Case of the Highland House Haunting

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “All right, you two. It serves me right for not paying attention earlier. Sherlock? You’ve found something? Lead the way, pal.”

  Sherlock pulled me back to the living room and headed straight for the drop cloth covered sofa. Staring at the large piece of furniture with bewilderment, I could only wonder what had attracted the dog’s attention this time. The one thing I did know was that he hadn’t given the couch a second look the last couple of times we had been in here.

  “What’s with him?” Jillian wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know. There’s something up with the couch. What do you think it means?”

  “Feel free to take the tarp off, in case there’s something underneath it.”

  Handing the leashes to Jillian, I pulled the tarp off the furniture, revealing a rectangular sofa with the arms and back of the same height. It was clean-lined, had solid wood legs and a tufted back. Plus, it was a deep red color, almost to the point of it being maroon.

  “I really love this sofa,” Jillian announced. “Only, I don’t think the color will match anything I want to do in here. So, it’ll be reupholstered. Do you like it? I found out it’s classified as a ‘tuxedo’ sofa.”

  “I like it,” I decided. “It looks comfortable. Were you the one who covered it up in the first place?”

  “No. Robert and his crew covered everything.”

  “Hmm. Did you see the couch before it was covered?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  I pointed at the sofa.

  “Do you see anything different about it? I’m just trying to figure out why Sherlock was interested in it.”

  Jillian was silent as she studied the couch. After a few moments, she shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. It looks the same to me.”

  “Well,” I said, as I scratched my head, “we can…”

  I trailed off as I watched Sherlock jam his snout under the couch and let out another woof. Watson mimicked him, only she let out a piteous whine, instead. Grumbling like I typically did whenever I had to retrieve a ball, or a dog toy, from underneath my own couch, I dropped down to my knees and gingerly lowered my head to peer under the couch.

  Well, it wasn’t a ball. However, it wasn’t something that I wanted to find, either. And no, before you ask, it wasn’t a body part. It was a clump of dirt. Fresh dirt.

  Holding the clod of dirt in my hand, I rose to my feet and showed it to Jillian. Her eyes widened as she stared at the dirt.

  “This hasn’t been in here that long,” I told her.

  “If that’s true, Zachary, then that confirms…”

  “…someone has been in here besides us,” I finished for her.

  Jillian fished her cell out of her purse.

  “I’m calling Vance. I don’t like this at all.”

  In the process of doing the exact same thing, I put mine away and let Jillian make the call.

  “Vance? It’s Jillian. Can you please come over to Highland House? Someone has been in here, and I’m not sure if they’re still in here somewhere, hiding. I don’t feel safe in my own… what’s that? Where’s Zachary? He’s right here. He was about to call you first, but I beat him to it.”

  Swell. She saw me cancel my call? That woman has the eyes of a hawk.

  “Thank you, Vance. We’ll be here waiting for you.”

  “He called me a ‘sissy’, didn’t he?” I groaned.

  “Not at all. I think he could tell from my voice that I was serious. He’s on his way over here right now.”

  “We’re not pulling him away from anything, are we?” I wanted to know.

  “Actually, I think he was grateful for stepping away from his desk. Honestly? I think he sounded bored.”

  I shrugged, “Well, I’m happy we’re here to, what, give him something to do? No, that didn’t sound right.”

  Jillian smiled and patted my hand.

  “I know what you meant.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Vance strode into the house. He caught sight of the dogs and immediately reached into his jacket pocket. Squatting down to their level, the detective gave the dogs their customary doggie biscuits. He looked up at the two of us and grinned.

  “Hey, Zack. Jillian. Er, how are things with you two?”

  Suddenly feeling silly for calling my detective friend over for finding a clump of dirt, I held my arms behind my back.

  “Good, buddy. Thanks. Listen, maybe we jumped the gun here.”

  “Except, we didn’t,” Jillian argued. “Zachary, show him the dirt.”

  “Dirt?” Vance skeptically asked. He took the sample I held out to him and studied it. “Where did you find this, again?”

  I pointed at the couch.

  “Under there.”

  “It’s too recent to have been there long.”

  “Show him the picture of the toothpaste,” Jillian urged.

  Nodding, I pulled out my cell and brought up the photo of the bathroom sink and the drop of toothpaste clearly visible in it.

  “I took this Saturday night,” I explained. “I didn’t notice the toothpaste until today. When I came to check, the sink had been cleaned.”

  “Aren’t there a number of guys who are constantly coming in and out of this place?”

  “My guys didn’t do this,” Robert announced, as he appeared in the doorway. “The entire crew knows the house is off limits.”

  “And the dirt?” Vance pressed.

  “While possible,” Robert reluctantly admitted, “it’s highly unlikely it came from one of us.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” Vance insisted.

  Robert pointed at his feet. For the first time, I noticed the foreman was wearing disposable polypropylene shoe covers over his boots.

  “There’s a box of these things just outside the door,” he explained. “No one comes in here without a set of these on their shoes.”

  “I never noticed the plastic booties,” Jillian admitted, as she watched one of the workers walk by. He, too, was wearing a set of the shoe covers.

  “That makes two of us,” I added. “So, do you believe us now? Dude, I’m telling you, someone was here, and it wasn’t us.”

  “What do you want me to do? Search the house?”

  I nodded, “I think that’s a great start. I… now what?”

  The dogs, upon hearing my suggestion to begin a thorough search of the house, had jumped to their feet. They pulled on their leashes, anxious to be underway. I looked at Jillian and then over at Robert.

  “She’ll be fine, Mr. Anderson,” Robert assured me. “Do your search. If you need anything, just holler.”

  “And if I start screaming?” I asked, with a grin on my face.

  Robert stuck his hands in his pockets, looked over at Jillian, and returned the grin.

  “If we hear any screaming, well, then I do suggest you keep up, señor.”

  I laughed and then gave the dogs some slack with their leashes. The first thing they did was pull me towards the servants’ area, and the stairs leading down to the basement. Shrugging, I figured it’d be the best place to start searching, only how the dogs knew that, I didn’t know. I gave up a long time ago when it came to trying to figure out how the dogs knew where to look for clues. Checking behind me to verify the guy with the gun was following, we headed down the steps.

  “You’re not really buying this malarkey with the ghosts, are you?” Vance skeptically asked, as we arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

  I slapped a hand on the wall and waited to for the lights to kick on before I proceeded.

  “Of course not.”

  “This coming from someone who believes mummies exist?”

  “They do exist,” I pointed out.

  “Sorry. Let me rephrase that. You believe mummies can come to life and jump out at you from the shadows. Is that better?”

  “Bite me. I never said that.”

  “Do I need to remind you about the mummy you believed was terrorizing the town several years ago?”

  “Do
I need to pull up the video from YouTube which shows you dancing in a Peter Pan outfit?” I countered.

  Both references referred to a case involving a priceless Egyptian pendant, and it had been stolen by what I had originally thought of as a mummy. Vance had then vowed to take dancing lessons should Sherlock ever manage to locate it.

  Let’s just say that the ‘Dancing Detective’ video has gone viral three times, and currently has over three million views. Anytime Vance tried to give me crap, I only had to reference that video, and usually he would be anxious to change the subject. And that’s exactly what happened here.

  “What do you think the dogs are after?” Vance hastily asked, as we emerged into the basement.

  I felt dual tugs on the leashes and let the dogs lead me over to a row of antique-looking wardrobes.

  “I’m guessing there’s something in one of these?” I theorized.

  Much to my astonishment, I saw Vance reach back to rest his hand on his right hip, which I knew was where he kept his gun. He clearly wasn’t taking any chances. We then watched as both dogs walked straight to one wardrobe in particular, settled themselves down (in unison), and then looked back at us.

  “All right, I’ll bite,” Vance admitted. “Zack? Get them away from that thing. I’m gonna find out what’s inside it.”

  With his right hand resting on his gun, Vance gingerly gripped the handle of one of the doors and then yanked it backwards, as though he expected a wall of junk to cascade out. As luck would have it, nothing was inside that wanted out. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t anything inside the wardrobe at all.

  “Well, that’s a bust,” I declared, as I gathered up the leashes and started to pull the dogs away. “Sherlock, you’re losing your touch, pal.”

  “No, he’s not,” Vance argued.

  I turned to see Vance peering closely at the bottom of the wardrobe.

  “What is it?” I cautiously asked. “It’s empty, right?”

  “Right now, sure,’ Vance said, nodding, “but do you see this? Something was here, and it was dirty.”

  “Dirty?” I repeated, curious. “By any chance, does it match the clump of…?”

  “It does,” Vance interrupted. “Same consistency, same color.”

  The detective knocked a few times on the back of the wardrobe. Grunting with surprise, he placed both hands on the surface and shoved. There was a loud crunch, and suddenly, I could smell dank, musty air.

  “Well, would you look at that?”

  I leaned around Vance’s body and noticed the dark, gaping hole that was once the back of the wardrobe. It had a secret door! How cool! No, wait. Wrong emotion. That meant there was someone hiding in the house. With my girlfriend.

  “Oh, hell no,” I muttered.

  Vance pulled his weapon free of its holster.

  “My sentiments exactly. Stay behind me. I don’t suppose you have a flashlight on you, do you?”

  I held up my phone and turned on the LED.

  “Kinda. Would this do?”

  “It will for now, thanks. Come on. Let’s see where this goes.”

  I followed Vance down a steep tunnel. Reaching out to let my hand run along the surface of the tunnel, I could feel hard-packed earth. Someone had dug this tunnel, and I was pretty sure, judging from the smoothness of the floor and the walls, this tunnel has been here for quite some time. Perhaps Dame Highland used it as another hiding place for her numerous business dealings?

  Vance held a finger to his lips. Both dogs, who had been noisily panting, surprising fell silent. I narrowed my eyes. Why was it the dogs always seemed to pay closer attention to someone besides you? I’m 99.99% certain that, if I had been holding the gun and had held a finger to my lips, I would have been thoroughly ignored?

  Vance then pointed down at the ground. There, running along the far right side of the tunnel, was a black cord. I could see that it was a heavy-duty extension cord. How was it we didn’t see this sticking out of the wardrobe back in the basement?

  The four of us silently emerged into a large, crude room. A quick glance around the area confirmed we had, indeed, located the lair for our notorious ghost. Over on a pallet in the far corner lay an assortment of power tools. Robert’s missing tools?

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. Vance was pointing at a sack full of something near the pallet. I squatted low and saw the bag was full of pins. Then my eyes widened. Were these the missing scaffolding pins, which resulted in a man’s death?

  “There’s no one here,” Vance decided, nearly five minutes later. “This room isn’t that big, but you can clearly see this is where our perp has been living.”

  “Living? Down here? You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m serious. Check it out. There’s a hot plate over there. That’s where the extension cord ends. And over there? A cheap mattress. Hang on, I think I see a light.”

  A few moments later, bright light flooded the small area, affording us with the ability to see all four corners of what I was now calling the ‘second basement’.

  I felt a tug on one of the leashes. Looking down, I expected to find Sherlock, who was trying to attract my attention. Not this time. It was Watson, and she was looking straight at a white plastic bag, like a grocery bag.

  “Whatcha got?” Vance inquired, once he saw me peering into the bag.

  “Soup, beans, and an assortment of canned goods. You’re right. This guy has been here a while.”

  Sherlock sniffed the air a few times and then turned his head to look at the hot plate. Curious, Vance and I squatted next to the small electrical appliance and felt around the stump it was sitting on. Vance suddenly cursed under his breath as he reached behind the stump and came back with an open can of soup.

  It was still warm.

  “Vance, I think we spooked him,” I nervously said, as I peered suspiciously around the hidden basement. “Do you think he’s still here?”

  In response, both corgis suddenly perked up and they barked. Loudly. Then, in unison, they bolted for the tunnel which lead back up to the real basement. Anticipating what they were going to do, Vance and I were already scrambling heading in the same direction.

  That’s when we heard it: a loud clatter, followed by a muffled curse. We emerged back into the basement just in time to see a flash of someone dressed in dirty camouflage pants and a dark green shirt disappear up the stairs. We pursued, but we were too late. We managed to make it back to the servants’ room just in time to see the back door swing closed.

  Whoever it was had escaped.

  EIGHT

  “There’s gotta be something in here we can use to ID this guy,” I began. I started pointing at various items in the perp’s concealed underground lair. “Look, there’s a shoddy-looking mattress over there. There’s a bundle of dirty clothes in that corner. There’s gotta be some of the guy’s DNA on it.”

  Vance nodded, “I’ve already collected a few things and sent them off to the lab. But, based on the condition of the things we found, I’m not sure if the lab boys will find anything useful on it.”

  “Oh! Look here! I think you might be able to use this.”

  Vance and I turned at Jillian’s exclamation. She was holding an old cigar case, and, as we neared, she held it out so we could see what was in it. There was a worn toothbrush.

  “Way to go!” Vance praised, as he pulled out an evidence bag from his jacket pocket. He carefully dropped the toothbrush inside the baggie, sealed it, and noted it in his ever-present notebook. Then, just as he was straightening, he grunted once and reached inside the box. “Well, well, look what we have here. Looks like you were right, Zack. Check this out.”

  Toothpaste. And, it was some type of mint flavor. Vance carefully uncapped the tube and looked at the green goo. He held it out to me.

  “Look familiar?”

  “Why in the world would that dumbass brush his teeth in the sink?” I wondered aloud.

  “Look around here, buddy. Maybe living down here was getting to him and he
wanted some fresh air.”

  “Or,” Jillian slowly began, “more likely, he’s been using the bathroom this whole time and, just this once, forgot to clean up after himself.”

  That sobered me. I didn’t know who this guy was, but one thing I did know was that I wanted him caught. Like, yesterday. Hopefully with the samples we’ve collected, an identification would be forthcoming.

  “Man, this keeps getting better and better.”

  I turned back to Vance.

  “What? Did you find something else?”

  “I’ll say,” Vance commented, as he held up something in his gloved hand. “It’s a razor. Between Jillian’s toothbrush and this razor, I’m certain we have enough to ID our guy.”

  “That’s assuming he’s already in your system,” I reminded my detective friend.

  Vance shrugged, “True.”

  He bagged the razor and then disappeared up the tunnel. While he was gone, I continued to lead the dogs around the perimeter of the second basement, only they seemed disinterested in anything else. Ten minutes later, Vance was back.

  “Those two items are on their way to the lab,” he reported. “I had them put a rush on it. Thanks to that bag of pins, there, this has now become a homicide investigation and that perp is our prime suspect.”

  I nodded, as I was only partially listening to him explain how DNA identification worked. I kept glancing around the confines of this small, smelly subterranean room. Someone had spent an inordinate amount of time living here. Why? Were they that desperate to lay their hands on Dame Highland’s jewelry?

  Then I remembered the Czarina’s Tear. If what Jillian had said was true, then it meant that chicken-egg sized jewel could be worth millions of dollars. Tens of millions. That, unfortunately, was enough motivation to make someone willingly live in conditions such as this. The question I had now was, just how long had this squatter been living down here?

  “What’s on your mind?” Vance asked.

  I shrugged and pointed back toward the tunnel.

  “Let’s get out of here, okay? The crime scene techs have already gone through this place. Sherlock and Watson have given it their once-over. This place gives me the creeps.”