Ernesto reached over and squeezed Lana’s hand. He seemed like such a kind, supportive friend.
“I’m so sorry,” said Wes. “You don’t have to go on if it’s too painful.”
I wanted to kick him under the table. I felt sympathy for Lana, too, but it was important to hear her story. Fortunately, she didn’t mind talking.
“It’s okay. I’ve relived this in my mind so many times, it’s almost like watching a rerun on TV.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “When I heard the gunshot, I froze. I knew something bad must have happened, and I was literally paralyzed for a few seconds. Then I heard another noise down the hall, which spurred me to move. I ran to the gun room, but I didn’t get past the library. Perry had heard the shot too, and he got there first. The look on his face told me everything. I cried, ‘Dad!’ Perry had to hold me back. He said there was nothing we could do, and he was so sorry, but he wouldn’t let me in.”
I bit my lip, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me. This poor girl.
“I heard people coming then. Grandma’s nurse, Ray, was at the house, and he yelled something like, ‘What was that?’ I made one more push for the gun room, but Perry blocked my way and handed me a piece of paper. It was a note, in my Dad’s handwriting.”
So there was a note. Evidently, the responding police officers were right in their belief that the shooting wasn’t accidental.
“That’s when I fled,” she went on. I turned around and ran out, with the note still in my hand. There were people coming down the hall from the back of the house, so I ran to the front door. My only thought was that I had to get away from there. Otherwise, I was afraid I might end up doing the same thing my father had done.”
When she stopped talking, the room was so quiet I could hear the wind rattling the trees outside. Wes looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. There really weren’t any right words in a situation like this. I was about to utter something about being sorry, when a jarring ringtone broke the silence.
Ernesto dug his phone out of his pocket and read a text message. “It’s Suzanne,” he said. “She wants me to come to the house. And if I don’t, she’ll come out here.”
“Forgive me,” I said to Lana, “but why don’t you want to see your—Suzanne? She told me she believes you’re upset with her, but she hasn’t said why. Also, she never mentioned she’s your stepmother.”
Lana rubbed her eyes, which ended up making her appear weary and sad. “I used to call her ‘Mom,’ back when I was a little kid. Then I turned into an angsty teen and began using her first name. Things only got worse when she fought with Dad and then took off.” She jutted out her chin slightly, raising the specter of herself as a defiant child. “Dad was clearly going through something, but she was too selfish to help him. She walked out on both of us.”
I had handled enough divorce cases to know there was always more to the story than the kids knew. Lana probably had little idea of what was really going on in her parents’ relationship. Of course, neither did I.
Wes leaned forward. “What are you afraid of, Lana?”
She shook her head helplessly. “That’s just it. I don’t know what—or, rather, who—I should be afraid of.” She laughed without humor, as if she realized how crazy she sounded. “Someone at the manor was working against my grandmother. I know this now. I tried to contact her over the years. I sent her letters and left messages on her answering machine. She never responded. At first, this hurt my feelings . . . even as a part of me knew this wasn’t like her. So, I kept trying. The last time was a birthday card I sent her about a month ago. It was returned to me in the mail—with a warning message. I was so freaked out, I decided to move. Whoever sent the warning had my address.”
“What kind of warning?” said Wes.
“Show them,” said Ernesto.
Lana stood up and left the room. She came back a minute later with a backpack, leaving me to wonder where her things were hidden. I hadn’t noticed a backpack, or anything resembling a woman’s possessions, when I walked through the place with Detective Rhinehardt.
She pulled a card from her backpack and handed it to Wes. He read the front and inside, then flipped the card over and sucked in a breath. He handed the card to me. On the back, in cramped black handwriting, was a message as crude as it was sinister: “Stay away from Turnbull Manor—or die.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I had hoped I was done with tunnels. Yet, much to my regret, I found myself once again ten feet under the earth, surrounded by musty smells and unbroken darkness. At least this time I wasn’t alone. Not only was Wes by my side, but we were with someone exceptionally familiar with the terrain beneath the Turnbull gardens.
While we were in Ernesto’s kitchen, examining the disturbing message Lana had received, we had heard the creak of the exterior staircase. Lana immediately scooped up her backpack and headed for the inside stairs to the garage below. Wes and I followed. With the surefootedness of someone who had done this many times before, she climbed out a window in the rear of the garage, hefted open the storm cellar hatch, and descended quickly into the tunnel. She turned right, in the direction of the pond, until Wes stopped her.
“Hey, hold up. We left the door open in the wine cellar. We can get in the house that way.” He pointed his phone light toward the ground, lighting up our feet and leaving our faces dimly shadowed.
She took a step backward. “You don’t understand. I can’t go to the house. Someone there wants to harm me.”
“Who do you think it is?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead, as if it hurt from racking her brain. “If I had to guess, I’d say Ray. He was close to my grandmother and could have prevented her from getting my calls and letters. But it could be anyone who lives here. Even Suzanne.”
Even Ernesto, I thought. As nice as he seemed, I couldn’t let him off the hook yet.
“Yet you still came back,” said Wes. “Why?”
I really wished we could continue this conversation aboveground, but I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to hear Lana’s answer.
She sighed. “After I left Chicago, I came back to Southern Illinois and got a job as a waitress in Craneville. I was worried about the message, but at the same time, I wanted to see my grandmother. Unfortunately, I waited too long. It wasn’t long afterward that I heard she passed away, which was a real blow. I decided to move again, this time far away.”
“What about your inheritance?” asked Wes.
“I don’t deserve an inheritance from my grandmother,” she said with a mixture of sadness and self-loathing. “But there is one thing I do want. A ring. It belonged to my grandma, and she gave it to me when I turned sixteen. It’s a unique antique ring. The enameled setting is a painted butterfly merged with a woman’s face.”
“And you can’t find it, right?” It had dawned on me that it must have been Lana going through her boxes in the attic.
“That’s right. I wore it a lot, but I didn’t have it on the day I ran out of here. I don’t remember exactly where I left it. I might have taken if off near the swimming pool, or it might have been in my room. I’ve been looking everywhere. I really want to find it before my grandma’s things are sold.”
This was crazy. We needed to bring her to the house and let Crenshaw talk to her. There was no need for her to continue sneaking around the property—and fearing for her life.
“We can help you look for it,” offered Wes. Yeah, I thought. Or we can just ask Suzanne or Celia if they know what happened to it.
“That would be great,” said Lana. “I don’t think I can stay here much longer. It’s too risky, and I’ve imposed on Ernesto too long already.”
“You don’t have to stay here another minute,” said Wes. “Come home with Keli and me. You can crash with us for a while.”
* * *
Of course, I had to tell Crenshaw. I had to tell Farrah, too—she and I told each other practically eve
rything. But other than the two of them, plus Ernesto, no one else knew about our secret houseguest.
It didn’t take much convincing for Lana to agree to come with us. She was tired of running and eager to get away from the manor. As we later learned, part of the reason she’d been bunking in the old chauffeur’s bedroom was that she didn’t have anyplace else to go. She had run out of money trying to make a fresh start in Craneville.
At first, I hadn’t been thrilled when Wes invited her to stay at our house, especially since he hadn’t consulted with me first. But I quickly swallowed my irritation, conceding that it really was the best course of action. I made sure the coast was clear, while Wes shuffled her off to his car. Then I quickly packed up our things, gathered up Josie, and followed in my own car. Since it was nearly midnight at this point, I had stuck a note to Crenshaw’s door, letting him know I went home and promising to explain everything the next day.
When I arrived at the town house, Wes and Lana were in the living room making light conversation—though I could tell Lana was struggling to keep her eyes open. I hurried up to my altar room and put away a few things, transforming it back into a guest bedroom.
It was wonderful to be home. Waking up in my own bed on Sunday morning, I could almost forget about all the strange happenings at Turnbull Manor. Almost. All the unanswered questions still gnawed at my brain—not to mention the small matter of the heiress in our spare room.
We spent most of the day in a quiet, relaxed mode. Wes and I agreed we should let Lana decompress for a bit. Hopefully, she would come to some reasonable conclusions on her own. While we worked around the house and yard, she made drawings in her sketchbook. She drew quickly, churning out page after page, which she always tore out and gave to Wes or me. It was like she wanted to give us something for helping her, and this was the only thing she had. She mainly sketched flowers and plants in the backyard, or Josie in various states of repose. She even sketched me as I stood over a mixing bowl in the kitchen.
“I like your tattoo,” she said shyly, as she handed me the drawing.
“Thank you. It represents the Triple Goddess.” I pinned the drawing to the corkboard in a corner of the kitchen, wondering if she’d ask me to explain what I meant by the Triple Goddess. But when I turned back, she had already started on her next sketch.
“You’re very talented, Lana. If you end up staying in the area, you’ll find lots of support for local artists, both here in Edindale and down the road in Fynn Hollow. Wes and I can introduce you to some good contacts.”
She concentrated on her sketch, her hand flying deftly across the page. “You’re very kind,” she said, without looking up. “But I don’t think it’s safe for me to stay.”
We’ll see about that. I had spent nearly a week trying to uncover the secrets of Turnbull Manor. I wasn’t about to give up now.
* * *
Farrah and Crenshaw joined us for dinner. I made pumpkin soup and marinated tofu. Wes put together a big salad for all, plus roasted chicken for himself and our guests. As we gathered around the table, we took stock of the situation and tried to come up with a game plan. I had already brought my friends up to speed about what we’d learned from Lana.
“Here’s how I see it,” said Farrah, raising her fork for attention. “Lana is slated to inherit everything, right? That’s public knowledge. And somebody really doesn’t want her to show her face at the manor—so much so that they sent her a creepy threat. Therefore, it stands to reason that the person who sent the threat doesn’t want her to inherit everything.”
We all nodded. So far so good.
“Well,” she continued, “who keeps claiming there’s another will that doesn’t leave her everything? Ray, that’s who. My vote for the guilty party is Ray Amberly.”
“Fair enough,” said Crenshaw. “However, I should point out that everyone else at the manor had reason to believe they would be remembered in Elaine’s will. Her daughter-in-law lived with her and is technically the closest family she has, even if they’re not related by blood. Celia has been with the family for more than thirty years. Perry is a close family friend. And Elaine evidently had a soft spot for Ernesto, which makes more sense now that we know his uncle worked for the family.”
“It’s not Ernesto who wants to keep me away,” said Lana firmly. “He’s been trying to get me to come home for years, even after Grandma died. However, I agree that all the people who lived with her are more deserving of a bequest than I am.”
“Come on, Lana,” said Wes. “Don’t talk like that.”
“It has nothing to do with how deserving anyone is,” Crenshaw pointed out. “All we have to rely on is the existing will. If there is, or ever was, a subsequent version, we have no idea where it is.”
I had been quietly savoring my soup while the others talked about the will and all its implications. I agreed with Farrah that Ray was the most obvious suspect. But that conclusion still didn’t sit right with me. There were too many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t fit, including the stolen painting. I said as much to the group and was immediately met with all the counterarguments, which, of course, I’d already thought of. The theft of the painting could be wholly unrelated to all the other crimes. But I still wasn’t convinced.
By the end of the evening, we had at least come up with a plan for the next day, if not beyond that. Wes would take Lana downtown to see Detective Rhinehardt and show him the threatening note. Crenshaw would summon the residents of Turnbull Manor and inform them that they were going to have to move out. Farrah would go along with Crenshaw. She said she would offer to help anyone who might need assistance finding other housing.
As for me, I needed to make an appearance at my ever-neglected office. It would be Arlen’s first day, and I needed to show him the ropes. I was looking forward to having an assistant. At least this was one area of my life I was finally getting under control.
* * *
When I arrived at the old bank building the next morning, Arlen was already waiting on the sidewalk out front. In one hand, he held a to-go tray containing two coffees, and in the other a paper sack from the vegan bakery.
“Morning, boss! After being late for my interview, I wanted to show you I really can arrive to work on time.”
“I wasn’t worried.” I smiled, noting that his long hair had been recently trimmed and his broad face was cleanly shaven. He wore a black, button-up shirt and nice black denims with black cowboy boots, which put me in mind of Johnny Cash. The Man in Black, indeed. Arlen’s only jewelry today was a studded-leather wrist cuff, a couple of skull rings, and a heavy-looking medallion on a chain around his neck.
“I guess the first thing I need to do is make a set of keys for you,” I said, as we entered the building. “I would have done it already, but I’ve had a most unusual past several days.”
“Leave it to me,” he said. “If you lend me your keys, I can make a copy this evening and open the office tomorrow morning before you arrive.”
“Wonderful.” I felt lighter already, knowing Arlen would lift much of the burden that had been piling up ever since I’d started flying solo.
Once we were inside, I invited him to have a seat across from my desk, as I cleared off a space for the coffee and muffins.
“I wasn’t sure what kind you like,” he said, “so I got one of each. I also took a chance with the java. Do you drink the stuff?”
“I do,” I said, gratefully accepting a cup. “This is so sweet of you. I feel like I should have brought something in to celebrate your first day. How about if I treat you to lunch today?”
“Sounds good to me. I gotta say, I’m tickled to be working for you.” His wide grin said as much.
“Me too, Arlen.” I smiled in return. “Now, let’s see. I have some employment forms and contact info for you to fill out. Then I’ll show you my filing system and get you set up with shared access to my emails and online calendar. I also want to give you a little training on client confidentiality—though you pro
bably know all about that, since you’ve worked for an attorney before.”
“Absolutely. Attorney-client privilege. Very important.”
My desk phone rang then, and Arlen reached for it. “May I?” he asked. I nodded my assent, and he picked up the phone.
“Law Offices of Keli Milanni. How can I help you?”
He listened a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Let me stop you right there. We’re not interested in a timeshare in the Florida Everglades, so you can remove this number from your list. Please and thank you.”
He hung up, muttering, “Vultures. Don’t they know this is a place of business?” Then he met my eyes. “Oh, wait. You weren’t interested—”
“Not even a little bit. You did great.” I handed him some forms and a pen, and he used the edge of my desk to begin filling them out.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a desk for you yet,” I said. “Or a computer or a phone. I had planned on visiting an office supply store over the weekend, but I’ve had a most unusual past few days.”
He put down the pen. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned your ‘most unusual’ week. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Hmm. Maybe I should. It’s all I can think about lately.” I leaned back in my chair and absently pinched off a brown leaf from the plant nearest my desk. “I don’t know how I get myself involved in so many peculiar cases.”
“Because you like to help people,” he offered. “That’s why.”
“There is that. I’ve been trying to help people this past week, too.” I briefly explained my original assignment at Turnbull Manor, and all the ways it had gone off the rails. “Just when I thought I was starting to make some headway, something else would go missing. It’s been frustrating.”
“Have you tried asking your spirit guides?”
“My spirit guides? I tried contacting the spirit of Elaine Turnbull through astral projection, which sort of worked one time. Unfortunately, I didn’t receive any clear answers.”
Autumn Alibi Page 24