The Sour Taste of Suspicion

by CeeCee James

  She stopped short. It was still quite early. How long had Uncle Shorty been there? Every time something weird had happened, he’d been around. Was he somehow trying to scare Aunt Myrtle into marrying him so he could have the property?

  Shaking her head, she hurried for the front door. That sweet old man? I’m thinking crazy. She jogged to her car and climbed into the driver’s seat. As she turned the ignition, common sense gave her a knock on the head. How crazy can you think when you’re getting threatening phone calls? Tread lightly and watch everything. Everyone’s a suspect at this point.

  Elise drove down the hill past the other mansions forgotten in time. All the times she’d gone back and forth to town, she’d never seen any signs of life. Weird. If I lived in any of these, I’d have huge parties. Or horses. Or adopt animals. Or something! Such a waste of space.

  Her house looked a little forlorn when she pulled in the driveway, too.

  “I haven’t forgotten you,” she said looking up at the little cottage. I love this place. Her fingers trailed against the white railing of the porch as she went up the stairs. She took in her cute white wicker chairs and pink petunia plant and felt a strong stab of homesickness. She unlocked the front door and whistled lightly for her cat. He’d gone running off in a huff when she’d let him inside last night, so it filled her with joy to see him come scrambling out from the bedroom. “Hey, sweetheart.” Max sat a few feet away watching her. “Are you still mad at me? I’ll be home soon for good.” She cleaned his water bowl and refilled it, then opened a can of cat food.

  Taking them outside, she placed the dishes on the porch and sat on the step. Max jogged over, his belly swinging. “You’re such a big boy. I’ve missed you so much.” He butted his head against her leg. All was forgiven.

  “Sweet boy. But someone has to pay for the cat food. And look at it this way, you get the whole house to yourself at night. Even the top of the buffet.”

  Max purred in response. She scratched his ears before trying to haul him into her lap. His front end stretched while his back end remained firmly planted on the step. “Fine. stay there then.” She set him back down and he wiped his cheek on her arm. “Am I your girl?” she whispered, leaning over to kiss his head.

  He sat on the step with his tail doing lazy sweeps. While her fingers continued to run through his fur, she gazed out into the yard.

  It was beautiful here. No mansion by any expanse of the imagination, but she had her own little paradise. Max’s body rumbled under her hand as he purred. And, my own rescued friend. Although, who rescued whom is hard to say.

  What is going up at the Manor? Why would someone threaten me to back off? It’s been a while since Brad came over. What did I do that they didn’t like?

  Stephen’s snooty face flashed through her mind. He doesn’t like me. Why? Does he want his mom to be alone and scared? What the heck is his problem?

  “Honestly, I’d be done with this job. But no way am I giving up.” Her words reminded her of what Charlotte had said. Apparently, Manchester Manor drove everyone to want to quit.

  “Alright, Max. I think I have to go back and do some more searching. This all has to be connected to the gardener’s death, somehow in a way that makes sense. I’m missing something. I just don’t know what it is yet.” Max stood with his front paws on her knee and stretched to sniff her face. Elise smiled at the tickle of his whiskers.

  “And later, I have self-defense class where I get to yell at the instructor.” Max blinked green eyes at her. “Yes, it’s just that impressive. But I’ll see you tonight, okay? It’s going to be me instead of Brad because he has a dumb class, so don’t be disappointed. Be a good boy.”

  With a final scratch on the cat’s head, she got up and climbed into her car.

  19

  Elise pulled up to the house, noting that Uncle Shorty’s motorcycle was gone. Alright. I’ve regrouped. I can figure this thing out. There has to be a clue in that room as to who is doing this. She slammed the car door and hurried up the steps.

  Hamilton opened the door for her. He looked every bit as professional as ever.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

  “Good morning, Ms. Pepper. It appears it will be clear and sunny today.”

  “My favorite kind of weather.” Elise shrugged out of her coat and draped it over one arm. “Hamilton, I’m glad you’re here because I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Have you seen anything weird going on around here?”

  He raised a bushy eyebrow at her. “Weird, ma'am?”

  Elise hedged and tried again. “You know, like things disappearing? Aunt Myrtle thinks the place is haunted by her sister.” She glanced up at him. “What do you think?”

  Hamilton looked down his beak-like nose. “Her sister’s been gone more than seventy years, ma'am. Ms. Kennington misses her terribly, so it’s natural in those circumstances to entertain some fanciful thinking. This house is old, and does strange things. Perhaps Ms. Kennington is in search of comfort is reading this as signs from another world.” He slowly blinked, clearly done with this type of talk.

  Elise cleared her throat. “Of course, you’re right. It’s easy to get caught up in the talk around her.”

  “You are being paid, I believe, to be a support to her. Not to encourage her to pursue make-believe stories.” His words were cold and abrupt.

  Elise pressed her lips together, trying to contain herself. “Naturally, my role is to support her however I can. She misses her children. Surely you know what that feels like.” Then, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. “Do you have children, Hamilton?”

  “I proudly devoted my life to my job, and I consider the Kenningtons as my family.”

  Elise nodded. “They are lucky to have you. Do you have any other family around?”

  He straightened his shoulders. “The last of my family just recently died, ma’am. Now, will there be anything else?”

  Elise inwardly cringed at his words. Can I put my foot further in my mouth? “No, that’s all. Thank you.”

  She left him at the doorway and climbed the stairs to her room. As she passed the missing portrait she decided to check on Anna’s room instead. Maybe just being in there would spark some type of insight as to what was going on.

  Once again, the room was dark and gloomy. Elise turned on the lamp and sank to the bed to stare at the dollhouse. Who was taking these things and why? Her thoughts flittered with the idea of Anna, but her mind refused to accept the explanation of a ghost. It can’t be Anna. For one thing, why on earth would a ghost want a blue marble or a mirror?

  Maybe to match the chair she once took. She shook her head. Ridiculous.

  Right. Ridiculous. About as crazy as the maid ending up with shoes two different sizes and a dead man leaving a message on the bathroom mirror.

  She flopped back on the bed and coughed at the dust. I feel like I just got smacked with the puff of grandma’s face powder.

  Why can’t I figure this out? I’m an intelligent woman being run around by ghosts.

  Her gaze traveled around the room, stopping on the bookshelf. The top shelf held many duplicates of the same books that were downstairs in the library.

  The next shelf held encyclopedias and the one below that bible stories. The bottom shelf grabbed her attention because the books had been haphazardly shoved in a row with no attention paid to their different sizes. She leaned forward. They weren’t in alphabetical order either. One of the books had fallen to its side with a few more tilting in the same direction.

  Something about that rubbed her the wrong way. Why would every other shelf be so neat and tidy and this one left in chaos? She got to her feet and walked over. Kneeling down, she reached and pushed the books back upright, examining the titles. The books were fiction, and nonfiction alike, quite an eclectic assortment. Maybe that was why they in there with such lack of care.

  Elise started to get up when something else caught her attention. The back of the shelf didn’t seem to properly line
up with the side, and a black crack showed in one corner. She touched the crack and felt movement.

  The back of the bottom shelf fell off with a clatter. Her mouth dropped as several of the books fell into the open space. Still kneeling, she gathered the books off the shelf and stacked them in a tower against the wall. Then, she scooted down on her belly and directed her cell’s flashlight into the space.

  It seemed to open up into a hidden room. Excitement flooded through her. She cast a quick look behind to be sure the door was shut and wiggled her way through.

  Dirt scraped her belly as she pushed in to the other side. She kicked her legs and twisted her way in. The space was narrow but proved to be tall enough for her to stand.

  She rose to her feet and brushed off her front while shining the light with her other hand.

  The space was the cavity between the interior bedroom walls and the exterior walls. It had to have been made on purpose. But why? Horizontal lines of lathe dripped with gray plaster that had been applied to the other side. Every inch of the space was grimy with dust.

  What is that? Glimmering in the corner? She flashed her light on it and silver sparkled back. Something was stuck under the crevice of the wall. She reached for it. Stuck.

  Sitting back on her heels, she studied it. Whatever it was, it was metallic and wedged tight. Maybe my license would fit under there? A credit card? Even a bobby pin would work. But that would involve going back to her room, and she wasn’t ready to leave yet. She looked at her shoelace and rolled the plastic tip in her fingers. Hmm. She slipped the shoe off and tried to fit the lace under the crack.

  It just fit. She dragged the tip along the edge of the silver thing, managing to pry the object out just enough to grab it with her fingernails.

  A silver coin. She held it under the light and read the words “Freedom dollar” in script under the picture of Liberty. Stamped in tiny letters was the date 1926.

  Freedom dollar. She’d heard that before, but from where? She turned it over and examined the back, running a fingernail along the ridged edge. Although tarnished, it was in pristine condition. She tucked the coin into her pocket and shone the light down the rest of the passage, noting the wall scaffolding of the next room. If she turned sideways, she could just squeeze along the corridor. She hesitated, the beam of light bouncing off of dust, cobwebs, and chunks of fallen plaster. Do I really want to go down there?

  She sighed. Of course she did, in a weird love/hate way. How could she stop now? Taking a couple deep breaths to pump herself up, she eyed the cobwebs. I’m the bravest chicken there ever was.

  Cautiously, she stepped into the narrow space. Her heart jumped into her throat as her foot rolled across a piece of rubble and she nearly fell. Careful. She glanced at the lathe. If you fall, you’ll go right through that wall. She snickered at the thought. Surprise!

  She nearly fell again. Okay, be serious now.

  Elise reached to pull down the cobweb then wiped her hand quickly on the back of her pants. Trying to keep good footing, she edged forward.

  The crawl-way was pitch-black except for what she could see by her cell. Dust sifted down from above. Elise held her breath but it was too late. She could feel the tickle in her lungs. Don’t cough. Whatever you do. Do not cough. The tickling got stronger, and desperately, she hid her mouth in the crook of her arm and gently cleared her throat. Slowly, she took a deep breath in, and blew it out.

  The sensation subsided.

  She moved forward again, running the light down the wall. What’s the point of this space? Are there peepholes? Other than the old gray webs and dust, she didn’t see anything of interest. Wait, what was that? Maybe? Maybe there was a bit of dust knocked off from the wall joist right there. As if someone fell forward…. Elise took a step and leaned as if she were falling, trying to see where her hand lined up. The mark was just above where her hand would have fallen. Someone taller than her then? A man?

  Or maybe nothing.

  She flashed the light on the floor looking for footsteps.

  The floor didn’t show any, but that didn’t mean anything. A quick glance behind her proved void of her own footsteps.

  She flipped the light ahead and saw that the pathway ended abruptly with a wall.

  There was a faint glimmer in the expanse of black. She sidled closer.

  A hairline crack near the bottom allowed light from whatever was on the other side of the wall to shine through. She examined the wall, expecting lathe and plaster, but instead saw solid wood. Oh, my gosh. That crack continues all the way around. This must be the back of another bookcase.

  She squatted down and peered through the gap. Everything on the other side appeared as a pink explosion until her eyes could focus. A pair of pink drapes covered French doors. There was a pink, puffy comforter. Aunt Myrtle lay still on the bed. Elise jerked away, thinking hard. What in the world? A direct passage from Anna’s room to her parents? Did they know?

  Was this passage meant to be here the whole time?

  “I hear you! Go away. You go away now!”

  Elise nearly screamed at the voice. Licking her lip, she peeped through the crack again. Aunt Myrtle sat looking in her direction, making Elise’s blood run cold. “I said I was sorry, Anna! You leave me alone!”

  Elise backed away from the wall, her heart hammering. What is going on here? Was this what Myrtle had been hearing all along? Was somebody torturing this poor woman, using her guilty memories as a sharp sword? Frowning, Elise made her way back to the other room as quietly as possible.

  Once out of the passage, she shimmied the book shelf until it fastened shut. Her knees were covered in dust and her hands felt grimy. She brushed them off, grimacing. Her emotions didn’t feel any better.

  She replaced the books. Did Anna once do this? Take the books out and creep down there? Why? Was there somehow a way outside?

  With a frustrated sigh, she turned off the light and hurried back to her room. The diary. I need to finish it. The secret has to be in there somewhere. It occurred to her how curious it was that Constance wrote more about Anna than she did about Myrtle. Anna seemed to have been a puzzle for everyone.

  She locked her bedroom door and opened the diary, walking to the window to read by the light.

  Dear Diary.

  Myrtle is such a joy, but such a challenge to her mother. I hardly know how to help the poor girl because all she wants to do is run, play and laugh. Her mother constantly scolds her to be silent. I’ve begun to take her to the back part of the woods, where she meets a family friend. Mrs. Montgomery would be furious, but how can I refuse?

  The other day, I asked Myrtle what she thought about the missing dollhouse pieces. The poor girl blushed and looked miserable. It took me promising her that I’d let her visit Thomas (whom she calls Shorty, although I’ve admonished her several times that it isn’t lady-like). She’s finally confessed that her sister is playing a game and the dollhouse pieces are clues to her game. I asked her how to play it, but that’s all she would say on the matter.

  Yours

  Constance

  Dear Diary,

  Today, I noticed Anna skulking and decided to follow her, thinking she had stolen something again. She surprised me. I think she might have a beau. A young man met her. They held hands before she looked over her shoulder. Her mother would be furious if she knew. I darted behind the pyramidal hedge to avoid being seen, and when I looked again, they were gone inside the maze. I feel like I’ve seen him before, so I’ll have to watch more carefully. I think he may be one who accompanies the milkman.

  Yours,

  Constance

  The lunch bell dinged. Elise felt a twitch of irritation at being interrupted and returned the thread before sticking the diary back in the drawer of her dresser.

  20

  Elise headed down to the dining room for lunch, her muscles tensing at the thought of seeing Aunt Myrtle. She wasn’t sure how she’d respond if Aunt Myrtle brought up what she’d heard in her room. Just t
hinking about it gave Elise the strangest sensation of heaviness and excitement all twisted together.

  The older woman did seem to be pensive when Elise arrived. She stirred her tea over and over, seemingly mindless of the tink-tink-tink the spoon made against the sides of the china cup.

  Stephen sat next to his mother scrolling through his cell and typing furiously. “Hi,” he said, with a quick glance as Elise settled in across from him. Elise found it curious that he wore a business shirt and tie on what was supposed to be a vacation.

  “Hello,” she answered back, including Aunt Myrtle with a nod. Aunt Myrtle ignored her, focusing instead with a blank stare out the window.

  Charlotte served lunch, but still Aunt Myrtle stirred her tea.

  “Stephen, do you remember playing with Papa?” Aunt Myrtle said suddenly, startling Elise. Stephen raised his head up from his phone looking just as surprised.

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course I do.”

  Aunt Myrtle laughed, but the emotion didn’t carry up to her eyes, which were shadowed in sadness. “Do you remember how you two used to play pirates? With real treasure?”

  “Yes,” he smiled. “It would be nice to have some of those coins now. Just one would bring in ten thousand dollars in today’s market.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t even a quarter of what he had.” Tink. Tink. Tink. The spoon made its endless trip around the cup.

  “Mother, what’s gotten into you?” Stephen’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “Are you having one of your spells?”

  “Did I ever tell you what happened to Anna?” She set the spoon down and finally looked at Elise.

  Stephen groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Mother….”

  Aunt Myrtle ignored him. “There was a cave she used to go to, about halfway up the side of a cliff. Someone had rigged a rope bridge between the top of this old maple tree and a boulder that was on the other side. I wanted to go there so bad, but Anna wouldn’t let me. I was a booger and went right home and told Papa. I was still mad about getting into trouble for the dollhouse furniture.”