Peach Clobbered

by Anna Gerard

“I’m getting to that. I asked him to drop by tomorrow around two and do a walk-through of the place so he can put together a formal bid for me. The sisters will be gone at the convent, and I told Jack I was going to take Mattie to the groomer. I told him I’d leave a key stuck behind the screen door so he can let himself in.”

  I gave Harry a smug smile.

  “I figure if he knows he’s alone, he’ll take the opportunity to search out whatever it is that he thinks is hidden here … and chances are he’s going to take a look up in the tower room. So I need you to be my spy and watch what he does while I’m gone.”

  “Your spy?” Harry lifted a cobwebbed brow. “If you’ve forgotten, I’m a paying guest, which exempts me from playing cloak and dagger. You’re going to have to find someone else.”

  I frowned, though realistically I’d expected a little pushback. Time to bring out the big guns and appeal to his not-so-insubstantial ego.

  “I know, and I realize this is a huge favor, but it’s important. I need to know if Jack is on the up-and-up before I trust him doing any work around here. And if there really is some sort of hidden treasure, I don’t want him absconding with it.”

  I paused and gave him my best impression of Mattie pleading for an extra treat. “The truth is, I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  Which technically was true. The sisters would be busy at the convent, and anyone else I could think of who I considered trustworthy would be in the middle of their workday.

  He gave me a considering look. “Assuming I agree to this, what exactly do you want me to do?”

  “Like I said, spy on him. I’ll leave the details to you, but there are enough closets and niches in the house that would make good hiding places. Mostly, I want to see if he knows how to access the tower room, and if he goes up there for a look. I didn’t mention anything to him about the hidden door, so unless he has specific knowledge about it, he won’t be looking for it.”

  Then, when he still looked doubtful, I went in for the kill. “Seriously, you’re the only one I know who has the skill set to do this.”

  He shrugged. “That’s probably correct.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “On one condition.”

  Mental alarm bells went off. Great. He’s going to tell me he wants his house back.

  But surprisingly, what he said was, “I get to eat breakfast every morning with the rest of you, no questions asked.”

  “Done.” Breakfast was a small price to pay. “We’ll work out the final details tomorrow before Jack gets here.” Then, recalling what he’d said when I’d first climbed up, I asked, “So what did you need to talk to me about?”

  “It’s more showing than telling, actually. And I can pretty well guarantee that you’re not going to like it.”

  I could think of a dozen things right off the bat that the actor could tell or show me that I wouldn’t like. Starting with I used your mug again and broke it and ending with I’m staying permanently and you’re going to have to evict me to get me out of the house. At least the latter issue was supposedly off the table for the week, given the deal we’d struck. And since I didn’t see any broken crockery lying around, my mug was probably safe. So I was prepared for anything else.

  Or so I thought.

  Turns out I wasn’t prepared after all. He pointed at the open closet behind him and said, “I think I found a dead body here in the tower room.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Wait! Dead body! What?”

  I said a few more words, too, but those weren’t suitable for print. Harry waited for me to wind down a bit and then asked, “Do you want to see it or not?”

  “See a body? Are you kidding? No! Wait, yes!”

  Though by now, rational thought was returning. From what I could see of the closet, it was far too small to hold a full-sized human corpse. Moreover, if there had been a body putrefying up there in the heat, I darned sure would have smelled it long ago. Plus, given the undisturbed layer of dust we’d found when we had opened up the place, Harry and I had been the first people to be in the tower room for a long while. And unless Harry’s Great-Aunt Lathrop was built like a linebacker who could haul a dead guy up that ladder, no way had she done it.

  I followed him over to the closet for a closer look. He’d already filled the single wood clothes rod with his shirts and jeans, and I saw that the space was wider behind the walls than I’d originally thought. But, no body … and nobody. I gave him a confused look.

  “I was finishing hanging up all my clothes,” he explained, “when I felt one of the planks here shift when I stepped on it. I realized someone had cut the boards to make a hiding spot. So, of course, I had to see if anything was inside. And that’s when I found it. Take a look,” he finished, and dropped to his knees.

  I knelt as well, watching as he stuck a finger into what at first appeared to be a knothole in the wood grain but instead was actually a hole the diameter of a man’s thumb. With a tug, he pulled up a one-by-two-foot section of the plank floor and set it aside, revealing an opening beneath. While he picked up a small flashlight that had been left near the closet door, I cautiously leaned forward for a look at the hole.

  “I don’t see any … aahhhhh!”

  I broke off with a scream as Harry shined the flashlight beam inside the opening and I spied what was undeniably bone. Human bone. I didn’t need to recall my college anatomy class to know that the bone in question was a skull.

  I dropped back so I was sitting on my heels now, feeling my heart pounding double-time in my chest. When I caught my breath again, I asked, “Is-Is the rest of him in there?”

  “Only the skull, as far as I could tell. So I guess technically we’re not talking about a whole dead body … just part of one.”

  “That’s bad enough. I can’t believe I’ve been living here for weeks with some dead guy’s skull in my tower room, and I didn’t even know about it.”

  Harry gave me the side-eye. “Well, how do you think I feel? I slept with it here last night.”

  “Yeah, good point.” Then, giving him a suspicious look, I went on, “Wait. How long has it been here? It’s not left over from when you were a kid here on summer break, is it?”

  He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that fifteen-year-old me would have found a secret hiding place like that on day one. The hole had to have been cut in the last twenty or so years, after my last summer here and before Aunt Lathrop died.”

  We remained there silently staring at the hole in the closet for another minute. Then a thought occurred to me, and I reached for the flashlight. Steeling myself, I clicked on the beam again and leaned forward for another look.

  “Hmm,” I said after a little more study. Glancing back at Harry, I elaborated. “Something’s kind of odd here. I mean, besides the fact there’s a human skull sitting in the closet. I think we need a better look. Can you get me an old T-shirt or a hand towel or something?”

  While he went to get the T-shirt/hand towel/something, I pulled out my phone from my pocket and took a few pictures. In situ evidence, I told myself, like when Deputy Mullins took those pictures of Mason’s flatware box. Though I suspected the sheriff would be a bit more interested in my found skull than Mason’s missing knife. Harry returned with a threadbare hand towel, which he gave to me. I dropped it over the skull; then, gritting my teeth, I carefully lifted the remains out of the hole and set them on the floor.

  “Uh, you’re not going to leave that thing there, are you?”

  I rose and dusted my hands on the seat of my jeans. “No. I want to bring it out into the light.”

  I bent and picked it up again, trying to convince myself that as long as there was a piece of terry cloth between me and the skull, I wasn’t technically touching it. I carried it over to the end table between the two chairs that were arranged next to one of the windows. I set the skull down there and gave a shudder that wasn’t entirely feigned.

  Then, with a stern eye on Harry, I said, “I did the har
d part. Come over here now, and take the towel off.”

  Looking as uncomfortable as I felt, Harry came over as directed and gingerly removed the towel. Once again, we studied the skull in silence for a moment, before I said. “That’s what I’m talking about. See how dark it is, like it’s been stained with tea or something? And the lower jaw is missing, too. Maybe it’s fake, and someone put it there for a joke.”

  Harry shook his head. “I’ve played in Hamlet enough times to know what a fake skull looks like. I’m pretty sure this one is real … and I have a feeling it’s actually pretty old. Maybe from a Native American burial mound or something.”

  Which hadn’t occurred to me until Harry made the suggestion.

  “Oh, great. So you’re saying this house is built on sacred land, and now that we’ve found the hidden skull, we’re going to be haunted by a bunch of ticked-off spirits and end up fleeing into the night?”

  He snorted. “More than likely, the skull was stolen from somewhere, or else someone bought it on the black market. Or maybe they just found it in their own backyard. But no matter where it came from, it’s illegal to own any Native American remains. That’s probably why whoever had it hid it up here.”

  Realization abruptly hit, and I gave a triumphant nod. “Wait, that’s it! That’s why he wanted inside the house so badly. He wants his skull back.”

  “He? You mean Jack Hill?”

  “It’s got to be him. We know he’s been in the house before while your great-aunt was still alive, doing those so-called repairs. At some point, he must have cut that hole in the closet floor and hidden the skull, planning to retrieve it when he was ready.”

  Harry considered my words for a moment before he shrugged.

  “You might be right. He’d know my aunt wouldn’t be climbing up to the tower room to check on things, not at her age. So if he needed a place to hide something valuable and highly illegal—something he needed access to once he had a buyer for it, but he couldn’t risk keeping at his own place—what better hiding spot than that?”

  By now, I was warming to my theory. Eagerly, I replied, “Exactly. The only problem was that Jack hadn’t counted on your great-aunt dying unexpectedly before he could retrieve the skull again. And I screwed up his plan B by buying the house almost the same day it hit the market. He’s probably been sweating bullets ever since, praying I never figured out about the secret door.”

  “And now you’ve given him the key to your house and plenty of time to look for his skull.” Harry’s enthusiasm, while not matching mine, had ramped up a bit. “Sure, I’ll play spy for you. It’ll be worth it to see his face when he finds his hiding spot is empty. And I’ll video it all on my phone.”

  We grinned at each other for a few satisfied moments. Then I glanced back over at the skull and frowned again.

  “So what do we do with it?” I asked, “You don’t know any tribal elders we could give it to, do you?”

  “Not offhand. Besides, we don’t one hundred percent know for sure the guy—or, heck, woman—was Native. Our best bet is to give the skull to Connie. She can have an expert examine it, and they’ll take care of proper burial, or giving it to a tribe for repatriation.”

  “Works for me. Let me get something to put our friend in, and we can drive him to the sheriff’s office now.”

  Harry shook his head, his momentary enthusiasm flagging. “What’s this we? It’s your house. Why do I have to tag along on a skull-delivering errand? Besides, last time I talked to Connie, she arrested me.”

  “Not my problem. And don’t forget, you’re the one who found the blasted thing,” I pointed out. “I’m pretty sure Sheriff Lamb will want a statement from you.”

  Then, when he still looked unconvinced, I added, “Unless you want me to put our friend back in the hole. We can pretend you never found him and leave him there until Jack comes poking around tomorrow afternoon. Of course, that’ll mean you get to sleep with your bony friend in the room with you again tonight.”

  For emphasis, I did a little woo-wooing and finger wagging to pantomime ghosts fluttering about.

  He raised his hands in surrender. “All right, I’m convinced. You go find a box, and I’ll carry him downstairs.”

  I made a quick search for something suitable but not undignified in which to transport McCoy, as I’d unofficially dubbed the skull. (Okay, so you’d have to be a Star Trek fan to appreciate the reference.) I decided on a vintage-style hatbox I had tucked under my bed. I’d bought it a while back intending to store winter caps and gloves, until it had occurred to me that I’d probably need something a little more mothproof. And so it had been sitting empty in the interim.

  Harry gave me a doubtful look when he saw the blue-and-silver-striped round box with glittery silver strings that did dual duty, keeping the lid attached and serving as a handle. He made no comment, however, as he stuck the skull, towel and all, into it and carried it down the ladder and to the foyer. In the meantime, I grabbed my keys and purse. Leaving Mattie to watch the place, I called a goodbye to the nuns and headed out the kitchen door in the direction of the garage where the Mini was parked.

  Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about the bus. Despite Harry’s claims to the contrary, the vehicle was taking up far more than its allotted space in the drive.

  “You’re going to have to move this hunk o’ junk out of the way,” I flatly told him. “I’m not going to risk a scraped fender trying to get past it.”

  “Fine. Hold our friend.”

  Handing off the hatbox to me, Harry popped open the bus door and climbed into the driver’s seat. I wasn’t overly surprised when he pulled down the sun visor for the keys. He’d removed anything of value from the vehicle already, and no one in their right mind would want to steal the battered behemoth. But rather than starting up when he turned the key in the ignition, the bus made a sluggish rhwah-rhwah sound before going silent.

  He glanced around and up; then, flipping a rocker switch overhead, he gave me a sheepish look through the open door. “Dead battery. I kind of left the dome light on overnight.”

  “Great. And at the angle you’re at, even if I can get the Mini partway out of the garage, my cables aren’t long enough to reach from my battery to yours. I guess we’re going to have to call someone to come out and jump it. So we might as well put McCoy somewhere safe for a while.”

  He didn’t immediately reply, but pulled out his phone and scrolled through.

  “Here’s another idea,” he said. “According to the news feed, today’s press conference on Bainbridge’s murder is starting in about fifteen minutes. We could walk over to the square, catch Connie afterwards, and give her the hatbox.”

  I sighed. I was getting a bit weary of tromping back and forth to the square in the head of the day … especially with the media still lurking about. But better to unload the skull sooner rather than later.

  “All right, let’s do this. But I need to stop back inside for a minute first,” I told him as he climbed out of the bus again. “You take our friend here, and I’ll meet you on the front porch in five.”

  My five was actually closer to ten, but Harry was nowhere to be seen when I finally stepped out onto the porch. There was, however, yet another lost tourist hanging by my front gate. This guy was wearing baggy green cargo shorts and a tucked-in white T-shirt that matched his white socks and white running shoes. To further accessorize, he wore a black fanny pack spun around to the front, a backward oversized ball cap, and sunglasses.

  And, I noticed with a reluctant grin, he was also dangling a blue-and-silver-striped hatbox from one hand.

  “Great minds,” I observed as I halted in front of him. I’d opted for a bit of a disguise myself—a floppy brimmed straw sunhat with a tied-on plaid scarf and a pair of oversized Audrey Hepburn–style sunglasses that I’d worn to a costume party once. Just in case Reporter Dave was near the square looking for interview subjects, I didn’t want him recognizing me.

  Harry grinned a little, too. “Looking goo
d. All right, Ms. Golightly, we’ve got a press conference to catch and a skull to get rid of.”

  Oddly pleased that he’d gotten the Breakfast at Tiffany’s reference, I slung my purse over my shoulder. We set off to the square in companionable silence.

  Well, as companionable as we could get, given that he’d previously threatened me with a lawsuit. And given that he’d been arrested for murdering Gregory Bainbridge, and I was only ninety-nine percent sure he hadn’t done it. And given that he’d drunk out of my personal Aussie dog mug without asking.

  By the time we arrived at the square, Sheriff Lamb had already taken the microphone. I could hear her introductory remarks as I crossed the street and wended my way through the parked cars to the grassy area of the square. Though the crowd was far smaller than the past news conferences—maybe twenty people, including tourists, were gathered in front of the gazebo—I was glad to see that the Penguin Suit Murder hadn’t entirely fallen off the media radar.

  Playing the role of concerned Cymbeliner, I strolled with Harry toward the gazebo. The sheriff was now explaining that an unnamed suspect had been brought in for questioning the day before but had been released with no charges being filed.

  “But that in no way means we’re at a dead end in the investigation,” she emphasized, her amplified voice sounding tinny but determined over the PA speakers. “We still have several persons of interest to follow up on, and our department is in process of fielding more than nine hundred tips that have come in since the afternoon of the murder.”

  I wondered if her tips included Mason’s missing knife. I wondered, too, if Mason, Becca, and Jack were on that list of persons of interest. Thinking of Jack led to another problem, however. I leaned closer to Harry and murmured, “Should we tell the sheriff about our little sting operation we’re planning with Jack, or wait until after you catch him in the act?”

  He gave me a pitying look over the top of his sunglasses. “Do you really think she’d go for it if you told her first? Besides, finding whoever killed Bainbridge has got to be higher on Connie’s priority list than a skull right now.”