A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  "Yes.do. I'd like to do some in-depth exploring."

  They spent another five minutes saying their good-nights before Helen reluctantly rang off. She stood near the phone, pushing down the urge to call him back. The disconnection left her feeling strangely alone and isolated. Which is ridiculous, she told herself. Claire is next door. The house is full of family. No reason at all to be afraid.

  Thinking about her unease, she realized it wasn't fear, but an odd restlessness she couldn't quite put a name to. J.B. had mentioned a second sight, a sixth sense or intuitive nature. Helen had a very strong intuitive nature. The problem was she could sense something brewing but didn't know what it was or who or what she should be concerned about.

  Years ago, Helen had shared her frustrations with a dear friend who later became a nun. Hope had said, "It is the nudging of the Holy Spirit, Helen. It isn't our job to ask why. It is our job to pray."

  "How can I pray when I don't know what to pray about?" Helen had asked.

  "God knows."

  Helen looked at the ceiling. "I know that's true," she told God, "and I will pray. I just wish you'd give me a clearer sense of what or who to pray for. In the meantime I think I'll go back downstairs and check on Uncle Paddy."

  Going back to the bedroom, she slipped on her terry robe and made her way down to the first floor. She tapped lightly on his door and was surprised when he responded. At his request she entered.

  He was sitting in a high-backed chair in front of a fireplace, reading. Motioning her to a chair next to his, he said, "Thought you'd gone to bed."

  "Not yet. I called J.B."

  "And how are things at home?"

  "Going well. J.B. is planning to come up this weekend."

  "Good. I take it you're happy with him?"

  "Very much so."

  Helen eyed the tray on the table beside him that held a full cup of milk, a couple of pills, and an inhaler. "You haven't had your milk yet."

  "Too hot. It should be cooled by now." He took a sip and set the cup back. "Would you like me to have Hillary bring you some?"

  "No, thanks. I should go. I wanted to make sure you were okay. My intuition is acting up, and you were my first concern."

  "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine. I'll be taking my pills, drinking my milk, and going to bed."

  Helen watched him drop two cubes of sugar into the warm milk and asked, "How's your head?"

  "Hard as ever, I expect. Now, don't you be worrying yourself.

  The worst thing that can happen is that I'll die in me sleep. An event I'll gladly welcome."

  He chuckled when Helen opened her mouth to protest. "You mustn't waste your time worrying about me, lass. I'm an old man. Save your concern for Richard and Claire. They'll be needing it far more than I."

  He downed the capsules with his milk, then shuffled to the door. "If it makes you feel better, I'll be locking my door tonight. You might want to do the same."

  Helen left the room. When she heard the lock click, she moved on. Not to her room, but to Hillary's. Her encounter with Paddy and his comment about dying left her feeling uncom­fortable. She tapped lightly on Hillary's door.

  "Who is it?"

  "Helen."

  The door opened about six inches. From what little Helen could see, she was in a blue flannel nightgown. "Yes?"

  "I hope I didn't wake you."

  "No. Would you like to come in?"

  "I don't want to trouble you. I need to ask you something about Paddy."

  Alarm filled her hazel eyes. "What is it? Everything is all right, isn't it? He was fine when I left him." She pulled the door fully open and stepped into the hall.

  "He's okay. I was just wondering—he took two pills, an orange one and a lavender one."

  "And?"

  "I was just wondering if that's something he does every night."

  "It is. One's for his blood pressure; the other is a sleeping pill. Why do you ask?"

  "I'm sure it's nothing, but I can't seem to shake the feeling that something is amiss." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Hill. I'm probably just overly tired from the trip and with all that's been going on.

  Hillary nodded. "Believe me, I understand the feeling. Been having trouble sleeping myself. Trouble is we can't watch him every minute. For one thing he won't stand for it." She leaned forward and whispered, "But I do have the intercom. Paddy doesn't know about that. Got it so I could hear him during the night."

  "That's a relief." She frowned. "But his door is locked."

  "I have a key. If need be, I can get in."

  "Well, then. I guess I'll go to bed."

  Helen waited until Hillary closed her door before heading back down the hallway. The woman's reassurances hadn't helped much. Helen had checked on Paddy and there really wasn't much more she could do other than plant herself outside his room and stand guard all night.

  Telling herself she was being ridiculous, she followed the dim night-lights that had been set at intervals at foot level. Helen found her way back to the stairs in the great hall. She paused on the first stair. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She turned, expecting to see someone watching her. The only gaze to meet hers was the one an artist had painted on Mary's face nearly a century ago. Though only consisting of oils and an artist's talent for realism, Mary's eyes held Helen hostage. In an instant, an inexplicable heart-stopping instant. Something seemed to pass between them.

  Without pausing to analyze it, Helen jerked away and ran up the stairs, slowing only when she reached the safety of her bedroom.

  Lying in bed, Helen tried to read the Bible, but Mary's face, her penetrating, almost pleading gaze, clouded her mind, demanding attention. She closed the book and turned out the light, praying for everyone she could think of in an effort to change the picture her mind refused to release. Through it all, like a song in replay mode, Mary's haunting image remained. Helen finally let go and allowed her thoughts free rein. Breathing long, deep, relaxing breaths, she focused on the image instead of wishing it away. Maybe facing the fear would help.

  God, why can't I get her out of my mind? Are you trying to tell me something?

  There was no response, but then Helen hadn't expected one. Little by little the image faded until it disappeared completely, leaving Helen feeling foolish. She'd been as impressionable as a child who was afraid of the dark.

  She slept then, only to be awakened at two a.m. by someone playing a radio. She thought at first it must be a dream. She imagined herself and J.B. in front of their fireplace in each other's arms listening to the enchanting melody from years gone by.

  A scraping sound above her brought her bolt upright in bed. Turning on lights as she went, Helen hurried to Claire's room. She pressed her ear to the door, then jumped back as it opened.

  Claire, wild-eyed and hair sticking out in every direction, sucked in a wheezy breath. "Oh, Helen. Thank God it's you." Claire grabbed Helen's arm. "Do you hear it? It's Mary."

  "Claire, get ahold of yourself. Someone's radio alarm must have gone off."

  "N-no. It's her. Listen."

  Strains of an old tune Helen couldn't place reminded her of songs her mother had listened to and loved.

  "There's an old phonograph in her room."

  "Claire, don’t do this to yourself."

  "You don't believe me."

  "I believe someone wants us to think it's Mary. Why don't we go upstairs and look?"

  Claire pressed her hands to her chest. "All right." She inhaled heavily. "We'll do it."

  "Do you have a flashlight?"

  "No, but there are some candles in my room. There are some in yours too. We keep them handy in case of power outages."

  With each of them holding a candle and their collective breaths, they ascended the stairs to the fifth floor. A flickering sliver of light peeked out from under Mary's sitting room door. Helen's heart hammered far more furiously than it should.

  Hadn't Claire said there was no electricity up here? That meant someone
had lit a candle and was in the room at that very moment.

  She took a deep breath and gripped the doorknob, wincing at the groan the door made as it opened. The music stopped. The light had been extinguished. Helen listened for sounds of footsteps but heard nothing. She inhaled, expecting to smell the sulfur from an extinguished wick, but smelled only the faint scent of lilacs. "There's no one here."

  "She could be. You can't see them, you know."

  Helen ignored the ghostly reference. "Whoever was in here must have heard us coming and slipped into the bedroom or onto the balcony."

  "Or disappeared into thin air."

  Helen leaned toward her and whispered, "Stay here while I have a look around." She tiptoed across the room and peeked into the bedroom. She saw no one but hadn't really expected to. Their so-called ghost must have escaped down the back stairs. With the back stairs so close, he or she would be long gone.

  Helen walked through the bedroom and opened the door leading to the servants' stairs. Her meager flame flickered. From a breeze perhaps. She retreated back inside and went back to where Claire waited.

  Claire grabbed Helen's hand. "It's cold up here. Let's go."

  "In a minute. I'd like to see where that music was coming from."

  In the sitting room, Claire led her to the far corner and pointed to an old crank-style phonograph with an external horn that sat atop a rosewood cabinet. Had the music come from it?

  "Do you know how to play the phonograph?"

  "Y-yes."

  "Let's see what's on it."

  The disk label read Irish Melodies.

  Claire nervously began to turn the crank. It turned, but the disk didn't. "I don't understand. It should work."

  "Maybe Mary broke it."

  "That's not funny."

  Upon closer examination Helen noticed a cord running from an electrical outlet to the machine. "No wonder the crank doesn't work. Someone's converted it to electric."

  "But that's impossible. Dad would never do that. Besides, there's no electricity up here yet. Remember?"

  "Maybe they put it in since you were last here. When was the last time you played it?"

  'Right after Dad bought the place. Before we discovered that Mary was still here."

  Helen looked for and found a switch at the back and flipped it to one side. The disk turned and the song they'd heard earlier filled the room with its hollow sound. She turned it off. "There's definitely electricity." Helen looked around for a light switch but found none. "We'll have to ask your dad about it in the morning. Knowing him, he probably set all this up and is operating the machine by remote control to make everyone think there's a ghost."

  "You're wrong, Helen." Claire turned away and left the room.

  As if to prove her point, a gust of cold air swirled around Helen, dousing her candle and leaving her in the dark.

  Chapter Twelve

  Her pounding heart was about the only part of her that had the wisdom to move. Holding her throat, she waited for her eyes to adjust. Light from a half-moon drifted through the open blinds, watering down the darkness with its soft translucent light. The floral design in the stained glass arched over the window, adding hints of color to the room. Helen moved closer to the light and let her gaze hover over the landscaped gardens and harbor below. A gray fog lay near the surface of the water, its obscure edges creeping onto the land and floating in the valleys.

  All was quiet now. Apparently the castle's ghost was finished for the night. She reveled in the normalcy of the moment, thinking about a phrase by C.T. Whitemell that she'd memorized. “In darkness there is no choice. It is light that enables us to see the differences between things; and it is Christ who gives us light.1'

  She stood there a long time, letting the light penetrate the darkness. Her gaze drifted back to the electrical cord and the wall outlet. A wry smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Some­one was indeed playing games. Paddy? Perhaps. Or Hillary. Or even Claire.

  The castle and its location contributed nicely to the special effects. The next phase would undoubtedly be a hologram. One could do so much these days to sway even the most devout skeptic. Well, she certainly wasn't falling for it.

  She sighed. Someone seems to be going to a lot of trouble to create the illusion that Werner Castle is haunted. The question is, why?

  Of course, the scheme might be a practical joke on her, but she'd never known the O'Donnell family to pull pranks of such magnitude. Paddy could have perpetrated the hoax to entertain his guests. Yet she doubted even her eccentric uncle would go so far as to steal a guest's brooch to prove the existence of a ghost. No, the ghost was a diversion for something far more sinister. At the moment theft seemed the obvious answer.

  Helen stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her. She doubted she'd be able to fall asleep again but vowed to try. Come morning she'd call the authorities herself and somehow get to the bottom of this bizarre set of circumstances.

  By seven-thirty the sun had risen, Helen had swum two miles' worth of laps, done her stretching exercises in the pool, and taken a long, refreshing shower. She'd awakened to a much brighter and clearer world. That was due in part to something she'd discovered in the hallway just outside of Mary's room at three that morning: a surveillance camera, evidence of Paddy's security system. She found several of the cameras, one in the public pool area and in the hallway on each floor. The cameras were motion activated. Which is how she'd found the first one.

  Stepping into the darkened stairway after leaving Mary's room earlier that morning, she'd heard a faint whirring sound. Her first impulse had been one of panic. She hugged the banister and risked a look around, then spotted the tiny red light. Hurrying back to her room, she relit her candle and went back for a closer look. A warm feeling of satisfaction coursed through her.

  The cameras didn't answer all of her questions, of course. In fact, they created more. She'd gone back to bed then and after another hour of tossing managed to fall asleep.

  What she didn't know but planned to find out soon was where the monitors were located. She suspected they were in the basement, as that was the only level she and Claire hadn't vis­ited. She dressed quickly now, slipping into a pale blue denim dress and Birkenstocks.

  Making a final check in the mirror, she adjusted some stray hairs and stepped into the sitting room.

  "Helen." Claire glanced up from a magazine. "Good morning." She looked much perkier, hair pulled back and clipped with a leather clasp.

  "It is, isn't it?"

  She scrambled to her feet. "I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have left you alone like that."

  "No need to apologize. I'm glad you did. Otherwise, I might not have discovered the cameras."

  Claire rubbed her forehead. "Cameras? I don't understand."

  "Apparently Paddy's security system includes surveillance cameras. You didn't know about them?"

  "No. I knew he'd put in a system, but I didn't pay any attention." She shuddered. "I'm not sure I like the idea of being watched."

  "True. But the surveillance tapes might tell us who's been in Mary's rooms. The cameras are motion activated, so if anyone was in the hallway or sneaking around, we should be able to see them on the tape. Do you know where your father has the monitors?"

  Claire shook her head. "I've never seen them."

  "Hmm. I wonder if the cameras were installed after that woman's brooch was stolen."

  "Good question. You'd think they'd have caught whoever took the money from Dad's safe too, unless whoever it was knew about the cameras and turned them off."

  "We'll find out soon enough. Let's go have breakfast. I'm starved."

  Tantalizing smells met them as they entered the great hall and made their way to the kitchen. Bypassing the dining room, Helen noticed the table had already been set. An assortment of muffins, bagels, and scones sat next to a centerpiece of fresh cut flowers.

  In the kitchen a platter of bacon, ham, and sausages sat atop the stove. Hillary, who was
stirring up a pan of scrambled eggs, grumbled a good-morning.

  "Can we help with anything?" Claire asked.

  To Helen's surprise, Hillary accepted the offer. "You might want to set the coffee and hot-water carafes on the table. There's a pitcher of orange juice in the fridge. Then, if one of you would be so kind, maybe you could ring the bell. Everyone seems to be moving slowly this morning."

  They split up the tasks. Claire went to the panel on the pantry wall, where she pressed an intercom button and announced in a formal voice, "Breakfast is being served in the east dining room."

  Then they helped Hillary with the serving dishes, placing the hot foods on a warming frame on the buffet.

  "Might as well go ahead," Hillary said. "They'll be coming eventually."

  "Aren't you eating with us, Hill?" Claire grabbed a plate and scooped up some eggs.

  "You go ahead. I’d better check on Paddy. It's not like him to sleep in so late. Must be all the excitement last night."

  "Excitement?"

  "Didn't you hear it? Mary was playing her music again."

  "We heard," Helen said. "In fact, we even went upstairs to her room."

  Hillary gasped. "You didn't."

  "We did. There was a light on. It went out and the music stopped as soon as we opened the door."

  "Well, I shouldn't wonder. You probably frightened her to death"

  Helen chuckled at that. "I thought the ghosts did the scaring, Hill."

  "Now, don't be making fun. You'd best be careful where you poke those noses of yours."

  "Did you know that someone put an electrical outlet in the room? The gramophone was hooked up to it."

  "I wouldn't know anything about that. Told you before, I don't go in there." Hillary set cream, sugar, and butter on the table. "Now if you'll excuse me, Paddy will be wanting his morn­ing medications and some coffee."

  "You really shouldn't tease her like that, Helen." Claire settled into a chair and unfolded her napkin.

  "I'm not teasing. I just think she knows more than she's letting on." Picking up a plate, Helen helped herself to a small slice of ham and a serving of scrambled eggs.