by Nic Saint
“Here we are,” said Dan as he returned, carrying a thick book with bundled old copies of the newspaper he’d founded.
“Shouldn’t you digitize the entire archive, Dan?” asked Odelia not for the first time.
“Yes, I probably should,” he said. “And maybe once I retire I will. But for now I have too much work putting out fresh copies each and every week and so do you, my dear.”
He placed the thick collection on top of the pile of papers on his desk.
Odelia had gotten up and frowned as she stared at what looked like a copy of the Gazette from the stone ages, judging from the quality of the paper, yellowed and old.
“What am I looking at?” she asked, her eyes drawn to an article about the biggest pumpkin ever to be harvested in Hampton Cove history.
“This,” said Dan, tapping a finger on an article in the bottom right corner.
‘Local Man Missing,’ the headline read. As she scanned through the article, her excitement grew with leaps and bounds. “Boyd Baker—Harrington Street 46. That’s him!”
“I thought so,” said Dan with a grin. “I keep a list of Missing Persons, and there he was, our Mr. Boyd Baker, disappeared exactly fifty-five years ago.”
Odelia quickly read through the article. Boyd Baker had worked for Courtyard Living, a local landscaping company, and hadn’t returned home from work one day. His wife Phyllis had reported him missing, and the police vowed they’d do everything to find him.
“I remember Boyd Baker,” said Dan. “Even though I was only a kid back then.”
“A kid who published a newspaper.”
“Well, yes, I did,” he said modestly.
“So what was he like, this Boyd Baker?”
“A big man. Very impressive. Though I mainly remember his wife Phyllis. She worked at the pharmacy. Very sweet woman. And Rita, of course. She was quite the stunner. Too old for me, of course, but a boy can dream.” A little color had seeped into his cheeks.
“She used to babysit me,” said Odelia. “The ideal babysitter, too. I loved our evenings.”
“I wish she’d been my babysitter.”
Odelia smiled. “I take it nothing ever happened between you and Rita Baker?”
“Nope. That’s the way it goes with these boyhood crushes.”
“I wonder what happened to Phyllis Baker. When my parents bought the house it was because she was moving into a nursing home. She was eighty and this was twenty-five years ago. So she would now be…”
“Not among us anymore, I guess.”
“No, probably not. Though Rita will still be alive, and her brother. I bought the house on Harrington Street five years ago, and Rita even helped me with the move, so…”
“I still see Rita from time to time. She lives in one of those new apartments on Grover Street now. She’s your grandma’s age.”
“You’re no spring chicken yourself, Dan,” said Odelia with a grin.
“Don’t remind me, young lady. You know what they say: you’re only as old as you feel, and I still feel a fit fifteen most of the time, a dirty thirty on my bad days.”
“I didn’t know you had bad days.”
“I try to skip over them.”
She studied the picture of the man in whose house her parents now lived, and thought he looked bluff and hearty, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. She didn’t remember Rita ever talking about her dad much. Time to have a little chat now.
“I think it’s him,” she said finally. “I think this is the man we found in the basement.”
“If that’s your first instinct, he’s your guy. You know what I’ve always told you.”
“Always to follow my hunches.” And to Dan’s credit, he was right. Odelia’s hunches often led her in the right direction, even if at first they seemed outrageous or even crazy.
“Oh, before I forget,” said Dan. “This story about the skeleton being your grandfather. Town gossip?”
“What? Of course town gossip. Grandpa died of a heart attack, and is buried in Saint-John’s cemetery.” She stared at her editor, who pursed his lips. “I don’t believe this.”
“Well, you know what this town is like, Odelia. Tongues are wagging so fast it’s a miracle no sprains have been reported yet.”
“So that’s the consensus? That because my grandmother lives in that house it has to be her late husband?”
“Whom she killed with an ax and then buried in the basement. Yeah, that seems to be the gist. Five people already stopped me in the street to tell me all about it.”
“Gran didn’t even live on Harrington Street at the time. Mom and Dad only moved there twenty-five years ago, right before I was born, and Gran didn’t even move in with them until years later. Gran and Grandpa lived in the house on Hay Mill, and when Gran kicked him out he moved to Munster Street, which is where he died. From a heart attack. People know this, Dan, so why are they telling these crazy stories?”
“Because they can? Because it makes them feel important? Oh, I’m sure this will all blow over. As soon as the police confirm it’s Boyd Baker the rumors will go away.”
“I hope so. Gran doesn’t deserve to be subjected to this kind of nonsense.”
“Then you better go and talk to Rita Baker and ask her about her father.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And tell her Dan Goory said hi, will you?”
She laughed. “Oh, Dan.”
“What? A boyhood crush never fades, Odelia. It only becomes sweeter with time.”
Chapter 12
Chase was in his office when his boss popped his head in the door. “Abe just called, buddy. He thinks he’s got something,” said the Chief, sounding and looking excited.
Immediately Chase shot up from behind his desk and followed his superior officer into his office. The phone was on speaker. “Go for Chase and Alec, Abe,” said the Chief.
“Chase and Alec. Sounds like a comedy double act,” Abe quipped, then turned serious. “I’ve checked dental records, which at this point is all I have to go on, and I just got a hit. It would appear that our John Doe is a Mr. Boyd Baker, who used to reside at the address where his remains were found. Also, and this is preliminary, so don’t quote me on it, I think I’ve nailed down the cause of death. Our late Mr. Baker has a very large hole where part of his skull used to be. It’s entirely consistent with a blow to the head with a blunt object. He must have been knocked out with such force he either died on the spot, or died as a consequence of the blow. Mind you, this is all basically conjecture on my part. There’s really no way for me to know with absolute certainty what the man died of.”
“Anything else?” asked Chief Alec, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“The brooch. I’ve examined it more closely and those are real diamonds. So it’s worth a pretty penny. My advice would be to show it to a jeweler. Every jeweler has their personal style, so maybe they’ll be able to deduce something from the way the stones were set. There’s also a small engraving that had become invisible because of dirt.”
“And? What does it say?” asked Chase, hanging on the coroner’s every word.
“Some code, so not very helpful. I will send you my preliminary report, and detailed photographs of the brooch. Good luck, gentlemen. And if you have another case like this, please don’t hesitate to call me. It’s always fun to dig around in the past, instead of the endless number of traffic accident victims I usually deal with.”
Chief Alec checked his emails, and sure enough Abe’s email had already arrived in his inbox. He clicked on the pictures of the brooch, and both men studied them. The inscription on the back was clearly visible. It read AC/34.
“Doesn’t say much,” said Chase, disappointed.
“It might mean something to a jeweler,” Alec pointed out.
“Did you know this Boyd Baker?” asked Chase.
“I did. Well, not personally. The guy disappeared years ago. But him and his wife lived in that house, all right. In fact Marge and Tex bought the place from Phyllis Baker twenty-fi
ve years ago, and even back then the disappearance of her husband was common knowledge. Rumor had it he left town with a girlfriend, leaving his family in the lurch.”
“Is Mrs. Baker still with us?”
“No, I don’t think so. She was an old lady twenty-five years ago. But her daughter is still alive. She lived next to her mother, and sold the house to Odelia only five years ago or something. I think she moved to Grover Street, to one of those new apartments.”
“So she’s our first port of call?”
“That’s right, buddy. Oh, and Chase?”
“Mh?”
“Let’s keep Odelia out of this one, and my mother.”
“No civilian consultants?”
“No civilian consultants. People are already speculating that it’s my dad whose skeleton we found, and that my mother murdered him and buried him there. So if we let her and Odelia investigate, the gossip mill will go full tilt. They’ll say we’re trying to cover up a murder and yadda yadda yadda. Heck, they’ll probably say I’m trying to cover up the murder of my dad, but at least I’ve got the badge to make them shut up.”
Chase nodded as he studied the other pictures of the brooch, then focused on the ones Abe had taken of the skeleton as it lay spread out on his autopsy table.
“Amazing,” he said softly as he studied the pictures.
“What is?”
“So this guy has been in the ground for decades? Talk about a cold case.”
“The coldest one possible,” said Alec. “And we’re going to solve it, buddy. You and me.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea not to involve Odelia? Her cats might be able to—”
“No cat lives for decades,” the Chief interrupted him. “So I don’t see how Max and the others could help us solve Baker’s murder. No, it’s just us, Chase. Just like the old days.”
Chase laughed. “The old days? Chief, I’ve only been in town a year.”
“Funny,” said Alec with a frown. “Sometimes I have a feeling you’ve been here forever.”
“I’m bored, Jerry,” said Johnny as he leaned his head back. Spot sat in his lap and seemed bored, too, for he had placed his head on Johnny’s knee and was panting softly.
“Yeah, well, that’s what surveillance is all about,” said Jerry.
“Being bored?”
“Stalking out a place until you’re ready to move in and rob its owners blind.”
“We don’t even know if there’s anything of value to be found in there, Jer.”
“Doesn’t matter! This is our trial run, Johnny. This is where we find out how vigilant the cops in this town are, and if this all turns out the way I think it will, we can launch a run that will sustain us for the rest of our lives. Do you realize how much wealth there is in this town? This place is crawling with millionaires and billionaires and gazillionaires.”
“All with very sophisticated security systems.”
“Which you won’t have a problem to hack into.”
Johnny perked up. He liked a challenge, and cracking and hacking security systems was his forte. Call it a hobby.
“I don’t know, Jer,” he said, his smile fading. “I have a bad feeling in my gut. And so does Spot.”
“How can you possibly know what feeling Spot has in his tiny little gut? I don’t even know if dogs are capable of having feelings in their gut.”
“A dog person knows, Jer. And I can feel that he’s restless.”
“He’s probably hungry.”
A rumbling sound echoed through the car. Johnny produced a sheepish grin.
“Patience, Johnny, patience. As soon as the house is quiet we go in and do what we do best.”
“Raid the fridge?”
“Rob the poor suckers.”
Chapter 13
We’d finally arrived home and found that the sliding glass door that leads into the living room was closed and locked, which probably meant Odelia had gone out.
“If you’re hungry I can always bring you some food, Max,” Dooley offered graciously.
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “I should probably lose some weight, if I ever want to fit through that flap again.”
We moved over to Marge and Tex’s backyard and discovered the door to the living room was closed there, too, so we hopped up on the porch swing, and moments later were fast asleep. I don’t know what awoke me, but it may have been the pitter-patter of raindrops on the porch roof. And as I opened my eyes to take a look, I saw that yes, indeed, the nice sun that had warmed the world had been rudely obscured by a thick deck of clouds, and rain was now pouring from the heavens, soaking all and sundry.
“Good thing we’re up here, nice and dry,” I said.
“Yes, good thing,” Dooley agreed, though he was shivering. With the rain a distinct chill had set in, and Dooley felt it more keenly than I did. He has less insulation from the elements, you see. I have thicker skin, I guess, and perhaps a thicker coat of fur, too.
“You go inside, Dooley,” I said. “You don’t have to stay out here and catch a cold on my account.”
“No, I want to stay with you, Max,” he said.
“Please go in. If you catch a cold I’ll feel bad.”
“Oh, all right.”
He trotted off in the direction of the pet flap, and moments later had disappeared inside. And then it was just me and the elements. I wasn’t cold, but I still felt the chill. Not sure if it was the weather or the knowledge that beneath my paws, in the basement of the house, a dead man had spent the last couple of decades cooling his or her heels.
Weird thought, I thought, and then promptly dozed off again.
The next thing that awakened me was the movement of the swing. I looked up and saw that Dooley had joined me once more.
“Dooley, I told you to go inside.”
“I can’t be in there, Max. It’s the dead person.” He shivered, and this time it wasn’t from the cold. “I keep thinking about that skeleton, and how maybe there’s a lot of other skeletons buried down there.”
“I think there’s a big chance this is the only skeleton.”
“But how can you be sure? How can you be sure there’s not a dozen skeletons buried down there, or underneath the house? Do you remember that movie we saw about the house that had been built on top of an ancient burial ground for Native Americans?”
I distinctly remembered that movie, and was now shivering myself. Odelia loves to watch horror movies, even though they scare her to death, and she always makes us watch them with her, because if she watches them by herself she’s too scared to go to bed afterward. Over the years we must have seen dozens of horror movies, and since I don’t like horror movies, and neither does Dooley, I remember practically all of them.
And one that stood out to me was one where the heroine of the story at a certain point is trying to stay afloat in a hole where her house used to be, skeletons popping up all around her. It was a horrible scene, and one I remembered with distinct distaste.
“What if the ground is full of skeletons?” Dooley said, “and on a rainy day like this they all come popping up out of the soggy earth and try to drag us down with them?”
“Skeletons don’t drag anyone down, Dooley,” I pointed out with iron logic. “They’re dead, you see, so they don’t have the capacity to drag anyone down, and definitely not the two of us.”
“In the movie they all came alive again, and tried to drown that poor girl.”
“That’s because that was just a movie,” I said. “And you know that what happens in movies isn’t real, Dooley. It’s all special effects and make-believe.”
“Still,” he said as he directed a nervous look at the now soggy lawn, fully expecting the first skeleton to come popping out any moment now, ready to drag us down with it.
“Look, I’m pretty sure that skeleton was the only skeleton buried down there.”
“I don’t know, Max. This could be an old burial ground of Native Americans. And you know what that means. These dead people get
very upset when someone builds a house on top of them, and when they get upset they sink the house and all of its inhabitants.”
I swallowed away a lump of uneasiness. Dooley made a good point. “Maybe we should move next door,” I suggested. “I’m sure Odelia’s house isn’t built on an ancient burial ground.”
“Who knows? Maybe this entire neighborhood is built on an ancient burial ground, and we’re all in mortal danger.”
“In that case we’ll make a run for it,” I said. “But until the first skeleton pops its head out of the ground, I’m staying put.”
And as I tried to go back to sleep, it irked me a little bit that every time I opened my eyes, Dooley was staring intently at the ground, waiting for the first skeleton to appear.
Chapter 14
Marge arrived at the library just when the first fat drops of rain started pummeling the world below. She hurried inside, and was glad to be out of the rain. Odd, she thought. She checked her weather.com app every morning and also at night before going to bed, and it hadn’t mentioned rain for Hampton Cove or the surrounding towns. But then weather prediction wasn’t an exact science, and it was notoriously hard to know what surprises the weather gods had in store for mere mortals like her.
And she’d just hung up her coat and moved to the shelf where returns were delivered to start collecting them on a trolley, when the first visitor walked in. It was old Mrs. Samson from down the road. Mrs. Samson, a frequent visitor of the library, loved romance novels—the saucier the better—and faithfully dropped by every week to stock up on a fresh selection of reading material.
“Marge,” she said by way of greeting as she ventured into the library, then suddenly turned back. “I just want you to know that I don’t believe a word of what people are saying. Not a single word.”
“And what are people saying?” asked Marge, though she had a pretty good idea by now.
“Oh, just this and that. About that skeleton, I mean. I’ve known Vesta for years and years and years and even if she did kill your father I’m sure she must have had her reasons and has never killed again. And if anyone says otherwise I’m putting them straight and telling them that as a dear friend of the family I know, and they don’t.”
