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The Edwards Mansion
Copyright © 2015 by Dean Wesley Smith
First published in Smith’s Monthly #14, WMG Publishing, November 2014
Published by WMG Publishing
Cover and layout copyright © 2015 by WMG Publishing
Cover design by Allyson Longueira/WMG Publishing
Cover art copyright © Trolev/Dreamstime
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
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For Kris
A Historical Note:
The Edwards Mansion in Boise was torn down in the late 1960s after sitting in ruins for decades. My father noticed it was being demolished and rescued the Edwards’ capstone that had the Edwards’ name carved into it. It had been over the front door. He donated the stone to the Idaho Historical Society along with photos of the house in its prime. At times the stone and the pictures appear as part of an exhibit of the early history of Boise.
I am a direct descendant of the Edwards in Boise.
That said, everything in this story, including the characters and the actual location of the Edwards Mansion is completely fictional and based roughly on a short story I wrote a number of years back set in my Thunder Mountain series.
PART ONE
A Problem with a Ghost
CHAPTER ONE
September 19, 2016
Downtown Boise, Idaho
THE BROOKS GARDEN Restaurant hummed with the noise of a busy lunch hour. Dishes clicking, people laughing, faint background music, and the distant traffic on Grove Avenue in Boise.
But the place had so many plants and tables tucked into nooks and corners that even though it was crowded, to Sherri Edwards it didn’t feel that way. The high ceilings and dark wood decor smothered in various plants allowed conversation at a normal voice level instead of having to almost shout as happened at busy times in some restaurants.
But just getting to a table in the back sometimes made her feel like she needed a safari guide and a machete to cut back the overgrown green decorative plants.
She loved the place and looked for any excuse to come here, not only for the wonderful atmosphere, but the chicken and specialty cheese salads couldn’t be beat. The entire restaurant always had a rich thick pasta smell, as if a waiter was about to bring her a plate of her favorite spaghetti covered in thick red tomato and garlic sauce.
Who knew a jungle could smell Italian.
Her two best friends, Bonnie Kendal and Dawn Edwards sat with her at the four-person wood table tucked back against the wall under a framed photograph of a rolling field of golden hay and the dark brown remains of a tumbled-down wood barn that had once been dominant over the field. Sherri loved how the golden hay, alive and healthy, contrasted with the dark ruin from the past in the picture.
Dawn was Sherri’s distant cousin and one of the most respected historians in the country. She worked part-time as a professor at the university, but spent most of her time researching and writing historical books.
Unlike Sherri, who had long black hair and barely made it past five-four in height, Dawn had long brown hair and was taller at five-eight. She exercised all the time and she and her boyfriend, Madison, never seemed to be apart. Sherri felt lucky to pry Dawn away from him even for a lunch date once a month.
Bonnie was even taller at just under six feet. She also had long brown hair and all three of them were within a year of the same age at just over thirty, but Sherri felt that Bonnie and Dawn just seemed older. And the two of them laughed a lot more than they used to.
Bonnie had been her best friend from grade school on through high school and they had stayed in touch over the years of college and became close again when Bonnie and Duster got married and moved back to Boise.
Now Bonnie and Duster were known as two of the top math brains in the world and were richer than both Dawn and Sherri, which was going some. Both Dawn and Sherri had inherited enough money to never have to work, although both of them still did because they enjoyed what they did.
Sherri figured that after earning four degrees in different forms of restoration engineering and architecture, she had damn well better enjoy what she did. That was a lot of years in school and apprenticeships.
Sherri had focused all her life on historical renovation and had published three books on the subject. She flat loved it with a passion, at least most of the time. At the moment she wasn’t finding one restoration project fun at all, and not for the standard construction reasons.
The three of them had spent the first half hour of lunch talking about some historical books they all loved, different things happening at the university, and Dawn’s new book project on forgotten mining towns of the Pacific Northwest.
Then, as the waiter found his way through the jungle of plants from the distant kitchen and delivered their lunches, and Sherri was about to dig into her sliced-breast-of-chicken salad, Bonnie asked, “How’s the renovation going?”
Sherri forced herself to take a bite of the sweet-tasting chicken with the wonderful honey-mustard dressing while shaking her head. “It’s not,” she finally said.
“What happened?” Dawn asked, looking surprised. “You love that place and I am so looking forward to you bringing it back up to its original glory.”
“So was I,” Sherri said.
About six months before she had finally managed to purchase the Edwards Mansion out Warm Springs Avenue, sitting on two oak and cottonwood covered acres on a bluff overlooking the Boise River. The wonderful stone and mahogany mansion had not been lived in for over a hundred years, but for eighty of those years it had been maintained by the former owner’s estate. Then it had fallen into ruin and she had been working to buy it ever since.
Even though she and Dawn were of no relation to the original owner, it carried their name and had been one of the most amazing show houses of its time in early Boise history.
For Sherri, restoring that mansion was to be her prize project and she planned on living in the mansion after she was done. But that now looked like it was not to be. And failing at the one project she cared so much about was breaking her heart.
“So what happened?” Bonnie asked.
Sherri glanced at her, then at Dawn. Both her close friends were looking very concerned.
“Did you run out of money buying the place?” Dawn asked. “You know I have more than I can spend and would love to help.”
“As would I,” Bonnie said.
That actually made Sherri laugh and smile at her close friends. “Thanks,” she said, “but I also have more than enough money. It’s not that.”
“Than what is the problem?” Dawn asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sherri said, shaking her head and taking another bite of her salad, letting the wonderful flavor calm the deep anger she was feeling about the project.
“You would be surprised at what we would believe or not believe,” Dawn said, and Bonnie laughed lightly.
“Yes, please, tell us,” Bonnie said.
“A ghost is haunting the place,” Sherri said, blurting it out. “The original owner supposedly killed himself in the mansion in 1902. I can’t get any workers to stay because of the ghost. No one will work in there.”
“A ghost?” Bonnie asked, leaning forward.
“You’re kiddin
g?” Dawn asked.
“I wish to hell I was,” Sherri said, jabbing far too hard at her salad, then finally putting down her fork and taking a drink of her unsweetened iced tea. There was little point in taking her frustration out on a helpless chicken salad.
“The mansion went through three owners,” Sherri said, “from the time the estate money ran out, and no one could live in there, which is why it fell into the condition it’s in now.”
“And you’ve seen this ghost?” Bonnie asked.
“Nope, just heard it,” Sherri said. “And trust me, I don’t believe in ghosts and that sound scares hell out of me. I can’t blame carpenters and the rest for not wanting to work in there. Sounds like some poor guy is being tortured.”
“Wow,” Bonnie said, sitting back in her chair, her salad half-eaten.
“I had always heard the place was haunted,” Dawn said, shaking her head. “Just never believed it to be true.”
“Well everyone I try to get to work there believes it,” Sherri said, not hiding the disgust she was feeling. She stared at her lunch, wishing this topic had never come up. Now she would never be able to finish that salad.
“No one will work there, no matter the money you pay them?” Dawn asked.
Sherri shook her head. “A couple contractors I hired even ran from the home leaving their tools behind. Contractors don’t leave tools. Those things are sacred, yet they did. And now word has gotten out and no one will even think of going in there. I could kill that guy for killing himself and then haunting his own home.”
Then she realized how silly that sounded and laughed, as did Bonnie and Dawn.
“So who was this original Edwards?”
Sherri shrugged. “Not a lot is known about him, including his first name. It is just known he killed himself in the mansion on September, 20th, 1902 after building and living in the place for twenty years. He had no kids or heirs that anyone could find.”
“One hundred and fourteen years ago tomorrow,” Bonnie said.
“That’s right,” Sherri said, going back to stabbing at her defenseless salad.
Silence settled over the table as the background sounds of the restaurant filtered into their sheltered table. One woman with a shrill laugh had heard something really funny a few tables away, and someone else was clearing off a table close by, clanking dishes and silverware.
Sherri jabbed her salad one more time for good measure and glanced up at her two friends. “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Bonnie said. “I’m just thinking we might be able to do something to help.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Dawn asked Bonnie.
Bonnie nodded.
“No séance or anything silly like that,” Sherri said.
“No,” Dawn said, smiling at Sherri. “What we are thinking is far, far crazier than that.”
Bonnie laughed and pushed back from the table. “Let me call Duster and see what he thinks.”
“Wish Madison was in town,” Dawn said. “But he can’t get away from that conference. But he would love to join this ghost hunt.”
Sherri watched as Bonnie walked toward the front door, her phone to her ear.
“Join what?” Sherri asked. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sounds of this conspiracy.
“You busy tomorrow?” Dawn asked, ignoring her question.
Sherri laughed. “About all I do is swear at a ghost, so I’m pretty free. Why?”
“We just need a little field trip is all,” Dawn said. “Just trust us, we might be able to solve this ghost problem.”
“You can get a ghost out of my house by leaving town?” Sherri asked, convinced her two best friends were crazier than she was for telling them about the ghost.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Dawn said. “Just trust us.”
Sherri stared at her friend and cousin and just shook her head. “I got nothing to lose at this point.”
And she didn’t. Not a thing. If something didn’t change, she was just going to have to tear down the old place and that would break her heart.
She went back to stabbing her salad until it was nothing more than shredded lettuce.
CHAPTER TWO
May 30, 1902
Boise Avenue in Boise, Idaho
CARSON EDWARDS PULLED the large beveled-glass and maple wood front door of his mansion closed, listening for the latch to click tightly. He had already saddled Sandy, his brown mare, and brought her around from the stable in the back. She was waiting at the foot of the wide front staircase.
Large columns of mahogany polished to a shine supported the tall wrap-around porch. The porch and wide railings were painted white. The mansion itself was built mostly of polished stone mined from a nearby quarry.
He had spent many a wonderful evening on this porch in the comfortable overstuffed chairs, sipping an iced tea, watching the shadows change as the sunset and the occasional wagon or horse traffic bumped along the rough surface of Warm Springs Avenue.
There was a porch almost as big around the back of the mansion as well that overlooked the river. He loved that porch more than this front area, but not by much.
The day had turned warm, but not too warm for an afternoon ride into town and a night of poker in the great Idanha Hotel poker room. The tall cottonwood trees that lined Warm Springs Avenue in front of his home were casting cooling shade, and a slight breeze blowing off the river below his home helped. Perfect evening.
For twenty years, he had loved every day here, from building the mansion to now. But he had no choice. He now had to get ready to move on. It was just time. When the first cold weather set in at the end of September, he needed to be gone.
He climbed into the saddle and turned Sandy up his long driveway toward the avenue, letting her move at her own comfortable pace. A small wagon with one man driving went past and the man tipped his floppy sun hat and Carson tipped his hat back as well with respect.
He didn’t recognize the man. More than likely one of the city workers camping out along the river. Back when he built the mansion, most of his carpenters and stonemasons camped out there as well.
Carson was dressed as he always dressed when going out into public. He had on dark jeans, cowboy books, a silk shirt, and dark vest, covered by a light suit jacket. He usually wore a tan cowboy hat with wide brims to keep the sun off his neck and face and this afternoon was no exception.
He loved playing poker and was looking forward to the night’s game. That poker room in the basement of the Idanha Hotel being built two years ago had kept him in Boise for two more years than he had originally planned. So now this would be his last summer here, no matter how much he loved his wonderful home.
He only allowed himself twenty years in Boise. Then his work needed to be done and he needed to move on to Europe and do his research. He doubted he would ever return, but he planned to keep the mansion and have it maintained and cleaned just in case.
He would miss it more than he wanted to admit. But his work needed to be done and he just couldn’t afford the time to come back to Boise.
But he still had the summer and he planned on enjoying it.
And enjoying the perfect evening ride into downtown Boise.
CHAPTER THREE
September 20, 2016
North End District of Boise, Idaho
SHERRI HAD NO idea where her friends were taking her when they picked her up in front of her condo in the north end of Boise. But wherever it was, six a.m. was too damn early. It was still dark for heaven’s sake.
The air under the towering oak trees in her neighborhood was chilled and a little damp. Sherri had no doubt that later in the day it would turn warm again, but now the cool nights in Boise gave warning of the winter that was coming.
She was so tired from getting up this early, she didn’t even care about the cold or the fact that she was shivering by the time Bonnie’s husband, Duster, pulled up. She had leaned against the trunk of a big oak tree near the road
and it was damned lucky she was still awake.
Duster was driving a big Cadillac SUV and Bonnie was sitting in the front seat. Dawn was in the back seat.
Duster got out, smiling, something that no one should be allowed to do this time of the day. He was a handsome man, taller than Bonnie at over six foot, and he always wore dark jeans, a western-style silk shirt, and was seldom seen without his long oilcloth duster and cowboy hat. This morning he was without the coat and hat, but Sherri bet it was in the back of the SUV.
Duster took the small overnight bag Bonnie and Dawn had told Sherri to pack and tossed it in the back and closed the hatch.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Duster asked.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Sherri said. “I’ll let you know when morning gets here.”
He laughed as Sherri climbed in next to Dawn, who looked almost as bad as Sherri felt. The inside of the large SUV was at least comforting warm, like crawling under a big quilt.
“Six a.m. is not my idea,” Dawn said. She handed Sherri a pillow. “Nap time.”
“Who likes it this time of the morning?” Sherri asked.
Bonnie just pointed to Duster and shook her head. She also had a pillow in her lap she clearly was about ready to use. From the looks of this, for Bonnie and Dawn, this was a normal occurrence, this ungodly hour of the morning.
After Duster was back in and they were headed off down the road, Bonnie patted her husband on the arm. “Drive safely. The women need a little more beauty sleep.”
Duster only laughed. “I’ll wake you all for breakfast.”
“And where might that be?” Sherri asked softly.
Dawn just shook her head. “Don’t ask, just sleep.”
Sherri put her head on the large soft pillow that Dawn had handed her and leaned against the door, looking at the shadows from the streetlights. Before the big Cadillac even got off of Harrison Boulevard five blocks from her condo, she was asleep.
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