Murder Mansion

by M K Scott

  The iconic lightbulb practically glowed over her head before she reached for her purse and car keys. “Sorry, bud,” she murmured to her dog who stood close to the garage door with his tail whipping side to side like a flag caught in gale force winds. “You’re not going. Mama has a case.”

  No need to look at her dog who would have melted onto the floor, casting forlorn gazes worthy of a rescue pet commercial. Be strong. She admonished herself as she slipped into her car and started it. Of course, she needed to investigate what was happening, especially if it occurred on her property. Detective Taber, Mark, she corrected herself, could be closemouthed even when bribed with mouthwatering delicacies.

  No one cared about the inn the way she did. Most likely, the neighbors saw it as a harbinger of bad things to come. Anyone who read about it in a newspaper probably forgot about it within forty-eight hours. A few might remember it, those who watched crime dramas religiously and in turn expected a series of bizarre murders. The police saw it as a case. Nothing more, something that needed solving, the sooner, the better, which resulted in many murders pinned on surviving spouses, children, or exes. Quicker to find someone close by with a motive than do any deep research.

  Her car reversed down the driveway as she mulled over the possibility of a nearby person slapped with a murder rap in the name of expediency. Her head swiveled as she checked the street for traffic as she pulled out. The most expedient person to blame would be her since she called in the murder. No one suspected her, or did they?

  It could be the detective played a deep game, allowing her to think she wasn’t guilty and then pretended to like her just a little. The casual meeting in the mall could have been a set-up. For all she knew there could be a tracker on her car. Her foot depressed the accelerator, pushing the speed too fast for her residential neighborhood. Watch it. Her anger occasionally got the best of her. In that case, everyone took cover. Mount Vesuvius had nothing on her when she exploded.

  The route to the inn she could almost drive blindfolded considering the number of times she had driven by the place. A freight train’s whistle alerted her of the possibility of delay. Three engines chugged by as the safety arms went down, preventing any daredevils from sprinting across the tracks. Visual inspection of the cars ahead of her assured her that Mark had missed the holdup. He’d already be at the inn and possibly gone by the time she arrived. Her flat palm pounded against the steering wheel. Unfortunately, her impatience wouldn’t hurry the train along any faster.

  Typically, she counted the cars or admired the graffiti. The detailed artwork done in the dead of night surprised her. Why anyone worked that hard for something they couldn’t even claim amazed her. Today, she did neither. Instead, she replayed famous murder cases highlighted in the newspapers. For the most part, someone close did murder the victim. Usually the spouse or the soon-to-be-ex-spouse, which would make sense if the victim were hooking up with someone else.

  The image of the dead man shimmered and faded as she tried to recall it. It was becoming more like a dream upon awakening. “Really?” Her voice echoed in the car. The picture should stay burned into her memory forever. Sure, she could see him stretched out on the wood floor in his expensive clothes and flashy watch. What she couldn’t see was his left hand or his ring finger. Even married men knew enough to pocket their wedding ring when going to an assignation. Police never mentioned it, but they didn’t report to her, either. A thorough search may have discovered it tucked in his pants pocket.

  The train wheels clattering faded away as the crossing arms went up. The red digital numbers on her dashboard clock informed that a long twelve minutes had passed. Time enough to turn off her engine, although she hadn’t. The cars in front of her were hesitant to cross the tracks, afraid a speeding engine might appear with an ominous bright eye directed their way.

  “C’mon, folks.” Her muttering didn’t increase the other motorists’ speed. Finally, her turn came as she bumped over the crossing. Her foot tapped the gas only to move a grand two hundred yards before a traffic light blinked red. Everything conspired against her speedy checkout of her property.

  She seethed silently at the light until it turned green and she stomped the accelerator. Tires squealed near her as her car jumped into the intersection. Her head swiveled, looking for the offender until she realized by the other drivers’ expressions that it was her. Goodness, she sucked in her lips and used her burst of speed to get away from her silent accusers. After two blocks, she dropped to the speed limit well aware the section served as a speed trap.

  Her inn came into view along with a police car and the detective’s sedan. Great. What would she say? Mark leaned against his car with his arms folded, talking to a police officer. She slowed, wondering if she should drive on by. A wave in her direction signaled recognition, which meant she should stop. No help for it, she nosed her car in front of Mark’s.

  “What took you so long?” His question greeted her as she exited the car.

  “Train.” Might as well go with the truth since the man knew her intentions.

  “I knew you were coming so I stayed.” He winked.

  The man winked at her, or did he? It could be a facial tic that would be embarrassing if misinterpreted. He motioned to the house. “I had an officer watching the house when he spotted a possible break-in.”

  “Again? It’s like Grand Central Station and I haven’t even opened for business.”

  The young officer spoke up. “Looks like teenagers to me. They ran back home.” He angled his head to the surrounding houses. “Teens can be on the macabre side wanting to see where someone died and all.”

  Teens. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the young officer. How well did he follow up on the intruders? Did he actually see them? Probably too busy texting since he was little more than a teen himself. Before she could even form her question, the detective held up an open palm in her direction, halting any inquiry.

  A nearby slamming door caught her attention as a large poodle, trailed by its well-dressed male owners, left for a walk. Her gaze remained on the three. Didn’t they realize how obvious they were walking the dog whenever a police car appeared in the neighborhood? Then again, dogs needed to be walked, especially an oversized one. Her lips pulled to one side as she considered the dog walkers. Ideal people to question if they were out all hours walking Miss Prissy, the name she christened the dog with since it seemed to fit.

  A slight awareness danced across her skin, which always came when watched. A backward glance caught Mark’s hazel eyes focused on her while his expression didn’t reflect a trace of lust, but rather a weariness akin to dealing with a tiresome child or a wayward puppy. He shook his head slowly side to side, acting like he knew. How could he? Oh yeah, her lack of a poker face or the ability to fabricate. Need to work on those qualities.

  “Donna, if you promise not to hound your neighbors with impertinent questions, I’ll tell you about the attempted break-in.” The officer beside him made a distressed sound that he tried to muffle as a cough. Mark cupped her elbow and directed her away from the listening police officer and closer to her car.

  She’d listen since she hadn’t thought of an appropriate way to bump into her dog-walking neighbors yet. Next time, she’d load up Jasper. This would allow her a casual saunter through the neighborhood, where she could greet the dog lovers with a smile and a compliment for their dog since people loved it when you complimented their pet. It served as an accolade for the owner without the suspicion that usually accompanied the unmerited flattery. Somehow, she’d insert a remark about if they’d seen anything strange. Even with her dog as a prop, she couldn’t see the conversation flowing naturally to unknown dead men unless they brought it up. It could happen, though.

  “Here’s far enough.”

  The masculine voice interrupted her rehearsal of how she could lead the possible witness into confessing what he knew. Her eyebrows lifted as she considered Mark’s words, which sounded more like a command, causing an eyeb
row lift.

  Sensing her mood or at least guessing at her unspoken question, he angled his head in the direction of the officer, then the dog walkers. “It seems fair to me you should know details about who tried to break into your inn. Better to hear from me than go into all sorts of speculation that might have you camped out in the building trying to catch someone entering without a key.”

  The stranger had entered with a key or through an unlocked door. Camped out in the inn waiting for a possible follow-up visit. The thought had merit; except for whoever returned would be a murderer. What was the saying? Murderers always returned to the scene of the crime, which she always found a stupid action, rather like waving a red cape at a bull. Camp out, she’d have to remember that tidbit, even though the idea unnerved her as much as wading through a creek with water snakes in it.

  Feeling his gaze, she stumbled for an appropriate response. “Yeah, yeah, crazy. Who would do such a thing? Not me, that’s for sure. Have to be a wacko.” Her rambling denial stopped as his expression changed, causing his eyes to sharpen and his lips to tighten. He suspected her or her police drama addiction made her paranoid.

  “Donna,” he started and then let out a long sigh. “I like you. You’re a smart, capable, strong woman and a hell of a cook. There’s a great deal to admire about you.” A twinkle appeared in his eyes, causing the crow’s feet to deepen. One of his hands went into his pants pocket and rattled his change and keys.

  Talk about unexpected. Her shoulders went back and her head up as she preened under his flattery. Could be she had misread the man entirely. Never thought of herself as a femme fatale, but her brother reminded her on several occasions she still had her looks. Sometimes, she felt the mention served as a backhanded compliment to his own handsome appearance.

  “You’re also one of the most headstrong, bullheaded females I’ve ever encountered and I’ve met a few in my profession.”

  Her smile disappeared as her gaze latched onto Mark’s unconcerned demeanor. Was the man unaware he’d just uttered fighting words? Sure, she wouldn’t wrestle a police officer over a variation of a comment she’d heard more than a half dozen times from different lips. Of course, in the past she mentally had called it a compliment before blacklisting the speakers as people to avoid.

  The dog walkers drew closer; making her wonder if she should somehow signal Mark not to say anything. Bad enough a crime wave started when she took possession of the inn, but no reason for everyone to know the details. Without her saying a word, he stopped his litany on her stubbornness. “I do not see why you couldn’t start renovation work on the inn. You should be inside painting walls and buffing floors within twenty-four hours.”

  “That’s great!” Not as great as she liked since she worked day shift which left her little daylight in which to work. The thought of working alone in the house in full dark unnerved her. No use asking her brother since he had his own job and a new wife. Even having him drop by on weekends was a huge concession on Maria’s part. Still, if she hoped to be on schedule, work had to be done. Her mind raced as she weighed the prospect of being alone in a large, empty house that apparently wasn’t too hard to enter.

  The dog walkers sauntered by with a nod that Donna countered with an enthusiastic, “Good evening.” Her overly bright greeting made her wince as she realized she sounded more like a car salesperson running for political office. Yep, desperation and need had colored the two words. Right now, what she needed was for everyone to believe the inn posed no threat.

  One of the dog walkers gave her a startled glance and murmured “Evening” back. The other fussed with the dog’s ornate collar, which probably weighed down the canine’s neck. The price the dog paid for his owners’ need for excessive attention. Four steps carried them out of hearing range as Donna considered their observation skills. Did they see anything out of the ordinary? People analyzed everything in relation to themselves. A handsome man would garner notice from the two if only nudging them down the neighborhood hotness ladder. The stranger’s possible plan was not to attract notice by slipping in through the backyard, hiding in the shadow of the overgrown hedges. If nothing else, the neighbors should be thankful she’d step up the landscaping. The real estate agent’s curb appeal service included regular lawn mowing, but apparently nothing else.

  “I said that for our nosy friends, not you. It’s your house, but I don’t expect you to work alone or at night, especially alone at night.”

  Even though she’d agreed with his words as the skies darkened, her eyes still rolled upward. “It’s my house.” She felt the need to protest his high-handed manner. Who was he giving her orders? Her hands balled at her side as she shuffled her feet restlessly.

  “Yep,” he agreed, peering at something over her shoulder. “Wonderful, another inquisitive neighbor making a beeline to you.”

  The detective’s phone chirped at the same time silver-haired Herman reached her. Mark stepped back to take the call. Part of her medical training insisted she use the patient’s name in conversation. Studies showed it relaxed the patient and gave confidence in the care providers, all good. It also allowed to a certainty that the right person would get the appropriate medical procedure. No tabloid headlines for her hospital about amputations of the wrong limb or unexpected sexual reassignment surgery.

  “Herman, so nice to see you.”

  A huge grin stretched across his face. “Good to see you, too. I knew things were looking up with the possibility of a beautiful woman moving into the jewel thief hostel.”

  Her skin flushed at his substantial praise, a curse of the fair-skinned. Flattery served as the much-used tool of the elderly male, but the remark pleased her nonetheless, almost making her miss the rest of the sentence. “Jewel thief hostel?”

  “You mean you never heard the story?” he asked, playfully wiggling his eyebrows. A significant pause, along with the gleam in his eyes, evidenced his enjoyment of being a holder of such a tale.

  A quick look revealed Mark engaged in a phone conversation with much gesturing and grumbling, usually indicative of family or an ex. Just as well, there was no doubt the man would pooh-pooh the tale. Turning back to Herman, she nodded. “Do tell,” she urged with an avid look and placed her hands in front of her in a prayer-like position. She dropped them immediately, afraid it might be overkill.

  Herman chuckled, rubbing his hands together reminding her of a silent film star villain. “Back when your house was built another crime happened in the area. No one associated it with the house, which was under construction.”

  “What happened?” she prompted, wanting him to get on with his tale before Mark returned with his police protocol and debunked the whole thing. Even urban legends started for a reason.

  “Well, I may be old, but I wasn’t around when the house was built, but my grandfather and father were.” He stopped, apparently waiting for a commentary on his age.

  Yeah, people did that. She usually ignored it because it wasn’t pertinent to anything. Okay, think, what would Daniel say in such a situation. “Good heavens, a handsome gentleman like yourself couldn’t be more than sixty.” Warmth seeped up her neck, always a tell when she lied.

  Herman’s eyes twinkled; making her wonder if, he actually believed the words or enjoyed the comment no matter how brazen. A wheezing chuckle escaped as he shook his head. “Sixty is but a distant memory.”

  She tamped down an impulse to yell Get on with it by breathing in hard and holding her breath for a few seconds. Herman gave her a bewildered look but thankfully continued his story.

  “Around that time, there was an exhibition of precious gemstones and the Lowery diamonds.”

  Lowery diamonds, never heard of them, but part of her brain went on high alert similar to the way she responded to the various medical codes when at work. Whatever would follow merited her attention as opposed to humoring an elderly resident.

  Herman’s eyes drifted over her shoulder, making her wonder if he’d stop his tale if the law showed u
p in the form of Mark Taber. “The Lowerys were some type of British aristocracy I think. Anyhow, they were showing off their collection of precious gemstones in Charlotte when a daring jewel heist happened. The stones were stolen in a caper worthy of an action movie.”

  This is probably where the house tied in, but she wasn’t 100 percent sure. “Did they ever recover the jewels or find the thief?”

  “No and yes. That’s part of the mystery. The jewels were never found. A known jewel thief by the name of Corky Barnstable was the police’s primary suspect, but he didn’t have the jewels on him. Under extensive interrogation,” Herman paused to nod in the direction of the police car, “their methods might have been a tad extreme due to the theft being an international incident. Corky admitted he didn’t have the jewels but heard rumors that an unknown thief stole them and had headed in the direction of our small town.”

  “Why did he do that?” Whatever happened to the no-squeal rule among thieves? It didn’t sound right unless Corky had been in the deal originally and eliminated later.

  “Several reasons including not ending up in jail. Jail would have resulted from some trumped-up charges. Most people thought he was in on the crime, especially with what happened later.”

  “What happened?” She knew her response was as predictable as any child’s, but she wanted to know.

  “Nothing.” Herman shrugged.

  That couldn’t be the end of the story. A gleam appeared in Herman’s eyes, demonstrating he knew he’d left her on tenterhooks.

  Her hands balled into fists, which she perched on her hips. Her resolution to be softer, gentler and more understanding dissolved under the non-delivery of promised information. “That’s not all of it.”

  Herman half chuckled, but it turned into a cough. After clearing his throat several times, he continued. “Oh, that’s what the public thought. Even though my father was a youngster at that time he had a different theory. The newspaper story caught his imagination and he cut it out as he did with all remarkable news stories. Re-reading the stories helped him develop writing skills.”