Lochlan Museum
the case of the collectible killer
Melissa R. L. Simonin
© 2015
Lochlan Museum
the case of the collectible killer
Copyright 2015 by Melissa R. L. Simonin
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in whole or in part in any manner or in any form without the written permission of the author.
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Dedicated to,
Mom, who listens to every word I write, brainstorms with me, and makes invaluable observations and comments.
Also to Becky Clements, Paula Pavletich, and Kendra Drummond, my faithful proofreaders.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Chapter 1
Lightning flashed and thunderclouds rumbled and boiled threateningly, but the strong wind that advanced across the heavens rendered those threats idle. The storm was swept away, blue sky replaced gray, and the sun’s rays found escape and once again touched the earth with light.
Claire Davis eyed the puddles on the road, the speed limit, and the light traffic, then took the risk and rolled down her window. She breathed in the fresh air, washed clean by the summer storm and filled with the exuberant chirping of birds. A cool breeze swept through the vehicle, bringing with it the scent of popcorn, baked goods, warm concrete, and rain. She brushed back her brown, chin length hair, and smiled.
The light at the next intersection turned red, which didn’t disappoint Claire. She was anxious to explore her new home, but she also welcomed the chance to stop and take in her equally new surroundings.
Adorable shops, reminiscent of a time gone by, lined both sides of the road. Through one of the large plate glass windows, she saw an attractive display of antique merchandise. The red, carved wood door was propped open invitingly and held in place by a large, resin statue of a rooster. A smiling dog relaxed in the shade of the covered awning. He looked both friendly, and as if he belonged.
An old-fashioned chocolate shop stood beside it. She assumed that’s what it was, anyway, since the sign above the door said Olde Chocolatier. Trays of fudge and other delectable treats filled the display case on the other side of the large window. Claire wondered how the girl behind the counter managed to stay so slim, with such tempting fare surrounding her on every side.
A drugstore occupied the opposite corner of the intersection, complete with lunch counter and soda fountain. A soda jerk in a red and white striped apron, filled old-fashioned Coke glasses from the dispenser, and diners took advantage of the barstools, enjoying… probably lunch, considering the time. The thought made Claire’s stomach growl, and so did the scent of donuts and fresh bread that wafted her way.
She turned her attention to the other side of the street and caught a glimpse of a charming giftshop, bookstore, and bakery.
Claire glanced at the GPS app on her phone. Only a couple more blocks to go. The realization filled her brown eyes with excitement, and made her heart flutter.
The light turned green, so she crossed the intersection. Keeping one eye on the screen of her dash-mounted phone, and one on the road ahead, she turned left when directed and entered a residential area.
The trunks of the trees lining the small, picket-fenced yards were thick. They rose high into the air, their overlapping branches shading the entire street. The houses themselves were each unique, their only similarities being their diminutive size, clapboard exteriors, and pitched roofs. Some were one story, and others two. Some had tiny front porches, while others had a concrete step or two leading to their front doors.
One little house had decorative pink shutters on each side of its paned windows. Beside the front door with the heart-shaped window, the porch swing rocked lightly in the breeze. The yard was filled to overflowing with colorful flowers. Hummingbirds zipped from one to the other, and sparrows and house finches splashed in the birdbath.
Claire felt another thrill of anticipation as she approached Ivy Lane, wondering what she would find once she reached number 116.
Turning down the street as directed, she looked eagerly from one side to the other. The houses were larger here, and some were multi-story. Although they would hardly be considered spacious, the yards were another matter. The lots were roomy, and the houses set back from the street. Several had detached garages. All had lawns and huge trees lining the road, but here there were no picket fences. There were no fences at all.
She wondered fleetingly how dog owners managed without, as the GPS app informed her she had arrived.
She had, she’d arrived at 110. But, she was on the right street and near to her destination. She wasn’t going to complain.
She looked ahead three houses, her heart racing with excitement as she drew near.
It was two story, she loved that! There was a porch, and a swing. The lawn needed something, probably fertilizer… Claire knew nothing about such things, but it wasn’t quite as plush as its neighbors’. The sage green exterior of the house was in good repair, she wouldn’t have to worry about that. The ivory trim could do with some touching up. That might not be too difficult, or cost too much if she did it herself. The flowerbeds were empty, and so were the flower pots on each side of the front steps. They were waiting for whatever she decided to plant there, she thought, and felt another thrill.
She turned in at the driveway, and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the detached garage, set to one side and back of the house. It was too good to be true, and more than she dared hope for! So was the house, the new job, and—everything!
Claire parked in front of the garage and stepped out of her little blue hatchback. Her muscles were stiff after driving for so long, but she hardly noticed as she glanced at the roomy lawn behind the house, and the trees. So many beautiful trees!
There was a concrete slab extending from the back of her new home on the side nearest the garage. A basketball net was attached to the eaves, and chicken wire was stapled across the two windows on each side of the court. It wasn’t exactly lovely, but if it protected the glass, that was all that mattered. As she turned and hurried to the front of the house, she wondered if her grandmother had a basketball inside. If she didn’t, Claire would get one!
The porch railing needed a little touching up along with the eaves and window trim, but that had no effect on the love she felt for this, her house. Her house! She couldn’t thank the grandmother she never knew, so she thanked God instead. After all, every blessing really came from Him.
Claire unlocked the carved wood door, loving the cut-glass diamond window that took the place of a peephole, while simultaneously wondering how to best cover it for the sake of p
rivacy.
She swung the door open, and stepped inside.
Dust motes sparkled in the soft light that poured in through the porthole window above the entrance. At the end of the modest entryway, a staircase led to the second story. An area rug in shades of cream, mulberry, and sapphire, adorned the hardwood floor. The dark green walls bore no decoration aside from the gold-framed oval mirror, and the small antique half-table centered underneath. The bowl of potpourri which sat on top, did nothing to dispel the mustiness in the air. After being closed for so long, it was no wonder the house needed airing out, and a thorough dusting. The table and wood floor were visibly coated.
Wood trimmed, arched doorways faced each other on each side of the entryway. Through the one on the left, Claire saw a kitchen and eating area. She chose the doorway on the right, and entered a small living room.
Books, figurines, and other bric-a-brac, adorned the built-in shelves flanking the fireplace. A small couch and two matching chairs, wood-trimmed and covered in a soft floral pattern, faced it. An oval coffee table, highly polished and carved, sat in front of the couch on a blue, green, and pink floral area rug. Centered on the wall opposite the entry, was an upright grand piano. A grandfather clock stood in the corner, its movement still. Much as she wanted to set its pendulum swinging and examine the space fully, relief from the dust-laden air took precedence.
The windows would look out on the front yard once she figured out how to get the curtains open. As she struggled to find the cord, dust filled the air around her and she sneezed, but they were open at last. The picture window wasn’t built to slide, but the glass panels on each side opened outward with several turns of the attached cranks.
Fresh, rain-scented air rushed inside, and Claire breathed it in gratefully. She gave the room and its contents another brief glance, then proceeded to the kitchen.
The walls were apple green, the counters white tiled, the cabinets cream, and the floors wood like the rest of the downstairs. An apple red jelly cabinet with punched copper door panels stood against one wall. The table and chairs beside it were almost miniature compared to what one would find in a modern furniture store. They were adorable, and perfect for Claire. The appliances were also smaller and decidedly vintage in nature. She wondered if they could possibly be the same ones originally installed in the house.
She was pleased to see not one window, but three. There were no curtains here, only wood blinds. They were even more heavily coated with dust than the home’s furnishings, but she would deal with that later. Claire raised the blinds as high as they would go, then cranked open the large front window, the one on the side, and the one over the sink. The window in the upper half of the backdoor revealed a storm door on the other side. She swung the backdoor wide, and slid open the storm window for good measure.
Fresh air now circulated freely, carrying away the mustiness. Claire opened a door on the left side of the kitchen, and discovered a sewing room. An ancient machine stood against one wall, with shelves of patterns, fabric, and thread, on each side. A padded window seat rested atop a row of drawers lining the back wall. The rocking chair in the corner held a partially completed afghan, the crochet hook still in place beside the skein of yarn. Claire felt a familiar pang of regret at the loss of the grandmother she never knew she had, until after her death.
With a pull of the cord and a turn of the crank, more fresh air swept in through the room’s three windows. One faced the neighboring house, and the other two looked out on the basketball court and backyard.
Claire returned to the kitchen and looked through the doorway on the opposite side of the room. Inside, was a washer and dryer. There was also a window, which she opened for good measure.
She walked back to the entryway, and followed the carpeted stairs to the second floor.
A hall stretched from one side of the landing, to the other. At each end, stood a narrow doorway. Two more faced the stairs. The door directly opposite was open, revealing a small bathroom. Its pink fixtures included a claw-foot tub. Claire was grateful to see the attached shower head, and wrap-around curtain.
The closed door beside the bathroom held a modest linen closet, piled to the brim with towels, sheets, blankets, quilts, and who knew what else. Claire put off further investigation, and moved to the open doorway at the end of the hall on the right.
The bedroom on the other side was papered in broad stripes of deep green and ivory. The comforter on the four-poster bed was covered in pink and ivory roses, the leaves matching the green in the wallpaper and the area rug that covered a large part of the floor. The dresser held an assortment of perfume bottles, a flowered powder container, several tubes of lipstick, and a purse. A robe lay draped over the plush chair, and a fur stole, or wrap of some kind, lay across the seat. Claire stood still as sadness and longing washed over her again.
Someday she would have to go through her grandmother’s things. Someday she wouldn’t feel as though it was too soon, and disrespectful to the unknown grandmother for whom she grieved. But today… was not that day.
As Claire stepped back into the hall and moved to close the door behind her, the fur stole blinked.
Claire bit back a shriek, as her spine tingled and her heart raced.
The fur stole stretched, sat up, and blinked again. It now more closely resembled a very large, very hairy, gray cat.
“Oh my goodness, how long have you been here?” she gasped in alarm.
The cat considered the girl’s question, but said nothing. It did blink its yellow eyes again.
The cat didn’t appear to be starving, but… underneath all that fur, who knew how fat or thin it might really be? Claire felt dismay at the thought of it cooped up in the house for the past couple of months, all alone, with nothing to eat…
Maybe the house had mice.
That thought comforted on the one hand and brought fresh alarm on the other, but she put off that concern for later.
“Are you hungry? You must be, you poor thing…”
The cat considered that.
It decided to humor the girl.
The cat stood, hopped off the chair, walked past her, out the door, and down the stairs.
Claire closed the door behind her, and quickly followed.
The cat walked through the entry and across the kitchen floor. It came to a stop in front of the jelly cabinet, sat, and stared at it fixedly.
Claire obliged by opening the cabinet. Inside was a wide variety of dry goods, which she’d be very thankful for later. Her dollars wouldn’t undergo as much stretching as she’d anticipated between now, and the first paycheck from her new job. What monopolized the majority of her attention at the moment, were the cans of cat food. She seized one with relief, grappling with the pop-top as she carried it to the counter. She opened a cabinet door and discovered pots and pans. Another held mixing bowls, recipe books, flour, sugar, and other baking necessities. The third held the dishes she sought.
Clair removed a salad plate, and dumped the contents of the can in its center.
The cat sat at her feet, watching the proceedings. This girl was very accommodating. She met with his approval.
Claire set the plate in front of the cat, and it politely began to eat.
If it was starving, surely it would gobble the food right down, she thought, as she took a bowl and filled it with water. But… what she knew about cats would fit in a very small thimble.
“Well… whatever the case, you can count on being fed from now on,” she told the cat. He took a moment to look deep into the bowl of water she placed beside him, then returned to his meal.
Claire watched him for several minutes. He seemed to be doing fine… and she had one room yet to explore. If it was a bedroom, well and good. If not, she’d make do with a blanket and the tiny sitting room couch.
“I’m going upstairs,” she felt the need to tell the cat. He looked at her and considered that, then returned to his meal once again.
Claire took the stairs back to the s
econd floor, turned left, and followed the hall to the closed door. She reached for the knob, then stopped uncertainly.
What if… someone was in there? The cat couldn’t survive on his own without food and water for so long, could he? Unless there were an awful lot of mice… But the contents of the jelly and kitchen cabinets showed no tell-tale signs of rodent habitation.
So… was there someone staying at the house? There shouldn’t be, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure she and the cat were alone.
She hesitated for several agonizing seconds, then knocked firmly on the door.
There was silence on the other side.
Claire turned the knob slowly, and pushed the door open fast.
Light glowed faintly around the edges of the heavy curtains that covered the windows on three sides of the small space, but otherwise it was dark. Claire felt for the wall switch, and with a soft click, light bathed the room.
A brass bed was centered against the opposite wall, a small nightstand and lamp on one side, and a window on the other. In the corner sat a delicate, upholstered chair, and beside it, a dressing table complete with mirror. A second window faced the backyard. A third faced the front, a cedar chest underneath. A chest of drawers occupied the wall to the right of the hallway. Beside it, was a closed door. It probably led to the closet. Which… was possibly inhabited, Claire’s nerves warned her.
She set her jaw firmly, and moved purposefully from curtain to curtain, yanking them open unceremoniously. That sent her into a sneezing fit, and she hurried to crank open the windows.
The bright sunlight, fresh breeze, the singing of birds, the sound of a distant mower, and the scent of fresh cut grass and rain, renewed her courage. She took a moment to hurl aside the bed skirt and reassured herself there was nothing more alarming than a herd of dust bunnies hiding there, then threw open the closet door.
Lochlan Museum: The Case of the Collectible Killer Page 1