “Tomorrow’s perfect.” I gave her my name and phone number before leaving.

  Neil and my mother had already left by the time I made it home. I went in search of Pete, who I could hear hammering away in the back of the house.

  “How did you get on?” he asked.

  I covered my mouth with my sleeve–the dust was thick in the air. “She wasn’t charged with any other murders.”

  “Maybe she’s confused?”

  “She didn’t seem confused when she was telling me. Maybe they just had no evidence.”

  Chapter 15

  With one hand on his hip and the other scratching his forehead, Pete stared at the wall.

  “What is it?” I asked, now dressed in work shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Just pulling these pressed tin panels off the walls…”

  “Pressed tin?” I interrupted, amazed.

  “Yes, lovely, aren’t they? I was thinking of using them somewhere else if we can salvage enough of them.”

  “So, what’s wrong?”

  “Look at this.”

  Peering into the void behind the panel he’d removed, I saw thick wooden boards. “Gosh, it’s well built, isn’t it? Puts today’s building attempts to shame.”

  “It certainly is.” He seemed distracted.

  “Tell me, what is it?”

  “Well, as you know this is the original wall so it must’ve been here over 100 years, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Then how the hell did that get there?”

  I looked to where he was pointing and noticed the pale, new-looking piece of wood in amongst the original honey-coloured panels.

  “Oh yeah. Odd. Could it have been done from the other side? I know that room’s been changed.”

  "Possibly. But it would have taken a lot of hard work to remove one or two boards from this side of the wall, especially with the panels being on top.”

  I shrugged. "Strange.”

  “Very bloody strange.”

  I stood upright and glanced around. “Right, what you want me to do?"

  "You can help me pry the rest of these panels off if you like. It’s a painstaking job but these would look stunning painted up in the bathroom.”

  "Then why not leave them where they are, as a feature wall?"

  "Because there isn’t enough. Look at the end two panels, they’re twisted and rusty."

  "Oh, what a shame–let's remove the damaged ones first then. It will make it easier to get behind them."

  "I knew I married you for a reason." He pinched my bottom.

  "Hey, cheeky!" I swatted his hand away. "Come on, let's get cracking."

  We spent the best part of an hour removing three of the five remaining panels before Mum and Neil arrived ho
me.

  "Hello-o," Neil called from the internal door.

  "Through here, Neil," I replied. "I'll be there in two minutes."

  Instead of staying in the other part of the house with Mum, Neil brought her through. She was wearing a bright purple ruffled scarf.

  "Hi, Mum. Nice scarf."

  "Carl bought it for me." She blushed and smiled at Neil.

  "Who’s Carl?” I mouthed at Neil.

  He shrugged and smiled, shaking his head.

  "She couldn't find her purple scarf before we left, so we went shopping, didn't we Eliza?"

  "She doesn't have a purple scarf," I mouthed again.

  Neil nodded, not a bit fazed.

  "Well it looks beautiful," I said. "Doesn't it, Pete?"

  "Stunning."

  Mum preened.

  "So, what you doing?” Neil asked, sizing up the wall.

  "Trying to take these panels off without damaging them—which is proving a little difficult, to say the least."

  "I used to live in a house with walls like these," Mum said.

  I smiled and reached for her hand. I didn't have the heart to tell her once again that we were standing in what used to be her old bedroom. "Yes, I remember. Should we go through to the lounge? I’ll make you a nice cup of tea?"

  Mum nodded.

  "What do you make of this, Neil?" Pete said, showing him the new piece of wood.

  "Have you just replaced that?" Neil asked.

  "No, it was like that when I took the tin off."

  "What's behind here?"

  "Eliza's room," Pete said.

  I paused and stepped back a few paces to join in the conversation. "I think it was probably done from the other side. There's no way anybody could have taken the tin off and put it back without any damage."

  "Maybe so, but that wouldn't have been so easy to do." Neil scratched his head.

  "That's what I said." Pete nodded.

  I indicated I would take Mum next door.

  "Probably looking for the gold," Mum said, as we reached the double doors.

  "What gold?" I stopped in my tracks and turned back to the men who were both staring at Mum.

  "The missing gold."

  "I don't know anything about that, Mum. Can you tell me?"

  Something caught her eye and she cried out and rushed back towards the men. "I used to have walls like these in my old house!"

  I took a deep breath. “Yes, I know you did, Mum. But what about the gold?"

  "What gold?" Her eyebrows furrowed.

  I shook my head. "Never mind. Let's go make that pot of tea."

  A few minutes later, Pete and Neil joined us in the snug.

  "Tea’s up," I said handing each of them a cup.

  Mum was playing with her scarf and seemed away with the fairies, a self-satisfied expression on her face. This had been the worst day for her Alzheimer's so far since arriving home.

  "This house must have been shit-hot in its day!" Pete said to Neil. "They used top-quality materials."

  "Oh, yes. No expense had been spared. It was such a shame when it was left to go to rack and ruin. We could see it from the lake. Wendy would often say what a shame it was. We never knew who’d bought it, but we were pleased when the mine company negotiated with them to remove it."

  "I remember the lake." Mum was suddenly lucid again.

  "Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about that. It is still there?" I asked.

  "No. It's all now part of the pit."

  "Oh, what a pity," I said.

  "To be fair it wasn't even meant to be a lake in the first place. It was caused by subsidence and they allowed it to fill with water," Neil said.

  "We had a wonderful time there as kids. Do you remember, Mum?"

  "Yes, dear. I remember." She had a faraway look in her eyes.

  "Do you remember the gold bullion store in the back garden?" I asked her.

  "Gold bullion store?" Pete seemed impressed. "Was it still in use?"

  "No–not when we were there. But, originally, it was the main gold vault."

  "Funny. You have different memories to me," Neil said. "I always thought the lake was a dark and gloomy place. I never liked it. But the gold bullion store’s still there. It's part of the pit-rim walkway."

  "Really? I'd love to see it again. I’ll have to take you to see it, Pete!" I said, excitedly.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, I took Mum into town for the solicitor’s appointment. She seemed particularly with it this morning, compared to yesterday. I hoped it wasn’t just a one-off, but now I understood why her caseworker was so concerned.

  “Mr Prestwich will be with you soon,” the receptionist said, with a forced, fake smile.

  We sat side-by-side on the small two-seater sofa, and I grabbed a couple of magazines from the coffee table, handing one to Mum.

  She flicked through the glossy mag, stopping at an article about a South Island artist.

  “We can go and get some art supplies if you like, when we leave here?” I smiled.

  “Yes, I’d like that, love. Although I’m not sure I’ll be able to paint a thing—it’s been so long.”

  “Nonsense. Surely it’s like riding a bike.”

  “Never understood that saying,” she said. “I used to ride a bike as a girl. I know I’d definitely come a clanger if I tried it now.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, me too. But you do want to have a go, don’t you? You were practically famous back in the day. What happened to all your gorgeous paintings by the way?”

  She sighed. “I can’t remember.”

  “Hopefully Mr Prestwich will be able to shed some light on it.”

  The receptionist stood and leaned on the desk. “Mr Prestwich will see you now.”

  I jumped to my feet and placed the magazines back on the table. “Come on, Mum.” I helped her up and led her through the door the receptionist indicated.

  Inside the dimly lit, claustrophobic office, a young, dark haired man sat behind a huge desk that seemed too big for the room. “Miss Shaw?” he asked, getting to his feet.

  “I’m Mrs Shaw, this is my mother, Eliza King. We were expecting Mr Prestwich.”

  “I’m Mr Prestwich.”

  My stomach dropped. “Is there another? My mother’s solicitor was old twenty years ago.”

  “You mean my father—he’s retired. Can I help you?”

  We took a moment to settle into the plush leather seats before I began. “My mother has been away for twenty years and your father arranged for the sale of her house and the storage of all her things.”

  “Ah, yes. I thought the name was familiar.” He tapped on his keyboard for a few seconds. “Here we are. We have the balance of the proceeds from your property sale which we’ve been using to pay a storage firm in Tauranga with. We have a key card for the storage unit on file.”

  “And does my mother have any money left?”

  He typed away again. “Yes. We currently hold $19,200 in our trust account.”

  “Great. Can we arrange to transfer that?”

  “Certainly. I’ll need to see some ID, of course. Plus, we’ll need account details to transfer the funds into.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “No problem. We’ll go and set up an account shortly. When can I get the key card for the storage unit?”

  “Once I have your ID, we’ll be able to give it to you right away.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll come back later today.”

  “I’m sorry, but I won’t be here. I’m fully booked for the rest of the week, but I’ll leave everything with Rebecca at the front desk. She’ll be able to organise the transfer et cetera.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “How’s Harold?” Mum said.

  “Not good, I’m afraid. He had a heart attack last week. He’s in Waikato Hospital.”

  “I’m sorry about that. It’s Damien, isn’t it?” she said, standing up and reaching for his hand.

  “That’s right.”

  “I remember
you used to play football. Quite the star, from memory.”

  “Not for a long time.” His cheeks flushed as he indicated his potbelly. “Too much fine living.”

  I smiled and linked my arm through Mum’s.

  “Hilda King?” he asked, looking at me.

  “Yeah. Do I know you?”

  “You were in the year above me at school. How’s Charlie?”

  I’d forgotten what a small place this was. Everybody knew everybody. “She’s still in the UK. She’s a mum now to three little ones, so she couldn’t make it.”

  “Oh, never mind. Say hi to her for me, will you?”

  “How did it go?” Pete asked when we arrived home.

  “Great. Old Mr Prestwich is no longer working there, but his son is. He had all the details on his computer. Mum’s stuff is in a storage unit in Tauranga.”

  “Is that far from here?”

  “Sorry, I forget you still haven’t got your bearings. The place we went to buy the kitchen things—about an hour away. He also told us Mum has almost twenty grand in their trust account. We had to go and open an account for her at the bank and I said I’d pop back later with some ID and then, bingo.”

  “That easy?”

  “Seems so. We also bought Mum some watercolours. She’s going to have a go at painting after lunch, aren’t you, Mum?”

  She beamed and nodded.

  While we were eating ham sandwiches, Neil arrived. “Sorry to disturb your lunch. Shall I come back later?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Pete said. “Come in, take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Love one, thanks. I’ve just got back from Auckland. I’ve been buying art supplies for Eliza. The car’s packed with canvases and all sorts of paints and brushes.”

  Mum squealed and wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Thanks so much, Neil. We went into the local stationery shop, but they only had a few things.”

  “My pleasure, love. How do you fancy going to the beach for a couple of hours?” He glanced at me for approval.