I wrote Joanna Fritz in box two. She was a jilted fiancée who was left holding the bill for the cancelled wedding. Plenty of motive but then there didn't seem to be a shortage of those with the way Evan ran his professional and personal life. She wasn't part of the crew, yet she happened to be nearby when the tent corner broke free. She also didn't let on to Jackson that Evan had broken off the engagement. She'd made no mention of it the night of the murder. And she was alone at the Nativity scene, giving her a weak alibi for her whereabouts during the murder. Then there was the single piece of straw I'd discovered on my search around the tent perimeter. The entire Nativity scene was filled with mounds of straw.
I drew out a third box and wrote in Tim Barton. He was on hand when the tent broke free. He was backstage during the play, and he certainly disliked his greedy, mean boss. But that was where the threads ended. There just wasn't much evidence pointing to Tim as the killer.
I sat back and looked over my primitive graph. Nothing stood out. I couldn't think of which way to turn or who to interview next to move the investigation along. I decided to get my mind off the case. Sometimes brilliant nuggets came to me when I was concentrating on something else. I grabbed my purse. I had a sulking ghost at the inn, and I promised him I'd find out about his child. A trip to the records office and my favorite slow motion records clerk would help take my mind off murder.
Chapter 29
The drab, out of date interior of the building where the records office was located had been spruced up with some silver tinsel and giant plastic poinsettias. I took the elevator up to the third floor and stepped out. The hallway was empty. I expected the records office to be equally deserted so close to the holidays. That was a good thing because the records clerk, Orson Nettles, was the slowest human on earth. Naturally, I had no evidence to back up that claim, but that was only because I hadn't actually met all the people on earth. But Orson would have to concentrate to beat a snail in a race.
Orson was behind the counter with his shiny, bright pink cheeks and tufts of gray hair. Even lifting his face to smile and greet me took way longer than the normal person. "Miss Taylor, right?" he said, well after I'd already reached the counter.
"Yes, hello and Merry Christmas."
"Same to you. What can I get for you? I find myself mostly at my leisure today. Apparently no one needs records when Christmas is in the air."
"My good luck then. I was wondering if you had any birth certificates from the early nineteenth century." As I said it, I remembered that Angela Applegate, a paranormal researcher had mentioned that Bonnie Ross had been sent off to another state to stay with a related family, the Suffolks. "Only this birth would have happened in another state. I'm not sure which, possibly Connecticut or New York. I'm afraid all I have to go on is the birth mother's full name, Bonnie Louise Milton or Bonnie Louise Ross, her married name. I think it would have been around 1817, if that helps."
Orson reached for a piece of paper and pencil. I tapped my toes and clenched my jaw as I waited for him to complete the journey. He took just as long to write down the names and the date. Then he walked to the computer as if he was wearing iron shoes while walking on a magnetic floor.
"I have access to a national database," Orson said with a boastful tone. "But some of the older records are harder to retrieve." He pulled his keyboard out. He held his fingers over the keys. He carefully typed in the number. I could have done it faster with the tip of my nose, but I couldn't complain. Orson was always ready to help out.
He clicked around for a few minutes. His fuzzy gray brows lifted and fell several times before he finally nodded. "Here it is. State of Connecticut, Certificate and Record of Birth."
I was anxious to see the monitor, but it was turned toward Orson. He paused to pull something out of the pocket of his pants. It was a magnifying glass.
"Sometimes these old records are faded and hard to read." He lowered his face to the monitor and lifted the magnifying glass, a feat that took him a painfully long time. By the time he positioned his eye behind the glass, I was practically chewing through the fillings in my teeth.
"Is the mother Bonnie Milton?" I asked, impatiently gripping the counter as if I could somehow pull the computer monitor my direction.
Orson's eye looked giant as he stared through the glass. "Yes, yes. Bonnie Louise Milton is listed as the mother." He straightened and lowered the magnifier. "There's no father listed."
"Oh really?" I feigned surprise. It would make sense since the baby was born out of wedlock. To avoid a family scandal there would be no mention of the baby's father. I was feeling jittery with excitement as if I'd just downed a double espresso.
"I don't suppose I'm allowed to see your monitor? Some kind of rule or something?" I asked.
He blinked at me from under his thick, expressive brows. "No rule. I'll turn it your direction. Let me just move some of this stuff." He reached for a pen and sticky note pad. Wanting to be out of the records office before the new year rang in, I helped him out by moving a stapler, a note pad and a container of paperclips.
He shifted the monitor as if he was moving a fragile piece of priceless pottery. The document was old and faded. It had been scanned into the computer, which made it even harder to read. But a name was printed clearly across the top next to the words Name of Child.
James Henry Milton was born on the third of October, 1817 to Bonnie Louise Milton. I was sure I wouldn't forget the name, but I was so excited about discovering that Edward had fathered a baby boy, I decided to write it down just in case.
"I could print the page for you," Orson suggested as he noticed me write down the name.
"Could you? I hate to be a bother but that would be great." I knew darn well that the printer was in the back room, and it would take an extra fifteen minutes of the day for Orson to finish the simple printing task but it would be worth the wait.
I wasn't sure how Edward would react to the news. In fact, the whole thing made me nervous as heck, but he had to know. It might be a first step on figuring out why Edward hadn't moved on to a better eternity. Preferably one where Ursula and Henry weren't arguing and hammering all day.
Orson clicked the mouse. "There we go. I'll just run and fetch the copy from the printer."
I held back my smile as I watched Orson's idea of a run.
Chapter 30
The festival was buzzing with activity in the late afternoon as I walked through one last time hoping something important would jump out at me. I had so little for my article that I was fretting I wouldn't have anything in by the deadline. My lack of an article was helping to keep me out of the office. Friday afternoon meant Parker would be asking for a rough draft or an outline of what I was working on. I had no outline, no paragraphs, not even a leading sentence.
The clouds above signaled some snowfall was on its way, but that didn't stop people from browsing through the craft kiosks and sampling the various goodies being sold along the street. People were dressed in their Victorian bonnets, top hats, crinoline skirts and frock coats for the Friday evening festivities. For most people, the disastrous play was already behind them, and they were looking forward to the holiday.
I glanced across the street where the two mounted police were standing talking to a group of people who had stopped to admire the horses. I hadn't noticed that Ursula and Henry were standing with the group nibbling mincemeat pies until Ursula's distinctive voice chirped through the air.
I considered scooting past and not stopping to talk to them. My mind was wrapped in the investigation, my zero word article and the emotional information I had for my moody ghost. But Henry spotted me slinking past on the opposite side of the street. Considering I was one of the few people not wearing some kind of Victorian holiday garb, I stood out like the bah humbugger I was.
"Sunni, have you tried the mincemeat pies?" Henry held up the last piece of his pie. "Very tasty." He waved me over. I had no choice except to join them. Oddly enough, Ursula was avoiding eye contact with m
e. It was totally out of character. Henry motioned with his head for her to follow him as they stepped away from the horse admirers. We met a few feet away from the activity. Ursula pretended to pick at her pie crust. Ursula was one of those people who wore her feelings right out for everyone to see, and it was easy to see she was upset about something.
"Is something the matter?" I directed my question to Henry, since Ursula still hadn't lifted her face to look at me.
Henry fidgeted with his napkin and wiped his chin a few times before jamming the used napkin into his pocket. "There was a little incident at the house today," he said haltingly.
My heart dropped straight to my feet. It had to have been something big if Ursula was staying silent, letting Henry do the talking. I surveyed both of them for bandages or bruises. "Did someone get hurt?"
"No, no, it wasn't that."
His words didn't slow the worried pulse that was racing through me. If it wasn't an injury, then it had something to do with Edward.
Henry's expression slumped, and he looked genuinely upset. My mind was darting in every terrifying direction. "We do love working for you, Sunni. And the inn is the project of a lifetime."
All I could see was the top of Ursula's head and her pouty lips as she stared down at her feet to avoid eye contact.
"Henry, please, I'm about to break into a million pieces here. What on earth is going on?" I pleaded.
Henry looked at Ursula, who was still behaving like a kid embarrassed about something she'd done. He turned back to me. "Ursula noticed a piece of the baseboard was slightly crooked, and you know how she likes to do everything just right."
"Yes, that's why all of your work is so splendid." I decided it was my opportunity to throw in a compliment, something I didn't do enough with them. I dreaded the notion of having to find another contractor for the inn. I'd grown comfortable with Henry and Ursula, and they were true craftsman. My words had helped some. Ursula lifted her face to me, but she was still uncharacteristically silent.
"The thing is—" Henry paused.
Ursula had had it with her brother's slow delivery. "I was hammering away on that baseboard," she blurted, "and someone or something yanked the hammer right out of my hand and threw it across the room."
I could feel the color drain from my face and pool at my feet.
Henry grabbed my arm. "Are you all right, Sunni? You look just the way Ursula looked when the hammer flew across the room. I told her it was just her butterfingers." Now that the incident had been blasted out into the open, Henry had no problem talking. "I mean there wasn't anyone else in the room with us. And she was mad because I'd put the thing on crooked in the first place, so she was hammering like she was chiseling copper out of a mine."
"Yes, I'm sure that's what happened. Nothing else makes sense," I said weakly. The surrounding landscape had stopped swaying, but I was still feeling lightheaded.
Ursula shook her head. "It wasn't butterfingers. I was holding that hammer just fine." She straightened her posture. "The thing is, I don't think I can work at the inn anymore." She held her chin up to show resolve, but her eyes glassed with tears.
It felt as if the dentist had dropped the lead x-ray blanket on my chest. "I would be devastated if you two left the project. Please reconsider, Ursula. Maybe you were just tired and the handle slipped." I knew my attempts at a reasonable explanation were outlandish. Someone like Ursula, who wielded a hammer like I wielded a pen, would certainly know if someone wrenched the tool from her grasp. And that someone was going to get a stern talking to as soon as I got home.
Henry patted my arm. "The holiday is just around the corner. We'll take the rest of the time off until after New Years. This whole thing will pass by then, and we'll be right back at it."
"I'm sure of it. You've both been working too hard. A little rest is all that's needed." My words sounded hollow, but this was the last thing I'd expected to hear when I crossed the street to talk to Henry and Ursula.
"Yes, I'm sure you're right, Sunni," Henry said with just as little conviction.
"The break will be nice for all of us." I took hold of Ursula's hands and squeezed them. "You two are the only people I trust with the restoration project."
Ursula forced a smile, then it fell instantly to a frown. "Just you be careful in that house, Sunni. Something's not right there."
"I'm perfectly safe. I admit there are occasional occurrences that are hard to explain." Before I could continue, Ursula burst forth with her own explanation.
"It's that Cider Ridge ghost. He's real," she insisted and said loud enough to gather some attention from people standing nearby. I smiled politely at them and turned back to Henry and Ursula.
I leaned closer, deciding on a new tactic. "You might be right," I whispered. "But it makes the inn that much more exciting, don't you think?" I winked. "I'll keep my eye out for anything strange and let him know he's not to mess with your tools anymore." I shrugged. "I don't have Raine's talent, but who knows, maybe he'll listen to the mistress of the house."
Henry chuckled and shook his head. "And here I was thinking that Sunni was too no-nonsense of a girl to believe in ghosts."
"I'm learning quickly that it's not any fun to be a no-nonsense girl." I winked at him. "I've got to go. I've got an article that unfortunately won't write itself."
"See you later, Sunni," Henry said cheerfully. Ursula was still quiet. She had been severely shaken by the hammer incident. Edward was going to get an earful from me about it. I just wondered what I should drop first, the stern lecture or the news that he was a dad.
With one more thing now floating in my head, I was still not ready to return to my work computer. I took a long walk around the festival and found myself at the last parking lot where some of the vendors had parked their trucks. A temporary shelter and corral had been set up for the carriage horses. One lone horse stood in the small enclosure looking bored. He paced along the front edge of the corral, snorting and pawing at the straw. The straw.
I headed across the mostly vacant lot and felt guilty that I was visiting without any kind of treat. The horse's nostrils flared. Its head lifted, and its black velvety ears turned my direction with interest. Off to the side of the temporary corral, someone had piled two bales of hay. It was mostly covered with a blue vinyl tarp. I glanced around and decided it wouldn't hurt to snatch a few pieces of hay so as not to show up empty handed.
The horse gladly accepted my meager offering. His head stayed straight up as his muzzle swished side to side, slowly chewing the hay. I patted his neck and rubbed behind his ear, a favorite spot for Butterscotch, Emily's Belgian mare. It seemed to be this horse's favorite spot too. The animal tilted his big head so I could reach his ears with ease.
Some of the bedding, the thick yellow straw, had drifted out below the bottom rung of the corral. I patted my new friend's neck a few times and then bent down to pick up a piece of the straw. I didn't know much about straw, but it seemed to be the exact same material that Joanna had used in the manger. It also matched the piece of straw I found near the tent. I looked back across town, over the many heads, bonnets and top hats, to the corner where the tent once stood. The Nativity scene was in between, off a side street. It seemed more and more likely that the straw I found had nothing at all to do with the murder and everything to do with the direction of the wind. That meant I was even further behind in solving Evan's murder than when I started.
I headed back to the newspaper office. There was little chance of me getting any words on paper this afternoon, particularly after the stressful conversation I'd just had with Henry and Ursula. I would go home, make myself a big cup of cocoa and decide which blow to hit Edward with first.
Chapter 31
The house was quiet. I was relieved. I sat at the kitchen table staring out at the light snow that had started to fall and cradled my cup of cocoa. It wouldn't take much for me to find Edward, usually just a few calls into the air and he'd materialize on one of his favorite perches. But I nee
ded some time to myself first. His noticeable absence meant he was possibly brooding somewhere, wherever it was he went when he vanished. It could also mean that he knew he'd done something bad today and that I'd probably heard about it from Ursula.
I finished the last of the mini marshmallows in my cup and was just about to toss a few more in when a cold vapor crossed over me. Edward appeared in the chair across from me. "I suppose that irritating woman told you what happened."
I stared at him across the table. It always amazed me how many emotions could be expressed on a transparent face. "Yes, I heard all about it." I leaned back on my chair. The cocoa and time alone had calmed my nerves some. "If I don't repair this old inn, it will most likely be torn down. We've discussed this before. Your world is the inside of the house and the front porch. What do you think will happen to you when this all disappears?" I circled my arms around the kitchen. "You are stuck in this middle eternity, but what if it is wiped away? Have you given that big question any thought?"
Edward's image faded away and reappeared on the hearth, his favorite spot.
"That hearth would go right along with the house," I added as I stood up and walked toward him. "I don't say this to upset you. I say it to let you know that you need this house, but if it's falling down around us, then neither of us will have a place to live. Well, exist. You get the picture. And fixing this house will take a lot of hammering and sawing and construction noise, no matter who is wielding the tools."
A Humbug Holiday Page 14
