by Louise Lynn
Maybe that's why she and Celia became friends. They stood out too much to blend in, and therefore a bond was formed.
When all the students had filed out and Travis still hadn't emerged, Hazel frowned. Her stomach twisted into knots.
It could mean he hadn’t gone to school that day. Or something more sinister had happened.
No.
She wasn't going to let herself think that, even if she was angry with him.
With a sigh, she went back inside and peeked in the empty classrooms. In the third door she checked—the art room—Travis was there, slumped at one of the tables in the back of the room with a sketchbook open in front of him.
"Travis. We need to talk," Hazel said and sat next to him.
Travis shut the sketchbook and gave her that charming grin, pained now, that probably got him out of a lot of bad situations. "Ms. Hart. Did you find anything out? Amber said you’re doing a photomontage for the memorial. I have some pictures I can lend you if you want me to."
Hazel nodded. Right. She forgot about that particular falsehood. Now she was going to have to put together a photomontage because word had probably gotten back to the Sizemore parents. Not that she minded, but she was in the middle of trying to find out who killed the boy as well.
"That would be great. Do you remember what I told you when you asked me for help?"
Travis’s shoulders went stiff. "Yeah. You asked me to tell you what happened. I did."
Hazel pursed her lips. "I also told you not to lie. I needed all of the truth, and you kept something from me. A couple of pretty important things."
Travis let out a breath and his grin turned brittle. "I didn't lie about anything important. And I don't really know what you're talking about." He looked at his closed sketchbook and tugged at the hole in his jacket sleeve.
Hazel knew that Esther would want to sew it up. And tell him to stop tugging on it.
"I talked to Robbie Smith today. He told me about you and Brandon."
Travis sat still and drew in a shaky breath. "He told you? That's a breach of my trust."
Hazel shook her head. "No. Because this is a murder investigation. Your boyfriend is dead. And you're keeping a relationship from me and the police."
"So? Our relationship had nothing to do with why he was killed. I mean—unless Amber did it in a jealous rage."
"Exactly. Knowing this gives Amber a much better motive for the crime. But that’s not the only thing you lied about. You said Jay took you home after we left, but he didn't, did he?"
Travis finally looked at her and shook his head. "Of course he took me home. Who told you that he didn't?"
Hazel licked her lips. If Robbie was Travis's mentor, she really didn't want to ruin that relationship. "Someone said they saw you there after I left. And that they left before you did. The point is, Jay claimed his alibi was that he came back and opened the bar. But he didn't. He stayed at the dance with you. Where was Brandon in all this?"
Travis’s expression darkened, and tears filled his eyes. "We fought, okay? I didn’t tell you because I knew it looked suspicious. But I didn't hurt him, neither did Jay. It's just—he kept going on about his stupid scholarship and going to Sacramento, and he was just gonna leave me behind. I knew I couldn't go with him because I needed a job and money to pay for school, and I've been trying really hard to get that, so I could follow him, but I don't even know if he wanted me to. It's like, I wanted us to come out. I didn't want to keep hiding it, but he wanted to go to Sacramento and have everything stay exactly the same. He was just going to hang out with those stupid jocks and hide who he was." His jaw tensed, and tears dripped down his cheeks.
Hazel patted his back. "Is that it?"
He scrubbed his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his jacket. "Almost. I—I broke up with him. I told him if he didn't wanna come clean, then he could keep on pretending without me. He got mad and Jay told him to get away from me, and we left. We didn't go to the bar. We just drove around the lake, alone. So, we’re each other's alibi."
Hazel chewed on her bottom lip and thought about that. It looked suspicious, obviously. "You didn't stop anywhere. Nobody saw you?"
Travis shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? But—the thing is—we left before Amber did. She actually came up when Jay was telling Brandon to leave me alone. She was with him when we drove off," he said and blinked. His eyes were bloodshot.
Hazel let out a sigh. "And that's why you need to tell people everything. You have to go to the police with this, you know."
"How do you know Amber will tell him the truth though? What if she lies and says she wasn't with Brandon?"
Hazel didn't really have an answer for that, so she shrugged and rubbed his back gently. "Sheriff Cross is a lot more reasonable than you're giving him credit for. He wants to find the truth, not throw the wrong person in jail. I already pointed him in the direction of Amber Ross, and if you don't tell him about this, I will. Got it?"
Travis wiped his eyes again and nodded stiffly. "Jay won't like it. He thinks they're going to notice he has a record and throw him in jail just because."
Hazel shook her head. "Maybe the old sheriff would've done that, because he was corrupt. Colton isn't." Sheriff Cross’s first name tasted strange on her tongue. She’d never used it before, she realized.
But it was also sort of nice.
Comfortable.
With that, Hazel left Travis in the art room, her heart heavy. She wasn't sure if he was going to do the right thing or not, but she'd give him at least a day before she told Sheriff Cross.
That was fair, she decided.
When Hazel got out to her truck, Violet leaned against it, her nose buried in a book. She smiled when she noticed Hazel unlocking the door. "I saw your ride and thought I'd wait. I’m glad it was your truck and not someone else’s. That would've been embarrassing."
Hazel smiled. Sheriff Cross had Amber covered for the day, so she knew there was no use trying to talk to the girl again right away. But, there was one other place she wanted to check. Sooner rather than later.
"Well, I'm not heading back to the studio just yet. How do you feel about historical mansions?"
Violet eyes sparkled. "I love them."
That was good enough for Hazel. "Good. I think we need to have a peek around the Rockwell Manor again. And maybe go on the tour."
Chapter 12
"Are you sure the Manor is still giving tours considering what happened this weekend?" Violet asked as they pulled up to the Rockwell Manor.
From the number of cars there, Hazel assumed they were. Or else, why had everybody shown up?
"I guess we’ll have to go in and see."
Sure enough, when they got there, the Manor was open to tourists. The guided tours ran every hour, and they were there right on time for the three o'clock.
Hazel paid for both of their tickets and they got in line on the porch. There were surveillance cameras at every entrance of the building, and she was surprised none of the footage showed Brandon’s killer. Or, if it did, no one knew that person was the killer.
She also noted the crime scene tape further in the garden and keep out signs posted close by. Still, it hadn’t kept people from showing up. It looked more like it had the opposite effect. Hazel couldn’t remember seeing that many cars here unless it was a wedding or another formal party.
"You think there are some clues around here?" Violet said, her eyes wide.
"I don't know," Hazel said truthfully. "It seems like a huge coincidence that two different teenagers died in two different dances at this Manor."
"Oh, right. Your sister said something about that girl that drowned."
Hazel nodded.
"Do you think they're related?" Violet whispered.
Hazel shrugged again. "It seems unlikely since they happened so far apart. The first one was an accident, but I don't know. Something about it bothers me."
"Your mom did say this place had bad energy."
Hazel couldn't
help rolling her eyes at that. "My mom says a lot of things. Most of them completely unbelievable."
Violet laughed. "I don't know. Some of that stuff is kinda neat. She did say that if I wanted a spirit board, I'd have to be trained properly first though. What does that entail?"
"I don't know, and I hope to never find out," Hazel said. She assumed it entailed an overabundance of sage and too many candles for her to be comfortable.
To her surprise, the tour was given by Tyson Bridger himself and not one of the lowly tour guides.
He smiled at the overflowing group, the same thin, condescending smile Hazel remembered from the night of the dance. "It seems that many of the people working last Friday are off speaking with the police. Which means we’re short staffed. I'm sure you heard about the tragedy that occurred here the other night. We are carrying on the tours as usual, even if I, the owner, have to give them."
He didn’t say what the tragedy was, and Hazel wondered why.
The tour began the way she remembered as a child. Tyson led them through the great Manor’s parlor, dining room, sitting room, and the study, and explained the history of the house.
Mr. Rockwell was the mining magnate who got rich during the Gold Rush and was one of the first to build a summerhouse at Lake Celeste. It was a sprawling mansion and the entire grounds were more than fifty acres of lakefront property. Though it had long since been cut back to a meager ten. Tyson explained that with a strong hint of disdain in his voice.
Hazel already knew the history since she'd been on the tour often enough, but she didn't remember the tour guides bringing up the tragic past so readily as Tyson Bridger did.
"And then Mrs. Rockwell died on the premises the second summer they were here. A tragic quick illness took her, and her husband was bereaved, as you can imagine. He closed up the house for fifteen years and didn't return. Though, his daughter stayed, from time to time. In the 1920s, his eldest daughter moved her family to the house and it was reinvigorated. Opened for parties and whatnot."
Hazel wrinkled her nose.
Along with the history of the Manor, Tyson also explained the pieces of priceless antiques and art that decorated it. He went on at length about the Ming vases and the one-of-a-kind wallpaper. Every item was absolutely priceless, according to him.
Hazel looked at each of them and wondered as she did when she was a girl, what it would be like to live among such opulence. It felt distinctly uncomfortable to her now. To always be worried about tripping and breaking some irreplaceable vase. It would never be comfortable enough to be called home, she thought.
"That one is worth over one million," Violet whispered at her and pointed at one of the vases on display.
Hazel blinked at it. It didn't look like much, with its blue and white floral design. She was pretty sure her mom had a vase that was similar, one her father had brought home from one of his many trips. And she was also sure he didn't have a million dollars to spend on it.
"How do you know?"
Violet grinned and pulled out her cell phone. She’d been taking photos of the interior, including the many priceless antiques, whenever Tyson Bridger wasn’t looking.
Hazel snorted. Sheriff Cross’s niece liked to appraise art while they were on a tour.
That did remind Hazel of something though. The conversation she’d heard the day they found Brandon's body. Tyson had been talking to a woman about increasing the insurance on the mansion itself. She hadn't noticed any of the expensive pieces moved to a different place during the dance. They'd all been on display, just like usual, but why would he leave a million-dollar vase on display when he had a house full of teenagers?
That didn’t make sense.
Hazel wouldn't even leave teenagers alone with her camera equipment, if she could help it.
The tour of the house ended in the ballroom, the same place most of the dance had occurred. On the mantel of the great fireplace there was a squat vase on one end, blue and white like the others, but the other end of the fireplace was empty.
Yet Hazel swore there'd been a vase there on the night of the dance. Maybe one of them had broken.
"Excuse me, was there another vase over there?" she asked.
Tyson's lips pursed, and he let out a disgusted snort. "It’s not a vase, it’s a Nara era oil lamp. And there was. Unfortunately, it disappeared the same night as the dance. I'm not exactly sure what happened myself. But don't worry, the police are looking into it. Although, it's not at the top of their priority list," he said and sounded disgruntled. As if the search for a murderer was less important than the search for a Nara era oil lamp, whatever that was.
Hazel nodded.
The final part of the tour took place in the outbuildings near the lake. There were a few different old carriage houses, but the one near the garden wasn’t part of the museum. According to Mr. Bridger, it was currently used for storage. The one guests could visit, closer to the lake, housed a restored coach and a few classic automobiles.
Then there was the prize of the entire collection, according to Tyson, the boathouse. It was filled with one-of-a-kind boats carved for the Rockwell family specifically. They didn't look like anything particularly special to Hazel, but then she was no boat connoisseur.
"This fleet is incomplete. There used to be twelve one-of-a-kind yachts here. And now there are only eleven. The smallest of the bunch capsized several years ago," Tyson explained.
The members of the tour whispered amongst themselves, and Violet raised her hand as if she were in class. "It says on the plaque that they've hardly been used because it would ruin them. So how did it capsize?"
Tyson looked as if he were sucking on a lemon. "It was an unfortunate incident during another high school dance. The boat sits at the bottom of the lake now."
After that, the tour dispersed, and Hazel waited until Tyson and the others wandered away before she headed toward the gardens.
"That's how it capsized. It's the same as the girl who drowned. She was on that priceless yacht." Violet held up her phone to show Hazel an article.
Hazel squinted at the screen. She’d need to enlarge it to read it properly but made a note to do so later. "Yet he didn't even mention somebody died. He was more concerned about the boat."
Violet nodded. "Yeah. He seems like a real sourpuss."
Hazel snickered. She couldn’t argue with that.
Once they got to the area the crime scene tape had been draped across, she carefully ducked underneath it. "Don't tell your uncle we’re sneaking into a crime scene," Hazel said with a smile.
Violet smiled back. "I wouldn't dream of it. You know how he gets. Way up tight. Not like you. You're pretty cool, Hazel."
Hazel was sure her cheeks flushed, and she shrugged it off. "Thank you. You are pretty cool too."
She didn’t add the last bit: Especially for a teenager.
They made it to the center of the hedge maze easily by following the crime scene tape. Still, it was easier with Anthony Ray, but Hazel had left him at home that day. She wondered if Sheriff Cross would let her come back with her cat to peek around again.
Although it had been several days, the same heavy unplaceable floral scent still hung in the air. The rosebush Brandon’s body had been discovered on was partially crushed, and dried blood clung to the thorns.
"This is pretty morbid, even for me," Violet said and snapped a photo of the dried blood with her cell phone.
The thought of the cell phone brought Hazel here. If they could find Brandon Sizemore’s cell phone, maybe they would know something more about his death. There had to be a reason it was missing, and if the killer took it, they might never find it.
Hazel sighed and looked around. She peeked under the hedges and looked for anything the deputies may have missed.
A sign of disturbed soil.
Something!
So many people had walked through there it was hard to tell where the killers footsteps had been. Hazel went out of the maze a different way than she’d c
ome in, and Violet followed behind.
"We didn’t go this far last time," she whispered.
Hazel nodded. "The deputies probably did though."
But Sheriff Cross never said they found anything. So why did she think she could?
She was about to give up. One more turn in the maze and then—
Hazel turned and came upon something she didn’t expect. A staircase that led up a rise in the landscape. It was stone and steeper than she thought it had a right to be. The ground near it looked like the rest of the gravel, as if it was walked on regularly, but the steps themselves were swept clean. Not a single branch or leaf marred them.
"Is it just me or are these steps too clean to be outside?" she asked Violet.
Violet took a photo and shrugged. "It hasn’t rained in a while, so I guess. What do you think?"
Hazel sighed. "I don’t know yet. I thought we might find his phone, but no luck there. Let’s head back. I'll buy you a cupcake, in exchange for keeping this last bit from your uncle," she said with a forced smile.
Violet agreed, but as soon as they walked out of the garden, they ran into Tyson Bridger.
He was looking at the crime scene tape with that sour expression that turned bitter when he spotted them. "I see the keep out signs don't mean anything to you," he said and put his hands on his hips. He was wearing the same navy suit, but he’d replaced his slick oxfords with a pair of green gardening boots and held a pair of brown mud-stained gloves in his hands.
"The sheriff asked us to look and snap a few more photos of the scene," Hazel said and gave a quick glance to Violet. She seemed unperturbed by the lie.
Tyson’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't question her further. "And the young lady is your assistant? I thought it was that pudgy fellow from the other night."
"I'm new, just learning the ropes. And the sheriff is my uncle so. . ." Violet said with a shrug.
Tyson's expression had so much vinegar in it he looked in danger of pickling himself. "Well, I would like some official word next time you want to go poking around on my property, crime scene or not. You know how ridiculous this is. How am I supposed to host weddings when they have half of my land quartered off? Not to mention the downturn in business. I have a home to pay for. Do you have an idea how expensive an historical Manor is to maintain?"