They both sat on their heels in silence. Brian didn’t know where to start. He felt like he had stumbled upon a great treasure. This would be something worth writing about. Not like all the superfluous fluff he wrote about to fill in around the town Board of Selectmen meetings and Planning Board agendas. It took a whole week’s worth of nothing to fill the pages of one weekly newspaper, and he still was always scrambling at deadline.
Deadline.
He looked at Noah.
“Oh shit.”
“What?”
“The paper’s going to the printer tonight. I’ve got to get something in or I’ll have to wait a whole week.”
Noah studied him for a moment. “Well, I’ve got to take some action. I need to call the county medical examiner’s office to report this, and the State Police.”
“You’re going to turn this over to the State Police?”
“Of course, my department’s not equipped to deal with something like this.”
Brian was disappointed. “Once they get involved, I’ll get nothing from them. Can’t you just hold off on calling them?”
“Once I talk to the medical examiner, he’ll expect them to be in charge. That’s the way it goes around here.”
“Fine.” Brian looked at the skeletons. “Let me get my camera and take some pictures. But then I’ve got to get over to the office and redo my front page and get hold of the printers.”
“Yeah, I should probably get the department’s camera and take some pics as well.”
Brian felt a time crunch. “Go now, and hurry back. I’ve got to get out of here and get going.”
“What about Darcie?”
Brian had almost forgotten about her. Hopefully she was sleeping. “She’s resting. She’ll be okay. Though she won’t be once we have a house full of state officials.”
After the chief left, Brian checked on Darcie, who was not asleep but curled up on the bed. Her eyes looked red. Had she been crying?
Brian told Darcie about the baby skeletons in the trunk and that Noah was going to report it. Brian warned her that a lot of officials would be in the house to investigate. She was concerned she’d have to talk to them.
“You were the one who found the trunk. They will have to ask you some questions.”
She reached a hand out from under her covers and grasped his arm. “Please, I don’t want to talk to anybody.”
“It will probably be very brief,” he said. “But now I‘ve got to get to the office.”
“No, don’t leave me alone.” Her grip tightened. Her eyes grew wide.
“I’ll wait till Noah gets back.”
“No,” she said, and he thought she was going to cry.
“Just rest, I’ll be back before you know it. And Noah will be here.”
Brian grabbed his camera and returned to the attic. The air was thick, and he felt like he had swallowed some of the dust. His throat tightened and he forced a cough to clear his scratchy throat. Sweat trickled down the center of his back, giving him a chill.
He heard a soft tapping.
His eyes locked onto the trunk. His stomach clenched.
Brian couldn’t move, his legs stiff, feet locked to the floor.
He counted the little skeletons on the floor to make sure they were all still accounted for. Five. Yes, there were still five. What did he expect, one of them to crawl back in the trunk?
Brian approached the trunk.
Don’t let your imagination run wild, he told himself.
But the tapping continued. Very soft.
He looked to the window at the far end of the attic.
A fat fly was bouncing off the glass of the window, looking for a way out. Brian couldn’t blame the insect. He wanted out of here, too, but he had a job to do.
He walked to the window, wanting to let the fly out and let some air in, even though it was hot outside as well. Maybe it would at least let some of the stagnant heat in the attic out. He set his camera down and unlocked the window, pushing up on the sill. It wouldn’t budge. It probably hadn’t been opened in years and had swollen shut. He pushed up again, straining, more sweat forming on his brow and under his arms.
Air, he thought. I need air.
He heard a sound and turned to look behind him. The open trap door was at the other end of the attic. It looked far away. He thought maybe Noah had come back, or maybe Darcie was up, but no one was there.
There was no further sound.
He turned back to the window, gritting his teeth and pushing hard. There was a screech of wood as the window released its grip and rose. The fly disappeared out the window. He felt no air coming in, hot or otherwise. Not a slight shift in air at all.
He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, grabbed his camera, and walked back to the center of the attic. As he approached the trunk and its contents, spilled on the floor in front of it, it occurred to him that this was the first time he had been here alone. The darkness of the attic, with its wooden beams leaning in, and the cobwebs, dust, and shadows heightened the eerie remains on the floor. He felt like he had stepped into a haunted house. He had the urge to just take the picture and get out before one of those skeletons started moving.
Silly, he thought. They were dead, had been for a very long time. But where had they come from and how did they get here? So many questions.
He raised the camera to his eye, looking at the bizarre scene through the lens.
Click. Click. Click.
He snapped the pictures quickly, moving to get a couple different angles. He inched a little closer to get some close-ups, not even sure if he would put something this gruesome on the front page of the paper. No, of course he couldn’t. The owners of the paper would have his head. This was a small community weekly, not some supermarket tabloid. But still, he needed to take the shot. He peered at one of the skeletons, its tiny, dark, empty eye sockets looking up at him through the camera lens. Could it see him? The teeth in the jawbone gave the impression it was grinning at him.
He snapped and backed away.
A floorboard creaked behind him. He froze. His hands started to shake, and he thought he’d drop the camera. He tried to swallowed, but his throat tightened. He turned to look behind him.
Noah was climbing through the trap door.
Brian sighed. His nerves tingled.
“Christ, you scared me.”
Noah grinned. “Sorry. I guess it is kind of spooky up here.” The chief held his own camera.
“Yeah. Now that you’re here, I’m going to run over to the paper. Darcie’s still in bed.”
“Okay. I’ve made my calls. In about an hour, this place will be crawling with people. I’ve got officer Alvin stationed outside.”
“Which one?”
“Day Shift Alvin.”
“Well, things will probably go on long enough for Night Shift Alvin to join us.”
They looked back toward the trunk.
“Got everything you need?” Noah asked.
Brian looked down at his camera. “I guess. I don’t have a lot to write about yet, so it will be brief and won’t take me too long. Give me a couple of quotes for the article.”
Afterward, Brian literally ran to the newspaper. He greeted Day Shift Alvin outside the front door and noted that the officer’s cruiser was parked behind his car, so he bolted the couple blocks to the office on foot. The whole way he was working out the lead in his head. As he turned up the sidewalk to the building that housed his office, he dug into his pocket for his keys. He looked up just in time to avoid bumping into someone on the sidewalk.
“Excuse me,” Brian said, looking at the man, whose eyes seemed to look right past him. He was tall and thin, with thick hair piled on top but short on the sides. He looked to be in his mid-to-late forties. He didn’t seem to notice Brian, even though the two had nearly collided on the sidewalk. The man didn’t return Brian’s comment and brushed past him, continuing along the sidewalk.
Brian shrugged it off and unlocked the front door
. Once in the office he started his computer and called the printers, telling them he would transmit a new front page. He downloaded his pictures, selecting the best. It didn’t take him long to write, because he really didn’t have much information. He tried mostly to paint a picture of the scene in the attic. He hated putting himself and Darcie in the article, but they were witnesses and the owners of the home, so it couldn’t be helped. They were immersed in the story, like it or not.
He reviewed what he had written and formatted it on the page, along with the picture. He replaced a preview of the Women’s Garden Club tour. It would anger the old ladies in town, but it was the most expendable item on the page and in the best location. He was sure he’d hear about it from Mrs. Picklesmeir, the head of the Garden Club.
He looked at his headline:
Trunk of baby bones found in town
He had room to add a subhead:
Discovery of decades old skeletons in attic a mystery
He proofed it quickly, reading his headlines aloud to make sure there were no typos, and hit the send button. He called the printers to let them know they had the new front page, making sure to thank them for being understanding.
When he got off the phone he took a deep breath, wanting to relax for a moment before racing to the house and awaiting the authorities who would be showing up. And once the word got out, the big papers and TV stations would be on the story. But for now he had the jump on everybody. He broke it. He had the inside track. The whole event had been exhilarating. When he took this job, he never expected it to provide a moment like this. And it was only the beginning.
Shortly after Brian got back home, his house became a flurry of activity involving the county medical examiner, the county attorney, and two officers from the State Police—Capt. Steem, an older, stocky, bald man, and his cohort, Sgt. Wickwire, much younger, tall and athletic, his dark hair cropped close to his scalp. The attic became crowded and Wickwire had to keep his head down so he wouldn’t bump it on the slanting beams.
Brian stood in the background, near the trapdoor, so he wouldn’t be in the way. Darcie had gotten up and was making coffee, though it was a hot June night and the attic was sweltering, the air thick and humid. He didn’t think anyone would really want coffee. Lemonade might have been a better choice. Steem removed his hat and wiped his bald crown several times with a bandana.
Brian had his notebook and was scribbling observations, listening intently as the medical examiner looked over the skeletons. Chief Treece stood by the county attorney, who had unbuttoned his vest and loosened his tie but was still sweating profusely. Brian was jotting something down when Steem turned and noticed him.
“Excuse me,” the captain said. “Are you taking notes?” Irritation showed on his face.
Brian stopped, mid-scribble, but did not reply.
“I neglected to tell you,” Noah said, gesturing toward Brian. “Mr. Keays is the editor of our weekly newspaper.”
“Oh, great,” Steem said, glaring at Noah. “Would have been nice to know.” He looked at Brian. “I’m going to have to ask you to step downstairs and wait for us.”
Crap, Brian thought. “This is my house.”
“It’s a crime scene,” Steem said.
Brian looked to Noah for some help.
“And I’m in charge,” Steem said, voice rising. “Not Chief Treece.”
Noah grinned and shrugged.
Sgt. Wickwire walked toward Brian, ducking beneath another beam. “Clear the scene, sir,” he said with no expression, his hands folded across his chest.
Brian muttered a mild obscenity, slapped his notebook closed, and descended the drop-down ladder. He joined Darcie in the kitchen.
“How are you doing,” he said, rubbing her back.
She looked at him, pouting. “This feels like a nightmare. I woke up when I was napping and heard everybody’s footsteps above me. I thought it was the babies’ ghosts walking around.” She shivered. “It’s just so creepy knowing those poor babies have been up there all this time.”
“They’ve been dead a long time, honey. And who knows if they were even alive to begin with.”
She grimaced, touching her belly, and he realized it probably wasn’t a reassuring thing to say.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t know what I mean.” He turned and walked toward the living room. “I don’t have any idea where they came from or what happened. It’s all just mysterious.”
He sat on the couch, and she joined him.
“You’re enjoying this, though, aren’t you?”
He looked at her, carefully formulating his response. “What do you want me to say? I’m a journalist. You have to admit, this has some excitement to it.”
She frowned. “But they were babies. Little babies.” Her eyes got moist.
“It’s tragic, I admit.” He patted her knee. “But it happened. We can’t change that. Now we’ve got to try and figure it all out and what it means.”
She looked at him, and he saw disappointment in her eyes. She would have been happy with him covering the garden tour and the upcoming Dump Festival and crap like that. That’s why she didn’t mind dragging him here, because she didn’t care about his career. She wanted a quiet family life, a nice place to raise their child, and a job where he could come home at a reasonable time and be with her. She didn’t want him out all hours of the night at police stations, crash sites, and late-night fires. This dull weekly newspaper seemed perfect for them—no, for her.
And he went along with it. But he had other reasons for taking her away from the city, reasons that had nothing to do with his job, but more to do with her job. He wanted her away from her job at the school as much as she wanted him away from his, maybe even more.
Brian was itching to know what was going on in the attic. A couple more men showed up at the house, who turned out to be from the state pathology lab. They headed upstairs and into the attic. Brian followed and stood in the hallway by the drop-down ladder, trying to eavesdrop on what was being said, but the words didn’t carry well. He had his notebook out and pen ready in case he picked up something. The voices were mostly Steem’s and the medical examiner’s.
At one point, Brian thought he heard a word and scribbled it into his notebook: snuffing?
After a few moments he heard feet shuffling toward the trap door, and he stepped away from the ladder. Capt. Steem came down first, glaring at Brian as he descended the steps, but not saying a word. The pathology men came next, carrying five black plastic bags. They proceeded downstairs and through the front door.
The medical examiner and county attorney came next and stood aside as Chief Treece and Sgt. Wickwire carried the steamer trunk down the steps. Noah smiled at Brian as they went by. Everyone else followed, like a funeral procession behind a casket, though Brian was sure this box was now empty and its contents in those black plastic bags.
In his living room, Brian looked out the window and watched Treece and Wickwire load the steamer trunk into the back of the State Police vehicle. The pathology men had already left with their cargos, and the medical examiner soon followed. As Brian stood there, he saw on the sidewalk across the street the same tall, thin man he had nearly bumped into outside the newspaper office.
The man walked slowly, arms hanging limply by his sides. He stopped at one point and looked at his feet. He reached down to the sidewalk, picked something up, put it in his pocket, and continued down the street. Brian made a mental note to ask Noah if he knew anything about the man.
Brian left the window and joined Darcie on the couch, patting her hand and giving her a reassuring smile. She didn’t smile back. She looked tired even though she had been resting earlier.
After refusing Darcie’s offer of coffee, Steem sat opposite them. He took out a notebook of his own and asked them about the discovery of the trunk. Brian and Darcie told him they had only moved into the house and the town a few months ago and had discovered the trunk today.
&n
bsp; “You hadn’t been in the attic at all before today?” Steem asked.
Brian and Darcie exchanged glances.
“Just to kind of peek,” Brian said, “but not really to look around.”
“And you never noticed the trunk?”
“No,” Darcie answered. “It was tucked into a corner, and I dragged it out under the light.”
Brian started to tell Steem about the key Noah had gotten from Pfefferkorn, but the captain cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“Chief Treece informed me all about the key.” He glanced up from his notepad at Brian. “Very strange coincidence.”
“Yes,” Brian agreed.
Steem was jotting something in his notebook. Brian took his own notebook out and pretended to write something. Steem looked at him, eyes narrowing.
Noah and Wickwire came into the house and stood off to the side in the living room.
“Now tell me, who did you buy this house from?”
“The previous owner’s name was Ruth Snethen.”
Steem wrote it down. “Do you know anything about her?” he asked without looking up.
“We never met her,” Darcie said. “It was all done through our real estate agent. Ms. Snethen didn’t even attend the closing.”
Steem looked at them, and turned toward Noah.
“She’s a retired nurse,” Noah said without waiting for a question. “Lived alone. Don’t believe she’d ever been married.”
“Hmm,” Steem said. “Where did she work as a nurse?”
“Up at the Mustard House.” Noah smiled.
Steem’s brow furrowed. “What the hell is the Mustard House?”
Noah’s smile left his face.
“It’s an insane asylum.”
Chapter 2
THE MUSTARD HOUSE
It sat on the top of the ridge, overlooking the town like a sentinel.
It was a sprawling nineteenth-century mansion with multiple narrow gables that punctured the sky. It had been originally built by a logging tycoon and had passed through many hands. Townsfolk had nicknamed the building the Mustard House because of its yellowish-brown paint. Its actual name was The Wymbs Institute. Dr. Milton Wymbs had opened the private sanitarium forty years ago.
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