The Sour Taste of Suspicion

by CeeCee James

  She followed the hallway back to the foyer, her eyes taking in the chandelier and art sculptures. On the second floor, she was delighted to see miniatures of the very portraits she walked by every day.

  The room she was standing in now was perfectly replicated in nearly every detail. At the desk, a miniature girl with blonde braids sat with a pen in her hand. A red damask quilt covered the bed. Curiously, Elise walked over to the bed and turned up the edge of the dust cloth. She smiled when a red duvet peeped out from under it.

  She examined the dollhouse again. The room she’d been given was slightly different. Most notably, the bed was covered with a blue and white pin-striped quilt. A girl doll—this one with brown curls—lay on the bed with a book in her hands, legs crossed. The window coverings were also revised to match the bedspread. There was another significant change. In the corner was the dollhouse on its stand.

  Wow. It had originally been in my room.

  Elise stood on her toes to peep into the third story. More bedrooms, what looked like servant’s quarters. The most upper-level held an attic filled with miniature discarded items. There was a wooden rocking horse, a sewing mannequin, and a few scattered trunks.

  She started to settle back from her toes when something else in the house caught her attention. A portion of the attic had been walled off into one more room. A tiny bedroom.

  Grabbing the armoire for balance, she tried to see the details of the room. She flashed the light of the phone inside. It was plain, just a little bed, a dresser, and an old fashioned wash basin.

  Interesting.

  She relaxed back off of her toes and bit the inside of her lip. Very interesting.

  Elise glanced around the bedroom again but, besides the shrouds, everything seemed in order. Nodding, she walked to the lamp, snapped it off and used the cell’s flashlight to see her way out.

  Let me just check something. She passed her room and headed for the original room she’d been given. Pausing, she looked up and down the hall to be sure no one was coming. Even at two in the morning, she felt the need to be cautious. Then she ducked under the yellow tape and entered.

  Moonlight sifted through the crack between the curtains and kept the room from being pitch black. Using her cell, she maneuvered over to the lamp and turned it on.

  She glanced around the room, checking to see if anything had changed, before moving to the far corner. Bending low, she swept the light over the floor. Discoloration showed a rectangle in the floorboards. That’s where the armoire used to sit. She stood and examined the wall. The wallpaper here in this corner was darker, most likely hidden away from the sun for years.

  She studied the floor again. A scrape in the wood led away from the discoloration. She squatted and touched it. It was fresh and deeply dug through the layers of stain and lacquer.

  Obviously, the dollhouse had been here for years. Elise thought about the blonde little girl in the room. Maybe for as long as when there were little girls in the house. Did one of those girls represent Myrtle? Someone else?

  Frowning, she clicked off the light and shut the door. Why would they have moved it in here? Is it because they thought I’d be sleeping in that room?

  Deep in thought, she walked down the line of portraits. The one she’d fixed was crooked again, a portrait of a man. But that wasn’t what stopped her cold.

  The portrait next to it was missing.

  7

  Astonished, Elise stared at the wall. What the heck is going on here? That portrait was there tonight. I know it was. I would have definitely noticed it missing. Elise remembered how much the crooked picture had bothered her. There’s no way she wouldn’t have noticed a missing one. She held the cell’s light up to the wallpaper, showing a darker rectangular patch on the wallpaper that outlined the missing portrait, just like the darker patch in the other room.

  Her brow furrowed as she flashed the light down both ends of the hall. Of course no one was there. Puzzled, she returned to her room and shut the bedroom door. She locked it and leaned against the solid wood.

  The fire cracked and spit a spark out on the hearth, causing her to jerk at the noise. She walked over and reached for the metal poker. After stirring the coals, she grabbed a log from the pile someone had left—probably Charlotte or Matilda—and fed the flames. A stray branch on the bark, that somehow had missed the ax, caught fire first and the pine needles snapped, filling the room with a woodsy scent. She breathed in, with her hands out to the fire. Somehow, the excursion to the other bedrooms had chilled her to the bones. After a minute of rubbing her arms, she crawled back into bed.

  Elise plumped up the pillow under her head and stared up at the ceiling. Was that the noise that Aunt Myrtle had heard? Just a few rats? And, why had the dollhouse been moved? It looked like it would take several men to move it along with that great armoire. Where was the portrait? Did it have anything to do with the dead gardener?

  She punched the pillow and rolled to her side, eyes wide open in the dark. I can’t wait to ask Aunt Myrtle about the dollhouse in the morning. Her nose wrinkled as she imagined how she’d have to try and explain it. There was just no way not to make it sound like she’d been snooping. But honestly, Aunt Myrtle will understand me investigating a noise. She pulled up her phone and scrolled through the messages, wishing one was from Brad. She’d love to talk with him right now. But not at 2:30. No, definitely not.

  Brad’s face swam in her memory, making her smile. He was such an amazing bonus she’d gotten from moving back to her home town after her divorce. Years ago they’d gone to high school together and had been reacquainted when Lavina had been dragged into a murder mystery.

  He was such a good guy too, watching Max for her while she was out here at the Manor. They’d made plans to explore Highjack Ridge in a couple days, a six-mile hike with an expansive overlook of Angel Lake that the town was legendary for. She’d only been to the top once when she was seven, riding the last little bit of the trail on her dad’s shoulders. She remembered shivering with excitement on the way down as her dad had run along the trail.

  She was even more excited to go explore it with Brad.

  Ever since she’d gotten back from her cruise, Brad had been busy with police work. He was actually leaving soon for a week to do training at the academy. This would be the first time they’d gotten to spend time together in a while.

  She couldn’t wait. Because emails and messages just weren’t cutting it anymore.

  The next morning, Elise woke after a fitful night’s sleep. She rolled over in bed and stared out the window. The gauzy curtain blurred her view but she could make out the trees blowing hard outside.

  Stormy weather. Lovely.

  With a sigh, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, then trudged over to the bathroom. The tub’s faucet protested loudly as she turned the handle and spurted out a bellow of orange water before finally running clear. She flipped the lever for the shower and climbed in. It took forever to muster up the tiniest bit of lather with the shampoo. Finally, she gave up and rinsed her hair.

  Elise dried herself in a towel that wafted the scent of lavender. She held it to her nose and sniffed, then hung it over the shower rail. Naked, she wandered back into her room where she found her jeans and t-shirt and dressed. Then she yanked up the blankets into a sort-of-made bed and glanced at her watch.

  Thirty minutes until breakfast. Time enough to explore.

  Crouching down, she fished her shoes from under the bed, laced them up, and left her room as quietly as possible.

  It was silent on the second floor, but noise drifted up from the downstairs. Comforting sounds, like a woman humming and the clang of a pot from the direction of the kitchen.

  Elise glanced at the hallway wall. The blank spot seemed to scream the absence of the portrait. This is going to drive me crazy. Who took it down?

  She remembered adjusting the crooked one next to it, but couldn’t remember who the missing portrait had been of. She studied the other pictures. Th
e first one was an elegant lady who sat in a chair with a tea cup in her hand. The next one was a Cocker Spaniel with sad eyes. Here two little girls rested on a blanket in the shade of a tree with various toys around them. The next showed a man in a suit behind a woman. This one was of a man alone, the man graying and in a hunter’s cap. The collection seemed like a complete family. Who could be missing?

  I wonder if the dollhouse would tell me. With a glance to be sure she was alone, she headed down to the bedroom with the dollhouse. Watch. This is about the time that somebody will show up and bust me.

  Prickles formed on her neck as she opened the door to the room and quickly shut it behind her. Turning around, she was surprised that the room was not any cheerier by the morning light. In fact, it looked straight out of a funeral house, with the way the furniture was covered in black dust covers. The only thing missing is the casket. Heck, we even had a body. Ignoring the chill that visual brought, she walked to the dollhouse.

  Last night, she’d noticed how amazingly accurate the miniature house had mirrored Montgomery Manor, so she fully expected to see the tiny hallway filled with portraits.

  Finding it, she gasped out loud.

  Right in the middle of the lineup was a blank space, the very same portrait that was missing in the hall.

  What in the world is going on here?

  Her hands traced through her hair as she straightened up, her brain spinning a million miles a minute. Okay. What have I gotten myself into? Cuckoo-ville here.

  Was the miniature picture missing last night? Was I just so overwhelmed with everything that had happened that I didn’t notice either one was gone? She glanced around the room. Everything seemed to be untouched. There were no mysterious footprints anywhere, no smudgy fingerprints. She walked to the window and tried it. The latch was secure. Same with the other window.

  Whoever had taken the portrait had come through the house.

  But what was the point? Why take a painting and then the miniature replica also? It didn’t make any sense.

  The house bell dinged, announcing breakfast. Shaking her head with confusion, Elise left the bedroom, this time making double sure the door was shut firmly behind her.

  She took the stairs solemnly. The third step surprised her again when it gave a gun-like crack under her foot.

  Downstairs in the dining room, Aunt Myrtle sat primly at the head of the table. A small egg cup and a plate of toast before her. She didn’t look up as Elise entered, making Elise feel on guard.

  “Hello, Aunt Myrtle,” Elise walked over to where a place had been set for her.

  “You’re late.” She sounded offended as she spoke sharply.

  Elise looked down at her lap. This explanation needs to be good. “I’m so sorry. Actually, I stopped to study the paintings in the hallway. They’re pretty amazing. All of your family?” She stirred cream into her coffee and watched the white swirl across the black, wondering if she could continue. Would it upset the elderly woman? I have to know. “Aunt Myrtle, I couldn’t help but notice that one of the portraits was missing from the hallway.”

  Aunt Myrtle didn’t miss a beat. “That was Anna.” She took a sip of tea and rested the cup back in the saucer with aged-shaking hands. Elise ignored the rattle of the china.

  “Anna? Who’s Anna?” Elise asked.

  “My sister.” The old woman picked up her spoon. She pulled her china egg cup with its painted yellow daisy closer and slowly scooped out the top of the egg. The spoon quivered between her fingers.

  “Oh? I haven’t met her yet.”

  Aunt Myrtle’s eyes lit up as she glanced at Elise. “I’d have been surprised if you’d said you did. She’s been dead these last seventy-three years.”

  Elise choked on her coffee. She snatched the cloth napkin from her lap and held it over her mouth as she coughed into it.

  Aunt Myrtle watched her with amusement. “You okay? Catch a house-fly?”

  Feeling red-faced, Elise waved her off, still trying to catch her breath. She took a sip from her water glass. “I’m fine. Sorry. You caught me off guard there.”

  “Oh, you didn’t know about my sister?” Aunt Myrtle calmly continued. “I thought for sure Lavina Sue would have told you. There was a large gap between the two of us. Seven years. She was a proper young lady while I was still a tomboy. Mother always said I was the apple of Papa’s eye.” Aunt Myrtle’s finger rested against her bottom lip as she looked outside. The light from the dining room windows caused her pale gray irises to nearly blend in with the whites of her eyes. “And Anna was hers.”

  Aunt Myrtle blinked a few times and sighed. Turning back, she poured herself another cup of tea with an unsteady hand.

  “How old were you when she died?” Elise gently asked.

  “Eight years old. Old enough to know what happened.”

  “What…. What did happen, if I can ask?”

  “What does it matter? Dead is dead, in the end. Mother said it was my fault. Everything and everyone was in such a commotion. People avoided me for days after.”

  Her fault? Sorrow gripped Elise at the thought of an eight-year-old crying alone in the corner. “Your Papa didn’t tell you different?”

  Aunt Myrtle’s bottom lip quivered and she quickly licked it. “Ahh, Papa.” She paused, staring into her tea. Her hand smoothed down the arm of the chair before dropping into her lap and she tipped her head. “He was such a dear. Such a bear of a man. Yes, he came and found me and held me. But things like that weren’t spoken about in those days. That’s not how things were done.”

  Aunt Myrtle paused to take another bite of egg, and maybe to collect herself. After a moment, she continued. “He left that sort of thing to your great grandma. Life was very different after Anna died.” She placed the spoon down with a chatter on the plate. “But now she’s back.”

  The old lady’s words were like cold fingers running down Elise’s spine. “You think Anna’s here?”

  “She comes from time to time. Has for years.”

  “How do you know it’s her?”

  “She makes her presence known. Her bed will be slept in, things moved around.”

  “I actually was in her room last night. I thought I heard something.” Despite everything, Elise felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I think it may have been a mouse. I, uh, I saw a dollhouse in there.”

  “Ah. The dollhouse was mine, but Anna always wanted it.”

  “Did it used to be in your room? I saw a spot on the floor.”

  “Yes. The room I grew up in.” The old woman squeezed her hands together before giving Elise a shaky look. “That is before Anna moved the house into hers a few months back.”

  Elise jerked in her seat. “She’s the one that moved it?”

  Aunt Myrtle’s eyes narrowed at Elise. “Now, don’t you go thinking I’m loony tunes. I heard her the other night. Clack Clack Clack!” Aunt Myrtle’s fingers walked down the arm of her chair. “Her high heels.”

  “She wears high heels?”

  “She wears whatever she wants. Are you going to be the one to tell her no?”

  Elise shook her head, wondering how in the world she got herself into this conversation.

  Aunt Myrtle smiled with satisfaction. “That’s what I thought. Specters tend to make their own rules.” She pulled her glasses up by a tangled chain that hung around her neck and situated them on her nose. Her eyes glittered behind the lenses when she turned to Elise. “But what’s an old lady like me know, anyway?”

  8

  After breakfast, Elise left the dining room and wandered through the hall toward the formal living room. Aunt Myrtle had said she would be gone for the day at a ladies’ luncheon. Something about Cribbage Club.

  Elise had only glanced into the living room briefly on her first day here, but she remembered a pair of French doors. Although it was dark and broody outside, it wasn’t raining yet and those doors were the simplest way she could think of to get outside to the garden.

  Elise tugged her cell
phone free from her pocket and typed. Can’t wait for our hike! Feel like visiting me here? I can show you around.

  Brad immediately texted back. I think Max gave me a sore throat

  Elise frowned. Great. Using Max now? Does Brad really have a sore throat or is he avoiding me? She sighed and texted back. That darn cat. Feel better soon! This is the reason why women stay single and become cat ladies.

  The entrance of the living room was marked with a giant vase of Calla Lilies that sat on a pedestal. Their heavenly scent filled the air, and she stopped to admire them. Humming alerted her that someone else was in the room. She looked around to see Matilda with a duster.

  “Good morning, Matilda. How’re you doing this morning?”

  “Very good, mum. And you?”

  “I’m doing great.” Elise hesitated for a moment before forging ahead. “Actually, I didn’t sleep too well last night. I guess this place has a few critters living in it?”

  “Critters?” Matilda’s face was drawn and tense. She paused with the duster and waited.

  “Yeah,” Elise walked over to the French doors and looked outside. Leaves lay in muddy dark clumps on the patio. “A mouse, I think? Have you seen any rodents here?”

  “Well, bless your heart. Scared of a mouse? They’re fairly common in these parts.” The duster moved briskly again. “In a house this old, you’re bound to have a few four-legged inhabitants.”

  “I guess that’s true, but all the same, they’re not my favorite. Especially when I hear them moving around late at night. And after, you know…the gardener.”

  Matilda nodded with a sympathetic look. “Oh, yes. Yes, I quite understand.”

  “Life’s been pretty crazy around here this last week, huh?”

  “Oh, mum, you can’t even believe the things I’ve seen here lately.”

  That piqued Elise’s curiosity. “Like what, Matilda?”