An Equal Measure of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  “Are you kidding me?” Rick echoed.

  Unfortunately, Emmy had already hung up. Replacing the radio, he shook his head to himself. Jeez, the Universe was really overdoing it in presenting situations where he’d have to prove his worth as Acting Sheriff. He glanced up at the sky. “I mean this in the nicest possible way, but cut it out already.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief when there was no response. He dutifully turned the car around and started towards the edge of the town where the Taylor mansion had once stood.

  The turreted Victorian mansion, named after the family who built it shortly after the end of the Civil War, had made their fortune logging in the extensive Maine wilderness surrounding Twin Ponds. No one knew much about them, except that a few years after moving in, they suddenly lost everything, including their home. The bad luck that surrounded them remained with the house long after their departure.

  Over the intervening years, families came, and families went. The only similarity between them all was the short amount of time they stayed. It was never more than six months. They disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared. After a while, the families stopped coming. The house fell into disrepair, an eyesore at the end of the cul-de-sac. Over the decades, a neighborhood grew up around the Taylor Mansion, though the builders seemed to know to leave a large barrier between the new homes and the malevolent structure. Rumors spread about what really lurked within the walls of the decrepit Victorian. But they were only rumors.

  Until Halloween night in 1954 when rumor became reality. Five teenagers – three girls and two boys - dared each other to enter the house. They’d heard the eerie stories, but convinced themselves that was all they were – stories to scare cowards on dark autumn and winter nights. They were different though. They weren’t cowards and they’d prove it. The group waited until midnight on All Hallows Eve, when the veil between the living and dead was supposed to be at its thinnest. They entered the house through a back window. They stepped inside the discarded, abandoned house.

  And were never seen again.

  Their disappearance was never solved. It became a footnote in the ghostly and inexplicable legends of New England.

  Then last summer, the house was bought by an entrepreneurial quartet who planned to open it as a haunted house attraction. They spent months repairing the old Victorian and adding features that were sure to terrify their perspective customers.

  Their plans succeeded with horrific results. Shortly after opening to enthusiastic crowds who paid to explore the house they’d heard so much about and be scared out of their wits while doing so, one of the new owners was found murdered in the attic.

  After Cammie and Rick solved the case, Doc bought the property. Determined to rid Twin Ponds of the pall cast by the eerie house, he immediately ordered that it be torn down. During the demolition, the crew made a ghastly discovery in the basement. Within the brick walls, they found the remains of five skeletons, wearing remnants of clothes worn during the 1950s.

  The five teenagers had finally been found.

  Who murdered them and why they’d been killed still remained a mystery. Now, the crew had found yet another skeleton on the property.

  It seemed the evil of the house was not yet ready to relinquish its malignant hold.

  Pulling up to the now open field, Rick noticed how silent the site was. Instead of the usual hustle and bustle of a noisy construction site, men were quietly leaning up against the machinery, or gathered in little groups, their eyes all watching him arrive. Over by a huge rectangle dug into the ground, he saw Doc’s white coroner’s van.

  The old, unnerving house was completely gone. In its place would be a recreation center. During the day, while the kids were in school, it would serve as a senior center. In the afternoons, it would be a gathering place for kids to play sports and games. Several evenings a week, workshops would take place for adults. Doc, who had taken Cammie’s advice to have the site blessed by the local shaman Paul Langevin before any building took place, was still deciding on a name for his center. He wasn’t amused when Cammie came up with the Westerfield Home for Wayward Wanderers.

  As Rick got out of his vehicle, Stan Murphy, the overweight foreman, came up. They’d already met when the skeletons in the wall were discovered.

  “Your receptionist said the sheriff is away,” he said as he shook Rick’s hand.

  “She is. I’m in charge ‘til she gets backs.”

  “Well, I hope you can handle what we found.”

  They walked through the site and stopped before the large excavated rectangle. Rick looked down and his heart sank. There, in perfect view was a skeleton lying on its back. Silently examining it was Doc.

  “No one has touched it after one of my men uncovered it with the excavator.”

  “Can I speak to the man who found it?”

  “Sure.” He turned and yelled, “Hey Will, come on over here.” A young man, with dark brown hair and a mustache came up. “The deputy here wants to ask you some questions.”

  “Tell me exactly what you were doing when you found the skeleton.”

  “I was running the excavator when I saw something poking out from the ground. I got a shovel from one of the guys and started digging. That’s when I saw the skull.”

  “I called a halt and phoned your office,” the foreman added.

  Rick felt the crew’s eyes on him. If he’d ever doubted he was truly in charge, their expectant looks told him otherwise.

  He carefully climbed down into the hole and walked up to Doc.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he half joked as he watched the man, clad in his forensics coveralls, glance up at him.

  “I’m beginning to wonder just what kind of town I decided to settle into.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m having a strong feeling of déjà vu. Wasn’t I examining a skeleton in the woods just a few months ago?”

  It was an investigation that had reached into the highest levels of political power in Clarke County, almost derailing Mayor Barnes’ life and career.

  Rick glumly nodded. “Have you been able to discover what happened to him or her?”

  “A picture is starting to take shape, but I’d prefer to wait until I get him into the lab.”

  “Him?”

  Doc nodded. “I’m pretty sure we’re looking at the skeleton of a Caucasian man between the ages of 30 and 40. Whatever clothes he wore have long since disintegrated. I may find something when we move the bones.”

  “I’d better call Forensics and get them out here.”

  “Already done. As soon as I arrived and saw our friend here, I alerted them.”

  Rick was stung. It was always Cammie who called in Forensics. Had Doc done that because he was convinced Rick was in over his head?

  He had no choice but to swallow his ire. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Turning on his heel, he climbed out of the hole and sought out Will. “Tell me again what exactly happened,” he practically barked at the hapless man.

  It had been a long day, made longer by the discovery of the photo in the attic. Violet still didn’t know what to make of it. Her only explanation was that somehow, Andrew had placed it up there. He’d left the breakfast table before her and gone upstairs. Maybe he’d intended on going through the attic, but with the alcohol pickling his brain, he hadn’t followed through. Nothing else made sense.

  She finally called it quits around 6 pm. She hadn’t seen Andrew for hours and when she checked outside, she saw that the dark green coupe he’d insisted on bringing over with them on the ferry was gone.

  Once again, she felt a dark depression settle over her shoulders. Her body ached all over, she was mentally and physically drained and she felt as though she’d barely made a dent in the packing. She had to find some way to relax or she’d go mad.

  She fixed herself a sandwich, poured a glass of wine and sat down in her favorite recliner to read the latest best-selling romance. Little by little, she felt the tension ooze out
of her as she lost herself in the story of love found and love lost.

  It was close to nine pm when she dozed off in the chair. Her spirit sighed with relief as she fell deeper and deeper into desperately needed sleep.

  Suddenly, her peacefulness was shattered when a loud bang ripped into her nap. She uttered a strangled cry as she abruptly woke up, her heart hammering in her chest at the violent sound.

  “Dear God--!” she cried as she looked around in fear. A moment later, she noticed the front door standing wide open and Andrew striding towards her. She recoiled against the chair as she saw the wildness in his eyes. His face was gaunt and unshaven. He looked insane.

  He came up and pointed a shaking finger at her.

  “You are not selling this house,” he bellowed, the spit hitting her on the cheeks.

  “You know I have to,” she whispered.

  “I will kill you before I allow you to sell this house. MY HOUSE!”

  She shrieked as he came at her. She tried to evade him, but he blocked her from jumping out of the chair. His hands tightened around her throat as she flailed beneath him.

  Her terrified eyes met his as she struggled to scream. Then just as abruptly as the attack began, it ended. Andrew took a step back, his face contorted in horror and disgust.

  “Jesus Christ…” he muttered. Then he collapsed onto the floor.

  After helping Maud clean up after supper, Cammie retired to her room to call Rick. She told Jace what she was going to do and swallowed her frustration when she saw the look of concern on his face. It only hardened her determination to get better quickly. She couldn’t bear his mothering, though once she calmed down, she knew if the roles were reversed, she’d be behaving towards him in the exact same way.

  She entered the bedroom, got the fire started in the fireplace, plumped up her pillows against the headboard and dialed Rick on her cell.

  “Hey Cam,” he answered after the third ring.

  “Hey. Just calling to see how everyone is doing.”

  “Missing us?”

  She chuckled. “More than you’ll ever know. It’s not that Eagla Island isn’t relaxing or peaceful, it’s just that—”

  “You’re bored out of your friggin’ mind.”

  “You got it.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you haven’t lost your police radar. I was actually going to call you later tonight.”

  “Oh? What’s up?”

  He told her everything that had been going on, including the discovery of the skeleton at the old Taylor property that morning.

  “Jeez, was our town built on some ancient burial site?” she exclaimed.

  “That’s pretty much what Doc said. He’s beginning to regret his decision to move here.”

  “Are you kidding me? Now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t ever live without the town’s love and respect. They practically have him up on a pedestal.” Rick laughed. “What was Doc’s conclusions?”

  “He wouldn’t give me any particulars yet. Only that the body is a Caucasian male between 30-40 years old.”

  “What are your thoughts?”

  “I’m not sure. Was the skeleton somehow related to the discovery of those five teenagers? Is the hatchet a part of it? Why are the records from 123 Fern Street missing from 1946 through 1955? Do those records have anything to do with the disappearance of the teenagers? They vanished in 1954, right at the tail end of the years the lost records cover.”

  “Were you able to figure out where the latest skeleton was found in proximity to the mansion’s basement where we found the teenagers’ remains?”

  “Looks like it was buried in what was once the garden in the back of the house.” Rick took a breath and let it out slowly. “I asked Forensics to go over the entire area. To rule out the possibility that the Taylor property was used as a dumping ground by a serial killer. My hands are tied until Colin presents his results. Or until Emmy tracks down the lost files. Of course, the fact that they’re missing may mean nothing. But I dunno…it doesn’t feel right.”

  Cammie felt the burden of these discoveries lying heavily on his shoulders. She furiously tried to think of a way to frame the question she wanted to ask, but there was no delicate way to say it. She took a deep breath.

  “Rick, if you need me, I can be back by tomorrow night. However, I have every confidence that you can handle this. You’re an excellent officer. I couldn’t have closed the cases we have without your valuable input. I want you to know that.”

  There was a long pause on the phone and she mentally kicked herself for having offended him. Just as she was about to apologize, he said, “Thanks, Cam, I appreciate that. But there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing I can do. Not until we get the forensic results.”

  They switched topics and Rick shared the latest gossip circulating among the locals. When she hung up, she rested her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she dialed Doc.

  “Rick just told me what’s going on,” she said. “I’m debating whether I should come back.”

  “Have you had any more PTSD-related incidents?” She hesitated. “Your silence just answered that question.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Besides, if you were to run back here, what exactly could you do that Rick isn’t doing? He handled today just as well as you would have.” He softened his tone. “I know you think you’re chucking your responsibilities, but until the results come back, not only from my examination of the skeleton, but from Colin and his crew, you’re better off staying where you are. That is, unless Jace’s relatives are driving you mad. Then I say come back to the mainland and catch a flight to the Bahamas instead.”

  “I think the only way to know if I’m getting better is to talk about what happened.”

  “Are you ready to do that?”

  She took a long pause. Then she nodded. “I need to know.”

  “Alright then. Tell me all about that day.”

  She spent two hours on the phone with Doc. When she was done, she was so emotionally distraught that she quickly ran a hot bath in the jetted tub and submerged herself in the water in an attempt to stop the violent shaking. Jace came in, saw her face and quickly undressed. He then climbed in next to her and held her tightly as she broke out in choking sobs.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was time to leave.

  Andrew had quickly regained consciousness. She helped him upstairs where he spent part of the night lying on his bed with his head in her lap, crying pitifully. When he finally drifted off to sleep, she gently disengaged herself and went back downstairs. She reheated the coffee and poured herself a larger than usual cup.

  As dawn broke over the horizon, she decided to check the basement. She knew there was a box down there that held several family photo albums. Once she found it, she would pack them up, then call Splash and have him arrange transport for her and Andrew back to the mainland.

  It was obvious they couldn’t stay here any longer. Teddy had been right to leave. The house was killing them. With the exception of the photo albums, there was nothing in this house worth risking their physical health and state of mind over.

  She hated herself for not leaving with Teddy. Rather than argue with him, she and Andrew should have accompanied him. It might have spared her youngest son from tumbling further down a rabbit hole of drunkenness and despair.

  Violet sighed. What was the point of beating herself up? She’d finally made the decision to leave, that was the important thing. She had just enough time to go downstairs and pack up the photos while Andrew was still asleep. Then she’d pack up their suitcases and get as far away from this cottage and Eagla Island as possible.

  She finished her coffee and tied her hair back in an elastic. The stairs to the basement were through a door in the kitchen. She switched on the light and made her way down the cold stone steps. Reaching the bottom, she shivered. There was an ungodly chill that seeped right into her bones. Rather than waste time going
upstairs to grab another sweater, she decided to carry on. The frigid air would egg her on to finish quickly.

  Looking about, she was glad to see packing boxes leaning up against the wall. All she had to do was find the albums within the five cartons that were piled up in the far corner, transfer them to the new boxes, seal them and get back upstairs where she’d call Splash to arrange what she quickly realized was their escape.

  She started towards the boxes when she slowed her step. To her right was a room that no one had ever been allowed to enter. It was Phil’s darkroom where he spent hours developing the photographs he’d taken of the Coffins.

  Never having been inside, her curiosity was piqued. Were his cameras still there? Were there any photographs on the old metal shelfs that he’d left behind? It would only take five minutes to check. Then she’d get to the task at hand.

  Violet turned the knob. As far as she knew, no one had entered this room since Phil’s death. Edward had considered it as some sort of shrine to his grandfather while her children were never interested in photography. It was strange to think that she would be the first person to step inside Phil’s sanctum sanctorum since his passing in 1984.

  She opened the door, reached in, and turned on the switch. She was surprised to see the room flood with red light. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she saw a rope hanging along the back of the windowless room with various clothespins. This must have been where he hung up his photos to dry after immersing them in the development chemicals.

  To her amazement, she saw a stack of photos sitting on the corner of the metal shelf. She hurried over and gathered them up. Turning, she set them down on the long wooden table Phil had once used to place the pans with the various fluids he needed to develop his photographs. She blew the dust off the top photo and gently flipped each one over. They were shots of nature and they bore the unmistakable stamp of Phil’s eye and composition. She gasped when she realized she had a goldmine in front of her. It was probable these had never been published before. She could make a small fortune selling the rights to a stack of Phil Munson originals.