The House of Memory (Pluto's Snitch Book 2)

by Carolyn Haines

  The woman in the doorway watched us. She would have been pretty had she not looked so tired and sad. Once Bernard was in the car, we drove away. He started to uncork the jug, but I put out a hand to stop him. “Tell me. You promised.”

  He cradled the jug in his arms. “Wick Roswell was a bad man. That’s what I know. He married a fine young beauty, Priscilla Harlow, but she didn’t live long. Died in her late thirties. She was from a respected family and gave Wick the social standing he craved. He built Roswell House, the finest house in the area at the time, but he was a ruthless man, and no one stood in the way of what he wanted.”

  “I know all this. How did the curse come to be?”

  “Herman told me that Wick drove away the owners of the land where Roswell House sits. There were a lot of shenanigans involved in that property, starting out with old Ramsey Roswell. There was talk way back, and Herman confirmed it, that the original owners didn’t want to sell the land. Ramsey ran them off. But the high ground that allowed a view down Tonka Creek was the piece of land Wick set his sights on. Problem was the Peebles lived there, a homesteader family. Peebles was a hardworking farmer with ambitions to use Tonka Creek for his own endeavors.”

  “There’s no record of what happened to the Peebles. What’s the truth?” I braced for what I knew would be unpleasant.

  “Wick made them an offer, and when they refused it, he made it clear he’d have the land one way or the next. He warned them. About a week later, the eldest daughter was abducted and raped. She identified Wick as the man who hurt her. The Peebles made a report, but no action was taken.”

  “Why not? If the girl could positively identify him.”

  “Wick had the sheriff over a barrel, is what Herman said. Everybody has weaknesses, and Wick had a network of fancy women headed up by Nina Campbell, a woman as hard or harder than Wick. Those whores could dig a secret out of a man, and then he belonged to Wick.”

  “Blackmail.”

  “Wick called it persuasion.” Bernard uncorked the jug and took a swallow. He gasped and his eyes watered, but he sighed. “That’s better.”

  “So what happened to the Peebles?”

  “When Mr. Peebles proved he was determined to hang on to that land despite Wick’s threats, his twin daughters were murdered in a most brutal way. Their heads were almost severed from their bodies.”

  “Dammit, Bernard, you should have told me this.” At least now I knew who the girls were. And how they’d died so brutally. Wick Roswell had committed acts so vile that they remained at Roswell House—not alive but not truly dead. The past hung over Roswell House like a shroud, and, somehow, Camilla was enmeshed in it.

  “I should have. My memory comes and goes. When I’m drinking hard, the past is a jumble and the present doesn’t exist. I don’t put things together like I should. I hadn’t thought about this for years until you stopped by with Zelda.” His hand caressed the jug he held in his lap. “Herman was my friend. He suffered for the things his family had done. He could have married Maude when she was younger, but he said he couldn’t risk having a child, carrying on the Roswell curse. I thought he’d begun losing his mind when he talked about the curse and the dead walking at Roswell House.”

  I did understand, but his failure to tell the truth may have put Camilla at greater risk. I had less time to prepare, and I knew that my intention to encounter the angry spirits at Roswell House depended on being ready to handle whatever they showed me. Still, I couldn’t add more guilt to a man who’d buried himself in it.

  “What happened to the rest of the homesteader family? Did Wick kill all of them?” I was thinking of the figure of the grown woman. Perhaps it was the mother.

  “Peebles packed up what was left of his family and moved. No one knew where.”

  “You’re positive Wick didn’t kill them all.”

  “Herman said they left. Gone overnight.”

  “But there wasn’t any record in the deed transfers.”

  “Are you really surprised by this? You’re a smart young woman. What gets recorded is often what those in power want recorded.”

  Bernard was a cynic, but he had also worked the courthouse system as a lawyer. He knew how things worked in Montgomery, and probably everywhere else. “Did Wick kill those twin girls? I have to know the truth.”

  “I don’t know.” He took another nip from the bottle. “I never knew Wick, but I heard stories. He and Nina Campbell were the George ‘Dutch’ Andersons of Alabama. Folks were terrified of them because they did whatever was necessary. There was a brutality to them, an enjoyment of watching others suffer.”

  “They would murder children?” The Great War had awakened me to the atrocities man was capable of inflicting on man. But children? Young girls who’d barely begun to live, used as bargaining chips for a land deal? If that were true, Wick Roswell was a monster.

  “They were capable of it. Did they do it? I can’t say.”

  “This is the basis of the curse?”

  “When Peebles left, he took nothing but his gun, his remaining children, and their clothes. He left furniture and everything else. Except for a note on the kitchen table, held in place by the butcher knife the killer had used to slice his children’s throats.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It’s just family legend now, but Herman worried about it. He said the note promised that Wick’s punishment would come when he least expected. That God knew his sins. Something to that effect. Wick burned the note, laughing as he did so. Herman always thought there might have been more to the note—a true curse, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

  “If Camilla isn’t a Roswell, why is she suffering this way?”

  “I don’t know,” Bernard said. He put the cork in the jug. “But I will help you find out. This time I promise. I can’t come off the hooch all at once, but I can wean myself back. I’ve been working at it, and things are clearer. I remember more.”

  “What can you do to help?”

  “There are some old papers left in a safe-deposit box. Herman gave me a key long ago. I pay rent on the box. It’s in David’s bank, so he could open it for us. We might find some answers there.” He touched my shoulder so I would look at him. “I want to be there. I want to help Camilla overcome this. I should have stood up to Maude when I saw her crushing the girl, doing her best to break her sweet spirit, and I didn’t. Let me help her now.”

  “Can you do it? Will you stay sober long enough to really help? We don’t have time for you to fail.” I didn’t want to be cruel, but he’d said once before that he wanted to help and he’d only given me partial truths. Had he been capable of honesty with me then, I would be closer to finding the facts I needed.

  “I can. For Camilla. For the life she should have had.”

  “Why don’t you put that jug on the porch, and I’ll drive you to the bank.” I put a hand on his back, all too aware of the knobs of his spine. Bernard needed to gain a good fifty pounds. Maybe if he could truly pull back on his drinking, he could regain his life.

  He got out of the car and put the moonshine on the porch. When he returned, he didn’t look back. “Take me to the bank. I’ll find out what’s there. It may or may not help.”

  “I have to find my partner, too. I’m hoping he’s with David.”

  We set off into the rapidly heating morning. Clouds amassing on the eastern horizon offered the promise of a cooling storm. The idea of Roswell House during a lightning storm didn’t appeal to me. The energy there already crackled. I could only hope the storm would pass before we began the séance, and that I’d gathered all the information I needed to enter Roswell House armed.

  When we arrived at the bank, David was more than surprised to see Bernard with me. I returned David’s keys and asked him to help Bernard with the safe-deposit box. Though I wanted to wait, I had pressing business. “Where did Reginald go? Is he at the Greystone Hotel waiting for me?”

  David shook his head. “I haven’t seen him. I thought you two w
ere together.”

  “He said he had an errand.” The sensation of dread I’d felt as Reginald drove away from David’s town house hit me hard again. Where could he have gone? I didn’t like the path my thoughts took. “Do you think he went to Roswell House?”

  David replied, “He didn’t ask for a key, and I’ve sent all the workmen away, so you could do whatever you needed. Shall I drive there with you?”

  “No, help Bernard, please, but I will take a key to the house.” David took it out of his pocket and put it in my hand. “Any word on our escape from Bryce?”

  “I haven’t heard anything, but—” He nodded toward the front of the bank, shock spreading over his features. “That’s Jefferson Granger.”

  “He looks upset.”

  “I suspect he’s going to share that feeling with me and the entire bank. You’d better take a runner out the office door. Best he doesn’t see us together.”

  I hurried over to Bernard. “David will help you. When you’re finished, go to the Greystone Hotel. Zelda has a tab, so if you need coffee or something to eat, order it. I’ll be back for you as soon as I can.”

  There wasn’t time for discussion. I hurried through the door David had indicated and stopped when I was out of view.

  “Where is my daughter?” Jefferson Granger roared. He strode toward David. “What have you done? Maude is apoplectic. You’ve defied her and convinced Camilla to do the same. She won’t have it. Maude will see you behind bars if you’re involved in Camilla’s disappearance. The hospital is frantic, and Dr. Perkins has called in the state authorities on this.”

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” David said calmly. “Now lower your voice and tell me what’s wrong, or you’ll be the one behind bars.”

  Thank goodness David kept his wits about him. He wouldn’t give anything away no matter what Jefferson said.

  As David ushered the red-faced Jefferson into his private office, I stepped out into a muddy parking lot. The heat made my head ache, but it was my fear that drove me. If Reginald had gone to Roswell House alone, he might be in trouble. There was something in that house. Something powerful and vindictive. And it meant to have its way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Before I went to Roswell, I stopped by David’s town house to see if Reginald had returned. I also needed to let Zelda and company know that the Grangers had taken action, and that the state police were on the lookout for Camilla. Zelda and Tallulah had to be careful if anyone showed up at the door.

  I was glad to see that Tallulah had moved her car away from the front of the house. I parked around the block and down an alley behind some houses and went on foot, the sidewalk heating up the leather soles of my shoes.

  The intense heat shimmered off the brick road in waves that distorted the vista. I’d just turned the corner when a fancy teal-colored car stopped in front of the house. I stepped behind a thick shrub, my instincts kicking in before my brain. I sighed with relief when Jason Kuddle ran up the steps to the house. Still, I had to wonder why he was there. And what was the matter?

  Kuddle knocked loudly and called out for Zelda. I came out of hiding and went to see him. “Mr. Kuddle, do you have news about Joanne Pence?” I stepped on the porch out of the glare of the sun.

  “I do. Where’s Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

  “She’s not available.” I smiled. “I’ll relay the information. I’m sure you know we’re working together.”

  “Yes, I’m aware.” He looked around. “Is she not here? Her mother said I’d find her at Mr. Simpson’s address.”

  No matter that Kuddle was Zelda’s employee; we could not risk anyone knowing Camilla was inside. “Zelda was here earlier, but she had business to attend to. And her presence here is strictly confidential. I’ll be happy to relay any messages to her. What have you found about the missing young woman?”

  “Joanne Pence isn’t missing at all. I was misinformed that she’d left with relatives. She’s still at Bryce.” He gave me a knowing look. “But, strangely, Camilla Granger is gone.”

  News had traveled fast. “Camilla? Missing?” I reached deep for any shred of acting skill I might have. “How is that possible?”

  “That’s what everyone is asking about.” He leaned against a post. “Folks are worried about her.”

  “Seems like the hospital misplaces a lot of patients. And they’re all pretty young women. How did you hear about this? No one has informed me or Zelda.”

  “I’d left my card with one of the girls in the business office at Bryce. After I took her to lunch. She called me this morning to let me know what was happening.”

  “Well played, Mr. Kuddle.”

  Kuddle nodded. “The Pence girl was missing, but they found her hiding out in one of the outbuildings. Something had spooked her bad, but she’s back in the ward and sedated, so she’s safe. I have to agree, though, it’s looking bad for the hospital. Folks take their loved ones there for treatment and care, and the hospital can’t keep up with them. A girl like Pence doesn’t have a family to raise a ruckus, but Camilla Granger is a different matter. Her mother is like a sledgehammer. The administration’s very upset and has called the state police. This is considered an abduction, and whoever helped her escape is going to jail for kidnapping and a long list of other crimes.”

  “I would certainly hope so.” Amazingly, I was calm enough to play my role. “Who would abduct a mentally ill young woman? And for what purpose?”

  Kuddle leaned closer. “As an investigator, I’d have to finger her fiancé as my primary suspect, which is one reason I wanted to check his house if you’d let me in. He was up there at the hospital visiting her yesterday. Had some kind of paperwork saying he was in charge of Camilla. The hospital didn’t buy it.” A grin played across his face. “He got overly excited and demanded that she be released to him. Said he wouldn’t allow her to have the necessary treatment to make her better. Makes him look mighty suspicious.”

  “I can see that. I know Mr. Simpson was concerned about the course of treatment proposed for Camilla.” I frowned. “David is at the bank. Maybe you should talk to him.”

  “Oh, I will. But if you’re going inside, maybe I could take a look around?”

  “I thought you were hired to find Joanne Pence.”

  “That case is closed. But I’m willing to bet the Grangers will pay a nice finder’s fee if I can figure out where their daughter is. Being a private investigator is always a hustle. Cases don’t always walk in the door. Sometimes you have to seize an opportunity.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure Zelda will be very concerned over her missing friend, and just so you know, Mr. Fitzgerald’s novel is a smashing success. He’s said to be quite wealthy. If you hear anything about Camilla, I would bring the information to Zelda first. Better pay.”

  “A good point, Mrs. James. Thank you for the tip.”

  “One more thing: did you actually see Joanne Pence at Bryce?”

  He looked at me, his gaze assessing and the friendliness gone from his eyes. “Are you questioning my word?”

  “Of course not, but I have to wonder if the hospital is being totally truthful about another missing young woman. I’m curious to know if the hospital told you she was there or if you saw her in the flesh.”

  “I catch what you’re saying. You make another good point.” The anger disappeared. “There’s no need to worry. Joanne Pence is there, at the hospital. Tell Mrs. Fitzgerald that when you run into her. And tell her I’m looking to make a final report and get my pay.”

  “Ah . . . you were also investigating Pamela DuMond’s disappearance. Yes?”

  “Yeah,” he paused, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare with his hand. “Poor kid. Someone worked her over good before they finished her off.”

  “What about that other missing girl—Ritter Ames? Have you found a connection between them?”

  “Those girls were from different counties, different kinds of families. I don’t see any similarities except that
one’s dead and the other’s missing and probably dead. The sheriff’s deputies had a witness who saw the Ames girl talking with a man in a big car. That was the last seen of her.”

  “There are other girls missing. Young women in their teens from Marthasville. Could there be a connection there?”

  He stepped out of the sun and into the shade, closer to me. “I wish I could find something, but the truth is, girls like that get sick of working dawn to dusk on farms or being pushed to marry the local yokel. They hear about this glamorous city life where girls dress pretty and go to parties. They want to be a flapper, like my employer. She’s put a lot of big dreams in the heads of girls who might as well think they can fly. They think they want to be Zelda Fitzgerald, the woman on the cover of all the magazines. They think all they gotta do is dress up, and the world will be at their feet. Most of them either give up or get hurt. The world is a hard place, especially for a young woman who doesn’t have a clue of the dangers out there waiting for her.”

  “So absolutely no clue as to who’s abducting and killing these young women?”

  “Problem is, these girls are missing from different areas. Law enforcement doesn’t talk to one another. If there is a link, no one sees it.”

  “But you’re a professional. You could see it.”

  “If there was anything to see, you’re right—I could put it together. I’m just not finding a connection.”

  “I’ll let Mrs. Fitzgerald know that the young woman she was concerned about is safe. I’m sure she’ll be in touch about Camilla. That gives me grave concern. Thank you for letting us know, Mr. Kuddle.”

  “When you see Judge Sayre, please give him my regards.”

  “Of course.”

  He walked to his car, a man in charge of his world, and yet I’d outfoxed him by diversion. He’d left without insisting that I let him into David’s house.

  I slipped in the front door to find Zelda and Camilla huddled up at the curtains, peeping out.

  “That man is a terrible investigator.” Camilla was about to hyperventilate. “I searched everywhere for Joanne, and she wasn’t in the outbuildings. I know all of her hiding places.”