“That’s what I was thinking. Come on.”
I left the chamber we were in and crept into the hallway with Jackie and Greg close behind. We snuck up to the room that Mrs. Hamilton had gone into. Cautiously, I opened the door.
She shuffled around what looked like the library rifling through books and papers. I couldn’t understand why she rummaged around as though she didn’t know where things were. Unless, but even the other guests would have noticed two Mrs. Hamiltons running around.
Mrs. Hamilton seemed to have found what she was looking for: a safe concealed behind some books. She opened it. I knew something was terribly wrong when she released a string of cuss words and pounded the thing with her fists.
“Wow. What a foul mouth,” whispered Jackie.
The clock in the hallway chimed. Startled, we hurried away from the door and hid behind some objects in the hallway. Mrs. Hamilton rushed to the door. She poked her head out and looked down both ends of the hallway. I hoped she hadn’t seen us.
“It’s a ghost!”
Shouts and screams echoed from downstairs as people panicked.
“Everyone calm down!” Detective Shorts’ voice boomed throughout the house.
Realizing that she had to get back downstairs, Mrs. Hamilton shut the door and raced back to the stairs. She hurried down and did her best to pretend that she had never been gone.
I raced for the library.
“Mel!”
I didn’t listen. Something weird was going on and I wanted to know what. The three of us scrambled into the library and locked the door. I didn’t want anyone sneaking in on us.
“What’s going on?” asked Jackie.
“That’s what I want to know.” I pulled the books that hid the safe off of the shelf. “Does anyone know how to crack a safe?”
“I think I missed that course,” joked Greg.
I gave him a piercing stare. “There was something that Mrs. Hamilton thought ought to be in here.”
My phone rang. One of these days I’d remember to put it on vibrate.
“Hello,” I said.
“Mel,” Jack’s voice was on the other end, “can you please call off your dogs?”
“What do you know about the Hamiltons?”
Jack grunted on the other end, but I knew Tiny had to be in the same room. “Look I don’t appreciate being woken up and dragged out of bed, but I did find some stuff out. First things first, Alice couldn’t possibly be at the house. According to some small article in an obscure newspaper, she died twenty years ago. Which would explain her disappearance.
“She was arrested thirty years ago for drunk driving which resulted in the death of someone else. Mrs. Hamilton pleaded with the court to go easy and I guess the judge listened because they only gave her five years in a minimum security prison.
“As for Harold Smythe, I found some more interesting stuff. He was facing a series of lawsuits for malpractice as a lawyer. Also, Mrs. Hamilton had fired him a few years ago. No one knows why, but the rumor is that it was a heated discussion.
“There is also something about her father’s will. Supposedly, he left a portion of it that was not to be opened until this time. No one knows why, but it is believed to be the key to more money. Basically, in order for Mrs. Hamilton, or even Alice, to claim what is in it they have to have that portion of the will. But it was last seen in Harold Smythe’s possession. And that was over a decade ago.”
“So what are you saying?” I asked.
“There was a provision in her father’s will. Don’t ask me how I found out. But all of his estate went to Mrs. Hamilton when Alice got arrested. However, if Alice were to reform her life, she could reclaim her half of the inheritance.”
“But you said she was killed.”
“True. But there was another provision. A portion of the money was to be set aside in some account and untouched. Her father was to have given Harold Smythe the account number and everything. Tonight was supposed to be the night when he could give the contents to either party should he deem them worthy of it.
“But ten years ago Harold made a big deal about losing the account number. Though some believe that he was lying. I mean, why would he make a big deal about something that was supposed to be private?
“Now, will you please call your dogs off?”
“Give the phone to Tiny.”
“Yo,” said Tiny.
“Let Jack go.”
“Do I have to?” asked Tiny, reminding me of a little kid. “Me and the boys thought we’d take him out for some Halloween fun.” The chuckle on the other end told me that Jack would find Tiny’s plans anything but fun.
“Yes,” I said, “However, see what you guys can dig up on Harold Smythe. This entire affair smells to high heaven.”
“You got it.”
Tiny hung up.
“So?” asked Jackie.
“I think Mrs. Hamilton and Harold Smythe are not the people we think they are.”
I relayed the information from Jack.
“I can’t believe it,” said Jackie. “She always seemed so nice.”
“The crazy ones always do,” said Greg. “So what do we do now?”
I smacked Greg. “She probably is a decent person. But, apparently she has done some things in her past that she would rather no one knew about. But let’s not jump to conclusions. We need to find that paper,” I said, “Mrs. Hamilton seems to think that it’s here in the house somewhere.”
Chapter 5
We continued looking around the library just in case Mrs. Hamilton had missed something. Mostly all we found were old, dusty books and furniture. A few decorative items lay around and Greg bumped into a giant globe. But, we didn’t find anything of any real interest until Jackie bumped into the poker in the fireplace.
The grinding noise of a door opening filled the room. I peeked outside to make sure that no one heard it. We all glanced at the fireplace. The fire within it had gone out and the wall behind it had opened up revealing a small room.
“Why does there always have to be a secret room behind the fireplace?” asked Jackie.
I shrugged. Heck if I knew. Last time we had discovered a secret room behind a fireplace was at the Pen Mills Estate. That time Jackie and I had stumbled upon a bunch of jewel thieves who had hidden their loot in the concealed room. Of course, the estate burned down and the thieves were caught. But that was almost two years ago.
Warily, I walked into the hidden room. Unlike the one at Pen Mills, this one was warm and inviting. A modern couch sat in the center with a smaller fireplace on one end. A few tables and chairs were there as well, including a desk.
I approached the desk and rifled through the papers. Nothing. But the lack of dust did pique my interest. Someone used this room and they used it a lot.
Jackie investigated the tables and their drawers. She found nothing. Even Greg came up short.
I picked up one of the pieces of paper. It was just a bill. But why would someone use this secret place to hide their bills?
I read the top of the invoice: Oncology. Oncology? Was Mrs. Hamilton sick? Did she not want anyone to know that she had been ill? She didn’t look sick, but some people are very good at hiding it.
I showed the invoice to Greg. There were many others on the table as well.
“Does she have cancer?” asked Greg.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Jackie, do you know anything about it?”
“Nope,” replied Jackie. “Mrs. Hamilton has made no indication that she was ill. Though maybe she wants it that way. Some people don’t like it when others know that they are sick, or dying.”
“Well, that still doesn’t explain why she was up here snooping around for something,” I said, “She would know where this room is and what’s in it.”
“She must have been looking for something else,” said Greg.
“In her own home?” I asked. “People know where things are in their own house.”
“Maybe—” began Greg, b
ut he stopped.
Scuffling sounded outside the room. Quickly, we left the hidden area and let it shut behind us. Afterward, we squirted into the empty hallway. Detective Shorts didn’t seem that concerned about our continued absence because there were no officers upstairs. We looked around, but found nothing that would have produced the sound we heard.
I found another unlocked door and waved the others over. It led into a home gymnasium. I thought it odd that Mrs. Hamilton had one. She didn’t look like the type that exercised. Though maybe she used to before getting sick. Who knows?
We looked around in the dim light, but there was really nothing out of the ordinary. It was a home gymnasium with all of the high quality, high tech equipment. She had a treadmill, bicycle, weights, and bars all over the place, including a jump rope and one of those rubber bands that people use for upper body workouts. An exercise ball lay in a corner.
On one side of the room was even a mini bar. I opened the small refrigerator. It was chocked full of bottled water and healthy snacks. No alcohol of any kind and nothing that could be deemed unhealthy.
“Anything?” I asked.
“You will be visited by three ghosts,” said Rachel as she popped into the room, “The ghosts of Halloween past, present, and future.”
“Rachel, cut it out,” I said.
She laughed to herself at her joke.
“Aren’t you supposed to be causing a distraction?” asked Greg.
“I was,” said Rachel, “but then midnight struck and everything went back to normal. Now people only see me if I want them too, or if they choose to.”
“Huh?” said Greg.
“It’s complicated,” said Rachel, “But apparently Halloween itself is the only time everyone can see a ghost and not realize it. Even I get confused about it sometimes.”
“So, now you’re just here to help us?” said Greg.
“Exactly,” beamed Rachel. “Find anything?”
“Not really,” I said. “Except that Mrs. Hamilton might have cancer or something. We found a bunch of invoices for oncologists.”
“Bummer,” said Rachel, “I feel sorry for the old girl. Anything else?”
“No, but was Mrs. Hamilton in the main room the whole time you were down there?”
“Yeah,” said Rachel.
“But she couldn’t have been,” said Jackie, “We saw her come upstairs and search the library for something.”
“Really?” said Rachel. “I was sure she was down there the whole time. Though I was busy and everyone was focused on me at the time. She could have snuck out and I not see it. That chandelier makes a wonderful swing. You should try it!”
“Maybe next time,” I replied
Mrs. Hamilton sneaking out unnoticed was possible. Even a ghost can only keep their eye on so many people at any one time.
“Well, let’s keep looking,” I said.
“WOO-HOO!” yelled Rachel as she jumped on the treadmill and turned it on. She put it on the fastest speed and steepest incline as she ran. The machine hummed noisily. “This is fun!”
“Rachel,” I said.
“Come on you should try this.”
“Rachel!”
I reached over and pushed the off button.
“Spoil sport,” quipped Rachel as she stepped off the treadmill.
As I stepped back, my foot caught on something. Curious, I bent down and pulled back a small section of carpet revealing a button in the floor. It was sunken in a bit so that no one would accidentally step on it. I pressed the button.
Instantly, a panel on the wall slid open reveling a long dark passage. I walked over to it. It turned out to be a bunch of stairs with a lot of cobwebs.
“Anyone got a flashlight?” I asked.
Greg found one in one of the many dressers full of towels. Way to go Greg. He held it up for me to see.
“How did you—”
“I noticed it when I was searching through these drawers,” he said.
“Let’s go,” I said.
“Oh, no,” said Jackie. “No-no-no-no.”
“Jackie—”
“The last time we went into some creepy place with cobwebs we found some not so nice people. And the place turned out to be completely haunted.”
“Fine,” I said, “you can stay here with Rachel.”
Jackie glanced over at Rachel who busied herself with swinging on some rings hanging from the ceiling.
“Fine,” said Jackie, “But I won’t like it.”
Together, the three of us headed into the dark passageway.
“Hey, wait for me,” said Rachel as she dropped to the floor and ran after us.
Carefully, we walked into the dark hallway. The panel closed behind us causing Jackie to jump.
“Calm down,” I said. “There aren’t any ghosts in here.”
“Uh, are you forgetting someone?” said Rachel.
“Not any we need to be afraid of,” I corrected myself.
Rachel nodded her head in affirmation pretending to be insulted by my forgetfulness at her being a ghost. I sometimes wondered about her.
We reached some stairs. I put my foot on the top testing it. It seemed solid enough and it was made from stone. Taking the light, I shined it down the stairs to illuminate them as best I could. They seemed to go a long way. At least, I didn’t see the bottom.
“Come on,” I said.
I walked down the stairs taking the lead with Jackie directly behind me. Greg stood in the back shining the light before our feet so that we didn’t fall. Rachel sort of floated down the stairs whistling merrily to herself.
The wall was lined with rusted candleholders; many of them still had candles in them. I brushed the dust off of one. Remarkable, I thought, but they looked as though they had been sitting for a couple of centuries. Most of them had burnt ends so they were used at one time; and recently.
“Look,” I pointed out the half used candles.
“Interesting,” said Greg. “I wonder how long these have been here.”
“A long time by the looks of it,” I said.
My foot touched a flat surface. With the flashlight I was able to see that we had reached the bottom. Good. I was getting tired of the stairs.
The passage continued for a long way. Water trickled somewhere, but I didn’t know where. All I heard was a constant—drip!—drip! My hand brushed metal and wood. “Greg,” I said, “focus on this.”
He shined the light on what I had run into revealing a door. It was an old, wooden door with the old style metal hinges. It really looked like it belonged in a period movie or something.
I yanked on the latch. Though rusted, it opened, but not without a little noise. The hinges creaked as I pulled it open wide enough for us to squeeze through. We all went inside.
The room clearly looked as though it hadn’t been used in ages. Dust and cobwebs lay everywhere, except for in one small corner. On closer inspection, I noticed a set of footprints made by heavy boots. Men’s boots. I reached out to the one space in the wall where the dust was strangely absent. A small opening appeared. It was only about five inches by five inches. Voices and commotion spilled through.
Bending down I peeked through the opening. It looked right into the main room where the party was. I noticed Detective Shorts moving from person to person asking questions. Many of the guests had obviously grown tired of being kept there and wanted to leave despite the fact that someone had been murdered and they were all witnesses. I glanced around a bit as best I could. Sure enough, there was a straight shot from where I stood to where Harold Smythe was standing when he dropped dead.
“Greg,” I said standing up a bit too suddenly, “That was a poison dart you pulled off of Mr. Smythe?”
“Yeah.”
I looked back through the hole in the wall. Someone could have shot a dart from here. But what would they have used that didn’t make any noise? It would have to be small and compact, yet silent and easy to aim.
“Look at this.”
“What’s going on?” asked Rachel.
I pointed the hole in the wall out to her and Jackie. They each took a peek.
“That goes right into the party room,” exclaimed Jackie.
“I think we just found out where the killer was standing,” said Greg.
“That’s what I was thinking,” I replied.
I shut the hole in the wall. No other area in the room had been used, so whoever was here knew exactly where to go.
“What is this place?” asked Jackie.
“Looks like it dates back to the 1800s,” said Greg. “Didn’t Mrs. Hamilton say once that this house has belonged to her family for over ten generations?”
“Yeah, so it has probably been here longer than that,” said Jackie.
“Wonder what it was used for,” said Greg.
“The Underground Railroad,” blurted out Rachel.
“What?” said Greg.
“The Underground Railroad,” continued Rachel, “This room could have been used for that, even if it has been here longer. Think about it. A secret passage. A secret room. A perfect place to hide people who are running away from something.”
“Yeah, it is,” I said, agreeing with her. “Let’s go.”
I headed for the door. We all slipped back into the passageway and continued onward. I really wanted to know where this thing came out. After several more minutes of walking through the stone corridor, we came to an opening. Unfortunately, someone stood in the archway.
Quickly, I pushed Jackie and Greg to the side into the shadows. I didn’t know who this new person was, but I didn’t want to meet him just yet.
“Who’s there,” said the man chucking his used cigarette to the ground. He walked into the hallway a little bit. “Connie, is that you?”
Connie? Who’s Connie? And who is he? The feeling that I did not want to meet this guy filled my stomach.
“Connie, if that’s you this isn’t funny. We’ve been here too long.”
Something sounded outside. Quickly, the man turned around and walked out of the archway into the night air. Apparently, he didn’t want to get caught either.
Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 08 - Trick Or Treat Or Murder Page 3