Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels)

by Alice Simpson

  We fled from the room, closing the door after us. Emma busied herself dusting the balusters on the stair railing just as Mrs. Conrad appeared.

  “Humph!” the woman commented. “I must say you’ve done better than I expected. Never mind the rest of the dusting. Get downstairs and start dinner.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Conrad,” Emma said.

  I watched as Emma descended the stairs. Her hands were still shaking, and she gripped the railing for support.

  “I suppose we should be starting for home, Flo,” I said, loud enough for Emma to hear. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  Emma halted and turned around.

  “Can’t you wait just a little longer?” she pleaded.

  I looked at Flo. Flo looked back at me and nodded her head.

  “Of course, we will,” I said.

  I could see that our decision to stay displeased Mrs. Conrad, who obviously considered us as intruders in the house. However, she merely pressed her lips together and refrained from comment.

  “Glen and I shall expect dinner promptly at six-thirty,” she told Emma. “You’ll find the makings of a hash in the ice chest. There are turnips to be cooked, and you might make a rice pudding for dessert.”

  Taking the evening paper, she disappeared into the parlor, and we were left alone. We three crept into the kitchen, carefully closing the door.

  “She didn’t notice the shirt!” Emma exclaimed in relief.

  “The laundry next door did a good job of removing the stain. But Emma, I think you shouldn’t stay here. Come back to Greenville with us.”

  “I’d like to,” said Emma, sinking down in a chair. She was wavering, but then she bucked herself up and continued, “No, I’ll not be so silly—I’ll stick it out even after what happened up there in room seven.”

  “What did you start to tell us just as Mrs. Conrad appeared?” I asked.

  “It sounds rather ridiculous now,” Emma whispered. “But it’s true—I swear it is!”

  “Something about the paintings?” Flo asked.

  “I was dusting the bed,” Emma said. “All the time I felt so uncomfortable—I can’t explain the sensation.”

  “That room is enough to give me any sane person the heebie-jeebies,” I said.

  “Well, I certainly had them, right from the second I stepped into that room, but I stayed and did the dusting. I was on the other side of the room when I glanced toward that painting—the man with the red velvet cap. I nearly jumped out of my skin. His eyes were looking straight at me.”

  “And was that when you screamed?”

  “No, I screamed when I saw those terrible eyes move!”

  CHAPTER 5

  I did not believe Emma’s story. It was not that I thought she was lying, but she was exhausted and nervous. In her overwrought condition, it would be easy for her to imagine she had seen the eyes of the painting move.

  “I can tell you don’t believe me,” Emma. “But I swear it’s true!”

  “The bedroom was quite dark when you were there,” I said. “You probably were mistaken, Emma.”

  “Then I must be losing my mind! Those horrible eyes blinked and moved sideways in their sockets! I—I saw it!”

  “Emma,” said Florence. “Whether the eyes of the painting moved or not, this is no place for you. Come on back to Greenville with us.”

  “No, I have to stay. Perhaps I did get excited.” Emma averted her face.

  “The paintings in this house are the ghastliest things I’ve ever seen,” I said. “But I imagine one could get used to them after a few days. Emma, would it make you feel more comfortable if Florence and I stayed with you tonight?”

  “Yes, of course, only I’d not ask you to do it. And Mrs. Conrad might object.”

  “We could pay for our room. Since she takes tourists, I don’t see why she should object to us. If we’re staying though, we’d better phone home.”

  Flo and I went out into the hall, intending to speak with the mistress of the house about getting a room for the night and using her telephone, but when we neared the open door of the parlor, we heard voices within. I motioned to Flo to keep quiet and listen. We lingered in the hallway, eavesdropping.

  “I tell you, I’ll not send the girl away,” Mrs. Conrad was saying. “She’s a good worker, and I’m tuckered out trying to keep up this big place and take in tourists.”

  “It’s dangerous to have anyone here, and you know it, Earnestine,” Mr. Conrad retorted. “Do you want us to get into trouble?”

  He broke off abruptly. “There’s someone in the hall.”

  Mrs. Conrad came out, looking even more frazzled and run-down than before. Flo apologized for the intrusion and said we’d like a room for the night. Mrs. Conrad frowned and started to refuse, but I interrupted her.

  “We expect to pay for our room, of course,” I said.

  “What do you think, Glen?” the woman asked, turning to her husband.

  “Might as well pick up a bit wherever we can,” he muttered. “I’ll get the register and you girls better sign it like regular over-night guests. There’s state regulations, you know. It will be a dollar in advance.”

  Between us, Flo and I paid the fee. When I signed the register, I noticed that the last guest who had spent a night at the Old Mansion had been a man by the name of J. D. Merriweather from Chicago, assigned to room seven.

  “Where’s your luggage?” asked Mr. Conrad.

  “We brought none with us,” Florence explained. “We just brought Emma down and had no thought of remaining.”

  “Well, I guess it will be all right, though we don’t usually take folks without luggage,” the man said. “I’ll let you have room seven!”

  “No, Glen! Not that room!”

  Mr. Conrad glanced angrily at his wife.

  “Room seven hasn’t been dusted,” Mrs. Conrad said. “Put them in number ten. They’ll like that much better.”

  Odd, I thought. Emma had just dusted room seven.

  “Why can’t we share Emma’s room?” Florence asked. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

  “It would save bed linen,” Mrs. Conrad agreed. “Will you take dinner here? That will be twenty-five cents apiece.”

  “No, we thought we’d go next door to the café,” I said, without consulting Florence.

  The prospect of hash and rice pudding held no allure, and besides, I did not wish to make Emma extra work.

  “Thom Vhorst keeps a mighty poor table,” Mr. Conrad said. “You won’t like it, in my opinion.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” I said, unmoved.

  We returned to the kitchen to tell Emma that the Conrads had agreed we might stay the night. Emma was toiling over the hot stove.

  “I’m glad you have decided to stay,” Emma said. “Of course, you may share my room. I’ll not feel so lonesome with company.”

  We left Emma to serve supper and went next door to the café. I paused for a moment to stare at the dark river which flowed in a swift, steady stream close to the door.

  “I can’t imagine who would lay out a street in such fashion,” Florence said. “All these buildings are dangerously near the water.”

  “I imagine they were built farther back. Probably the river has cut into the bank as the years went by. Didn’t your father mention something about that, when we told him we were visiting White Falls?”

  “One of these days I imagine everything will topple into the water.”

  “It wouldn’t be a very great loss,” I said. “As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Glen Conrad and wife can be perched on the roof when Old Mansion swims off!”

  “They are an unpleasant pair. Did you hear what they were saying, Jane, when we came into the parlor?”

  “Yes, it puzzled me. Why should Mr. Conrad consider it dangerous for Emma to remain here? And he acted so oddly about that room. I was tempted to insist upon sleeping there, despite Mrs. Conrad’s protests.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, Jane. I haven’t any overpowering de
sire to spend a night with portraits which roll their eyes and cut capers.”

  “Oh, that part must be nonsense, Flo.”

  “Yes, Emma was excited,” Florence agreed. “So many things happened to her today she didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “Still, it’s very strange Mrs. Conrad was so set against us having that room. She seems afraid of something.”

  “She said it hadn’t been dusted, only Emma had just finished it.”

  “That was definitely just an excuse. Mr. Conrad seemed to understand what his wife meant because he let the matter drop. Another odd thing, you remember the café owner dropped a hint about Old Mansion. He said to take his advice and not spend a night here.”

  “And we’re planning to do just the opposite! I had forgotten all about it.”

  “That was one reason why I especially wished to stay,” I said. “Well, shall we have our supper and telephone home? Perhaps while we’re in the café, I can induce Thom Vhorst to elaborate upon his original warning.”

  The café was entirely deserted when we entered. We asked to use the telephone and placed reverse charge calls to our homes in Greenville. We both omitted any mention of paintings whose eyes moved or the general weirdness of the proprietors of the hotel.

  Thom Vhorst, the owner of the café, brought our meal to the table.

  “You decided to stay after all?” he said, as he deposited a plate of gravy-soaked biscuits.

  “Yes, it would take us a long while to drive back to Greenville tonight,” I said. “Don’t you think we’ll like the place?”

  “You wouldn’t catch me staying there,” he said. “Not on your life!”

  “Why?”

  “Something might happen. What room are you staying in?”

  “I’m not certain,” I said. I tried to remember what number was on the door of Emma’s room. I couldn’t recall there being any number at all. Perhaps, only the guest rooms were numbered.

  “Is it on the south side of the building?” Mr. Vhorst asked.

  “No, on the street side,” said Flo.

  “Then that’s not so bad,” he said. “You had me good and scared for a minute.”

  “Just what is wrong with the place?” demanded Florence. “Is it supposed to be haunted or something?”

  “Nothing like that.” The man lowered his voice, though we were still the only ones in the place. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this.”

  “If you feel we might be in any danger, it is your duty to tell us,” I said. “Has all this mystery anything to do with room seven?”

  “That’s it,” he said. “I’ll tell you—”

  His voice trailed off, and he picked up my plate, which still had two and a half biscuits on it. I looked toward the entrance. Glen Conrad had entered the café and was staring at us.

  CHAPTER 6

  The café proprietor disappeared into the kitchen with half of my supper. Glen Conrad loitered near our table. He picked up a newspaper and pretended to read it.

  Thom Vorst wordlessly returned a few minutes later with a fresh plate of biscuits. I guess he’d realized that he’d run off with my supper halfway through the meal.

  Flo and I ate as slowly as possible, hoping that Mr. Conrad might be called away or give up and leave, but neither happened and, after the third cup of coffee, we paid our bill and left.

  I let the screen door slam loudly behind us, clattered down the wooden steps and then lingered at the bottom.

  “Let’s wait a minute,” I whispered to Flo. We crept to the side of the building where I’d spotted an open window and listened.

  “Up to your old tricks, eh Thom?” Mr. Conrad was saying.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mr. Vorst said.

  “Oh, yes, you do. I heard what you were telling those women. You’re trying to ruin our tourist business—that’s what you’re doing.”

  “It ought to be ruined,” Thom retorted.

  “Let me tell you something, you tend to your own business and let me tend mine! Get me? If you don’t—”

  We never got to hear Mr. Conrad’s threat. The screen door creaked on its hinges and slammed shut. Then we heard Mr. Conrad greeting another customer.

  “Well, we learned very little, after all,” Florence said as we loitered on the street. Neither of us was eager to go back to Old Mansion. “I wonder what Thom intended to tell us?”

  “I mean to go back there when the coast is clear, and question him,” I said. “It’s plain to see, Thom and Glen are enemies, but even so, it strikes me that something is decidedly wrong at Old Mansion. Otherwise, Glen wouldn’t be so afraid of the café owner spreading gossip.”

  “All the mystery seems to center around room seven.”

  “Yes, I’d like to take another look at that room, but I suppose it’s impossible. Mrs. Conrad will be on her guard.”

  “I feel uneasy about Emma remaining here.”

  “Oh, I don’t imagine there is any cause for real alarm,” I said. “Maybe we’ll have another chance to talk to Mr. Vhorst before we leave tomorrow.”

  Dusk had fallen, and we stood for a moment watching the dark, swirling waters of the Grassy River. As a motor boat laboriously plied its way upstream, tiny wavelets pounded against the stone supports of the old mansion. Along the far shore, I noticed several houseboats which had been tied up in sheltered coves.

  “All houseboats look the same to me,” Flo said. “I don’t think I’d recognize Mud Cat’s stolen property if it came floating right before my eyes.”

  “I’m afraid Mud Cat will never see his Empress again,” I said.

  We entered Old Mansion through the kitchen door. Emma was washing the supper dishes, and we lent her a helping hand.

  “I’m tired enough to drop,” said Emma, when the last pan had been scoured. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go to bed.”

  “Let’s all turn in,” said Flo. “There’s nothing to do in this one-horse town anyway.”

  Emma’s room contained a double bed and a narrow, lumpy couch. I chose the couch. Emma found extra linen and blankets in the hall closet and loaned us pajamas. By nine o’clock our lights were out.

  Long after Florence and Emma were sleeping peacefully, I lay awake. I wasn’t used to going to bed so early, the couch was uncomfortable, and the extra two cups of coffee after supper weren’t helping matters any. I squirmed and twisted but could not adjust myself.

  I’d been lying awake for at least an hour when I heard voices from another room. Mrs. Conrad was talking to her husband, and in the still house, the sound carried.

  “I don’t care if you don’t like it, Glen,” Mrs. Conrad said. “Emma stays, and that’s all there is to it! She’s the best worker I’ve ever had. You know we can’t get anyone here in White Falls.”

  “I’ve nothing against the girl,” Glen answered. “But I’m afraid she may learn things and talk. Already that old fool, Thom Vhorst, is trying to start trouble again.”

  “What’s he up to now?”

  “Trying to tell them friends of Emma’s about room seven. But I shut him up before he spilled the beans.”

  “Glen, I’m afraid. We might get into real trouble—”

  “Forget it, you always were the worrying kind. Go to sleep now.”

  The voices died away, and the house became quiet. I lay with eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. I made up my mind to try and get Emma to give up her position in the morning. I rolled over and tried to sleep. I was just drifting off when I was aroused again by a creaking sound.

  I sat up and listened. There was another creaking, like a foot stepping upon a loose floor board. The noise came from the opposite side of the hall. I tried to make myself believe that it was nothing unusual, that any old house was likely to produce strange sounds, yet the feeling persisted—someone was walking about in room seven!

  Unable to endure the suspense, I rolled off the couch and tiptoed to the door. I opened it and listened. Everything was still for a moment,
and then I heard the creaking noise once more.

  There was someone in room seven.

  Emma and Florence were sleeping. I considered waking them and decided against it.

  I slipped into Emma’s robe, then stole down the hall, pausing before room seven. I listened again, and hearing no movement within, cautiously twisted the knob.

  The door swung back to reveal an empty room. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, throwing a ghost-like pattern on the carpet and across one of the paintings.

  I shivered and drew Emma’s robe more closely around me. I was experiencing a most uncomfortable feeling that I was not alone in the room. Yet, bed chamber appeared to be quite empty.

  Three of the pictures were shrouded in darkness. A moonbeam shone full on the fourth painting, the likeness of the man in the red cap, and the flickering light made his face appear remarkably life-like. The eyes were luminous and appeared to focus on me.

  My curiosity evaporated. I felt only an urge to escape.

  I backed slowly toward the door, my gaze fastened on the painting. Then, without warning, I was grasped firmly by the shoulders.

  CHAPTER 7

  I whirled around ready to fight, but it was only Mrs. Conrad, in an old-fashioned high-neck nightgown and curlers sticking from her head like the quills of a porcupine.

  “Oh, Mrs. Conrad!” I said. “I thought a big bad ghost had me that time for sure!”

  “What are you doing in this room?” Mrs. Conrad demanded.

  “I—that is—”

  “Your room is across the hall,” said Mrs. Conrad. “Do you walk in your sleep?”

  “Well, not very often,” I said. “But sometimes I do when I’m sleeping in a strange bed. I’m sorry I caused you so much annoyance. I’m wide awake, so I’ll go back to my room now.”

  I did not give Mrs. Conrad an opportunity to question me further. I went back to Emma’s room and closed the door. I heard Mrs. Conrad close the door of room seven and turn a key in the lock. Then the house once more settled down for the night.

  I was glad that Florence and Emma had slept through the disturbance. I had no intention of revealing to them what had happened.

  Now that I was snuggled down under the covers, I told myself that my fears had been just a silly moment of weakness, but the truth was that— although I don’t believe in ghosts— I’d been as terrified by that painting as Emma had been. But no matter how hard I tried, I failed to convince myself that I’d been alone in that room. I repeatedly told myself it had been entirely in my head, but I could not shake my conviction that the eyes in the painting had really been looking at me.