by Lynn Bohart
“But that’s just it. A guy like that doesn’t think,” April said. “But more than that, I think he’s hiding something.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A week had passed since finding the hidden door. A week filled with amazing and heart-sickening discoveries. What had started out as a fun research project had very quickly disintegrated into multiple murder scenarios. It made me wonder where this would finally end.
I spent most of the morning doing bookwork. As I toiled away, Doe called.
“Hey, how’s the garbage business?” I said.
She chuckled. “It stinks. How often are we going to run that joke?”
“Until I get tired of it,” I said, laughing. “Besides, I need something to lighten my mood.”
“Yeah, finding that baby had to be tough. Plus, I talked to Blair. She told me about what happened at the bar in Puyallup. How are you?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Well, I’m reporting in on my assignment. Even though I’ve been stuck in the office, I called several of my board buddies and reviewed the list of people who lived on that property with them. Other than Judge Foster, no one recognized any names.”
“So none of the other people who lived here ran in Seattle circles,” I said.
“Guess not.”
“Okay, thanks.”
We hung up and I finished my bookwork before joining April upstairs to finish sorting through boxes and furniture in the attic. We marked things we wanted José to move to the barn for refinishing and stacked things for the trash or the Goodwill in a corner. We finished with a box of pictures, cards, and letters we could use in the book.
Late that afternoon, David called to invite me to dinner.
“Any chance you could meet me down here at the station for a quick bite?” he asked. “I’ll only have about a half hour, but I’d much rather spend it with you than the other guys in the squad room.”
“Sure. I have my art class again, so how about I grab some takeout from that Mandarin place on 24th and bring it to you a little before six? Door-to-door service.”
“Sounds perfect. See you then.”
I hung up, smiling to myself. This was still a new relationship. I didn’t yet have the deep level of confidence I might have after a year or so of dating, which meant I was afraid little things like serial killers might derail my budding romance.
I picked up some Kung Pao Chicken and fried rice and headed over to the police station. I texted David from the parking lot, and he met me at the front door. The two of us wound our way down a hallway to a small conference room and spread the food and plates out on the table.
“This smells great,” he said, spooning some of the rice onto a paper plate. “I didn’t have lunch.” He served up some rice and chicken for me and then sat back to begin eating.
Although he looked a little frazzled around the edges and had circles under his eyes, his sexy gray hair and brown eyes still made my heart skip a beat.
“Any progress on your case?” I asked.
He was practically wolfing down his dinner. He paused a moment to chew and swallow before answering.
“The burglary that was just reported or the serial killer?”
“The serial killer,” I responded.
“The FBI profilers are in Seattle now. According to them, we should expect that the four bodies we’ve found are just the tip of the iceberg.”
I was about to take a bite and stopped to stare at him. “That’s depressing.”
“No kidding. But we’re making some headway. They’ve found dental records for two of the girls.”
“So you’re able to identify them?”
“Yes, but I can’t tell you who they are yet. The families have to be informed first.”
“That’s okay. So, Sean is still over in Seattle?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Since Melody Reamer is the most recent victim and she’s from here, they’re hoping her death will be able to tell them something concrete. But we’re so short-staffed here that I’m barely keeping my head above water. Pete Meredith broke his ankle in some Iron Man competition, and Joe Talbot caught bronchitis from his daughter. We only have five detectives in our department.”
“So that leaves you,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Me and Gary Pepper. And we’ve had two robberies and a rape down at Luther Burbank Park.”
“Not to mention the baby,” I said.
“Exactly,” he mumbled. “By the way, the ME said she’d get to the baby as soon as she could.” He reached out to grab my hand. “But how are you? How’s your history book coming along?”
I loved that about David. He always seemed as interested in what I was doing as he was in his work. Not something Graham had been so good about.
“We’ve put together a timeline of all the people who lived on the property, and we’ve done a couple of interviews. Did you know that Judge Wendell Foster lived there with his family for a couple of years?”
His eyebrows arched. “No kidding? That old bastard?”
“Did you know him?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Even though I’ve had to appear in court many times, it was never in front of him, thank God. But I’ve heard stories.” He chuckled. “Thank goodness Foster retired before Sean came along. I can’t imagine that going too well.”
“No,” I said, smiling. “I wonder how he’s holding up under all of this stress.”
“Sean? He thrives on this stuff. Remember, he used to work in the Seattle PD, so he knows all of those guys. I just wish I had more information to feed him. But we don’t have much to go on, other than the fact that Melody Reamer met a friend for dinner over in Ballard on December 23rd. According to her friend, they finished dinner around 8:45 and said goodbye. Melody’s car was found six days later up in Kirkland.”
“And yet her body washed up on Mercer Island,” I murmured “I heard on the news that the police are asking for help.”
“Right. She was probably dumped into the lake somewhere in Kirkland.”
“Did you ever find her cell phone?”
“No. So we don’t know if someone called or texted her after her dinner in Ballard and asked her to meet them in Kirkland. But we’ve interviewed just about everyone she knows, and no one can think of why she would even go to Kirkland.”
“I wonder if she met up with someone at the restaurant and drove them home or something,” I said.
“We thought of that. The friend she had dinner with left the restaurant first, so we don’t know what happened after that. But Melody’s car had a full tank of gas when it was found. We checked her debit card record and found where she got the gas, so Sean was out there today, talking to them and trying to get a copy of the security video. We’re hoping the video might show if there was someone in the car with her.” He took the final bite of Kung Pao Chicken and washed it down with the last of his Coke, while I toyed with my dinner.
“Too much death,” I muttered.
“Sorry. This isn’t a topic for dinner. Let’s change the subject. Did you find out anything more about that hidden room?”
I didn’t want to admit that I was including all the deaths we’d run across in our investigation in my statement, so I just said, “Yeah, a few things. That little room was apparently used to lock up drunks back when the brothel was there. But we’re also pretty sure that Gramley Miller, the brothel owner, abducted under-aged girls and forced them into prostitution. He may have kept them up in the attic.”
David’s eyes grew wide. “Wow. How’d you find that out?”
“A diary at the museum,” I said. I didn’t mention the automatic writing. David was new to this ghost business, and although he had an open mind, I wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. After all, he was a cop. “We also found a letter up in our attic that was written to one of the prostitutes named Lollie Gates. The letter was from her mother. She was planning to rescue her daughter.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“Technically, we don’t know.” I paused, thinking of the voice that had said, “I died here.” “But she says in her diary that Gramley Miller, the brothel owner, threatened to kill her if she didn’t perform, and then her diary entries just abruptly end. And it appears she was pregnant.”
“Pregnant? Wow,” he said, folding his empty paper plate and tossing it into a nearby trash can.
“We did find out that at least one out-of-wedlock baby was born to a young girl who lived on the property, though.”
“That’s interesting,” he said. “You don’t think it was the baby we just found, do you?”
“No. The girl we’re thinking of lived there in the early nineties. In fact, we’re trying to find her. She’s probably still alive. But I still want to know why a baby might have been hidden away in that room up there.”
“It could have belonged to one of the prostitutes,” he said.
“We thought of that. But the furniture and the diaper bag says to me that the baby we found wasn’t from the brothel. That crib was definitely from the 1970s or 80s. So was the diaper bag.”
David smiled. “You’d make a good detective.”
“Don’t forget, old furniture is my business,” I said with a smile.
He sighed and sat back, holding the Coke can in his hand. “What else did you learn?”
“Ben and Goldie had some great stories to tell. The Kettle sisters, who lived there just before Graham and I bought it, used to hold séances.”
David’s eyebrows lifted in surprise this time. “Oooh, spooky,” he said with a grin.
“I know. Funny, huh? And when the Formosa family was there, lots of government-looking guys in dark suits and dark cars would drive up.”
David started chuckling. “I think I’d much rather be working on your mystery than mine.”
The door opened and a young, dark-haired man poked his head in to speak to David.
“Sean’s on the phone. They’ve found another body.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
That cut our date short, so I arrived at the Senior Center early for our art class. I can’t say I was looking forward to going back. I envisioned another sloppy clay disaster, but a promise is a promise, even if it’s to a dead person. And I’d made a promise to Martha. Besides, she might be watching.
As luck would have it, Goldie was there, too.
“Oooh, Julia, I have news,” she blurted out, hurrying across the floor. I looked for Aria Stottlemeyer, but Goldie was alone.
“What is it?”
“Aria can’t be here tonight, but I had lunch with her today. I told her about the book you’re writin’. And guess what? Her great-grandfather used to run the ferry between Seattle and Mercer Island.”
I didn’t respond for a moment, assuming there was more to the story. Finally, I said, “I’m not sure that will help us.”
“Oh, yeah, it will,” she said with enthusiasm. “Because his son, Aria’s grandfather, wrote his memoir.” Goldie’s eyes twinkled with excitement.
“I’m still in the dark here, Goldie. How does that help us?”
Goldie released a loud “huff” in frustration. “Don’t you get it? Aria said she edited the book for her grandfather, and there’s a story in there about the brothel and how some guy came looking for a young prostitute.”
Now my antennae went up.
“Really? Anything more?”
“Yeah, she said she remembers a paragraph on Gramley Miller and what a bastard he was and how people on the island suspected he was trafficking in women, but no one had proof. I guess her great-grandfather even said he thought he heard a girl call for help when Miller was coming back from a trip.”
“Call for help? From where?”
“He said the voice was coming from a trunk.” Goldie’s normally jovial expression had turned grim.
“We’ve heard about the trunk,” I told her with a solemn sigh. “That’s how he transported women. You okay?”
She had dropped her chin. “I guess so. Just hard to believe how rotten some people can be.”
“Do you think there’s a chance I can see the memoir?”
“Sure. Sure. Aria said she’d get it from her mother and drop it off to you. But I guess her great-grandfather heard all sorts of things from people riding the boat. Anyway, I thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, that’s great. Thanks, Goldie.” I glanced up and noticed Doe in the hallway. She poked her head into the room, saw Goldie and immediately disappeared. “Excuse me, Goldie. I need to use the ladies’ room before class starts,” I said.
“Oh, sure. I’ll save you guys seats.”
I hurried into the hallway and saw Doe sneak into the restroom. I followed and found her pretending to fix her hair, which was never out of place.
“You can’t hide in here forever,” I said.
“I realize that,” she said. “But this is a two-hour class. I’d just like to limit my exposure.”
“Well, Goldie just told me that Aria’s great-grandfather used to run the ferry between Seattle and Mercer Island. He used to tell a story about a guy who came to the island looking for one of the prostitutes.”
Her big, dark eyes got bigger. “You think he was talking about George Bourbonaise?”
“I hope to find out. Aria’s great-grandfather wrote a memoir, and she is going to drop it off to me.”
“Okay, I’ll give Goldie a break,” she said. “She’s trying to help. I’ll give her that.”
“Just like she did with Dana’s case,” I reminded her.
“You mean by shooting a hole in your ceiling?”
I heaved a sigh. “Yes. My ceiling will never be the same. But she may have saved my life and she has a good heart.”
“Yes, she does,” Doe agreed. “So I’ll grin and bear it.”
“Good. Cuz Aria isn’t here tonight, and I think Goldie is sitting with us.”
As we left the restroom, I noticed that Doe was dressed in pressed blue jeans and a crisp, cotton blouse; it was her idea of the ‘grubby’ look. I spied the strings of a blue plaid apron folded up in her purse and smiled to myself. She’d come prepared.
We returned to the room, which had filled up considerably. Blair had arrived and was at the front of the room chatting with Mr. Welping. Rudy was in Canada doing some research, probably the safest place for her, given my propensity for accidents.
I took my seat and Doe leaned over. “By the way, have you recovered from yesterday?”
“You mean from our meeting with Frank Miller?”
“More like ‘encounter’ from what I heard,” she said.
I started to respond, but something grazed my elbow. I turned to find Mabel Snyder fluttering by my side.
“Hi, Julia,” she said in her breathy voice. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Um, sure.”
She seemed to want privacy, so I got up and we stepped a few feet away.
“I hope you know that Milton is really a generous soul,” she said, glancing around to make sure her husband couldn’t hear. He was sitting at the other side of the room, arms folded across his chest.
“Uh…I’m not sure what you mean,”
She glanced past me at the girls. Doe was on her cell phone, but Blair had come back and sat boldly watching us.
“I know that a lot of people think…um…that he’s closed-minded and even mean-spirited. But look, he’s here, you know,” she said, gesturing to her husband. “I convinced him that Mr. Welping was really a fine artist and that his work wasn’t all about the…uh…you know, naked bodies he sculpts,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.
Her hands flitted by her sides, as if they had a mind of their own.
“I’m glad he’s giving it a try,” I said. “But why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because you have a lot of influence.”
“So you want Julia to help improve Milton’s public image?” Blair said, stepping forward and interrupting us.
“H
e just wants what’s best for the community,” she said in a pleading voice. “His family has lived here forever. He loves this island.”
“We do, too,” Blair said. “And we don’t want to keep it locked in the Victorian period.”
“Blair,” I said, putting a hand up to ward her off. “What is it that you want me to do, Mabel?”
She began to wring her hands. I glanced down. There were two large bruises on her forearms where someone had grabbed her.
“What have you been doing?” I asked, nodding toward her wrists. “Did you have an accident?”
She quickly pulled the sleeve of her blouse down to cover the bruises. “No. I just…uh, I was working in the yard, she said, glancing once again toward her husband, “Just keep an open mind about Milton. He’s not such a bad guy. And he told me about the book. He has some good information about your property; you really should talk to him.” She spun on her heel and was gone.
“You’re not going to talk to him, are you?” Blair asked.
“Not if I can help it,” I said, as I watched the little woman approach her husband. Her hands were now balled into tight fists. She sat down, and he turned with a scowl. He said something to her that made her flinch.
“Looks like trouble in paradise,” Blair said, watching them.
“More than just trouble, I think.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Mr. Welping was at the front of the room. There was a lot of shuffling feet as people took their places. The three of us sat down, just as Goldie scooted in and sat next to me.
That night, the potter’s wheel group was assigned the task of throwing a cup and then adding a handle, while the sculpting group would build the mask of an animal of their choice: cat, dog, or bird. Welping spent some time discussing the mask and then the cup and handle. We donned our aprons, gathered up our materials, and headed off to our respective places.
By the break, I had a reasonable-looking mug and had made it without incident. I returned to the table where Doe and Blair stood chatting. Before I could engage them, however, I heard a cough and turned to find a heavyset woman standing next to me.