by SUE FINEMAN
Chapter Twelve
When they returned home from the cemetery, Hannah found Trevor in the kitchen, chopping celery and onion for the stuffing. When they were married, Trevor did most of the cooking, since she was working and he wasn’t. His stuffing always came out great.
The pies she’d made earlier that day were sitting on cooling racks on the table.
“Mmm,” said Billy. “Pumpkin pie.”
“Hannah, you’re spoiling us,” said Pop. “Is that an apple pie?”
She pointed. “And that one is cherry. Grandma always used to make pecan pie for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I bought pecans, but I forgot to buy corn syrup, so we won’t have pecan pie.”
Donovan grinned. “This is plenty, Hannah. Actually, it’s too much for tomorrow. We might have to eat—”
“Get out of my kitchen,” she said, shoving him out the door while Billy giggled. Donovan grabbed Billy and whispered in his ear, and the kid giggled again.
“Dad said to ask for an after-school snack.”
Hannah knew what they were doing, so she grabbed two apples and handed them to Billy.
“She’s too smart for us,” Donovan said as he and Billy walked into the living room with their apples.
Trevor said, “I’ll make dinner tonight, Hannah. Spaghetti okay?”
“Sure, that’s fine. There’s hamburger in the fridge.” She inhaled and wrinkled her nose. “What do I smell?”
“Probably Monique’s perfume. She’s back, wearing a fancy dress and dripping with diamonds. She’s up in your room, sleeping.”
Hannah sighed deeply. After that gut-wrenching scene in the cemetery, she didn’t feel like dealing with Monique.
“That’s why I’m down here. Someone, or something, is not happy to have her here.”
“Trevor, nobody is happy to have her here.”
Trevor sautéed the celery and onion and mixed the stuffing, adding pecans and diced apples to the mix. He covered the dish, slid it into the refrigerator, and pulled out the hamburger. While he made the spaghetti sauce, she made the salad and got the garlic bread ready to brown.
“We work well together, don’t we, Hannah?”
“Yes, we do.”
Trevor put the wooden spoon on the counter beside the stove. “Why didn’t you ever look at me the way you look at him?”
He was talking about her and Donovan, and she did look at him differently. “You and I should have stopped with friendship, because that’s all we ever really were. Friends.”
From the hurt in Trevor’s eyes, their marriage meant more to him than to her. He may have his regrets now, but if he thought she’d go back to him, he’d better think again. “We’re still friends, Trevor. If we weren’t, I wouldn’t let you stay here.” He’d have to be satisfied with that, because she wasn’t in the market for a husband, especially one she’d already divorced.
“Hannah,” Donovan called. “The clock stopped.”
“At what time?”
“Five minutes after three.”
“That’s about the time Monique came in,” Trevor said quietly. “Like I said, somebody doesn’t want her here. The air upstairs is cold and things are swirling around like a winter storm up there. Monique demanded I turn up the heat.”
“Did you?”
“No. It’s only cold where she is.”
Hannah hated to tell Donovan that Monique was here, but she had to warn him and Pop before something happened. The spirits were angry, and she didn’t know what they were capable of doing.
As she walked out to the living room to tell him, a horrendous noise came from upstairs. It sounded like ten people banging on metal pots. Pop and Donovan, who’d been watching football on television, both came out of their chairs.
She sighed. “If they don’t chase her out, I’ll send her away after dinner.”
“Chase who out?” asked Pop.
“Monique. She’s upstairs sleeping, or she was sleeping.”
Right on cue, Monique yelled, “Hannah, for God’s sake, be quiet and let me sleep.”
Hannah smiled. “She’s awake now. After she leaves, I’ll have to air out the bedroom to get rid of the stench of her perfume.”
Donovan’s eyes sparkled as he eased closer. “Or… We could find you other accommodations for the night.”
As much as she loved snuggling with him, Hannah had refused to sleep with Donovan every night. They weren’t married, they had no commitment except to share this house for a year, and she wanted to keep her room as a private retreat. She loved the times they spent together, and the sex had never been better, but she wanted – she needed – to keep her independence.
The banging started again, and Monique came downstairs wearing her robe, her hair a tangled mess. “What on earth is going on?”
“Grandpa and Grandma don’t want you in their house, and neither do I. Get dressed. You can eat dinner with us and then you’re leaving.”
Monique had the good sense to look shocked. “But darling, I have nowhere else to go, and tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Surely you wouldn’t throw me out on the street on Thanksgiving.”
“Remember that year you ran off with Whatshisname and left me alone for five days? I was ten, and you were gone over Thanksgiving. I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Thanksgiving dinner that year. I would have had a glass of milk with it, except there was none in the house. Did you care?”
Her mouth dropped open. “I did no such thing.”
Donovan said, “Get dressed or leave like that, your choice. Either way, you won’t spend another night in this house.”
Applause from upstairs made Donovan and Hannah smile. Pop chuckled. They’d all gotten accustomed to having the ghosts around, and nobody in this house, living or dead, wanted Monique here.
Monique crossed her arms. “If you think I’m going up there so you can play your little tricks on me, think again.”
Pop ambled to the front door and opened it. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and Monique sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll go, but let me dress and pack in peace.”
“Dinner in ten minutes,” Trevor called, and Billy went to set the table.
Monique pulled her robe around her, stuck her nose in the air, and walked upstairs, leaving Hannah feeling deflated. The only living member of her family, and she couldn’t stand to be around her. Monique was a user. She’d never held a job and never supported herself. She took and took and never gave back. Hannah had never seen anyone work harder at not working than her mother.
Pop rubbed Hannah’s shoulder. “You may have gotten your beauty from your mother, but you got Charlie’s heart and his moral character. Donovan and Billy and me, we’re lucky to be here with you.”
He was trying to make her feel good about herself, and she loved him for it. Monique had taken advantage of her for the last time. “She’s leaving tonight, and she won’t be welcome here again.” Monique wouldn’t ruin another Thanksgiving.
A voice from upstairs yelled, “For God’s sake, Hannah, turn up the heat. It’s freezing up here.”
“It’ll be warmer after she leaves,” said Pop.
Trevor’s spaghetti dinner was a big hit. The sauce was perfectly spiced, he’d browned the garlic bread just right, and he’d tossed the salad with Hannah’s homemade Italian dressing. They were finished eating when Monique descended the stairs like a deposed queen, her chin lifted in arrogance. She wore a simple, yet elegant pink wool dress, pearls, and black pumps. She carried a small bag and her purse and had a black fur coat draped over her arm. “Trevor,” she said, “my bags, please.”
Trevor walked upstairs and brought Monique’s new bags down. Donovan carried the bags she’d left in the living room out to the street. He wanted to tell her nobody here was her servant, but he was so anxious to get rid of her, he kept his mouth closed.
The only way to get a look at the credit cards in her purse was to keep her here, and that wasn’t an option. Monique wasn’t stupid, and she knew the police had see
n those cards, so she’d probably ditched them by now. He hoped she left River Valley. If she stayed here, she’d end up in jail, and he didn’t want Hannah to hate him for having her mother arrested.
Monique gave Hannah an exaggerated air kiss, pulled her coat around herself, and walked out the door. Trevor followed her out to the car and loaded her bags in the trunk while Donovan and Hannah watched from the living room window. Trevor slammed the trunk and walked inside, and the car pulled away from the curb.
A sound like a sigh came from upstairs, and the entire house seemed to relax, including Hannah. She’d been wound up tight the whole time her mother was in the house.
Monique was gone, and for Hannah’s sake, Donovan hoped she’d stay gone.
While Pop cleaned up the dinner dishes and Hannah changed her bed, Donovan puttered around the living room, wondering what other little goodies were hidden in the old house. Trevor was already upstairs, and Billy had gone up with him to watch TV. The spirits were quiet now, and peace had settled over the house.
Donovan spotted the intricately carved mantel on the living room fireplace and walked over to inspect it. It wasn’t flush with the bricks in back, and he wondered if it was fastened to the bricks or just sitting on the brackets. After removing the candles and pictures on top, he tried to lift the mantel off.
“That lifts up,” said Hannah. She stood at the bottom of the stairs with her arms filled with bedding.
“What?”
“The mantel lifts up in front. We used to hang our Christmas stockings that way.”
He lifted the front and spotted the hinges underneath in back. Hannah put the dirty sheets down and walked over to help.
On the wall of the fireplace just below the hinges for the mantel, every other brick was set back, creating little niches. “Hannah, do you see what I see?”
“You found another stash?”
“Hold this up.”
While she held the mantel up, he pulled out two black velvet bags and set them on the hearth, and then two more. The next space was empty, but the last two had more little black velvet bags. “That’s it.” After putting everything else back in place, they carried the bags to the coffee table and sat on the sofa together.
Hannah picked up one bag. “This one is heavy.” She poured twelve twenty-dollar gold coins out on the table. “Your turn.”
Donovan picked one up. “This one is light.” He reached in and pulled out a roll of ten hundred-dollar bills. Checking the dates on the bills, he saw they were all from the forties. “Did Sonny know these were here?”
Hannah shook her head. “I doubt it. He would have put them in the bank. Charity probably put them there herself. According to Grandma, she was a little strange at times.”
He pointed at the bags. “Your turn.”
She opened another bag to find an antique pocket watch. “Oh, look. It’s beautiful.”
Donovan examined it. “Pop used to have one like this. He hocked it the year my brother had meningitis. Money was tight that year.”
She took it from his hand. “We’ll give it to him for Christmas.” She slipped it in the velvet sleeve and tucked it in her pocket.
“Hannah, you don’t have to give—”
“I want to, Donovan. Don’t tell him.”
He didn’t argue, because Pop would love it. He picked up another bag and dumped out ten gold coins, and then Hannah dumped out fifteen. Donovan emptied the last bag, and it was a big one. Twenty coins spilled out. They had just found fifty-seven gold coins worth at least several hundred dollars each, a thousand dollars in cash, and a priceless antique watch. They must have at least thirty-five or forty thousand sitting on the table before them, and possibly a great deal more.
She stared at the treasures piled on the coffee table. “The bank isn’t open tomorrow.”
“We’ll go on Friday, but what are we going to do with them in the meantime?” He didn’t want all this stuff sitting around the house where Trevor could find it.
Hannah immediately thought of the hiding places under the stairs. Could she trust Donovan not to tell Perkins?
“I could put them in that false ceiling,” said Donovan, “but I was going to use that for the evidence against Cordelli.”
Hannah took the little copper pot Grandpa used to put his change in and put everything they’d found inside, including the watch. “If you tell Perkins about this, you’d better learn to sleep with your eyes open.”
She carried the pot into the hallway and stopped by the stairs. “The latch is under the lip of the second step.” She pointed. “Right there on the side.”
Donovan moved the lever and the three compartments on the side of the stairs opened. “You knew about this and didn’t tell me?”
“I found it by accident the day you told Perkins about the diaries. I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”
Disappointment clouded his eyes. “Then why show me now?”
“Because I was wrong, wasn’t I? I can trust you with this, can’t I?”
“Honey, you know I can’t hide evidence in a murder investigation.”
“Then look the other way.”
“The case is all but closed, Hannah. Cordelli told his men not to spend any more time on it. When the lab comes back with an approximate time of death, the case will be put in the dead files.”
The dishwasher started, and Hannah knew Pop was finished cleaning up.
Donovan pulled out the two diaries and Hannah put the copper pot with the goodies inside. He examined the jewelry in the small niche before asking, “What’s behind the big doors?”
“Nothing. It looks like it was meant to be a hiding place for Charity and Grandpa. There are handles on the inside, and when you push or pull any of these panels closed, they all close.”
The diaries were dated 1920 and 1921. Donovan put them back in the hiding place beside the copper pot and pushed the door closed. All the panels closed.
Hannah pointed. “Rub out the fingerprints.”
He pulled out his handkerchief and did as she asked. She figured their stash was as safe here as in the bank, for now anyway.
Looking back into the living room, he asked, “Did your grandfather ever use the fireplaces?”
“I remember him using the one in the study once, but never the one in the living room or the one in the bedroom.”
Donovan grabbed a flashlight and looked up into the flue in the living room. “There’s something up there.”
“You mean a bird’s nest or something?”
“I don’t know what it is. Can you find me a wire coat hanger? It’s up too far to reach.”
Pop came out of the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“Fishing.” Donovan unbent the coat hangar Hannah handed him and probed. A clump of stiff, stained, sooty clothes landed on the hearth.
“Is that blood?” asked Pop.
Hannah groaned. “Tell me there’s not another body up there.”
Donovan took a closer look. “No body, just a killer’s clothes.”
Pop headed back to the kitchen. “I’ll get a plastic bag.”
Without touching the stains on the front and sleeves of the once white shirt and the front of the dark pants, Donovan inspected the clothes. They were very old and badly wrinkled. No permanent press in those days. The lab could compare the DNA of the blood on this with the DNA from the bones of the victim, but he didn’t have any doubt that these were the clothes of the man who killed Andrew. If they had a way of communicating with Andrew, he could ask him, but how do you talk with ghosts?
He dropped the clothes in the plastic garbage bag Pop held open. “I’ll call Perkins.”
Hannah groaned again. “They’ll start searching the house all over again.”
“I don’t think so, honey. They might look inside the other fireplaces, but they’ve already looked at everything else.”
Pop put a twist tie on the bag, and Donovan went upstairs to his room to make a phone call. “Hey, Perkins, I know it’
s a holiday, but I found something you’ll want. I found what I believe is the killer’s clothes stuffed up inside the living room fireplace.”
“And we missed it.”
Donovan shrugged. “Everyone was too busy keeping an eye on Cordelli, and nobody knew what they were looking for. Who would after this long?”
“Cordelli thinks Sonny Taylor killed the guy.”
“He’s wrong. Sonny was a wiry little guy, and the man who wore these clothes was a bigger man, not huge by today’s standards, but big for 1918, when the victim was killed. Sonny wasn’t more than four years old at the time.”
“You’re sure he was killed in 1918?”
“Fairly sure. The bricks from the wall we tore out look like they’re from the same batch the builder used on the other basement walls, but that wall wasn’t the same workmanship. That means it was built by someone else. Since the builder wouldn’t have ordered that many more bricks than they intended to use, I’m assuming the house wasn’t quite finished when the guy was killed. Did the lab come back with an approximate date of death?”
“They’re saying 1920, give or take five years.”
“Okay, we know the victim wasn’t killed before the house was built, so 1918 to 1925. Sonny was born in 1914. Whoever killed the victim not only wore those clothes I found in the fireplace, he had to be strong enough to lift a big beam and swing it hard enough to kill a full grown man. Does this sound to you like something a kid could have done?”
“No, but you know Cordelli. I think he wants to give Hannah some grief because she made a fool of him.”
“Then we’ll have to set the record straight. My best guess right now is that the killer was Sonny’s father, Cal Taylor. According to the diary entries Hannah read so far, Cal abused his wife and son, and we know he lived in the house or he was about to move into the house when the victim was killed. I don’t have any proof it was him, but it fits. Who else could have built a wall in the basement but the man who lived here?”
He knew it wasn’t Sonny. Sonny wasn’t old enough or big enough to kill a full-grown man, especially one who worked hard for a living. A carpenter back then would have been strong, and aside from the foot deformity, the victim was a healthy man.