“Ravenwood Cove is far from Mayberry,” Mrs. Granger said as she pulled herself to her feet. “Why, just since Amanda moved here we’ve had several murders, so that’s gotta count as some sort of excitement.” She turned toward Amanda. “How many is it now, honey? Twelve?” Ignoring Sage’s stunned reaction, she smiled at her granddaughter. “Meg, isn’t it time for you to drive me home? The sun’s already going down and you know I like to get home before dark.”
Amanda felt like she had to defend herself somehow, even if it was just to play along with Mrs. Granger’s baiting of the teenager. Sage was now leaning forward, his mouth open in interest. Amanda smiled at him. “Well, it’s not like I committed the murders, was it? It was only three, and Emmett Johnson really shouldn’t count. He was already buried in my back garden for years before we dug him up.”
“You had some guy buried in your garden?” Sage’s voice came out as a squeak. All pretense of his cool veneer was completely gone. “How did he get there?”
Amanda looked surprised. “Why, someone buried him there after they killed him, of course. Maybe you should ask your aunt to show you some of her newspaper articles she wrote about it. She took photos and everything.”
“Photos?” Sage definitely seemed interested, and Lisa smiled a little bit. She knew Amanda was trying to give her a way to connect with her new teenage roommate.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to the Inn,” Amanda said, standing and pulling on her coat. “Jennifer’s coming by early to help me tape plastic sheets up so the dust won’t get all over everything when I start ripping up the staircase.”
Meg set down her coffee cup. “Plastic sheets?” she asked and Amanda nodded.
“Roy says it’s a messy job so I’m going to try to keep the dust contained as much as possible. The Inn’s going to be closed to guests for about a week.”
Mrs. Granger was already on her way to the door, but she turned. “So, you decided to repair that staircase?” She paused, then continued, “You just be careful. That staircase is the heart of the Inn, you know. Everything revolves around it, and I think it’s kinda sad that it’s going to get ripped up. When you start taking things apart inside an old building you never know what’s going to happen.”
Amanda opened the door so Mrs. Granger could wheel through. “You make it sound like I’m going to wake up ghosts,” she said with a smile.
“Anything that old deserves to have some things left alone, just like cranky old ladies,” Mrs. Granger. “Maybe we both don’t like to be messed with.”
Chapter 5
Roy had been right. Prying apart a century-old staircase was a messy, sweaty business. Amanda and Jennifer had spent over an hour draping plastic sheets in doorways and taping them tightly around openings into other rooms in an attempt to stop any dust or debris from spreading. The huge foyer chandelier had been the worst. It had taken both of them to wrestle a tall ladder from the shed and position it underneath the heavy light fixture. With Jennifer on the top of the ladder and Amanda using a long pole underneath to help position the plastic sheet, there was a lot of laughing and cursing before the hundreds of glittering crystal drops were safely covered. Jennifer had stepped back to view their handiwork with seeming satisfaction, then headed to the kitchen to put together a shopping list, glad to not be the person prying up the floorboards on the stairs. Oscar had watched the whole thing soberly, and with the wisdom of a cat who knows that strange things are about to happen, darted into the sunroom to hide.
Amanda stood at the bottom of the beautiful, curved staircase, crowbar in hand and a bandana covering her hair. The dark wood had been polished by hundreds or perhaps even thousands of feet, trailing skirts, fur coats, and sliding children. It almost felt sacrilegious to think about pulling apart the old structure, which had been the center of the Ravenwood Inn since the day it opened.
Amanda had never held a crowbar in her hands before she moved to Ravenwood Cove, but the necessity of making her own bed and breakfast work meant that she had pitched in on every project she could. At first she’d been hesitant to even scrape paint, worrying that she wasn’t doing it right or that she’d somehow hurt the old Inn, but the more she tried new things, the more she realized that every time she painted a railing or replaced warped trim pieces, she was adding to the beauty of a remarkable old building. Even with the remodeling and repair in progress, the guests who had visited in the past few months had given her rave reviews and made sure their friends and family knew to come visit the Ravenwood Inn.
Roy had marked the stair treads to be removed with little dots of blue painters’ tape. Starting at the top step, Amanda dug her heavy crowbar into a slim crevice in the wood and leaned her entire weight back on the handle, finally hearing the plank splitting and then splintering as it came off the old nails. Catching herself before she tumbled down the stairs from the sudden release of pressure, she pried a bit more, lifting the plank enough to grab it with one gloved hand and wrestle it off one side. Peering into the cavity under the tread, she could see it was boxlike, with another set of boards a couple of feet down. She’d already peeked into the cavity under the stairs, used just for storage of seasonal decorations, and knew that the sloped ceiling of the storage compartment was plastered over. Moving the freed plank off the other set of nails, she was suddenly choked by a sudden cloud of dust and decades-old dirt, raised by the puff of air from her movement, and previously lying undisturbed for years. She tried to close her mouth and squint her eyes, but the taste of dust was so strong that she had to spit a bit and wipe her mouth on her sleeve.
It took almost half an hour to start work on the fourth step, and the moment she saw the wood come up under her crowbar, she could see something odd under the stair step. Leaning forward, she wiped her sweaty face with her glove and peered inside the cavity.
The other three steps had had nothing but dust and fetid air inside them. This one had a large bundle, completely wrapped in a piece of heavy oilskin, and bound with thin strips of leather. It was leaning against the side of the compartment, a thick sprinkling of dirt dusting the cloth.
Amanda squinted, then set down her pry bar and tried to pull out the mysterious package. It was heavier than she expected, and as she puffed with exertion she could see there was another, more slender package underneath, also wrapped in cloth.
“Jennifer! Look what I found!” She could hear her friend talking quietly on the phone in the kitchen. “You won’t believe it!”
Jennifer jogged to the doorframe, pulling aside the sheet of rustling plastic and slipping inside the foyer. “What did you find?”
It took a bit of wrangling to carry the bulky parcel down the remaining stairs, but Amanda finally was able to set it on the plastic-covered reception counter. “I don’t know,” she finally said, and started to slip off the leather bands. “There’s another package in the stair, too,” she told Jennifer, who ran over to get the remaining bundle. Amanda carefully unfolded the stiff fabric from around the larger bundle, trying to keep the dirt on the outside, and Jennifer arrived just in time to see her unwrap a large leather-covered bible, with elaborate leatherwork on the front cover.
“Looks like one of those old family ones that they used to pass from generation to generation,” Jennifer commented. “I wonder how old it is.”
Amanda nodded, scarcely breathing. “I’m almost scared to touch it,” she said, gingerly opening the front cover. “Why would anyone hide a bible in the stairs?” She nodded at the smaller package. “You want to open that one?”
Jennifer grinned in excitement and made quick work of unwrapping the fabric tightly rolled around a dozen sterling silver spoons. Heavy and elaborate, they were obviously of the best quality, with swooping carvings on the upper handles forming a monogrammed P.
“Wow! I wonder how long those have been in there,” Jennifer said, handing one of the spoons to Amanda. She looked at it critically, then set it down and went back to the open bible. Carefully opening the creaking leather pa
ge farther, she flipped slowly through the front pages until she came to one that had writing on it. The penmanship was old-fashioned and difficult to read, full of cursive flourishes and faded ink. It had obviously been written by several people, as the handwriting varied from entry to entry, but the page recorded the births and deaths of family members going back generations. The next page listed marriages, showing the names of happy couples who had started out their lives together and now were long dead.
“Last date I see in here is from 1901,” Amanda said, tracing a careful finger down the list. “I’d say this thing’s been hidden for over a hundred years. We’re lucky no bugs got to it.”
Jennifer leaned over Amanda’s shoulder, trying to read. “Does it say who it belonged to?”
“Looks like the family name was Pringle.”
“Like the potato chip?”
Amanda glanced at Jennifer. The edges of her mouth were turned up a bit, showing she was teasing. “Yes,” Amanda said wryly, “We’ve discovered the long-lost record of a huge potato chip heiress.”
Jennifer laughed and rolled the spoons loosely in the cloth. “Okay, so maybe not a snack food fortune family. Still, it’d be fun to know something about them, and why they might’ve put their bible in your staircase. Maybe you could talk to the historical society people about it. They should have some info, don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Amanda carefully closed the large book, her mind already working on how to display the items she’d discovered. She was sure her guests would be intrigued and it was always nice to have something to talk about at an evening wine-tasting or breakfast buffet. “I’ll give the historians a call, after I get the last two steps removed from the stairs. Who knows what else we could find?” she said, picking up the bible to set it in the kitchen. “Maybe next I’ll find their secret stash of gold coins.”
Jennifer didn’t seem to agree. “Fat chance,” she said dryly, and Amanda sighed.
“Well, a broke inn owner can always dream.”
Chapter 6
It had taken over an hour to get the last, stubborn steps pried up from their old nails, and Amanda had been disappointed to discover that only dirt and stale dust was inside the hollow cavities underneath. She’d been grateful for all the draped plastic which had kept the areas outside the foyer clean, and for the help Jennifer gave her in cleaning up as much of the splinters and debris as they could. Jennifer finally shooed her upstairs, telling Amanda that she’d finish the clean up so Amanda could get a hot shower and some fresh clothes. Like she did almost every day, Amanda thanked her lucky stars that she’d been able to hire such a great employee. She didn’t know what she’d do without Jennifer’s quiet help around the Inn.
By the time she came down the back steps, all clean and damp hair swept back into a ponytail, Jennifer was done with sweeping, and Amanda could hear her talking quietly on her cell phone in the kitchen. As she got closer to the bottom of the small staircase, Amanda was surprised to hear Jennifer speaking in what seemed to be a different language. Stopping and straining to listen, Amanda could hear her assistant responding to whoever she was talking to, answering in what sounded like Russian.
It was a surprise, as Jennifer had never mentioned speaking more than one language, and Amanda felt a pang of near-envy. She’d always wanted to travel and speak more than just English, but she’d never gotten past a French course for beginners. Two years ago, on a whim, she’d applied for a passport, dreaming of a trip to Europe, but her boyfriend Ken had been very negative about going. He grumbled about the different food, the dangers of air travel, how rude he’d heard foreigners were, and how much time he’d have to take off work. He looked at the online ads for airfare and would comment on how expensive they were, and when she talked about places she’d like to go he always seemed to know a horrible story about a traveler who got mugged or had a terrible experience in that city.
Amanda’s passport didn’t have a single stamp in it.
“I didn’t know you really spoke Russian,” she said with a smile as she rounded the corner. Jennifer looked up, seemingly started, and pressed the button on her phone, ending her conversation.
“Just a little bit I learned online,” Jennifer said as she tucked the phone in her pocket. “With everyone expecting me to speak Russian when I was visiting next door, I figured I’d better actually learn some in case somebody tried to talk to me.”
Amanda laughed. “Yeah, I guess that would’ve been a bit awkward.”
“Yes, it would’ve.” Changing subjects, Jennifer continued. “So, I thought I’d call Roy to let him know that you had the demolition part of the stairs done and see if he could get started on the repair this afternoon. Does that sound good to you?”
Amanda nodded as she pulled on her coat. “That’d be great. The sooner we can get the main stairs fixed the better. I’m going to head down to the beach for a quick jog. I’m not sure how soon I’m going to start the beach treasure hunt again, and I need to do some thinking about how to make this year’s treasure hunt special.” She sat on the entry bench and pulled on her shoes, Jennifer trailing behind. “It’s about time for me to order the glass floats and big shells so I have to think ahead.”
Jennifer pulled a cutting board out from under the marble-topped kitchen island. “I thought you wouldn’t start burying things in the sand down at the Cove until it was spring, or at least after the weather calmed down a bit. We don’t have many tourists now.”
Amanda slid her wallet and her phone into her coat pocket. “You’re right, but this is my first spring as the owner of the Ravenwood Inn, and I’m still trying to figure out what I’m doing. I’m probably over-planning everything, but I want to make sure I’m ready. I shouldn’t be gone long.”
As she pulled the door shut behind her, she caught a glimpse through the leaded glass insert in the door of Jennifer pulling out her phone and tapping on the screen.
***
There was always something peaceful and cleansing about being down on the sand by herself. Maybe the beach was deserted because of the thick gray clouds that hung over the little Oregon coastal town, or maybe the locals knew better than to go down near the water when the wind was blowing cold and steady.
Amanda didn’t mind the clouds or the cold. It seemed like she got her best plans and thoughts down by the edge of the sea, watching the gulls swoop around her and the foam-tipped waves lap at her feet. Even though the tide had been high earlier in the day, the sand didn’t look like it had shifted much and Amanda made a mental note to start getting ready for tourist season. Winter storms at the beach were frequent and hard to predict, but there would soon be a trickle and then a flood of people coming to visit Ravenwood Cove. That meant happy merchants in town and full rooms at the Ravenwood Inn.
It hadn’t always been that way, but months back Amanda had started secretly burying exotic seashells and hand-blown glass floats in the sand, and visitors loved discovering them when they were beachcombing. Lisa had made sure to run full-page articles about the sudden findings, and the sleepy little town had been inundated with families wanting to find their own treasures.
It’d be nice to have someone else to walk with, she thought. James was working on a case in the nearby town of Morganville, and had texted that he’d give her a call later. She didn’t mind being alone, but sometimes she felt lonely, even with her new friends. Lately, it seemed that her days were mostly about the Inn and making lists of things she had to do.
After about fifteen minutes in the constant wind, Amanda’s ears were starting to get cold. She was almost to the end of the curved beach that made up the cove, when something stuck in the rocks caught her eye. The small bay didn’t get battered by the open ocean as much as some beaches because of a protective peninsula of boulders, but it wasn’t unusual to see seaweed or other things float in and wind up on the beach.
Walking closer, Amanda could see it was a sheet of black plastic, wadded up tightly and about the size of a football. She was used
to picking up a few pieces of trash whenever she was at the beach, so she pulled a small grocery bag out of her coat pocket and stooped over to grab the litter. To her surprise, the object was heavy and solid, and she could see the plastic sheet had been wrapped around something and tied with black plastic twine. Pulling it free of the suction from the gray sand, she let the seawater drain a bit. She could feel the nearly-square contents, and flipped it over to see if there was a knot so she could untie and open the package.
Horror. Absolute horror.
Amanda could feel the world lurch around her as she looked down on what was attached to the package’s black bindings. Gulping down the gorge threatening to erupt from her throat, she blinked, making sure that what she was seeing was actually there.
Slipped under the rope was a nearly-skeletal human hand, pieces of flesh gone in the unforgiving sea, but with enough connecting tissue still there that there was no doubt what it was. The bones were broken just past the wrist, but the grisly fingers were still clutched around the package, as if loath to let go.
Amanda instinctively flung the horrible sight away from her, and the heavy bundle smacked against the wet sand, the dismembered hand still on top.
Amanda looked wildly around her. No one else was in sight. She gasped for air, trying to catch her breath before she’d need to speak. With shaking fingers still wet with saltwater, she pulled her phone out and tapped the screen to call a familiar number.
“Hello, nine one one. What is your emergency?”
Chapter 7
Sea, Sky & Skeleton Page 3