“So Josh eats at Darla’s,” my aunt repeated for the sixty-fourth time. “That doesn’t make him a kidnapper. Or a murderer.”
We were sitting at a table in a local burger joint next to a harried mom with three curly-haired hellions who didn’t look far apart in age. The poor woman was mopping one tear-stained face with a napkin, while the other two toddlers were gleefully squirting packets of ketchup at each other. Aunt Tressa, oblivious of the family drama, feasted on a double-cheeseburger and fries while I picked without much interest at a chef’s salad.
Outside, tiny white flakes were floating from a graying sky. The bright sun of earlier in the day had taken a sudden powder.
“You do realize,” I pointed out, “that you are defending the Great Tulip Thief. The one you wanted to have shipped off to reform school for … oh, let’s see if I remember, was it thirty years to life?”
She swallowed a mouthful of burger. “Okay, so I was overboard about the tulips. Give me a break. They were the only thing I’d ever been able to grow. Besides, that was almost twenty years ago.”
I laughed, but then I got serious. “Look, I’m not accusing Josh of anything. But you have to admit, it’s quite a coincidence that he works across the street from the Dine-o-Rama.”
“It is, but that’s all it is.”
“And here’s another weird thing.” I briefly filled her in on Celeste’s account of finding the dead baby birds.
Aunt Tressa put down the fry she was holding. “That is pretty horrible. Did she really think Josh killed the birds?”
I sighed. “He was the only one living there, remember? Edgar had already died.”
My aunt chewed silently for a while, but I could see her mind churning. When she’d finally devoured her meal down to the last pickle, she said, “I guess we’ve reached an impasse, haven’t we? The cops still have no idea who killed Lou, and we’re no closer to finding Lillian than we were on Sunday.”
“I agree.” I pushed aside my unfinished salad and tossed my napkin on the table. “I don’t even know where to turn next.”
“You barely ate half of that,” Aunt Tressa pointed out. “Why didn’t you get a bacon burger? I thought that was your favorite fast food.”
I shot her a wry look. “My cholesterol is three forty, remember, Miss Grainy Granola?”
My aunt sniffed and waved a hand at me. “At least I rescued you from having to eat that … that thing. Sad part is, something gooey and sugary like that would normally appeal to me, but after seeing that kitchen …” She shuddered.
“What I don’t understand is how that place ever passed a Board of Health inspection,” I said. “I liked Darla, but I really think someone ought to drop a dime on her. Maybe it would force her to clean up her act.”
“Not our problem.” Aunt Tressa pushed back her chair. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.”
True enough.
“Let’s go pick up your car,” I said wearily, buttoning my coat. “Maybe we’ll come up with an idea on the way.”
“Sounds like a plan, but actually I tend to think better when I’m alone in the Caddy. And there’s something I want to talk to Marty about today.”
I tripped over my own boot, and had to grab the table to stay upright. “What did you say?”
Aunt Tressa’s cheeks sprouted two pink circles. “Sometimes, when I’m alone in my car, I talk to Marty. Call me crazy, but in my heart I know he’s always there, listening, watching out for me.”
A lump the size of a golf ball formed in my throat. “I know he is, Aunt Tressa. And who knows, maybe he’ll think of something that we haven’t.”
She smiled at me, her eyelashes damp. “Yeah, maybe he will at that.”
Ten minutes later we arrived at the dealership. The Caddy was parked in front of the service department, its maroon paint gleaming as if it were showroom new.
“Looks great,” I said. “They washed it.”
Aunt Tressa smiled lovingly at the car. “Yeah, it sure is a clean machine. Meet you back at the house? After that we can do some Christmas shopping. Hey, maybe we should get our eyebrows threaded again at the mall.”
“Sure!” I said with mock perkiness. “How about in a year that begins with the number four?”
“Oh come on, it didn’t even hurt. And it was over within a minute or two.”
A minute or two too long, in my book of Hair Removal Methods IWish I’d Never Heard Of.
In a sudden burst of memory, I recalled something Blake had said earlier. “Not to change the subject, Aunt Tress, but do you still have a key to the Dwardene place?”
“Of course I do. I’m the listing broker.” Light dawned. “You want to go inside?”
“Actually, I do. Blake told me Edgar’s old desk is still there. The people buying the house are purchasing it from the estate.”
“That’s right. I should have remembered that. What do you expect to find in the desk, though? Don’t you think the cops have already torn it apart?”
In truth, I didn’t know what I’d hoped to find. But even if it turned out to be a fool’s errand, what did we have to lose?
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said, remembering the valentine Lou had given Aunt Tressa right before he was murdered. Why had he instructed her to “give it to Apple”? Did he really want me to have it for my postcard collection? Or did the valentine contain a clue to Lou’s killer that I hadn’t picked up on?
It didn’t seem likely. Surely a poem written in the nineteen fifties by a lovesick man had no connection to Lou’s murder. Still, a twinge of guilt ripped through me when I thought about the valentine. I’d shoved it in the junk drawer of my kitchen and forgotten about it.
I resolved to turn the valentine over to Chief Fenton. After I made a copy for myself.
There was always the risk, of course, that Fenton might accuse me of withholding valuable evidence. In that case, I could truthfully say that I had no idea the valentine would be of any use whatsoever to the investigation. Let the handcuffs fall where they may.
“I want to check out the desk for myself,” I told my aunt. “I mean, maybe the police didn’t search the desk at all. It’s not as if they had a reason to believe a critical clue was hidden in there.”
Aunt Tressa shrugged. “I suppose. But I’ll have to pop over to my office first to grab the key. Why don’t you meet me there, then we’ll head over to the Dwardene place.”
I hopped inside my Honda and started it. Before I shifted into Park, I pulled my phone out of my purse and tried Lillian’s cell number again.
Nothing.
A sick feeling burrowed its way into my stomach. Lillian was in trouble, and I had no idea how to help her.
Maybe it was already too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
From the journal of Frederic Dwardene, Monday, December 18, 1950:
Late this afternoon I parked near the bus stop in Manchester, waiting for Lillian to arrive. It was a frigid day, the kind that turns ears bright red and clouds one’s breath. Pretending I’d just come from the smoke shop on Elm Street, I greeted her with feigned surprise as she walked toward the bus stop. The poor darling looked frozen, and far too pale. Insisting that she allow me to drive her home, I took her by the elbow and escorted her into my Hudson …
“This place is downright creepy,” Aunt Tressa said in a loud whisper.
We were stalking up the staircase in the Dwardene mansion, toward the second story. I had to admit, the house felt cold and eerie. The silence was almost palpable. I didn’t believe in ghosts, not for a minute. Still, the air seemed thick and strange. If otherworldly spirits did exist, I had the feeling they were hovering close by.
“Why are you whispering? There’s nobody here,” I said. Was I trying to convince her or myself?
I stopped in front of the doorway to the room where Lou had met his gruesome demise. The mahogany desk sitting against the far right wall was a dead giveaway.
Aunt Tressa came up behind me, then moved
past me and stepped into the room. She skimmed her gaze all around. “Looks like the room has been cleaned.”
I nodded in agreement, then pulled off my gloves and shoved them into one of my coat pockets. “Once the police released the crime scene, Blake must’ve gotten a cleaning crew in here right away. I’m sure he wants the house to look perfect for the walkthrough.”
“Well, they did a good job. I don’t even see any—”
“Blood?” I finished.
Nodding, she swallowed and moved gingerly toward the desk.
I strode over and stood next to her. Blake was right—the desk was an absolutely gorgeous piece of furniture. Almost as tall as I was, it had a central door flanked by three cubbyholes on either side, all of which rested atop a table that I thought looked like pencil inlay. Two wide, brass-handled drawers formed the bottom portion of the desk. The entire thing was dull and scratched, but I was sure that a good refinishing job would restore the wood’s original sheen.
I opened the central door of the desk. It had a single shelf that divided the space into two compartments, the top one slightly shallower than the lower one. Both were empty. Even so, I reached my hand in and probed all around with my fingers, in case something had been stuck in the back or taped to the top.
Nothing.
Next I searched each of the cubbyholes the same way, hoping to find something stuck in a crevice, or even a secret compartment. Once again, nothing.
Aunt Tressa, meanwhile, was staring at a point on the wall next to the desk. “That’s where it was,” she said. “The portrait we saw in the antique shop. It was propped up against a bunch of other paintings.”
The painting. I’d almost forgotten. The topaz necklace Daniel and I found in Lillian’s jewel box was exactly like the one the woman in the painting had been wearing.
Which meant the woman in the painting had to be Lillian— Frederic Dwardene’s beloved “Dora.”
All of which reminded me of something else. I’d promised to update Daniel if I heard anything new about Lillian, and I still hadn’t called him. He didn’t know that Lillian had tried to reach me last night.
I dreaded calling him. He was going to bombard me with all sorts of questions I wouldn’t be able to answer. Worse, he was going to try to worm his way back—
No, don’t go there. Daniel wasn’t important right then. Finding Lillian was the only thing that mattered. I’d call Daniel when I was good and ready.
Turning my attention back to the desk, I chucked my purse onto the floor. “I’m going to pull out the bottom two drawers.”
“All the way out?”
“Yep. I want to be sure there’s nothing hidden back there.”
I eased open the bottom drawer first. It was empty, save for a few faded ink stains that marred the old wood. With my aunt’s help, I removed the drawer completely and set it gently on the floor.
“Let’s flip it up,” I said.
Very carefully, we rotated the drawer and rested it on one side. Half hoping to find a handwritten will taped to the bottom, I blew out a sigh of disappointment. I rested the drawer against the wall, and Aunt Tressa and I removed the second one.
The second drawer was empty as well, and there was nothing taped to the underside. Although—
“What’s this?” I said. At the very back of the drawer, a tiny sliver of paper, yellowed with age, was stuck in one corner. Using my thumb and forefinger, I gently pulled it out. It was barely a shred, but something about it looked awfully familiar.
“Wait a second. I think I know where that came from!” Aunt Tressa cried. “Remember the valentine Lou gave me right before—” She cleared her throat. “One corner of the envelope was torn. I’ll bet you anything that’s what this is from.”
“I think you’re right. Aunt Tress, that envelope must have been stuck back there for a long time. Lou was probably checking the drawers, making sure the desk was empty, when he found the envelope stuck back there.”
“But why would that silly valentine be important? It’s over sixty years old!”
“I know,” I said, my mind swirling. “That’s why I think something else was in that envelope.”
“Like what, a will?”
“That would be my guess. But we’ll never know now, will we?”
“We won’t?”
I shook my head. “If the killer has an ounce of intelligence, he’s already destroyed it.”
An unwanted thought tiptoed into my mind, sowing seeds that threatened to sprout into firmly rooted suspicions. I tried snatching them out and discarding them, but for every one I purged, another sprang up in its place.
“Okay, wait a minute.” Aunt Tressa held up both hands. “Are you suggesting that Edgar Dwardene wrote out a homemade will, and then folded it up and hid it away with some old valentine that his uncle wrote?”
“I know it sounds nutty, but yes, I do.”
My aunt looked at me skeptically. “But why?”
“Oh, Lord, I don’t know.” I groaned and dropped my head into my lap. I hated what I was thinking. Hated the thought that someone I’d known for more than half my life might be a murderer.
“All right, Apple, ’fess up,” Aunt Tressa prodded. “You suspect someone, don’t you?”
My head still on my knees, I nodded.
“Who?”
Slowly, I sat up and looked at her. “Oh Aunt Tress, what if it’s Blake? He was never close to his uncle. That’s common knowledge. And Josh had grown really fond of old Edgar. I think they’d truly become good friends. What if Edgar secretly wrote out a will and left all—or even half—of his estate to Josh? And what if Blake—”
“May I remind you,” Aunt Tressa interrupted, “that barely an hour ago Josh Baker was at the top of your suspect hit parade?”
“He wasn’t at the top,” I said dully. “I was only brainstorming to see how he might factor into all of this. He’s like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit anywhere, you know?”
Aunt Tressa gave me a sympathetic look. “I know.”
I stared dejectedly at the scrap of paper in my hand, then slipped it into my pocket. “Let’s not talk about it now. I really need to mull over everything in my head. Come on, help me put these drawers back, will you? Then we can do something fun, like some holiday shopping. I don’t suppose you know what you want for Christmas yet.”
She averted her gaze. “I do, but for now I’m keeping it close to the vest.”
Normally I’d start hounding her after a cryptic comment like that. But right now I was too discouraged, too disheartened, to even come up with a snappy retort.
We returned the desk drawers to their rightful slots, and then I grabbed my purse and we headed out of the room.
Aunt Tressa had started to descend the staircase when I noticed something. To the right of the staircase, perpendicular to the bathroom, was a narrow door. I tugged on her coat sleeve and pointed at it. “Is this a linen closet?”
“No, there’s another staircase behind there. It leads to the tiny entryway at the back of the kitchen pantry. In the olden days it was used by the servants, I think.”
My heartbeat revved up a notch. “So someone could have killed Lou and then scooted down those stairs?”
“I suppose,” she said. “Assuming the killer knew the stairs were there, and where they led.”
I paused for a moment, thinking. Then I reached for the knob and turned it. The door opened silently. I peered down into a narrow stairwell, but it was too dark to see much of anything. “Do you know if there’s a light?”
Aunt Tressa reached a gloved hand around the corner and felt for the switch. A bright white glow illuminated the stairs.
“I’m going down,” I told her. “I want to see where this comes out.”
“All right, but be careful. This place is feeling weirder by the minute.”
While Aunt Tressa watched from the top of the stairs, I made my way slowly down. The treads of the wooden steps were worn, almost dangerously so. Even as I
tried to move carefully, my boots hit each one with a reverberating thud. After five steps, I reached a landing, then the stairway turned and went the opposite way. I was almost at the bottom when I heard a deep voice, followed by my aunt’s explosive yelp.
Jet propulsion had nothing on me. I spun around and flew up the stairs so fast that I nearly fell headlong into the second story hallway. What stopped me cold was the glaring face standing directly behind Aunt Tressa.
“Josh! What are you doing here?”
“Scaring the butter beans out of me, that’s what he’s doing.” Aunt Tressa whirled on him. “Between you and that horrible spider of yours, you’re determined to do me in, aren’t you!”
I trounced through the open doorway and slammed the door shut behind me, blood pounding in my ears.
“What do you mean what am I doing here?” Josh demanded, a lock of his dark hair falling over his left eye. “The real question is what are you two doing here? It seems like every time I turn around, there you both are. Are you following me?”
Aunt Tressa opened her mouth. Hard as it was to believe, nothing came out.
“How could we be following you? We were here first, remember? And since my aunt is the listing broker, she has every right to be here. So I’ll ask you again—what are you doing here?”
There. I’d put him on the defensive. I hoped.
He took a halting step backward. “I … came to get a few boxes that I left in my closet.”
“Really?” I was feeling bold now. “Why aren’t you at work? Don’t you work in the building across from Darla’s Dine-o-Rama?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do, but I took a few days off to move into my new place.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “You know where Darla’s is?”
“We saw it when I drove my aunt to pick up her car today.”
Josh was silent for a few long moments. We’d had to drive nearly three miles past the dealership to find Darla’s, something he would obviously be aware of since he traveled that road every day. I wondered if he was connecting a few dots in his mind.
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