Mysteerie Manor

by Sharon Hays

  “I’m glad it’s you. I was a little wary, wondering who would be coming at this hour, but then I remember you said you’d be checking in on us. I’m glad you did. I feel better knowing the police are doing their job,” she jested.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He walked inside, half-smiling, and took off his hat. “I would like to share some information about the incident at Bishop’s Real Estate. The front desk at Boulder Hospital said you took Mrs. Bishop home, so I came over. Is she doing okay?”

  “Yes, she’s doing quite well considering the earlier incident. I just sent her to my guest room so she could get some rest. She has obviously had a hard day, and we both have to be awake by six a.m. for a meeting with Mrs. Dirkshire. She is going to be fine, according to the doctors. Nice of you to ask. What did you find out?”

  “The suspect, we think, is a relative of Mr. Farthington, the deceased owner of Valencia Manor, a distant cousin. Name is Harold J. Arnold. We are investigating it, but don’t know too much yet, about why he’s in town. We’re waiting for more information on his history. We’ll let you know when we can release the information. We found an envelope right outside the back door of Joan’s office with his name on it. Seems he broke the window and unlatched the door from there. We did a little research to find that Harold is the same man who was recently released from Colorado State Prison after ten years, for assault and robbery. Can’t locate him, yet. He’s keeping himself out of sight for the time being, but we’ll find him, so try to get some rest.” He turned toward the door as he put his hat on and looked back with concern. “Lock the door behind me, and we’ll keep an eye on your house and Mrs. Bishop’s office.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. Have a good night, and be careful. Talk to you tomorrow, Detective Ramos.”

  Maryanne locked the door behind him. She went into the guest room to check on Joan, who by then, had pulled the comforter up around her chin, eager to let the day’s events melt away from her thoughts.

  “Are you doing all right, Joan? Need anything?” Maryanne double-checked the locks on her windows and pulled the shades tighter.

  “Yes Maryanne. I think I’ll be able to get some good sleep, thanks to you.”

  Maryanne thought about Detective Ramos and how long it had been since she had even been attracted to anyone.

  “He is so cute, don’t you think, Joan? Officer Ramos, I mean.”

  “To tell you the truth, I hadn’t given it much thought, but now that you mentioned it, yes, I will have to agree with you.” She chuckled a little and started to bury her face into the comforter. “Good night, Maryanne.”

  “Sleep well, Joan. I’ll wake you in the morning around six.” She double-checked the door locks, turned out the lights, and left Joan to catch up on some well-needed rest. Then she retired to her room and fell soundly asleep.

  3

  Sounds of spring were alive and well, as music from birds echoed outside the window, and sunlight poured into the room. Joan opened her eyes, yawned and stretched her arms back against soft pillows. Sunlight stole across the floor through a small window at the top of the room, well above the others, where there was no need for blinds or curtains. She was so relaxed and comfortable, that getting out of bed was the last thing on her mind. She eventually made it into the shower, using a fragrant strawberry bath-gel that transformed into luscious creamy foam. After the relaxing interlude, she covered herself in body lotion, finished her daily ritual of hair and makeup, and then prepared for the meeting with Mrs. Dirkshire.

  “I could stay here all day, but duty calls,” she thought aloud. She poked her head out of the room to see if Maryanne was up yet, and there was no activity in the rest of the house. Joan finished blow-drying her hair and carefully applied her makeup, covering what was left of the abrasion from the attack. She was thankful Maryanne remembered to grab her makeup bag. Yesterday’s unexplained events seemed to disappear for the moment as she prepared herself to face the world for another day. Her head ached a little, but nothing compared to last night’s throbbing. A Tylenol would do the trick.

  Meanwhile, at the other side of the house, Maryanne woke suddenly out of a dream in which she was running, but going nowhere. She was covered in a cold sweat, and lay there a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. Throwing back the covers, she sat up, looked out of the window to a beautiful day, and the dream quickly faded from her thoughts. She wrapped a white chenille robe around her shoulders, stepped into fuzzy slippers, and headed straight into the kitchen. Coffee was the only thing on her mind right now; not the dream or the house, only hot, aromatic coffee. To Maryanne, coffee was the ultimate beverage. She easily consumed four cups or more every day, and usually it was more.

  “Good morning, Maryanne,” Joan entered looking bright and refreshed, considering her encounter at the office. She was wearing a blue cashmere sweater and straight leg jeans.

  “You look so much better this morning. Last night you were quite pale. Is your head feeling better? I notice the bandage is gone, and I don’t see the injury.”

  “Yes, I do feel better. Makeup does wonders.” She chuckled. “The meeting is still on. I am actually surprised that I feel this good. I just took two Tylenol, and the headache is almost gone already, but first things first. Just let me at it.” She picked a dangling mug off the iron tree that stood next to the counter. “I slept like a rock. I had to pry myself out.” She pushed her hair back and eyed the coffee pot. “This should get me going.” Joan smiled, filled her cup and then tasted the coffee. “Yummy. Good stuff, Maryanne.”

  “Thank you, Joan. Glad you like it. Detective Ramos stopped by last night and filled me in on the alleged intruder. Seems it was possibly a cousin of John Farthington’s, by the name of Harold J. Arnold, who was recently released from prison. Apparently he had done time for assault and robbery. They haven’t found him, yet but they know he’s in the area and have been searching for him. They found a letter with his name on it outside your office in the back, where he came in”

  Joan took a seat on a barstool at the kitchen nook, as she let out a deep breath, relieved to hear they had received some news on the intruder. “Let’s just hope they find him before he tries it again.”

  “Yes. Hopefully things will move along quickly, so you will be safe. Until then, you are very welcome to hang out here.”

  “I’ll give it some thought and appreciate the offer, Maryanne. So let’s get going and meet Mrs. Dirkshire. I’m almost ready. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Hopefully, she will fill us in on some of the history of the Farthington family and the Valencia.”

  The fragrance of cinnamon and spice filled the room as Maryanne held the steaming pot over Joan’s mug. She poured another cup, and watched as it swirled against the oversized cup. Joan breathed in the tempting aroma.

  “Now this is what I’m talkin’ about. Better than any beverage ever created for breakfast, or anytime, as far as I’m concerned!”

  “I second the motion,” Maryanne answered as she poured herself a second cup.

  “Now it’s time to get down to business. We have to meet her at seven, so we should get going.”

  “I’ll be ready in about ten minutes,” Maryanne answered.

  Fifteen minutes later they hurried off toward Pearl Street and Joan’s office. As they drove into the parking lot, they could see an old, white Cadillac sitting in a parking spot close to the office door. A small, elderly woman opened the door and pulled herself out of the car. She was a wiry little thing with cotton white hair all neatly stacked into a bun at the top of her head. Wire rimmed glasses adorned her smiling face, and rosy cheeks topped it off like cherries on ice cream. She was barely five feet tall. No bigger than a minute, Maryanne was thinking. They both wondered how she could even see over the hood of that huge, old car. She used a small cane, carried a worn leather satchel under her left arm, and took careful steps toward them, beaming.

  “Hello, ladies.” She spoke in a quiet, wispy voice. “I am Irene, Mr. Farthin
gton’s younger sister. Irene Dirkshire. I am very pleased to meet you.” She stopped, held the cane with her left hand, and reached out in a friendly gesture.

  “Hello, Irene. This is Maryanne O’Donnell, and I’m Joan Bishop. Maryanne is the woman I told you about who is interested in the Valencia Manor.” As they shook hands, Maryanne thought how tiny and frail Irene’s hand felt in hers.

  “Let’s go inside, and I’ll make refreshments for us while we talk.” Joan took Irene’s arm, helping her up the stairs to the office. Once inside, she steered her to a comfortable chair and held her cane until she sat down. “I’ll be right back with refreshments. Maryanne will keep you company.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bishop.” She settled back in the armchair and guarded the worn black satchel, holding it close to her chest. Her tiny fingers clutched the bag. “So you are the young lady who is interested in the house, are you?”

  “Yes. I saw it yesterday and only made it to the door; didn’t go inside. It was quite dark, and the lights weren’t working. I did go into the basement though, but got a little spooked. It was dark and dingy down there so I go out quickly. I do want to go back soon. Anxious to go inside. Hope I’m not being too forward by asking, but why has the house been let go for such a long time? Why let it get so run down?”

  “Not at all, my dear. It has been a long time since my brother lived there. He became ill about eight years ago, and he was too weak to keep the property up. Moved in with me in Lyons, just outside of Boulder. I took care of him as best I could until he passed away last week. He was eighty-eight years young. I am eighty-one years young and have lived in the same house for fifty-two years. My husband passed away ten years ago at eighty-six, and I was alone until my brother, John, moved in with me. I’m sure gonna miss him. Don’t like bein’ alone, ya know. He had a little Alzheimer’s, but not too extreme. He was good company for me, and I liked helping him out. He had a hard time remembering some people, but he always knew who I was.”

  “I am sorry about your loss and hope things go easier for you, Mrs. Dirkshire.” Both Joan and Maryanne were touched by her story.

  “At my age, I’ve been through a few deaths and other hard life experiences. Enough to toughen one up a bit, I suppose. I knew for some time that John would not last much longer, so I had plenty of time to prepare myself. Still, it’s never easy. I will be just fine though. We older ones have much thicker skins, and when you’re my age, you’ll understand what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Well ladies, I have coffee or tea and some tasty cookies. Take your pick.” Joan entered the room with a tray of delicious pastries. Setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of the couch, she opened the sugar bowl. “One lump or two?”

  “Two lumps for me, please. How nice of you to bring refreshments. I love a good cup of tea.” The phone rang and jolted Maryanne, so she answered leaving Joan to speak with Mrs. Dirkshire.

  “Hello, Bishop Real Estate…Yes she is Detective Ramos. Just a moment, I’ll get her for you. Joan, its Detective Ramos.” Joan got up and excused herself from Mrs. Dirkshire, walked to the desk, and picked up the phone.

  “Hello, Detective.”

  “Mrs. Bishop, we have a little more information on your attacker. Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course.” She eagerly listened.

  “We think he’s a relative of the Farthingtons, and he was in prison until two months ago. We are working on some leads, and we’ll get back to you as soon as we know more. The man had been living at the Super Eight Motel, out-side of Brighton. We verified that his name is Harold J. Arnold, as I mentioned last night. Be careful, and don’t stay alone tonight. We’ll keep an eye out.”

  Joan hung up the phone and turned to the two women who were sitting in anticipation of the news. “They work fast. They think they found the man who attacked me. They are pretty sure his name is Harold J Arnold. Mrs. Dirkshire, do you know him?”

  She thought about it a moment, then said, “I know who he is, but he hasn’t been in touch, since long before he was sent to prison. We used to talk once in awhile but not too much. He is a distant cousin of my Brother John’s late wife, Sarah. Right after the robbery, they sent him away. He was never very close to us anyway. Sort of a black sheep, you know. He and John, my brother, never had much to do with each other. Both Harold’s parents are gone, but they left him a little money, which went fast. Too much gambling and drinking, you know. There was bad blood between him and my brother because of things that happened years ago. I do not know the gist of it, but it was not anything good. My brother would never tell me much. Only that Harold was a bad seed, and I took him seriously. John, my brother I mean, just told me to steer clear of him, so I did, for the most part.” Irene sat there for a moment looking out the window. A tear followed the creases in her face as it fell down her cheek when she recalled those memories of her and her brother when they were younger. “You know, we haven’t even read the will yet. I do know my brother did not want a funeral, or for us to make a big fuss after he passed. He was quite content until he died and kept pretty much to himself, except for me. He did some writing through the years, which I have yet to read.

  This may be a good time to do that as well. After his wife passed away, he was just not the same. Became serious and quite a loner. Used to have some friends around here, but most of them are gone now. Most of our family is gone, too, except for Harold and one other cousin over in Tallahassee. I never got to know him, but as the story goes, he was pretty well off and well educated as well. Don’t know much about him except he was married and divorced. Don’t know if he had kids or not. Name is Frank Sorenson. That’s about it. Hope I have helped some.”

  Maryanne sat, immersed in Irene’s story, taking in the information like a sieve.

  “However, the main reason I came over here, is about his property,” Mrs. Dirkshire said. “I have information about the Valencia Manor you may find interesting and helpful.” She opened the tattered satchel, brought out some old papers, pictures, and files, and laid them across the table. They were yellowed with age. Some pages were slightly torn in the creases, with a few watermarks here and there. “There may be some information on the Manor and I don’t know what else, but let’s find out. I figured, since he’s gone, that I wouldn’t feel like I was snooping. I never opened this before, ya know, private stuff of John’s and all. The will is with the attorney, Mr. Deleon. The attorney said he would review the last will and testament with me next week. He said the only thing left was the Valencia and what’s inside. There’s probably no money, from what I could gather, but you never know. Once my attorney goes through everything, I’ll know a lot more. Once we go through all of the papers and research that was done, we’ll be able to answer some of those questions, as well.”

  Joan and Maryanne began flipping through the papers and files. “Here’s something,” Maryanne said. “It looks like an old baptism certificate for Francine Farthington. Who is that? Here is a death certificate for Francine Angelica Farthington. She died when she was quite young, in nineteen fifty-six. Do you know anything about her? What happened?” Maryanne was full of questions.

  “John and his wife Sarah had a child, and she died with complications due to a heart condition, so the story goes. That was Francine Angelica. She was a little angel at that. She was only seven years old. John was devastated. He really wasn’t the same after that. He and Sarah stayed together, but they were never close like before. Sarah, mentally torn apart by the tragedy, pulled away from everyone. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but since it is a criminal investigation, I guess it’s the proper thing to do.

  John Farthington took a lover, Jacqueline Doubré, not long after the death of his and Sarah’s daughter. Another daughter, Rosaria Marie, was born of the affair, and John was the happiest I had ever seen him—until his wife found out. John’s wife went somewhat crazy when she learned of the affair and the child. She threatened to divorce him and take the business, house, and money. She would hav
e cleaned him out, and John needed security, I guess more than love, it appears. She forced John to send Jacqueline and the baby to California. John withdrew after that, and never came out of it. Real sad thing. John was a good man, but when it all happened, it really changed him. She almost left him, but stayed after all. The whole thing was a tragedy, for sure. He told me he never saw Jacqueline after he sent her and the child away, but did contact her a few times with letters.” Mrs. Dirkshire went on, as the two women listened attentively.

  “Apparently John had another child later with his wife, Sarah when she was forty-nine. The child was supposedly born in nineteen seventy-four. Her name is Edwina Rafael. I saw her a few times when she was very young, until she was about the age of six. Then John didn’t come around anymore, and we lost contact for several years. I called him, but he just wanted to be left alone. John was really a good man, just seemed so unhappy after he sent Jacqueline away. He stayed with Sarah until she passed away. She was only fifty-four. It was a heart problem, but as far as I am concerned, it was from a broken heart. That’s the way I saw it. No one seems to know where Edwina is, and John would never tell me anything about her. John said they had a family squabble when Edwina was a very young woman, and never got over it. After Sarah passed away, John was like a recluse. He hardly ever went anywhere except to buy necessities. Then he got sick and finally ended up in Lyons, with me taking care of him until he passed away last week. He never talked about his daughter Edwina at all. If I asked him anything, he just clammed up and didn’t want to talk about her. If you ask me, she may have died by now, in an accident or something. No one has heard anything from her to this day. John said she left and never got in contact with either of them after that. That family feud must have been a bad one, that’s all I have to say. Then there was our Brother, Charles, who stayed in England most of his life. He came to visit John and me for awhile during that time. I am not sure, but I think he had been involved with Jaqueline Doubre’ prior to his return to England, to take care of some business. He had planned to return, but never did. I found out later through relatives there, that he passed away several years later and had not contacted us at all before that. We had no idea he passed away for several months after it happened. Apparently it was his heart. Runs in the family, you know.”