5 Death, Bones, and Stately Homes

by Valerie S. Malmont

  "I'll take you to my house," I said, as I turned on the truck engine.

  His answer was a snore.

  I knew I didn't need to worry about Ethelind's reaction, for Ethelind was a rescuer. Just as she'd taken me in and kept me when I had no place to go, she'd find a place for Big Bad Bob and nurse him back to health.

  That was exactly what happened. Ethelind was in the front yard, gathering up tree branches felled by the sudden storm. She dropped what she was doing to help me get him upstairs.

  In one of the elegant, antique-filled bedrooms, she stripped the rags from Big Bad Bob, sponged him off, and actually got him to take two or three spoonfuls of chicken soup.

  His greasy head flopped back on the pillow, and he peered up at us. "Don't tell no one I'm here," he said, just before he fell into a deep sleep.

  Noel jumped onto the bed, sniffed delicately, then jumped off the bed in disgust. Fred, on the other hand, seemed to be delighted with the smelly stranger in the bed and curled up beside him with a contented sigh.

  "Bloody fool," Ethelind said, and I knew she wasn't speaking of Fred. "I told him years ago he'd come to no good if he kept drinking. Now his liver's probably ruined. Next time you drive by a grocery store, stop in and pick up a dozen bottles of one of those sports drinks with nutrients and vitamins and all that rot."

  In the kitchen, I picked up the telephone and placed a call to Greta Gochenauer.

  "What am I doing?" she answered ungraciously. "I'm making ribbon roses to decorate the ends of the aisles. You do remember that I'm getting married this weekend, don't you?"

  It had slipped my mind, but I didn't say so. "There's someone here at Ethelind's house who needs your help," I said.

  "I don't have one minute to spare."

  "It's a twelve-step call like you've never had before," I said, knowing Greta would never turn her back on an alcoholic in need of assistance.

  "Twelve-step? Who?"

  "Big Bad Bob. He's sleeping off the mother of all benders here."

  "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

  "Don't tell anyone he's here," I warned. "He seems to be afraid of something. Or someone."

  I started a pot of coffee, which was done about the same time Greta arrived. "Don't give him any coffee," she ordered upon seeing the pot. "Last thing we need is a wide-awake drunk. Lead me to him."

  Twenty-Three

  Maggie, the librarian, had often complained about her outdated audio-visual equipment; now I was going to see just how old it really was.

  "No problem," Maggie said, looking at the old-fashioned reelto-reel tape I pulled from my bag. "We've got half a dozen antique tape players in the basement. Come in the office and have a cup of coffee, and I'll get a page to run downstairs and find one."

  She poured coffee and opened a package of Oreos. After only a few minutes a teenager brought in an enormous black leather box, which she set in the middle of the table. "Want me to show youse guys how it works?" she asked with a smart-aleck grin, as she released the clasps.

  "I am the librarian," Maggie sniffed.

  It took us a few minutes to figure out how to put the tape on the machine, after which we celebrated our success with another cup of coffee and a couple of cookies.

  "I don't think the tape is going to be anything important, or it wouldn't have been left behind," I told her, but I remembered the shocking contents of Rodney's diary and didn't really know what to expect. "We can't be too careful."

  Maggie seemed to understand, for she closed and locked the door to the office before turning the tape player on.

  The first few minutes were apparently a recording of a violin lesson. The student's playing sounded pretty good to my uneducated ear. "Nice. Very nice," a man's muffled voice said, periodically.

  "That's got to be Rodney," Maggie whispered. I agreed.

  He sounded far away at first, then his voice grew louder as he obviously moved closer to the tape recorder. "Take off your shoes. I'll clean them for you while you do it again."

  A young male voice answered, "I'd rather not."

  "You do want to be first violin, don't you?"

  The boy's reply was inaudible.

  "Good. Now, try it one more time. This time with passion."

  The violin music began again. The man, Rodney, sighed and said hoarsely, "That's so good. Keep going." After a few minutes, the music stopped, but there were other sounds, little moans and sighs that sickened both of us.

  I turned off the machine. I could tell by Maggie's expression, she was as nauseated by what we'd heard as I was.

  "Don't you want to listen to the rest of it?" she asked.

  I pulled the copies of the yearbook pictures from my bag and placed them on the table. "I've heard enough, Maggie. There's no doubt in my mind anymore who killed Rodney."

  "Who?"

  "Look," I said, pointing to the orchestra picture. "J.B. was first violinist, just like the tape said he'd be if he cooperated. He not only had motive, but he also had access to Morgan Manor at any time because his aunt lived there. I think he must have lost his cool, killed Rodney, and hidden him in the springhouse, where he'd still be if Alice-Ann hadn't fallen into the cave."

  "You're probably right, Tori. Everything does point to him."

  I looked down at the young teenager's face in the picture and felt pity for J.B. "I hope the law doesn't come down too hard on him. After all, he was just a kid."

  "It would be heard in juvenile court, I'm sure," Maggie said solemnly. "Even though the man's in his fifties now, he was very young at the time."

  "Criminal Court for murder," I said. "But there certainly are extenuating circumstances to be taken under consideration." I gathered up the yearbook pictures and put them back into my fanny pack. "I'm going to run over to Hoopengartner's Garage and tell this to Luscious," I told her.

  I was there before I realized I'd left the tape at the library. No need to be concerned, I told myself. Maggie knew it was important evidence and wouldn't let anything happen to it.

  Luscious listened patiently while I made my case against J.B. When I was through, he leaned back in his desk chair and said, "So if he committed murder, as you say, to stop Rodney from molesting him, why did he also murder Emily? And how did he do it?"

  I hadn't thought about that. There was no reason I could think of for a young boy to kill the art teacher, no matter what her fiance might have done. Besides, while J.B. had unlimited access to Morgan Manor, I doubted the fourteen- or fifteen-year-old boy would have been able to go in and out of the Bride's House so easily.

  "I don't know, Luscious. Maybe the two victims weren't murdered by the same person. Maybe it was just a coincidence that they disappeared so close together."

  Luscious laughed so hard, he had to pull a white handkerchief out of his shirt pocket to mop his eyes and blow his nose.

  I felt my face flame as I waited for his mirth to subside. My theory about J.B. still made sense, but because I hadn't thought it through I now had to suffer well-deserved humiliation.

  "I'm going to show you something, Tori. I think it will set your suspicious mind at rest." Luscious passed a yellow lined legal pad tome. "This explains everything."

  The front page of the pad was covered with neat script and was dated with today's date. I began to read it silently, then stopped after the first paragraph, confused by who the narrator was.

  "This `I' person. Who is it?"

  "Look on the last page."

  Miffed I hadn't thought of that, I flipped several pages until I came to a page only partially filled in. There was a blank space, after which someone had signed it with a shaky hand. "Maribell Morgan?"

  I placed the tablet on the desk and glared at Luscious. "That may be her signature, but the preceding pages are definitely not in her hand."

  "You stopped too soon," Luscious said.

  I picked up the tablet again and read what was written two lines below the signature. "`As dictated to and transcribed by J.B. Morgan.' Give me a b
reak, Luscious. You don't really believe this, do you?"

  "Keep reading," he said patiently.

  "`Witnessed by Father Burkholder."' My jaw clamped shut. "Guess I'd better read the whole thing," I said, returning to the first page.

  This time I read aloud.

  "Because of the recent discovery of the body of Rodney Mellott and the confusion caused by the discovery, I want to tell the world what really happened to him.

  "When Rodney moved in with me as a boarder, I was still young and vain enough to think I could be attractive to him. He become a friend, an escort, and then my lover. I was even presumptuous enough to assume he would marry me. Imagine my shock when Emily Rakestraw announced her engagement to the man I loved.

  "For many nights I could not sleep, as I lay in bed plotting ways to get even with him. When I confronted him, he only laughed at me and called me `a foolish old woman.' I snapped. The anger I felt was so strong it was terrifying. I wanted revenge.

  "On the morning of his wedding, I followed my plan. I left a note for him in the kitchen, where we always had breakfast together, asking him to come to the springhouse to help me with a water problem there.

  "We'd had water leaking in before, and I knew that he would rush right over before the instruments he kept there were ruined. When he came in, I was there waiting for him by the door. I had my sharpest kitchen knife with me and struck him in the back with it as he entered.

  "When I was sure he was dead, I dragged him down the stairs and hid him deep inside the small opening in the wall. Earlier that week, I had my gardener, Raul, fill in the cave entrance with stones and mortar. After he had done so, I sent him home and removed some of the stones before they had a chance to set. After hiding Rodney's body in there, I replaced the stones. Nobody knew for over forty years what had happened to him.

  "It is now time to clear my conscience. Because I am quite elderly and in poor health, I have good reason to believe that my days are drawing to a close. Therefore, I have made my wishes known to my nephew and have dictated this document to him."

  I reread it, then laid it on the desk and glared at Luscious. "You believe this?"

  "What's not to believe?"

  "I don't even think she dictated it. I thinkJ.B. made it up to cover himself."

  "You're forgetting that Father Burkholder witnessed it."

  "What about his feet?" I demanded.

  Luscious looked blank, so I explained that I knew Rodney Mellott's feet had been severed just above the ankle.

  "Probably happened in the tire dump," Luscious said. "An animal could have done it."

  "The bones were in a heavy plastic garbage bag. No animal got into that. There was no sign of a hole."

  Luscious was looking less and less sure of himself as I spoke. As he put the legal pad in his top drawer, he said, "I'm going to talk to Henry again."

  "There's one more thing," I said.

  He sighed, "What?"

  "You didn't like my theory about J.B. being the murderer because I couldn't explain why or how Emily was killed."

  I didn't need to elaborate further. Luscious understood what I was getting at. "Maribell didn't confess to it, either," he said thoughtfully.

  "There are more questions to be asked. More answers to be sought."

  "I know. I know."

  I stood, preparing to leave. "By the way, Luscious, I want to swear out a restraining order against someone. How do I go about it?"

  "You fill out this form," he said, pulling a paper out of a side drawer of his desk. "And you give it to me. Who's bothering you?"

  "It's Haley Haley," I said, purposely leaving off the title Reverend. "He was following me for several weeks, even broke into my house to leave some scary messages. I confronted him, and he said he'd stop. But this morning..." I stopped because I didn't want to admit to Luscious I'd been snooping around in Morgan Manor when Haley's van was seen following me. "I'd rather not say where I was, but he was seen there by someone, and he left in a hurry."

  "You said this morning?"

  "Yes."

  Lucious dropped the form back into the file drawer. "Impossible. My mom went to a tent revival this morning in Greencastle, and-"

  "And Reverend Haley was the minister?"

  "Absolutely. She called me right after lunch and said he gave one of the best sermons she done ever heard."

  "Maybe he wasn't there all morning," I said, but I knew that wasn't possible. Someone had followed me in the green van this morning, and it hadn't been Haley Haley. That left only one person I could think of. Vonzell Varner, the man who'd stolen the van. My name had been mentioned prominently in the TV news reports as the person who'd found and rescued Jenny Varner. I feared Vonzell had transferred his rage to me.

  I told Luscious of my suspicions, and he promised to keep an eye out for Varner, but I knew there was only so much the two-man police force could do. My safety was my own responsibility.

  On my way to the truck, I was so engrossed with my thoughts that I walked right into someone.

  "Bruce! What a surprise. I thought you'd be on your way to Cancun by now"

  Bruce Laughenslagger clutched a cardboard carton close to his midsection. "Did I say today? I meant tomorrow"

  "Have a great trip," I said.

  "I wish you... no, I'm not going to say that. What I am going to say is thank you."

  I couldn't help laughing. "That's the first time anybody has thanked me for not going away with them."

  Bruce didn't even smile, which made me feel rather foolish. "You remind me a lot of my wife," he said. "She was a decent person, like you."

  "That's very kind," I murmured, feeling uncomfortable and wishing I could leave.

  "She was honest and forthright like you. Spoke up when she saw things were wrong, even when she knew there'd be consequences that could hurt her."

  "Sounds like a wonderful woman," I said. "You must miss her."

  "More than I ever thought I could."

  "I've got to get going. Have a good trip." If he hadn't been clutching the big box in front of him, I would have stood on my toes and kissed his cheek.

  "Heard anything from Garnet?" he asked.

  "I'm not changing my mind, Bruce."

  He shrugged and smiled for the first time. "Can't blame a guy for trying." We stared at each other for a moment, then I broke eye contact and continued toward the truck.

  At home, Greta and Ethelind were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea from Spode mugs and giggling like a couple of teenagers.

  "I'm glad you're here," Greta said. "Bob's been asking for you."

  "How's he doing?"

  "Not too bad, considering the shape he's in."

  I accepted a mug of steaming tea from Ethelind and blew on it. "Did he tell you what he wants to talk to me about?"

  Greta shook her head. "Not exactly, but he did ask for you right after I gave him my `You're only as sick as your secrets' lecture."

  "I'll go right up."

  "Wait a minute," Ethelind interrupted. "Maggie called from the library. She wanted you to call her as soon as you came in. Said it was urgent."

  "Maggie? Tori. What's up?"

  "It's the tape. I listened to the rest of it after you left. I think you should hear it."

  "Put it on and hold the receiver near it."

  "Here we go." Maggie had rewound to about where I'd given up. "It doesn't go on much longer. Pretty much more of the same. Until... Well, you have listen to the very end." She must have moved the telephone closer to the tape player because the music, which had begun again, grew louder.

  As Maggie had said it would, the music went on for a few minutes with no interruptions. It came to a stop, and I was about to say, "I don't hear anything," when I thought I did.

  "Did you hear it?"

  "Play it again, Maggie. Just that last little bit."

  She did, and there was no doubt this time what it was.

  "Did anyone else hear this?" I asked.

  "No, I wa
s alone."

  "Do you have some place where you can lock up the tape?"

  "There's a safe in my office. I'm the only one who knows the combination."

  "Put it in there, and whatever you do, don't tell anyone about this."

  After I'd disconnected, Ethelind asked, "Something important?"

  "I'm not sure." I finished my tea in one gulp, squared my shoulders, and ascended the back staircase.

  "Don't let him talk you into getting booze for him," Greta called after me.

  I was back downstairs in less than ten minutes. The two women looked surprised. I grabbed my keys and bag. "Don't wait dinner for me," I told Ethelind. "I've got three, maybe four, stops to make, and I don't know when I'll be back."

  I paused in the doorway. "Don't tell anyone Bob is here. It's a matter of life and death."

  Twenty-Four

  Garnet was back in the borough for his sister's wedding. He'd called three times since arriving on Thursday, and I'd pretended not to be home each time. Fortunately, there had been no wedding rehearsal because Greta said everybody involved should know what to do, so I hadn't yet had to face him. I dreaded our meeting tonight at the wedding. What if he came with a date? How would I react? This and many other questions surged through my mind as I put on my black cocktail dress.

  I examined the dress in the mirror. Why was it so tight across the hips? Could I have gained another five pounds? I vowed that without fail I would start my diet again in the morning.

  "Tori, come downstairs immediately." Ethelind's voice, coming up the front staircase, was shrill and urgent.

  I slipped into my sandals, having given up on high heels, and ran down the hall. "What is it?" I called, as I raced down the stairs. During the past few days, I'd had several anonymous phone calls threatening me with a fate worse than death if I didn't "lay off the snooping." I hadn't taken them very seriously, but now I feared someone had actually done something.

  In the living room sat two young women, one black, one white, and three black men, ranging in age, I'd guess, from twenty to sixty. The white woman was petite and blond and very pretty, much like my mother had been once. She held a small baby in her arms. I stared in disbelief at the group. "Tyfani?" I asked, even though I knew she must be my father's wife. "Billy? Oh my God, you're safe."