"Hold one second. Are you telling me you went back down to the cellar?"
"Yes. I had this funny feeling. I'm here right now, and like I said, I found this ridge in the wall behind the paint cans. The shelving was off to one side. It didn't look right so I decided to check it out."
"What do mean by a ridge?"
"A thin indentation. As if a panel has been painted over."
"April, that's fabulous, but you need to get out of there. I have a forensics team coming in tomorrow."
"Why do you sound so worried?"
"Contamination of evidence."
She paused. There was a tone in his voice, a tone that said his concern went beyond disturbing potential evidence.
"You think Troy was killed because he moved the boxes," she said, her voice dropping as a chill rippled through her. "You think maybe he found what I just did."
"At this point I can only speculate, but yes, it's a theory, but whether it's right or wrong you need to stay out of there until forensics is finished."
"Nobody's here but me. Nobody knows I've found it. I won't tell anyone."
"It's still a potential crime scene. That's why there's tape blocking access to the door. Did you know it's a criminal offense to break that seal?"
"Uh, kind of, but I didn't break it, I crawled underneath."
"Semantics, but I won't arrest you, not this time."
"Are you scolding me, detective?"
"Lightly," he said with warmth in his voice. "If I find whoever did this, I'll need clear evidence to make it stick. That means it can't be polluted. Leave now, don't touch anything else, and don't do any more poking around down there."
"I won't, and I'm sorry. The need to come down here was so strong I had to do it. To be honest, I'm a bit freaked out."
"I understand those feelings. When I'm investigating a case I can't ignore them either, and they've led me into some pretty hairy situations. You don't need to be freaked out, but you do need to leave the cellar."
"I'm walking around the glass as I'm talking to you, and now I'm heading up the stairs."
"Thank you. I'll call you later and check in."
"I'd appreciate that."
"Bye, April.
"Bye, Jonathan."
Stepping back into the kitchen, she carefully slipped back under the tape. The kettle had boiled, and making her tea, she sat at the table, put the cream and jam on the scone, and took a large bite.
"Divine," she murmured, speaking to the daffodil as if it were Troy. "At least it seems I can eat now. I talked to Jonathan. He said the forensics people are coming in tomorrow. We're going to uncover the mystery, my love, and we're going to nail the bastard who took you away from me."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When Jonathan returned to the station, he'd called Ben and his two junior detectives into his office. DC Peter Shoebridge, and DC Mary Harper. It was a far cry from his incident room at the Met. Troy's death was the first suspected murder in the village since Jonathan had arrived.
"Troy Hammond did not fall down the stairs. He was bludgeoned and the scene was staged. I'm concerned about his widow, April Hammond, and I've asked the patrol to keep a sharp watch on Hammond Hall. Now I'll explain what I saw in the report that made me question the coroner's finding."
He repeated everything he'd told April, finishing with his discovery on the cover of the electric panel.
"Troy Hammond's immediate family had access. Mary, you start researching them. Here are their details," he said, handing her a piece of paper. "Peter, you take Ned Clifton and his nephew George Peabody. Mrs. Hammond is drawing up a list of anyone else who comes to mind. I also want to know about any scandals in the home's recent history, and any strange happenings. I know it's supposed to be haunted, but if things were going bump in the night, dig deep enough and you'll find out why."
"Sir, do you have a motive?" Mary asked.
"I think Troy Hammond was killed because he'd seen something he shouldn't have, but I can't rule out a simple burglary that went pear-shaped. Any more questions? No? Good. This is your first murder inquiry. I know it's exciting, but don't lose sight of the fact that a woman has lost her husband, and his family a brother and a son. It's a heinous act. We need to find those responsible and make sure they pay."
As they solemnly left his office he leaned back in his chair, thinking back to what he'd seen in the cellar. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger on what it might be. He knew it would come to him, but he hoped it would be sooner rather than later.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
April worked on oversized canvases. Her first effort had been her bedroom wall when she was just twelve-years-old. Taken over by a magical force, she'd moved her chest of drawers and created a sparkling meadow surrounded by weeping willow trees and a family of wolves. The puppies were playing as the parents kept watch. April had always shown artistic promise, but when she'd finally opened her door and invited her parents in to see her masterpiece, they were astounded. Her path in life was clear. After finding fame in galleries in New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, she'd met Troy at her first London showing.
Now back in her studio, the daffodil in its vase sitting on a windowsill, she picked up her paintbrush. She felt tentative, but as she began to move her arm the magic happened. The colors spoke to her and her vision was clear. The afternoon flew by, and only when darkness fell did she clean up her tools, pick up the vase, and carry it back to the kitchen.
For the first time since Troy's death she was hungry.
Opening a bottle of cabernet, she drank it as she cooked up some pasta and heated the bottled sauce in the microwave. Finishing off a second glass of wine as she ate, she was feeling the buzz when she finished. Washing her plate and the pot she began to yawn, and with the precious daffodil in her hand, she headed up to bed. It was always difficult passing the spot where she'd found her husband, but the lump in her throat didn't result in a fresh set of tears. Setting the vase on her nightstand, she took a quick shower, then slipped between the sheets and switched off the bedside lamp.
"Thank you for my flower," she murmured, rolling on her side and staring at the bright yellow flower. "I knew you were here, Troy. I could feel you, and now I have my proof."
Though she couldn't see the moon, its silver glow was filling the room. For almost two weeks her sleep had been full of fits and starts, but she knew she'd soon be in the land of nod.
"Dance with me."
His voice stirred her from sleep, and opening her eyes she saw him standing by the window, his hand outstretched. He was as handsome as he'd ever been, his blue eyes twinkling, and his white shirt open at the neck. Spying his wiry chest hairs brought a smile to her lips. She loved their soft tickle. Slipping from the bed she walked over to him, and sinking into his hold she let out a heavy, happy sigh.
"I'm getting stronger," he whispered, his warm breath at her ear sending a thrill through her body.
Her eyes popped open.
Bolting upright she stared around the room.
The moon had given way to the sun.
The dream had felt real.
So real.
Was it possible?
Turning to look at the daffodil, she let out a gasp.
The one had become two.
CHAPTER FOUR
April's constant nausea was passing, and as she slowly ate a poached egg on toast, she decided it was time to do something about the state of the house. For two weeks it had been neglected. Wanting to call Emily and schedule a time for her to come by, but not knowing how long the forensic team would be there, she picked up her phone and called Jonathan.
"Good morning, April. I suppose you want to know what time I'll be arriving."
"Any time is fine. I'm calling because I was going to ask Emily to come in, but I wasn't sure if the forensics team would finish today."
"That will be dependent upon what we find, but it's rare they need a second visit."
"Then I'll
just wait."
"That's probably best. I'll be there shortly, and the team will probably arrive about the same time. I should warn you. This can be pretty intrusive."
"I don't mind. I just want to find out what happened."
"I will, and that's a promise. I'll see you in a few minutes."
"Thanks, Jonathan. Bye."
As she ended the call and began to finish her cup of tea, she looked out the window and smiled at the old wishing well. Waking up and finding the second daffodil in the vase had been extraordinary, but she knew she couldn't share the story. She was having a hard time wrapping her brain around it, and she was sure if she tried to explain it to anyone else they'd think she was losing it.
"I have no idea how you're doing this, Troy," she said softly, "but I'm very glad you are. I feel like I can breathe again."
Wanting to keep the vase with her, she downed the last of her tea, then picked it up and ambled into the foyer. The expensive burgundy rug had been carted away, and the dark wood floor looked barren.
"I need to get a carpet that's bright. What do you think, Troy? You always thought burgundy was wrong for this space, and you were right. I'm going to find something much lighter. Maybe even a print."
Her gaze moved to the bottom of the stairs, and feeling a need to sit there, she placed the vase on the side of the step and settled down. The sun was shining through the leaded glass panels on either side of the front door, and as she studied the area where she'd found Troy, her eye caught something glinting. It appeared to be nestled against the inside of the bottom post. Leaning forward, she squinted, trying to see what it was, and just as she was about to reach out and try to pick it up, a loud knock grabbed her attention. Rising to her feet, she walked across the foyer and opened the door.
"Hello, April."
"Hi. Come in."
"Apparently I beat the forensics team here."
"Yes, but Jonathan, I just found something, or rather, I think I found something. I was about to pick it up when you knocked."
"Then it's a good thing I arrived when I did. If you see anything, don't touch it."
"Oh, right. How could I forget? I don't know if it's evidence, though. It might be nothing."
"I learned at the Met, the smallest detail can break open a case. Where is it?"
"It's pressed up against that bottom post."
"I don't see anything," he remarked, staring at it as he stepped forward.
"If the sun hadn't been shining through the leaded glass windows, I wouldn't have either. I've passed that spot a hundred times and not spotted anything."
"Still not seeing it," he said, crouching down looking more closely.
"Wait. You're blocking the light. Yes, there it is," she exclaimed, pointing to the tiny sparkle of gold. "I saw it the moment you moved."
"Ah, yes."
Reaching into his pocket and retrieving a pair of latex gloves, he pulled them on and attempted to pick it up.
"Damn. It's too fiddly. Do you have any tweezers?"
"Sure. I'll be right back."
Pushing the vase against the wall so it wouldn't run the risk of being knocked over, she sprinted up the stairs, found her tweezers, and hurried back down.
"Here you go."
"Thanks. These should work. Huh. It's moving. Got it. I have no idea what this is," he said, straightening up and letting it fall into the palm of his hand. "Any ideas?"
"A tiny gold bar. Where have I seen that before? I know. It's for a man's thingame."
"A man's thingame? Can you be more specific?"
"It goes on the back of a small badge, like a cufflink bar, except it's much smaller than a cufflink. A tie pin. That's what I'm thinking of, or one of those badges retired military men wear."
"Ah, yes, you're right."
"How would it end up there?"
"Objects like this can bounce and roll. It's very easy for them to disappear," Jonathan said thoughtfully. "The pin might have been on a lapel and broken during a fight."
"How will we ever find out?"
"I'll have the boys scour this area. With any luck we'll find the other half. If we do that, there's no telling where it might lead. What possessed you to sit on that step?" he asked, withdrawing a plastic evidence bag from his pocket.
"I just had a notion to," she said with a soft smile, silently adding, Thank you, Troy.
The sound of slamming van doors announced the arrival of the forensics team, and as Jonathan walked across to the door to let them in, April carried her vase up the stairs and into her bedroom.
"I don't want you getting knocked over," she said softly, placing it on the bedside table. "In fact, this might be the perfect place for you."
She turned to leave, but stopped and stared across at the window. The drapes were closed. A warm shiver rippled through her body. The drapes were always open.
"I know you're here," she said softly. "Thank you. Please leave me more of these signs. I love them. They're really helping me cope."
Trotting down the stairs, she found two men in white suits on their hands and knees crawling around the foyer. Moving into the living room, she found another studying the fireplace irons, and heading through the dining room and into the kitchen, the door to the cellar was open. But there was no sign of Jonathan. Tentatively walking down the first few steps, she found the cellar flooded in light from several high-powered lamps. He was standing off to the side, while two of the white-suited men were carefully moving the jars off the shelves.
"Can I come down?"
"Not just yet," Jonathan called up. "I'll let you know when we open up the wall."
"When are you doing that?"
"In a little while."
"I'd really like to be there."
"I'll come and get you."
"Great. Thank you. I'm not sure where I'll be, so text me and I'll come back."
"Will do."
Not sure what to do with herself, and wanting to stay out of the way, she headed to her studio. Her current work of art was painting the house as it looked when she and Troy first arrived. She'd planned a second reflecting the changes when their renovations were complete. Though the interior was basically finished, Troy had transformed most of the grounds, but one of the areas he hadn't cleared away was the side of the house near the tall brick fence that surrounded the property. There was a gate at either end, which she'd found odd, until he'd suggested it may have been an enclosed space for an animal. Feeling restless, and not in the mood to pick up her brush, she returned to the kitchen and walked out into the yard. Traipsing past the house, she turned the corner and saw a mess of brambles and overgrown shrubbery.
"No wonder you left this," she muttered, wishing she'd brought a pair of gloves.
Tromping her way through the wild plants and broken branches, as she neared the gate she discovered the hinges were completely rusted. Taking hold of the handle, she tried to pull it open, but the large hinges were rusted shut. The wood, however, appeared to be rotten. Lifting her foot, she gave it a fierce kick. To her delight it splintered, and landing several more she soon had a hole large enough through which to crawl. But on the other side the foliage was even thicker. Finding a long solid stick, she began whacking her way through, and when she paused to take a breath she found it quiet and very still. Given the shelter of the tall fence on one side, and the house on the other, it was understandable.
"I don't know what I expected to find," she mumbled as she resumed the tiring trudge. "There's nothing here, except all this overgrown—huh—what's that?"
A short distance ahead she could make out a dark wooden door. Spurred on, she trampled and whacked her way forward, but as it became clear, her heart skipped. A shiny metal plate was holding a heavy duty padlock. Stepping forward, she held it in her hand, wondering who might have put it there and why. The door was as decrepit as the gate. Thinking she could pull the metal plate off the old rotten wood, she picked up her stick, slid it into the closed arm of the padlock, and gripped the en
d with both hands. She was about to pull back when a fierce wind swirled around her, then came to an abrupt halt.
"Shit. What the hell was that? Troy, are you trying to tell me not to do this?"
She was blasted by another gust.
"I'm sorry, but I have to know what's in there."
In spite of the wind kicking up yet again, she gripped the stick, leaned back, and pulled with all her might. Only a second passed before the stick snapped and sent her tumbling into the brush. It took her a moment to gather her wits, and her arms and hands were stinging from a multitude of scratches, but she broke into a wide smile. The plate had broken away and was hanging on one loose screw.
Disentangling herself from the poking twigs and branches, she returned to the door, placed her back against it and pushed. It budged. She pushed again. It moved a few more inches, but still not enough for her to squeeze through. Shifting her body and giving it a shove with her shoulder, it opened just enough to allow her entry.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In the cellar, the forensics team had discovered the dust on the floor wasn't dust at all.
"This is grey," Jake, the lead investigator said, swiping his finger through the layer of powder and showing it to Jonathan. "The dust on top of the boxes is brown. We need to check this floor before we do anything else. Can you wait on the steps?"
"I'll go back to the kitchen. I could use a cuppa."
"Lucky you."
Before he could respond, the distant sound of a shrill scream made everyone freeze.
"What the hell was that?" Jake exclaimed. "Dan?"
"It sounded like it came from inside the wall behind the shelving," he replied. "You think someone is trapped in there. Detective Banks, what do you—?"
But while the two men had been speaking Jonathan had been sprinting up the stairs. Entering the kitchen he hurriedly grabbed his phone from his pocket and called April. It went to voicemail. Not knowing if he should run through the house or go out into the yard, he chose the latter, and rushing into the backyard he yelled her name.
Loved From The Grave Page 3
