by Anita Higman
19 – This Secret of Yours
Breathe, Bailey. Just when a person starts feeling comfortable with life’s general mayhem then anarchy gives you another wallop with its mallet. I learned in that one moment how many ways there were to disguise emotions. When a veneer of calm could be achieved, I said to Dedra, “Oh, my. Isn’t that something?”
“Vlad is going to take me somewhere a week from tomorrow. He said our date was a surprise. And you know how I love surprises.”
Not his kind you don’t. Not wanting to toss water on her steaming coals, I let Dedra fill the air with her excited chatter.
“I’m sure he’ll take me somewhere romantic.” Dedra played with her dangly pearl earring. “He just seems like the type. You know?”
“Well, that’s a fine thing, Honey,” Magnolia said to Dedra. “He’s a good and generous man. And he’s a Christian too. Told me so himself.”
I’ll bet he did. I wanted to roll my eyes, but kept my emotions in check.
Dedra touched my arm. “You’re looking kind of pasty. Are you feeling okay?”
Guess some of my emotions seeped out. “I’m just surprised that—”
“Surprised that a handsome Christian man would ask me out?” Dedra’s eye’s flashed with pain.
“I promise you that’s not what I meant.” Oh brother. How was I going to get out of this one? I had no idea. “He just didn’t seem like your type. He’s so eccentric.”
“Really? I never noticed that.” Dedra clapped her hands. “But I’m glad you approve.”
I blinked. Approved?
Magnolia’s cuckoo clock sounded—the little bird announced, “Cuckoo,” over and over and over. My sentiments exactly. I released an internal groan. Dedra hadn’t heard a word I’d said. I certainly hadn’t approved. Should I tell Dedra straight out that Vlad may have frightened his stepbrother to death and then drugged me with the hope of locating a nebulous treasure? But I knew I had no clear evidence, and it would only turn me into a wet blanket. Not just a wet blanket, but a whole soggy unspun washing load full of them. Besides, since Dedra and Vlad weren’t going out for a week, I had time to find some real proof so I could warn Dedra. Now if only I could figure out how to gather some concrete evidence.
Magnolia reached out to me and squeezed my hand. “Bailey, honey, you sure seem like you’re off in another world lately. In fact, ever since our poor neighbor died you haven’t been yourself. Do we need to talk?” Her black eyes filled with motherly concern for me.
Dedra slurped down the last of her tea. “That’s what I said to her too. But Bailey is part clam, I’m telling you.”
Ahh, to have friends. What a brave new world for me. “I’m all right. But thanks for asking.”
“You are a mystery.” Magnolia shook her head. “But now that we’re talking mysteries, I just finished reading a couple you’re gonna love.” She went over to the counter, retrieved two paperbacks, and handed them to me.” The titles were The Last Count, which looked rather Gothic, and The Key to Life and Death, which seemed pretty intense. I scanned the back covers. “Looks good. Thanks.”
Magnolia stood behind me and rubbed my shoulders. “Yeah, and maybe one of these days you’ll tell us about this secret of yours. I think you’re up to something, and I don’t think it has anything to do with your wedding.”
“I will.” I looked back at Magnolia and put on my most compelling smile. “I promise.”
“All right.” She patted my shoulder. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”
Thirty minutes later, I exited with another round of hugs and a much heavier heart than when I’d entered. I felt a need—no, a desperate obligation—to make certain Vlad would not hurt Dedra in any way. What to do? Be proactive? Set a trap? Or should I just wait for Vlad to make a wrong move again? But that hadn’t worked, and it seemed he’d changed battle tactics. He was now making all the right moves. No one suspected him of anything, except for being gorgeous, as well as generous since he made that huge donation to the women’s shelter. I’d have to change war tactics too.
So, I dragged myself home to the terrible beauty of my manor and shut the weighty door. I tossed the paperbacks on the entry table, headed to the kitchen, and plopped into the only real and predictably friendly chair I owned. Then of all things, my mind betrayed me, going completely blank. I had not even a whit of a plan to expose Vlad and his true nature. How could I save Dedra from whatever he had in mind?
One by one, as ideas popped into my head, they each got romanced away on a sleepy little breeze. My brain was simply tired of thinking. I needed to close my eyes for a moment.
Later—much later, light invaded my world. In fact, a blinding, gawking radiance made me squint. My eyelids continued to flutter open as I realized I’d slept all night in the chair. I rubbed out the wicked cramp in my neck, and smacked my lips. My mouth tasted like a rodent had climbed in overnight and died. How lovely. What time was it? I had no idea. Moaning, I lifted myself out of the chair and dragged myself upstairs for a shower. Sleeping all night in the chair did not make for a good night’s sleep.
After taking a long hot shower and slipping on some clean slacks and a shirt, I felt somewhat human again. The house held a chill from the night, so I slipped a long sweater on over my shirt.
I made my way downstairs to the kitchen to make some coffee. Minutes later, my mind slowly kicked into gear as I gulped down some extra brawny French roast, brewed strong enough to make the air around me nervous. Hmm. Now what to do about Dedra’s dilemma.
Perhaps taking a peek at one of the mysteries Magnolia loaned me might help. The dual stimulation of caffeine and reading seemed promising, so I retrieved the book The Last Count, from the entry table. On opening the novel, the first line read: “Each item in Count Ulensky’s satchel would be considered commonplace and innocuous, and yet combined, they brought about a murder—my murder.”
Good opening. I shut the book. One thought stood out—“commonplace items.” Reminded me of the memorabilia in my brass box. I wondered if they too had any power if combined. Could the things in my box somehow help me locate the cellar? But that trail of thought wasn’t going to help Dedra. And yet if I could find a cellar and a treasure, I could perhaps come closer to understanding what Vlad was after—perhaps come closer to trapping him in his scheme.
Okay, I needed some facts. I took another deep drink of my coffee. If I told Dedra about Vlad, and begged her not to go out with him, then I’d be forced to explain a lot of other recent events. And poor Dedra, as good a friend as she was, her Achilles’ heel was secrets—she couldn’t keep them. She would talk. Big time. Then if Vlad got the chance to hear of all my suspicions too early, it could ruin my chances to catch him. It might even prove to be dangerous for everyone.
That was it. I’d continue to search for the cellar. I smacked my coffee mug back down on the table, making the liquid slosh in the air. If I couldn’t find the cellar today or think of a way to stop Vlad behind the scenes, then I’d just march over to Dedra’s house, tell her everything, and beg her not to go out with him. That was it. Decision made.
As I dabbed up my coffee mess with some napkins, I ruminated on a second sweet benefit that might come out of my search. If there were really a cellar and that cellar had some kind of cache left behind by the Sisterhood, then it would finally put a stop to people harassing and harming others in the name of treasure-hunting at Volstead Manor. Few things would make me happier than to light the sinister gloom cast by my house. I wanted to start my marriage with Max in a house where I no longer felt like I had to look over my shoulder. Or fear for my life. Or worry about the health and safety of my neighbors. I wanted my house to be free of its shadows.
Okay then, concentrate, Bailey. I took the brass chest into the library, opened the lid, and sat on the floor with my box. Inside were the broken watch, an empty perfume bottle, a handkerchief, two green marbles, Alexandra’s photograph, and a skeleton key—a key which was a duplicate to the one I’d found in th
e window seat. Two keys to open the same lock, and yet there was no secret door to open. At least not yet.
So, I stuck the skeleton key in my pocket in case I’d need it later. Then I picked up the watch to study it. It appeared to be a woman’s wristwatch from maybe the 20’s or 30’s. No surprise there. Might have belonged to Alexandra or her mother or one of the ladies of the Sisterhood. It also had a decorative metal band, and the glass cover over the face of the watch was still intact. Also no surprises there. Or clues.
After giving the watch a few winds, I held it close to my ear, expecting a faint ticking. Nothing. I tapped it against my palm and then held it to my ear again. Still nothing. The watch looked handsome, but it was truly dead. The mechanism could probably be repaired, but I doubted it was worth the money to fix it. And there were no sentimental reasons for having it restored.
Just as I lowered the watch into the box, I noticed the hands had stopped at four-thirty. Exactly. Could that have meaning? I doubted it. But wasn’t that about the time in which the afternoon sun had created its own little refracting phenomenon on my library wall?
Could it be a sign? A clue? A signal from the penumbra ladies? Or was this the delirium of a woman more deranged than Eunice? Probably the latter.
Lord, I need your help here. I have never vacillated over anything so severely in my life. Please give me a sound mind and clear thinking.
Even though the whole idea of the sunbeam hiding secret directives was preposterous, I still strode over to the spot where I’d first found the point of light. I squatted down and studied the base of the wall. I saw two tiny holes—round spaces, almost the size of marbles about six feet apart.
Two holes. Hmm. I had two marbles. To make a connection on so slight an inclination was bizarre, and yet I retrieved the marbles from the brass box and placed them in the two holes. They fit perfectly. How peculiar.
Then the two green marbles, which looked like cat eyes, disappeared into blackness. If there were some other use for them, I hated to lose my marbles. Laughing, I quickly got down on the floor and pressed my ear to the wall. I could hear what sounded like one glass ball hitting wood multiple times, and then the same sound again seconds later. What could it be? Perhaps wooden stairs? Oh, my. This was starting to sound familiar. How many passages did this house contain? How many secrets? I was on a roll now, literally, and I was determined not to let my doubts get in the way.
While still on the floor, I noticed something curious. One of the carved swirls in the ornate baseboard looked slightly different than the other curlicues, which were repeated in the design every few inches or so. What were those coiling ornaments called? Oh, yeah. Volutes. Hmm. On closer examination, the one carved volute looked grimy, a detail no one would have noticed had they not been hunting for something peculiar. But why would one piece of wood be dirty and the others unsoiled? Perhaps it had been fingered a great deal.
I grabbed the handkerchief from the brass box, and polished the button-like piece of wood. After a bit of buffing and up-close study, I realized the ornate curl was slightly indented compared to the others. I pushed on it in case it really was a button. Nothing happened. Maybe the concave notch was just faulty craftsmanship and the dirt was merely dirt and nothing more.
While pondering the idea, I picked up the perfume bottle out of the chest. I wasn’t familiar with antique perfumery containers, but I could at least surmise that the bottle was distinctive and perhaps custom-made. I doubted it was worth more than a couple of hundred dollars, but it was fascinating to look at. The peach-colored base on the container was smooth and squatty, but the stopper was adorned with a solid crown made of brass. I held out the bottle and lined up the top of it with the carved wood on the baseboard. Same design. What could that mean?
I removed the decorative stopper from the bottle and stared at it. Maybe I needed to think like one of the ladies of the Penumbra. They wanted to be known as great supporters of prohibition as a means of hiding their real objectives. They needed to be above suspicion when they were in public and when they were at home. They never knew, after all, when one of the local sheriffs might show up.
I took a deep sniff of the empty bottle and the dauber, knowing that with these gals, nothing was as it seemed. Perhaps that scent wasn’t the remnants of cologne, but of liquor. Maybe they were hiding their own private stash of white lightning in perfume bottles. Then if authorities showed up, the last place they’d look for moonshine was in perfume bottles. But it was such a small vessel and such an inefficient method of bottling liquor.
Once again, I lined the top part of the bottle with the carved wood at the base of the wall, marveling at the way the single curling design was identical. Fingering the stopper, I realized with some gentle manipulation, the metal crown unscrewed from the dauber. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I could press the brass topper into the baseboard notch. See if it fits. See if it unlocks anything. Crazy, but worth a try.
I sprawled out on the floor again, something I was getting quite good at, and reached out with my brass spiral toward the circular indention in the baseboard.
The doorbell rang.
Oh, great. What now? Somehow I expected an interruption. My momentum was just too easy.
What if it were Max? Not wanting to miss him, I slipped the top of the perfume bottle in my other pocket, tucked my elation away with it, and made my way to the front door.
20 – There’s Only One Problem
Thinking it was Max, I didn’t bother looking through the peephole, so I just yanked the door open. Bad idea. The man standing in front of me wasn’t Max. But at least it wasn’t Vlad Tepes. “May I help you?”
“Hi. I’m Jason Greely, and I’m with Houston Image Magazine. I was hoping to interview you for an article I’m writing on prohibition.” The middle-aged man stroked his goatee as if the dawdling gesture might encourage me to pause and think.
“Oh, really.” Dedra. That’s it. She blabbed. You know, sometimes a piece of duct tape would be a helpful addition to that mouth of hers. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in being interviewed. But I appreciate you stopping—”
“As you know, your house is quite unique, and I’m sure there would be a lot of Houstonians who’d be very interested.” Mr. Greely sniffed the air.
I closed the door a bit to give him a clear message. “I’m a private person, Mr. Greely, and if I were to give you an interview, I think a lot of people might start dropping by for a grand tour. Publicity will only bring me complications, so I’d rather not. But I wish you the best in finding someone else to interview.”
Jason Greely straightened his shoulders. “Well, that’s the thing. You’re the best one to interview for this piece.”
“I am sorry.” I offered him my most cheerful smile as a consolation prize.
“Well then, in case you change your mind, I live on the next block over in the green Victorian house.” He took a step closer to me. “So, it’ll be nice to stay in touch with you. You know, since we’re neighbors and all.”
I frowned. Oh great. He was my neighbor. Now I’d never get rid of him. How could Dedra have done that to me? “I wish you the best, but I won’t be changing my mind about the interview.” I gave him a little wave and started to close the door.
“That’s fine.” Jason turned to go. “I’ll just interview your next-door neighbor.”
I opened the door again. “You mean Dedra?”
“No.” Jason pointed in the other direction. “I thought maybe your other neighbor might know about the passage. Might give me some details.”
The last thing I needed was for some nosey reporter to go over and question Vlad about my house. His queries would only get things stirred up too early. Keeping a low profile was my best move. But I certainly wasn’t going to avert the attention away from Vlad by inviting Jason inside for muffins and a tour. “Well, like I said, I wish you the best.”
Jason headed down the steps of my porch and then turned back around to me. “Your neig
hbor’s name is B.J. Ware. Right?”
Why would Jason Greely think that? Wouldn’t Dedra have also mentioned that B.J. died and his stepbrother, Vlad, was living there? Perhaps not. “No, B.J. passed away.”
“Oh?” Jason cocked his head. “And so who lives there now?”
“If you’re determined to speak to him, help yourself.” I motioned toward Vlad’s house.
“Why such secrecy? It only piques my interest.” He made a funny tisk sound out the corner of his mouth. “Surely you can tell me your neighbor’s name.”
I tapped my hand against my leg. “His name is Vlad Tepes.”
The reporter turned his ear toward me. “I beg your pardon? Did you say Vlad Tepes?”
Okay, what was this guy up to now? “Yes, that’s correct.”
Jason chuckled. “But it can’t be. That’s the name of—”
“If you’ll excuse me.” I gestured to Max, who was strolling up my path. “I have company.” What a relief.
Mr. Greely gave me one more look, not a contented one by any means, and walked back the way he’d come.
Max greeted the reporter, but Jason didn’t respond.
“Hey, who was that?” Max said to me once the man was out of earshot. “He certainly didn’t look too happy.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s with Houston Image Magazine. Wanted to do an interview. And this is the response I get from telling Dedra not to tell a soul about the passage.” I shook my head and laughed. What else could I do? It was hard to stay mad at her. She most likely had an honest motive, since she always loved playing the little game of “let’s pull Bailey out of her shell.” But Dedra had no idea how dangerous her innocent rambling could be.
Max stepped inside and intertwined my hand with his. “Oh, well, I guess there are worse things.”
“Can you stay awhile?” But even as I released the words into the air, a question tugged at the back of my mind. Why had Jason laughed when I told him Vlad’s name? I knew it was unusual, but was there something more? Something I needed to know? Maybe I should have let Jason finish his thought. It might have been a clue of some kind.