by Jane Tesh
On my way home, I passed the TV and radio station. Three police cars were parked in the lot. I parked across the street and got out. The station had also had a break-in.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Maclin,” Chief Brenner said.
“What happened here?” I asked.
Benjy Goins looked with disgust at the piles of videotapes on the floor. “Can you believe this? If somebody wanted something, why didn’t they just ask?”
“What’s missing?”
“Nothing! That’s what’s so screwy. The guys and I counted, and all the tapes are here, they were just pulled out of the shelves and scrambled. It’s taken us all morning just to get them back in alphabetical order.”
“When did this happen?”
“Must have been early this morning. We’re not on all night, like some stations. We sign off at midnight. Elwood locks up. I come back at five for our six AM sign-on.”
Had the burglar been looking for a videotape? A videotape of what? I wondered.
Benjy smacked one fist in his hand. “I swear, if I find out who did this, I’m going to have their heads.”
Chief Brenner said, “We’re going to talk to several people today, Benjy. Don’t be making accusations over the airwaves.”
“I won’t, but I’d really like to.”
“Thank you.” Chief Brenner gestured to me. “Ms. Maclin, if I could have a word with you outside?”
I followed the chief to his patrol car. He folded his arms and leaned against the car. “Ms. Maclin, I’ve just had a call from Mrs. Peterson. Seems her daughter is very upset about Juliet Lovelace’s murder, and you are not helping the situation. Now, I asked you not to get involved in this. A murder and two break-ins in Celosia constitute a serious crime wave. I’d rather not have to worry about your safety, as well.”
“I just wanted to talk to Randi about the pageant. She’s let her imagination run wild about this murder.”
“And I believe you went to Ted Stacy’s office?”
“Ted called me to come over. Your men had already finished.”
Chief Brenner’s little eyes narrowed even further. “Please listen carefully, Ms. Maclin. Anyone involved in this case and any crime scene is now officially off-limits. You see the yellow tape, you stay on your side.”
“Yes, sir.”
After warning me off, he couldn’t resist asking me about my investigation. “Understand you talked with the Mitman girl this morning. Did she have anything useful to say?”
Since he wanted me to back off, then I didn’t see the need to share my information with him. “Just that Juliet wasn’t the most popular girl in the pageant.”
“The other contestants have all been cleared. There wouldn’t be any reason for you to talk to them about this.”
“May I ask one thing? Did the piece of fingernail I found belong to Juliet?”
“That has yet to be determined.”
As I started for my car, Chief Brenner said, “And where would you be heading now, Ms. Maclin?”
“To the Eberlin house.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Good day.”
***
When I stepped inside the Eberlin house, I didn’t recognize the living room. Gone was a trace of anything gray, from the light blue walls with white molding to the shiny wood floors. The old draperies had been taken down, so clean windows let in air and sunlight. Curved invitingly in the center of the room was a white sectional sofa with a scattering of blue cushions. Elegant lamps sat on end tables. A glass coffee table shaped like a large square was parked in front of the sofa. A new entertainment center gleamed from the corner by the fireplace. Over the mantel hung a modern art painting of multicolored flowers.
Jerry grinned. “What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous.”
He picked up a remote control from the coffee table and aimed it at the entertainment center. A dramatic bass voice began singing something operatic. “We’ve got cable, too.”
“And who’s paying for all this?”
He flopped down on the sofa. “Mr. Credit Card.”
“Eventually, you have to pay him back, too.”
“Once the Eberlin house gets going, that won’t be a problem.”
I joined him on the sofa. “Come on, Jerry. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing. I just wanted to fix things up.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a haunted mansion, not the cover of House Beautiful.”
“Now I’m thinking this will be perfect for a New Age retreat center.” He pointed to the painting. “Recognize that?”
I’d been too dazzled by the transformation to pay much attention to the painting. I took a closer look and shook my head in disbelief. “You kept it.”
“It’s my favorite.”
I approached the painting, now remembering each brush stroke, each layer of color. As a last touch, I’d added a blue crescent moon in the corner. “Blue Moon Garden,” I’d called it. Yes, there was the title, written very small in the bottom right hand corner, along with my name and the date. I remembered the day I’d finished the painting and proudly documented my achievement. It had been a hot sunny day like today. The art room windows had been open, adding smells of fresh paint and wet clay to the breeze. Jerry had leaned in one window. He’d been playing softball, his hair damp under his cap. I remembered how the sun on his face made his eyes almost transparent.
“That’s the best one yet, Mac,” he’d said.
I was going to be an artist.
“Fine,” my mother had said. “Throw away a perfectly good pageant career.”
I let my hair and my clothes go wild, but even then people would approach with offers. Miss Collegiate Queen. Miss All-Campus Cutie. I politely refused, wanting to scream. Was “Beauty Queen” tattooed somewhere on my forehead?
My first art show was that fall. I had to do what I vowed I’d never do again. I needed money for canvases and frames and money to rent the exhibition hall. The only way to make real money real fast was to enter and win the Miss Parkland Pageant. The pageant was a huge success; my art show a complete critical disaster. My mother didn’t say anything. Her satisfied smirk said it all.
“Come on,” Jerry had said. “Let’s go to Bermuda.”
We had the Fairweather beach house to ourselves. Jerry went fishing and practiced bending spoons. I took long, soul-searching walks on the beach. I picked up shells and admired the shades of the water. No one asked me to be Miss Bermuda.
Then someone asked me if I’d seen a diamond watch. By listening and asking the right questions, I found that watch and a new purpose. Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted, but I could help other people find what they wanted.
At night, Jerry and I sat on the deck and talked about life. He was very supportive of my new direction.
Why didn’t I see it then? Jerry was always there. A safety net. An airbag against the crashes of life. I’d taken him for granted so long, no wonder a woman like Olivia could flirt and charm him. She saw the man. I saw a pal.
I thought of all this now as “Blue Moon Garden” bloomed in front of me.
Jerry had been watching me. “You know, the light’s pretty good in the upstairs parlor.”
The upstairs parlor. My office.
No. My studio.
I felt a thrill of excitement. For an instant, my fingers ached to hold a paintbrush, to spread color and catch light. I shrugged. “It was just a phase. I’m over it.”
He looked as if he wanted to say something else. Then he said, “Come check out the kitchen.”
I followed him into the kitchen. The old linoleum had been peeled off, and Nell was putting down new white tiles with a faint pattern of blue leaves.
“Nice, huh?” Jerry said. “I’m going to get a new stove and refrigerator, but we’re leaving the table and chairs. Nell says they’re in good shape.”
Nell agreed. “Won’t find nothing better.”
“Then we’ll start on the upstairs.”
She chuc
kled. “What’s this ‘we’ business? You’ll stay down here.”
I had to know what was going on. “It looks wonderful, Nell. Would you excuse us for a minute?” I took Jerry by the arm and led him back into the living room. “A New Age retreat center? You’re going to charge people a couple a hundred a week to gaze at their crystals and go ‘om’?”
“Why not? They have to do it somewhere. Why not at the Eberlin house, which is known for its special vibes?”
“There are so many reasons why not, I don’t know where to start.”
And I might have started listing the reasons, but Olivia chose this moment to arrive. She stood in the front door and stared. She had her cell phone to her ear, but she put it away. I thought she’d be critical of the new décor, but she surprised me.
“Jerry, this is beautiful! I love it!”
“Does it look New Age?”
“I don’t know about that, but it looks fantastic. Did you do this yourself? You couldn’t have.”
“Nell helped me.”
“Well, it’s such an improvement.” She paused. “Why does it have to look New Age?”
“Because I’m planning to turn this house into a retreat center.”
Olivia said what I would’ve said. “Oh, no, you are not. These mindless schemes of yours go nowhere.” Then she seemed to catch herself. She paused and frowned as if she’d just thought of something. “You’d be much better off running a bed and breakfast.”
“A New Age bed and breakfast?”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be New Age, but people enjoy staying in old country homes. It might be very nice.”
Wait a minute. Was she encouraging him? Didn’t she want Jerry back in Parkland?
Jerry hugged her. “That’s it! That’s perfect! People will love it.”
“Speaking of breakfast,” I said, “who’s going to cook?”
Jerry was off and running with this new plan. “I can cook breakfast. It’s just scrambled eggs and bacon and toast. It’s easy.”
“You have to clean up, too.”
“And plan ahead,” Olivia said.
He was too excited to notice our sarcasm. “You could help me, Olivia. You could keep up with the business end. I’ll provide the entertainment. Mac can refer all her clients to Celosia for their country vacations. Nell can put in another bathroom. Maybe we can remodel the attic rooms, if we could ever get in there.”
Now there was a definite craftiness in Olivia’s smile. “I have to admit, it sounds like a good investment. Let me check it out for you. There are all kinds of zoning laws and requirements. A bed and breakfast sounds more reasonable than your other ideas.”
Hang on. This is Olivia’s idea.
She checked her watch. “In fact, I’ll get started right away. I’ll be back after a while. Then maybe we can go do something special, all right?”
She gave Jerry a kiss and went to her car, where she waved and smiled before driving away. What a performance!
Oblivious to any subterfuge, Jerry said, “This is going to be great. Now that Olivia has a mission, she’ll love it here. Once the Eberlin House B&B gets going, she’ll want to be around to take charge. We’ll be able to work things out.”
He looked so pleased by this plan, I didn’t have the heart to discourage him, or mention anything about Olivia’s agenda. She had one, or she wouldn’t have agreed to this scheme. Did she love him enough to move in permanently? Isn’t that what I wanted to do?
“Okay,” Jerry said. “If this B&B is going to work, we need to know what sort of space we’re talking about. Time to explore the attic. I’m hoping for a few good ghosts.”
Getting in was no problem with Nell and a crowbar. She wedged the attic door open. We stepped inside.
I expected cobwebs, battered trunks, boxes of Christmas decorations, and a rat or two. I imagined a laboratory with bubbling flasks and a body laid out on a slab. What I saw was far more fantastic.
A computer. Three video cameras mounted on tripods. Lights hung from the rafters. State of the art taping and editing equipment and microphones I knew cost well into the thousands of dollars. A bed with pink satin sheets and a pillow shaped like a valentine.
Nell’s small features wrinkled in confusion. “Is this some kind of TV studio?”
Jerry stood with his mouth open.
“Jerry,” I said, “looks like your Uncle Val was making very special movies.”
He continued to stare. “I don’t believe it.”
Nell took a few steps closer and examined the light pole. “Well, I’ll be. So this is how come people saw strange lights in the attic. What’s all this?”
I turned on the nearest computer. “Let’s find out.”
The computer had nothing but the usual programs. We didn’t find any CDs. We couldn’t find any videotapes, either, but we found several empty cases.
Jerry checked the cameras. “What else could he have been doing up here?”
“And who else knew about it?”
“I can tell you that,” Nell said. “Nobody. This kinda news would’ve been clear to Raleigh by now.”
I drummed my fingers on the mousepad. “And who did he videotape?”
“Doing what with whom,” Jerry said. “If it’s X-rated. We don’t know that.”
I pointed to the pink satin bed. “That doesn’t look like a set for a birthday party.”
Nell sat on the bed. “Right comfy. Maybe he had a girlfriend.” She bounced twice, and the bed popped like a huge party balloon. Jerry and I jumped as Nell landed with a thump.
“What the hell?” Jerry took her hand and tugged her to her feet. “An inflatable bed?”
Nell rubbed her rear. “Sorry about that. I think my screwdriver musta popped it.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “Add it to the mystery list.”
“It’s getting to be a long list,” I said. “Both Ted’s office and the TV station have been trashed. Somebody’s looking for something.”
Nell looked around the attic room. “Well, ain’t this a kick in the head.”
“Nell,” I said, “I’m going to ask you a big favor.”
“Don’t need to spell it out to me. Best to keep quiet about this.”
I inspected some of the equipment. “The camera has the radio station call letters on it.”
“Maybe Benjy Goins knows what was going on,” said Nell. “Wouldn’t put it past him. Always had to be the funny man in school.”
I didn’t see anything funny about this, and I could tell Jerry didn’t, either.
“We’ll figure this out, won’t we, Mac?”
“Call Des and see if he knows anything about your uncle.”
“If I can track him down.”
While Nell went back to her painting, Jerry checked with his older brother. A call to Des’ townhouse apartment in Parkland reached the answering machine, which informed us that Desmond Fairweather was on tour, and emergency calls could be placed with Sylvia Banner of the Arts Council.
Jerry hung up. “I’ll try again later.”
“What about Tucker?” I asked.
“I guess it’s worth a shot.”
I noticed he didn’t have any trouble remembering his old phone number. After a few rings, someone answered. It must have been his younger brother because Jerry’s face relaxed.
“Hiya, squirt. Still pulling weeds?”
I’m sure Tucker made an equally rude reply. Jerry laughed. “Yeah, still on the run. I’m calling from a pay phone and have only a few seconds before the Feds get here.” He paused and laughed again. “No, seriously. Got a question for you. Do you remember anything about an uncle of ours named Val Eberlin? Eberlin. Yeah, I remember Uncle Oberon and Aunt Titania.” He covered the phone for a moment and spoke to me. “Can you believe those names? Somebody had some fairy tale issues.” He listened to Tucker for a while and then said, “Okay. Yeah, I’m going to be in Celosia for a while. Yes, really. At this number.” He gave him the phone number of the Eberlin house.
“Thanks, pal. Go easy on the fertilizer.” Jerry hung up and shook his head. “He doesn’t remember an Uncle Val.”
“Well, then, there’s always Harriet.”
He shook his head. “You know I’m not going to talk to her.”
I knew. Harriet, as the oldest of the four Fairweather children, had brought up her three brothers after their parents had died. She had been a strict disciplinarian, and Jerry had left as soon as he could. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Good luck.”
“Does she still live in Parkland?”
“Yes, and don’t tell her where I am.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” I looked through the phonebook. “Is she still Harriet Fairweather?”
“As far as I know.”
There was a Harriet Fairweather listed. I punched in the number. After two rings, a woman’s sharp voice said, “Hello?”
I’d met Harriet only once, and that was enough. She was the opposite of Jerry, dark and withdrawn. “Harriet, this is Madeline Maclin, Jerry’s friend. How are you?”
Harriet was her usual friendly self. “What do you want?”
“I needed to ask you about your uncle, Val Eberlin.”
“What about him? He’s dead.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“He came to the house one time, as I recall. He didn’t like my father, and my father didn’t like him. What is this all about? Is Jeremyn there?”
“I’m working on a case, and Val Eberlin’s name came up. It’s nothing serious.”
I could hear the bitterness in Harriet’s voice. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. Our whole family’s cursed, you know, cursed with way too much curiosity.”
She hung up without another word.
“Well, thanks, anyway,” I said to the phone.
“Cheerful as ever, I’ll bet,” Jerry said.
“Yep. She never met your Uncle Val only once.”
Our whole family’s cursed.
I’ve been in the Fairweather mansion. It’s a huge yellow brick house with white trim and white columns. The gardens out back include fantastic mazes of shrubbery and stone fountains decorated with leaping dolphins. The rooms, decorated in shades of yellow and gold, are serene and full of light. Antique sofas and chairs share space with Asian hand-painted screens and ivory vases.