by Janni Nell
Chapter Seven
Mr. Hampton’s funeral was over and we’d assembled at Hampton House for the reading of his will. Family members present were me, Steven and Mom, SJ, Lily, and an elderly woman who introduced herself as Clara, wife of the late Jefferson Hampton.
“So you’re not related to Steven by blood.”
“By blood—how macabre that sounds!” Her eyes twinkled. She went on, “My dear husband was a Hampton by blood but he passed some years ago. I hadn’t expected to inherit anything from Steven senior’s estate but when Mr. Warwick—he’s the family lawyer, you know—invited me here today, I got my hopes up. It’s long been my dream to take a Caribbean Cruise and now…”
I tuned out. I didn’t need to be reminded of things I couldn’t afford. Thankfully it wasn’t long before the lawyer, Ethan Warwick, a fit-looking man of about fifty who also happened to be the son of Mr. Hampton’s closest friend, suggested the family join him around the huge antique dining table.
Everyone pulled up chairs—even Barb Johnson, who drew some quizzical glances. But Ethan smiled warmly and said, “Welcome, Mrs. Johnson.” When I moved to the table, he said, “I’m sorry, Ms. Fairweather. You’re not a beneficiary so I’d appreciate it if you waited in another room.”
I went meekly enough, shutting the door behind me. But then I charged outside, sprinting around the mansion to set up camp beneath one of the dining room windows. The sounds from within were muffled until Lily loudly pleaded a need for air and opened the window. Did she really need air? Or had she guessed I’d be following my usual habit of eavesdropping? Yeah, I’m nosy. Helps with the job.
Ethan Warwick prefaced his reading of the will by reminding everyone of the tragic accident that had claimed Mr. Hampton’s life. Someone gave a stifled sob. I couldn’t see who, but it sounded like Steven, which was totally out of character. Not because he didn’t care but because Hampton men don’t cry—unless it helps them win an election.
There was a sound of shuffling papers as though Ethan Warwick was trying to cover the awkward moment. He cleared his throat and began to read the will. He began with Clara Hampton, who got one hundred thousand dollars.
“Oh my.” She sighed with pleasure, as though she was already soaking up that Caribbean sun. “Steven senior was such a wonderful man. A great patriarch of a great family. Oh my. This is a wonderful surprise, but quite a shock. I need some air.” At first I thought she was coming to the window, but her footsteps moved away. She was coming outside. I made sure I was concealed behind some shrubs.
About a minute later she stopped near my shrubs—probably didn’t realize how close she was to the open dining room window. She made a call on her cell. “Yes, I’d like to book a Caribbean cruise…the first available. At my age you can’t afford to wait around…Excellent. I’ll be in sometime today to complete the paperwork.” She closed her phone, clenched her fist and gave a silent Yes!
Inside, Ethan announced that Steven Richard Hampton junior, the only grandchild, had been left one million dollars. I imagined Lily doing her own silent Yes! A million dollars would buy a lot of shoes.
Ethan droned on. “Mrs. Barbara Ann Johnson will receive five million dollars.”
The gasps were audible. I imagined Barb silently thanking Mr. Hampton for honoring his promise to look after her in his will.
“That can’t be right,” whined Clara, who had gone back inside after booking her cruise. “I only got one hundred thousand and I was married to a Hampton. Barbara is just the housekeeper.”
“She was his girlfriend,” said Mom dryly. “Didn’t you know? He could barely keep his hands off her.”
Clara continued to whine. “Why does she get so much just for being his girlfriend? Even his own grandchild only got one million. It doesn’t seem fair.”
Personally I thought Barb deserved every dollar of her five million for having sex with Mr. Hampton.
“We’ll contest the will,” said Clara stoutly. “Won’t we, SJ?”
He didn’t answer, which wasn’t surprising. Earlier, before I’d taken up my eavesdropping position, SJ hadn’t looked like he was up to contesting anything. Pale, with dark-shadowed eyes and a spot of coffee on his white shirt, he’d looked like a student at exam time rather than a successful lawyer. The only reason he was freshly shaven was that Lily had done it. I even found myself feeling sorry for her. The last thing a heavily pregnant woman needed was a husband who was losing it.
“And,” continued Ethan, when SJ had formally refused to contest the will, “everything else, including Hampton House and thirty million dollars in stocks and cash, goes to Steven Richard Hampton XXXII.” There were no protests this time. Everybody knew Steven would get the lot. They might not have expected the proviso that he’d have to keep and care for the horses until ‘their natural demise,’ but that was a small price to pay for inheriting a mansion and millions in investments.
After the reading of the will, Steven raided Mr. Hampton’sllar and opened the vintage champagne. By this time I’d been allowed to rejoin the family. Since I was one of the designated drivers, I had to watch my alcohol intake, but Mom didn’t have any restrictions and soon she was sobbing drunkenly into her bubbles. Hoping everyone would think she was distressed about Mr. Hampton’s death, I took her into the garden before she could reveal the real reason for her tears.
“I don’t know how I’m going to live in that horrible mansion.” She sniffed as we waded through fallen leaves at the edge of the garden. “I’ve always hated it and I didn’t much like him either.”
“He liked you.”
“Not in the beginning. He hated me. I had very little money of my own and he thought I’d married Steven for his wealth. But I’d have married him even if he’d been penniless. He’s always made me feel very safe. Not like your father. But you don’t want to hear about that. I know how much you love him, although really, it’s time to acknowledge he’s not coming back.”
Maybe not, but he isn’t dead either. Casper had told me he was still alive but I couldn’t tell Mom. Didn’t want to upset her with the whole bigamy thing.
“When did Mr. Hampton start liking you?” I asked.
She gave a disgusted snort, which showed just how drunk she was. Mom never snorted. “It was only when I raised all that money for his favorite charity, The Hampton Hunters. I’m not proud of it, believe me—I don’t approve of grown men shooting small animals for fun—but you do what you have to when it comes to pleasing in-laws like him.” She smiled. “I don’t have to worry about that sort of thing anymore. I can devote all my energy to raising money for important things like my education fund for disadvantaged kids. Did I tell you about Luke? He comes from the poorest background but he’s an absolute genius. We’re paying for him to attend Harvard Medical School.”
“Good onya,” I said.
She gave me a hard glance. “You sound just like your father.”
“Sorry.” Although I wasn’t. “Hey, if you don’t want to live here at Hampton House, you could sell it and use the money for kids like Luke.”
“What a lovely thought,” she said, genuinely pleased. “But Steven would never agree. No, I’m afraid we’ll have to live here.”
“Then,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on it, “you’ll just have to redecorate.”
Mom hiccupped and giggled like a naughty little girl rather than a woman over fifty. “Imagine my dear father-in-law’s face if I had all the hideous wallpaper removed.”
“You could redo the master bedroom in peach and white.”
She laughed harder. “He’d be absolutely livid. Oh, I can’t wait. What a good idea.” Suddenly she looked concerned. “But—if he was really upset—would he haunt me?”
Discussing the paranormal with Mom was still a new experience and I answered carefully. “It depends whether he’s gone straight to Heaven.”
“Then he’ll definitely haunt me. Heaven wouldn’t have him.”
Hard to tell what the Powers-That-Be woul
d do with a guy like Mr. Hampton, but Casper would know whether he’d made it into Heaven. “Leave it with me, Mom. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a hotline to Heaven.”
“Well, um…” I was saved from answering when she turned an unpleasant shade of green and sagged against a tree trunk. “Want to go inside?” I asked.
“No, I need fresh air.” She rested her forehead against the bark. A leaf drifted down onto her ash blond hair, which was so thick with hairspray the leaf slid right off. Mom didn’t notice. She had more important concerns. “Steven senior’s death wasn’t accidental, was it? Had he been sleepwalking?”
I hadn’t told Mom that Barb Johnson had confirmed Mr. Hampton’s sleepwalking in the months before his death. Didn’t want to worry her. When she repeated the question, I said, “No. He didn’t sleepwalk.”
“Oh Allegra, I can always tell when you’re lying.”
Bugger. Curious to know what had given me away, I asked, “How can you tell?”
“I’m your mother,” she said as though the reason was painfully obvious. Suddenly all the color drained from her face. Nothing to do with the stress of being my mother, I swear. She doubled over. “I’m going to be sick.” If anyone could throw up politely, it was Mom.
She wouldn’t have thanked me for hanging around and holding back her hair, so I moved away, giving her privacy and allowing her dignity to remain intact. When she was done, she shuffled over to me, “Do you have a tissue?”
I dug a clean one out of my jacket pocket. As she dabbed at her face and blew her nose loudly, a shaft of sunlight winked on my thistle brooch.
“That’s very pretty,” said Mom. “It’s the Scottish national flower isn’t it?”
“Present from the people of Furness. My last case.”
Her eyes opened wider. “The villagers gave you a present?”
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“I’m not surprised.” But her denial didn’t ring true. “It’s just that I never thought a career dealing with the paranormal had much of a future. May I look at the brooch more closely?” She unpinned it from my lapel. “What are these words on the back?”
“They mean thank you.”
“Lovely.” She refastened the brooch on my jacket. “Good job, Allegra.”
Lily had always been the favorite. The good girl. The one who lived the life she was supposed to. I’d dealt with that. I’d moved on.
Good job, Allegra.
As I locked those words safely in my heart, I saw Ethan walking from the mansion to his car. Calling to Mom that I’d be back in a minute, I sprinted over to him, churning up gravel on the driveway. He startled at my approach and dropped his car keys.
I picked them up and handed them back to him with what I hoped was a friendly smile. “Just wanted to ask a question, Ethan—Mr. Warwick.”
“And you are? Oh yes, Allegra Fairweather, one of the step-granddaughters. If you were hoping for something in the will, I’m sorry you were disappointed but I wouldn’t advise contesting it. There’s little chance of winning.”
Did I look that mercenary? “I’m not interested in Mr. Hampton’s money.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
“No, really. It’s the diary I want.”
He looked at me as if I was two witches short of a coven. “There’s no diary, Ms. Fairweather. Mr. Hampton was a man of action. He didn’t write about life, he lived it.”
“The diary wasn’t his. One of his relatives wrote it centuries ago. It’s kind of an heirloom. A part of the family history. I need to see it. A matter of life and death. It’ll be in his possessions somewhere—probably his safety deposit box.”
“In that case, you’d best speak with your stepfather. He has access to the safe deposit box now. Excuse me Ms. Fairweather.” He couldn’t wait to get away.
Later that afternoon, when everyone was sleeping off the champagne, I talked Steven into visiting the bank and opening the safe deposit box. Not that it took much persuading. He was happy to do anything that might stop the bouts of sleepwalking that led to fatal accidents. But when we peered into the box, all we found was a collection of jewelry. Mom would be delighted with the diamond necklace, antique ruby earrings and the rings studded with emeralds, sapphires, topaz and amethyst, but she wouldn’t be thrilled that we hadn’t found anything to save Steven.
We returned to the mansion disappointed but convinced the diary must be hidden within Mr. Hampton’s home, which was now Steven’s. He gave me permission to search, which was okay until everyone started drinking again and decided to help me. Not that they were much help since they were all pissed as a fart as Dad used to say, but at least they’d decided to stay off the roads and spend the night at Hampton House.
It was impossible to search properly while everyone was staggering around with their champagne glasses so I did something useful and made dinner. Okay, the local pizzeria actually made the dinner, but I opened the boxes and put them on the antique dining table. Mr. Hampton would just love that. Not. It was amazing that he didn’t appear and tell me that pizza should never be served on antique furniture.
While everyone was gobbling dinner, I set off to search for the diary without their “help.” Mr. Hampton’s former bedroom was the obvious place to start. During the day you could see the U-shaped driveway from the huge bay window, while another window boasted distant views of Ravens Wood. At that moment, however, both windows were concealed behind thick, drab drapes. Mr. Hampton’s taste was for gothic colors and heavy Victorian furniture. Dark wooden chests of drawers frowned at the crimson rug. A brown quilt sprawled on the bed like the skin of a dead anmal. No wonder Mom wanted to redecorate. Even her girly peach and cream would be an improvement on this. But I wasn’t here to comment on the décor. I had to find that diary.
First I tackled the chests of drawers. I found sweaters and t-shirts and pajamas and underwear, including a pair of crotchless panties. Hopefully they belonged to Mrs. Johnson not Mr. Hampton, although both possibilities were equally disturbing.
Relieved to close the underwear drawer, I turned my attention to the pictures hanging on the walls. Classic hiding places for safes. I diligently checked behind each one, finding nothing more than striped green-and-white wallpaper. I lifted the rug and searched for loose floorboards, felt along the headboard of the bed for switches that might open a secret panel, and checked the skirting board for secret hiding places.
When I was convinced there was nothing in the master bedroom, I headed for the ensuite bathroom. There were no loose tiles—not even around the enormous spa bath—and nothing hidden in the toilet tank.
Abandoning Mr. Hampton’s inner sanctum, I searched the other bedrooms and the upstairs bathrooms. When I found nothing, I headed for the picture gallery. Ignoring the Roman busts, I hurried along until I came to the portrait of Elowyn. Could the diary be hidden here? No, it was too obvious. Then again, Mr. Hampton wasn’t the most imaginative man. Carefully I lifted the portrait from its hook and put it gently on the floor. I felt all around the wall, hoping for a secret hidey hole. Then I felt around the back of the painting. Maybe there was a hidden key, or better yet a map marked with a big X. No such luck. I came up with zip, nada, zilch.
By midnight I’d searched the house from attic to basement and found nothing, which was bad news for me, but since my toe hadn’t itched once it was good news for Mom. Just to make sure Mr. Hampton really was resting in peace, I thought I’d check with Casper. Not that I particularly wanted to see him or anything.
Outside seemed the best place to attract the attention of a Cloud 9 resident. Shivering in the chilly night air, I looked up at the starry sky and called, “Casper.” When he didn’t appear, I added, “We need to talk,” which, considering the way most males hate those four little words, probably wasn’t very smart. Predictably I didn’t get an answer, so I yelled louder, “Casper!”
When he still didn’t appear, I wondered whether his awards cate
gory had been announced. Maybe he’d won and was already in Heaven. I might never see him again. It was enough to make me go inside and polish off the last bottle of champagne. Afterwards I couldn’t be bothered climbing upstairs and finding an unoccupied bedroom. Instead I took a blanket from the linen closet and curled up on a sofa in front of the dying fire. I awoke at dawn unable to remember the bad dreams that had disturbed my sleep, but I was convinced something awful was going to happen.
Chapter Eight
We left Hampton House mid-morning and headed back to Boston. SJ was too hungover to drive, so I got behind the wheel of his car while he and Lily elected to ride with Steven and Mom. Actually it was Lily’s suggestion. She always said I drove too fast, which was kind of ironic considering what happened.
My lead foot put me out in front while Steven trailed behind, sticking to the speed limit. I was thinking it wouldn’t be long before he was just a speck on the horizon when he suddenly sped up and zoomed ahead of me like a challenge. What the—? Steven never broke the law. Even before he was a senator. Yeah, I know, hard to believe, but it’s true. And right then, he wasn’t just speeding ahead of me. He was zigzagging in and out of traffic like someone with a death wish.
“Slow down, you idiot,” I yelled. But of course he couldn’t hear. I dodged around traffic, zipped into the far left hand lane and finally drew level with him. “Pull over.” I jabbed my finger at the side of the road and mouthed instructions at him. “Pull over now.”
Steven kept his eyes on the road. His hands gripped the wheel like a lifeline.
Mom, eyes wide with terror, yelled through her open window, “He’s gone crazy!” At least I think that’s what she said, because her words were lost when Steven veered into my lane. I swore and hit the brakes, hard. I think I heard Mom scream.
Steven hit a slick patch on the road and lost control. His car skidded across two lanes of traffic in a blare of horns and screeching tires. He slid off the road, spraying dirt in a wide arc. I crossed the same two lanes of traffic, taking a lot more care than Steven, and pulled up on the side of the road. I leaped out and sprinted to his car, which had ended up in a ditch, its hood crumpled against a large tree.