by CeeCee James
“Honestly? I think you need a special temperament to work with kids. I ended up becoming a paralegal for an estate lawyer and that was a much better fit. But, teachers are pretty amazing.”
She nodded. “They really are. Teaching is about sacrifice. You have to have quite the integrity to do it.”
“I agree. Do you need any help with anything?”
Eliza Sue shook her head. “No. I’m just waiting for Sheriff Parker to let us go.”
“I expect it’s going to be sometime soon. Sorry your second vacation was like this. I hope you book something else soon for yourself.”
“Don’t be sorry for me. I’m fine. But poor Mr. Green. Did you get his stuff packed up?”
“Yes. It’s at my apartment. I’ll wait a couple of days to ship it, just to make sure we didn’t miss anything else.” I fudged a little on the whereabouts of the book. I didn’t want to let anyone know that the police had taken it into evidence.
“Good plan.” She nodded, her dark curls bobbing. “I’ve alway double-triple check hotel room’s myself, I’m so paranoid I’ll leave something behind.”
I grinned. “I’m the same way. Well, you have safe travels, you hear? Come back and visit us someday.”
“I’d like that. There’s still a lot to explore.”
I left her and continued down the hall. The next room was Sarah’s. Her door had been open when I first came up the hall, but now was closed.
Sarah was a strange one. Always in the shadows.
I tapped on the door.
“Come in,” she called.
I cracked the door open. “It’s me, Georgie.”
“Oh, hi!” She smiled, looking up from a pile of clothing on the bed, half folded, half a mess.
“Can I do anything to help?” I asked.
“I don’t know what, but come on in. And shut the door.”
I shut it and headed to the bed. “You want help folding these?”
“Sure. I’m not particular.”
I lifted a t-shirt and shook it. “Very cute.”
She smiled. “It’s nice to get a chance to wear casual clothes.”
“Oh? You don’t normally? What do you do back in the real world?”
“I work at…” She hesitated. “I mean, I’m unemployed right now.”
Unemployed? Who takes a vacation when they’re unemployed? I folded another t-shirt. “Aw, that’s too bad. Was it recent? I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I’m out there now shilling my résumé, attending job fairs, that sort of thing.”
“What kind of job are you applying for?”
She shrugged. “Something completely different from my last job. I’m kind of looking to get into a new field. Something fresh. You know, I teach kickboxing right now at the Y. Maybe I’ll get into something more like that.”
I nodded. “I get it. My last job was demanding with long hours. I loved it, but it was nice to get out of that.”
“Yeah. So you understand stressful jobs. Mine was like that. To top it off, I had a boss that I couldn’t stand, and…. Sometimes you can only get pushed so far.” Her lips pressed together. She balled a fist and slammed it into the mattress, making her rather impressive bicep flex. Suddenly, the memory of the dagger in Mr. Green’s chest came to mind. I swallowed.
Sarah got up and walked over to her suitcase and heaved it onto the bed. The bed dipped under its weight.
I raised an eyebrow. “Wow. That looks heavy.”
She grinned. “It is.”
“You need help getting it down the stairs?” I asked.
Sarah flexed her arm a few times and gave me a wry grin. “Nah. I think I’ve got it covered.”
I smiled, trying to hide the growing feeling of alarm. “Well, I hope you find a nice calm job when you get back. You might need it after everything that’s happened the last few days. You think you’ll stay in contact with anyone here?”
“Like who?” she asked with a chuckle.
Good point. “It seemed like you got along with the St. Claires.”
“They’re nice. We’ll see.”
“How about Mrs. Green?”
“This is terrible, but I’m not sure how I feel about her.”
“Was it because Eliza Sue confronted Mr. Peterson for sneaking around with Rachel?” I asked.
Sarah’s look was intentionally casual. “She just came off very fake. Though I was surprised at the news it was Rachel cheating. If anyone were committing infidelity, I’d have expected it to be Mr. Green.”
My eyebrows flew up. “Whoa! What?”
“I heard him talking one day. He must have been outside on a walk.”
“Where were you?” I asked.
Sarah smiled. “I was inside the shed.” She licked her lip and her smile got bigger. “With Mr. Peterson.”
“Oh, my,” I said, shaking my head. I kind of had a feeling.
“We were just having a bit of fun.” She shrugged. “The attraction’s fizzled out now. Anyway, we heard them talking.”
I felt like my brain was trying to catch up with the information she was giving. I erased the thought of her and Mr. Peterson canoodling. “Who’s them?”
Chapter 25
“What did you hear?” I asked Sarah again.
“It was muffled. Mr. Green was talking to someone. Maybe he was even on his phone. It sounded like he said that they were safe, no one knew. That, in just a few days, they’d be free. They could start over anywhere in the world.”
“Did you tell anyone this?” I asked. Dread balled in the pit of my stomach.
“No. I mean, why would I? I didn’t see who he was talking to. Besides, Mr. Peterson was being quite distracting.” She grinned again. “Maybe I heard it all wrong.”
My mind was spinning, and I didn’t like where it was going. Who was the other person Mr. Green was referring too? Was it Mrs. Green? Someone else? I wished Sheriff Parker hadn’t said everyone could leave today.
I finished folding the pants I’d been holding and then set them in a pile. I stood up. “I’m just going to check on everyone else, okay? If you need anything, call me.”
“You got it. You’ve been an excellent host. Maybe I’ll come back another year to finish the tour.”
I shot her a fake grin, hoping I’d never see any of these people again. At least not for a long, long while. “You do that.”
Her phone rang at that moment. She leaned over to retrieve it from the bedside table.
“Hello?” she answered.
I started to head out to give her privacy when I heard her say, “Thank you, Sheriff Parker.” Her next comment was directed to me as I opened the door. “Guess what? We’re all free to leave. I’ll be out of your hair in ten minutes.”
My stomach sank at her words, but I shot her a thumbs-up. If Sheriff Parker didn’t see a reason to keep them here, then who was I to think I knew better?
I shut the door and headed downstairs to check on the St. Claires. Their door was shut, and they didn’t respond to my gentle tapping.
I walked into the kitchen. For the first time, Cecelia wasn’t there. I peered out the window and saw her standing in her garden with a rake and flowered work gloves on. I smiled at the sight. Darn it all, if I didn’t want to be as active as she was at that age.
The St. Claires emerged from their room. Mr. St. Claire dragged two suitcases. “Well, it’s been fun, but we’re out of here,” he announced.
Mrs. St. Claire flipped her red hair off her shoulder. “It’s been an adventure, to say the least. An anniversary I’ll never forget. I can’t wait to get back home to talk about it.”
“You two travel safely,” I said as I waved goodbye.
It wasn’t long before the rest of the guests had trundled through the doorway with their bags. I bid them all the same thing, and it was with the biggest sigh of relief when the front door closed for the final time.
I glanced out the back window again. Poor Cecelia had missed the goodbyes, but she had a smile on her face
as she continued to winterize her garden. I left the kitchen to start flipping the rooms, and get things prepared for next week’s guests.
Cecelia came in eventually to help me. Her voice had been casual when she noted the guests were gone. I suspected her timing in the garden was intentional. She’d probably been just as ready to be done with the group as I was.
I was exhausted from the stripping and remaking of the beds, and cleaning the bathrooms and floors. It was dark by the time we finished. We didn’t find anything else, which was a good thing. I’d send the box to Mrs. Green tomorrow.
Cecelia did find the window screen, though. Oddly enough, it was tucked under the bed of the empty room. Mr. Peterson must have snuck in here, removed the screen, and climbed down the tree, later returning the same way.
Something about that scenario bothered me, but I was too tired to puzzle it out. Cecelia sent me home with a couple of sandwiches, and made me promise her that I’d take my vitamins.
Even though it was already dark out, I took another drive before heading home. Not as far as the other day, but I needed time to clear my head. A mental palate cleanser, so to speak.
But this time, I never got that feeling of peace. No, my mind was at unrest, nagged by something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I finally gave up and drove to the hospital.
That ended up being a bust. Since I wasn’t family, and Leslie still admitted to the ICU, they weren’t free to give me any information. I assumed that meant she still wasn’t conscious. With a heavy heart, I returned home.
I walked into the apartment, flipped on the lamp, and then settled in front of the TV with my sandwiches and some hot cocoa to veg out.
It was late by the time I was thinking I should probably try to sleep. The uneasy feeling had grown inside me despite being treated to trash TV and sugar.
I opened my computer in one last attempt to figure out what my problem was before I went to bed.
First, I searched up Mr. Green’s company. The news sites shouted the same thing Frank had told me earlier. The business was under investigation for pilfering away the retirees’ fund, and now was going bankrupt.
Has to be enemies there, I thought. I wonder if any of the guests were affected by the stolen pension fund?
One by one, I searched the guests’ names.
Mr. St. Claire came up as real estate broker in Michigan.
Mrs. St. Claire had no job history. I’m not ashamed to say I scanned her Facebook. Most of her posts were about how fabulous her life was, and I caught more than a hint of exaggeration. I paused at one post where she shared that she’d recently quit smoking. It made me wonder how successful it had been, and if that red-lipsticked butt had been from her sneaking out one night.
David Peterson showed up as a smiling salesman at a used car lot. One that got horrible reviews, according to the Better Business Bureau.
And I realized Peterson and Mr. St. Claire most likely did have a run-in with each other, despite Mr. St. Claire’s denial. Though no charges had been filed, about ten years ago they’d both been mentioned in the New York Daily in conjecture to a gambling ring in Brooklyn. I remembered the nastiness that had flown around the table while they played cards. It was easy to see there was real bad blood there.
Eliza Sue showed up as a personal assistant in a conglomerate. She also apparently volunteered at the library.
Sarah’s name came up as the winner of an amateur bodybuilding event, along with working as a day trader on the stock market.
Mrs. Green had her name linked as the host of several charity luncheon events, along with an enormous write-up a year ago on a gossip site detailing her wedding.
But nothing gave me any solid evidence for a real suspect. I thought about giving up, but another idea occurred to me. Odd. Weird. Probably brought on by the third cup of hot cocoa and sleeplessness.
I logged into the genealogy site. On another page, I brought up the article on the Three Maidens’ Manor. After finding the full names of the soldiers killed, I started my search of family trees.
It was an hour of work. Just one hour. But I had an answer. I knew who killed Mr. Green. And I realized all the clues had pointed to this person all along.
Excitement tingled my skin as I reached for the phone. I stopped when I saw the time. It was nearly two in the morning. I remembered Frank’s cough and sweaty appearance, and I realized I couldn’t call. I didn’t know what was going on with him, but he needed his sleep. And all I had was conjecture, really. I sent him a text to call me first thing in the morning, along with the name of who I thought had murdered Mr. Green.
Weariness really weighed on me as I brought my dishes into the kitchen. I stared at the bottle of pills. Was tonight the night to stop?
My head was shaking in the negative before the question was fully asked. No, I couldn’t face the monsters tonight. I shook a pill out and swallowed it with the last of the hot cocoa.
Ten minutes later, I was asleep in bed.
What was that? My eyes opened and I strained to see into the darkness. My mind was groggy in the way it was when I hadn’t fully slept off the effects of the pill yet.
Did I just hear what I thought I’d heard? Was I dreaming?
There it was again. Soft shuffling. I sat straight up in bed, my heart pounding.
A brilliant light flashed in my face. My hands flew up to shield my eyes. Adrenaline raced through my body. This is real! This is really happening. My legs trembled under the blankets.
“Where is it?” A low voice hissed. My mind registered another level of shock.
“Wh-what?”
The light left as whoever it was flashed it around the room. I blinked as my eyes struggled to adjust.
I struggled to make out details.
Bam! The light hit my eyes again. I squinted and ducked my head. I was scared to shield my eyes, afraid I wouldn’t see the person coming closer. I wiped them as they watered.
“How did you get in here?” I asked.
I should have known better. The pistol shining in the light made me shut up pretty quick.
“I’ll ask you one more time. Where is it?” The voice was steady. Cold.
I knew who it was. The killer. I’d thought all the guests had gone home, and I was safe to wait until morning. I mentally kicked myself for allowing myself to get into this place. And it stung twice as bad that it was me who’d given them the code into the building in the first place.
Chapter 26
They say that when you’re about to die, your entire life flashes before your eyes. Well, I don’t know about that. But what did flash before my eyes were regrets.
A lot of them.
Why had I lived like I had limitless time? Why didn’t I pursue my dreams now, instead of putting them off for a future that was never promised to me? Why did I let the past dictate whether I would be happy or successful today?
And most of all, why didn’t I take the time to face the pain, and then allow myself a life unshackled by it?
Why? Why? Why?
The regret was real. It was huge. It was so big that it was almost worse than the fear from staring down the barrel of a gun.
I squinted and tried to peer through the fingers of my blocking hand. “Eliza Sue?”
She sighed. “Honestly, I’m about done with all of this. Just give me the book.”
“I … I don’t have it,” I answered, kicking myself again for telling her that it was at my place. But what if I hadn’t? Would Cecelia be facing this gun instead?
“What do you mean, you don’t have it?” she asked, her voice tinged with impatience.
“The police. They have it.” My voice was high with fear.
The barrel of the gun wavered. “Well, that’s not good news for you then, is it?” she asked.
“You should run,” I said. “Make your escape now and go into hiding. The cops… they know it’s you.”
She laughed. “How do they know it’s me? Everything’s gone perfectly.”
“Except for you getting caught with the book. You said that you double-triple checked hotel rooms, afraid to leave something behind. You checked the Green’s room and got caught by Sarah.”
She tutted her tongue in disapproval. “I had to check, just in case. The dumb man left it under his pillow. He wasn’t supposed to bring it with him.”
“You knew the book led to something?”
“He told me his family history years ago, about ten years after I started working for him. He trusted me. How there’d been a treasure buried. He knew his family had once lived in Pennsylvania, but he didn’t know where. His ancestors cut all ties to the three women once the war was over, trying to carve a new life. One that didn’t end with a rope around their necks for treason. He showed me the book one day, and I was immediately intrigued by the dedication and the drawing.”
She took a deep breath and continued. “I did a search for the poem, and the original first line showed up. When I searched for three maids, the line the penciled drawing pointed to, the manor was the first thing on the browser list. I knew this was it. And your bed and breakfast site was next on the search site, boasting of a tour of the place. The plan practically formed itself.”
“So you printed an invitation to give him?”
She shifted and the bed jiggled. I realized she was sitting at the end. “I made it for Michael to give his new wife. As an excuse to get down here. Once I informed him that I thought I’d found the treasure, he was on board.”
“And you came along because…? Were you having an affair?”
She growled in anger, making me flinch. “Absolutely not! I told him he might need help. His plan was to find the treasure and leave the country. He knew the audit against his company was going to uncover a lot of dirt.”
“Why didn’t you just steal the treasure when you broke in the night before to tamper with the lamp?”
“Quite honestly, neither of us knew what to look for. But Michael’s family legend said he’d recognize it when he saw it. So I had to trust that he would find it. According to the bottom of the poem, he knew it had something to do with butcher, baker, or candlestick maker.”