“Jack’s my fiancé and business partner. Anyway, he called in a panic about the broken water pipe so I didn’t get a chance to read any of the other articles.”
“Well, what did it say?” Albert took a forkful of his dessert and swallowed. Little crumbs escaped his mouth, and Juniper swallowed, wishing she could try the cake. “Doctor Downing, I don’t think you’re going to like this.”
“Well, I don’t imagine it’s worse than what your friend already accused me of. And please, call me Albert.”
“Okay… Albert.” Juniper paused a moment before continuing. “This probably explains why you’re still here — why you can’t seem to leave.”
“Go on.”
“You stuffed your wife Victoria in a trunk in your home attic.” She paused. “And then you shot yourself.”
He didn’t respond immediately—just looked blankly at Juniper. Abruptly he stood up; the plate he’d been eating from crashed to the floor.
“I did no such thing!”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. According to what I found out, your brother-in-law—Almer—found you.”
“Almer found me? There is no way in hell I would have hurt Victoria. There must be something in the other articles—the ones written after the first one—the ones you haven’t read yet, that say we were murdered.”
“’Fraid not, Albert. The historical society’s guide knew all about your story. Claimed to have read all the articles regarding your death and said it was murder-suicide.”
“So, this person said I killed Victoria at the house and then drove here and shot myself at the mill? Why would I do that?”
She leaned against one of the upstairs beams. “Not exactly. The paper said you were found crumpled over your desk in your home.”
“Hah! Then why am I stuck here? Shouldn’t I be haunting our home?”
“Actually, it’s already haunted.”
“By whom?”
“Victoria.”
“She’s like me?”
“A spirit? A ghost? Yes.”
“How is she?”
“Dead.”
“You’ve talked to her? Does she say that I killed her?”
“No, I’m afraid she doesn’t talk to me. I’ve seen her. She’s even saved my butt a few times, but she never speaks. That’s why this is sort of freaking me out.”
Albert paced the second floor in a fit of agitation. “Well, that must be why I’m still here then. I have to prove I didn’t murder my wife.” Suddenly he stopped pacing and faced Juniper. “You have to help me.”
Chapter Six
W hen Juniper walked into the historical society for the second time, it wasn’t Sharlene Spittle who greeted her, but another guide. She showed her the card, and then made her way to the back where they kept the old newspapers. Unlike yesterday, there were a number of visitors already wandering through the various exhibits.
Juniper was the only one to take a place at the newspaper table. Since the books were numbered chronologically, it took her just a few minutes to locate the next book she needed. Opening to the first page, she found another article on the murder-suicide.
The second article was primarily a recap of the first one, with one exception. It included an interview with Albert’s brother-in-law, Almer Stone. The interview took place in Bohemian Lake.
“I suppose none of us really knows what goes on in another man’s head; however, he had been drinking more often,” Almer said in the interview. When asked why his brother-in-law would murder his wife, Almer responded, “I know the War bothered him greatly. He wanted to serve but felt he was too old to be useful. I can only speculate that was the demon that plagued him.”
When flipping through the newspaper Juniper came across an editorial discussing the referendum on women's suffrage and citing Victoria Downey’s involvement in the movement as a contributing factor in her murder.
Juniper thumbed through the papers. There was nothing more. She grabbed another book, hurriedly turning the pages.
“Can I help you with something?” a male voice asked. Juniper looked up into the blue-gray eyes of the elderly guide who’d greeted her at the front door when she had first arrived at the historical society that morning.
“I can’t find the rest of 1917—nothing until 1922.”
“Maybe I can help you. I’m pretty familiar with Bohemian Lake history.” He took a seat at the table. “I’m Ben Smith, by the way.” Juniper estimated he was in his eighties—very spry eighties.
“Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m Juniper Palmer.”
“From the Gothic Inn. I’ve heard nice things about you. I was so sorry to hear about your… troubles recently. You were the one who found the Patone girl last October, right?”
Juniper nodded. “Did you know her?”
“As well as any of us could. She wasn’t the warmest, now was she. Anyway, what can I help you with?”
“I’m just curious about the history of my house—the Doctor and his wife. Can you tell me about them?” She hadn’t expected to meet anyone in Bohemian Lake who knew them but it couldn’t hurt to ask.
“I wasn’t born when the murder-suicide took place, but I did know the widow Stone.” Ben smiled at the memory. “Mrs. Marjorie Stone. Let me tell you, she was not a woman to be reckoned with. I remember because some of the kids would knock on her door and run away and she always found a way to even the score. There were plenty of rumors about her being the murderess.”
“I haven’t heard anything like that. People thought she murdered her own sister?”
“Oh, yes, And her husband, Almer, too. He didn’t live that long after the murder-suicide incident.”
“Wait a minute… why would people think that? Because she inherited everything?”
“Inherited? No, Marjorie never cared much about possessions. They say she was jealous. Her husband fancied Victoria, only her father married Marjorie off instead because she was the eldest.”
“That’s hardly proof. I’m sure the police would have ruled her out.”
“From what I understand, it was a bit of a coverup. I never knew the details. Almer’s brother was the police chief at the time so who knows? All of that happened before I was born. To be honest, the only reason I know as much as I do about that family is because I had a crush on Edie McNitt. She used to babysit me. She was Trephinia’s little sister.”
“Trephinia?”
“You never heard of the housekeeper—Trephinia McNitt? She witnessed the murder.”
“There was a witness?”
“Yes. But she’d never talk about it. I remember people around town saying she probably blocked all memory of it from her mind since it was so traumatic.”
“Really.” Juniper considered her options for a moment. “Do you know where I could find this Trephinia.”
“Well, she passed away but you could try talking to your neighbor. Fern Battams is Trephinia McNitt’s granddaughter. She lives in Trephinia’s old house. Edie is still alive, too. She’s older than the sun but she’s got a pretty good memory as far as I know. She was young when the Doctor snapped but she was pretty close to her sister. I imagine she knows more than anyone about what happened back then.”
Juniper reached across the table and closed the books. “It’s worth a shot. Thank you for all your help.”
Chapter Seven
F ern Baron née Battams glanced up, readjusted her hat with one gloved hand, and waved with a gardening trowel in the other. Juniper hadn’t expected to actually see her neighbor when she pulled back into the Gothic Inn’s drive—but there she was, sporting overalls and a floppy straw hat, on her hands and knees in the front flower garden.
When Juniper got out of her car and walked toward her, the woman stood up—struggling a bit as she got off her knees—and slipped off her gardening gloves, tossing them and the trowel to the ground by her feet.
“Good afternoon,” Juniper said when she reached her.
“Isn’t it, though? After th
at horrendous Spring, I am just loving this weather,” Fern said cheerfully. “How’s the reno going on Pike’s new place? I intended to stop by the Inn for dinner last night to pry but my mother’s coming to town and she’s bringing my Great Aunt Edie, and lord knows things are never clean enough when those two are visiting.”
“Your great aunt is coming?”
“She certainly is.” Fern opened the screen door. “Come on in. Have you time for a cup of tea and a little visit?”
“Sure do,” Juniper said brightly, entering the house and following Fern to the kitchen island. “I was actually just talking about you and your family. It’s funny that I ran into you.”
“All bad, I hope.”
Juniper smiled. “Not at all.”
“Well, now, dear. You don’t have to lie to me. My family has always been fodder for this town’s gossip mill. So, what was it about this time? My deadbeat father?”
“No, actually it was about your grandmother, Trephinia. I had some questions and Ben Smith from the historical society suggested I talk to your family.”
“Really,” Fern said as she removed her straw hat and placed it on the coat rack in the entry.
Less than fifteen minutes later Juniper sat primly on an upholstered straight back chair as Fern served her a cup of hot tea.
“So, what were you wondering about?”
“I was doing some research on the history of the house and the mill. We got chatting about the Inn’s history of bloodshed,” Juniper said as she sipped her tea. Fern sat in a loveseat facing her.
“I suppose he told you my grandmother was there.”
Juniper nodded. “I’ve been looking for some information on the history of the old mill. The only newspapers from that era are at the historical society, yet the collection is incomplete. I’m trying to find out: what happened to the doctor and his wife? Whether or not Albert really was the one to kill her and himself.”
“I see. Well, I know what you mean. It’s hard to get answers around here. Half the town used to say how tragic it all was considering they were so in love and had their entire future in front of them. The other half said Victoria was a domineering suffragette, who only loved Albert’s money.”
“Did your grandmother ever speculate?”
“I do recall overhearing my grandmother say once that she never believed it was a murder-suicide. But no one would listen to her.”
“What about the brother-in-law who found them? He died too, right?”
Fern nodded. “Good riddance according to Grandma. She said that man was the devil. Poor Marjorie though, she took her sister’s death hard. She and my grandmother were very close. Marjorie left Grandma this house when she died. This house and a pile of money. It’s too bad my father pissed it all away after she passed.”
Juniper nodded. She’d heard what a terrible man Fern’s father, Chase Battams had been. Jason had a few choice words for the man. “Why didn’t your grandma believe it was a murder-suicide?”
“I don’t know. I think she said there was no reason for the Doctor to have killed Victoria. She had him wrapped around her finger. There was nothing he wouldn’t have given or done for her. She said Almer was the only one who had a motive; he stood to become the sole owner of the saw mill.”
Juniper sipped her tea and asked, “So she thought it was the brother-in-law?”
“Grams liked to reminisce. She told me things that she’d never told anyone but to be honest she was starting to get confused and so I don’t really know what was true, and what was her senility kicking in.”
“What did she tell you?” Juniper set her cup on its saucer.
“That Almer was a shady character. That he was involved in gambling and was notorious for scandal. Even though he inherited half the sawmill and a generous dowry from Marjorie’s father, he preferred taking risks and living on the edge. Outside of Grams, I never heard a single soul suggest Almer was involved.”
“How would she know something like that?”
“Grams?” Fern laughed at the suggestion. “Grams knew everything. Marjorie confided in her. They were childhood friends and even though Grams worked for her, Marjorie never treated her like just an employee. My grandfather worked for the family, too—at the mill. He said they were finding blood for days after the Doctor killed himself.”
“Huh? Why would there be blood at the Mill if he shot himself at the house?”
“Well, that is the burning question, isn’t it? Never made sense and the whole thing was just wrapped up a little too quickly if you asked Grams.”
“So, what was all that about your grandmother being there?”
“Oh, not those murders, dear. She was there for Almer’s suicide. I always wanted to ask Grams about that night, see what she really remembered, but I never did.”
“You mean how he hanged himself?”
Fern’s daughter, Kara, entered the house, interrupting their conversation. Walking into the sitting room she called out, “Mom, are…” and then stopped when she saw Juniper sitting with Fern.
“Did you forget about my music lesson with Mr. Stone?” she asked, glancing from Fern to Juniper.
“Oh my!” Fern glanced at her watch. “Oliver will be waiting. Grab your guitar.” She glanced at Juniper, “He’s so good with his students, isn’t he?”
Juniper nodded and stood up. “I apologize for distracting you.”
“Oh, you didn’t! I enjoyed our visit.”
Chapter Eight
B rick, mortar and wood. Juniper gazed up once again at the grand old edifice, surrounded by overgrown weeds, and tingled with excitement. It was decaying but it was beautiful. No ghosts danced on the wraparound porch and no specters wavered in the windows, but she was sure the doctor was inside and she couldn’t wait to tell him what she’d learned. Hopefully, something would shake loose in his memory.
The warm summer breeze lifted a few wispy strands of her blonde hair and blew them around as she climbed the stairs leading up to the front porch. She set down the tool chest she was carrying and shoved the hair back off her face. And that’s when she noticed Jack.
“I thought you were headed to the other jobsite this morning?”
“I was, but I missed you.” He gave Juniper a wink.
“Spare me. You can’t resist a good demo day.”
“Guilty as charged, but I do love seeing your shiny, happy face.”
“Agreed.”
He pushed away from the post and strolled toward her. “I’ve cleared my schedule for the next two weeks so that I can help out here. After that I’ll have to bounce between our projects.”
“I could use all the help I can get but are you sure? I thought you were starting our next flip this week?” Their business—Spirited Construction—had several projects on the go all the time, which is why they had two construction crews. And then there was the Gothic Inn and Taproom in town that they owned and ran. Thankfully they had Finn Valentine pretty much managing that on his own now. Longtime friend of Jack’s and new boyfriend to Pike, Finn had turned out to be worth his weight in craft beer.
Another warm gust of wind blew in off the river, Juniper turned away from it and let out a sigh as they headed inside.
Jack stopped and studied what looked like a series of cupboards in a conveyer-belt sort of line up. “What are these?”
“Roller stands. That’s where the grain would go through a series of rollers to break down the outer husk, then it would be sieved, and ground between the millstones to produce the flour. Pike has a guy coming to buy all this stuff. I think he’s going to bring his own team to disassemble it.”
“Why wouldn’t she keep it? She runs a bakery.”
“I asked her, but she’s not interested in milling her own artisan bread.”
Jack twisted the small handles on either side of the cupboard and the panel came out. “What is that smell?”
“I don’t know but it’s stronger over here.”
He stuck his head up close to the op
ening. “I can’t see farther than a few feet.”
“Maybe an animal fell in the hopper,” Juniper said, “but I don’t see how it could get down here, if it wasn’t turned on.” Juniper took a peek through the opening and ran her hand along the cupboard. “Maybe it’s in one of these other compartments.”
He grimaced. “I guess we’d better get it out before the buyer comes to collect. A dead carcass might make them reconsider.”
Juniper stared at the cabinet built into the far wall. “That would not be appealing to buyers, no.”
Juniper twisted the silver tee shaped handle, and the door lifted away. The old wood was stiff and heavy, but Juniper managed to get it opened all the way. The strong whoosh of putrid air, flour and dust coming from the small cupboard knocked her back a foot. Jack pulled her farther away from the opening. “What the hell is that?”
“I think we found our rotten animal.” Juniper let out an unsteady breath.
“I’d say so,” he muttered, and rubbed her shoulders while Juniper tried to calm her rapidly beating heart.
Once the decades of flour dust had settled, Juniper shone the flashlight’s beam inward, and caught a glimpse of something else.
“What the—” Juniper jerked her head back as fast as she could move. The flashlight fell from her hand, hitting the floor with a bang. “Oh my God.”
Jack grabbed her arms. “Junie, what is it?”
“What’s wrong, boss?” Jason Battams demanded as he entered the mill. “You see a rat?” He grabbed the flashlight off the floor and looked inside to see for himself what Juniper was freaking out about.
“Holy moly,” Jason said, backing away from the space.
“What is it?” Jack said. “What’s wrong with you guys?”
Jason’s cheeks puffed out, and he exhaled heavily. “There’s, like, bones in there.”
“Jeez, you guys, relax,” Bear, the crew’s foreman said cynically. “It’s probably a dead raccoon.”
Bones nestled in decaying fabric. Wisps of hair still clinging to a skull with leathery skin still covering the bone. Dried and mummified flesh adding substance to the bones. She was real, and yet she appeared to be nothing but a decorative prop for a macabre haunted house.
Crumb Cake, Corpses and the Run of the Mill Page 4