Case of the Highland House Haunting

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “On a piece of jewelry?” I asked, growing angry.

  It could only mean that PV’s Public Enemy #1 had located some of Dame Highland’s missing collection, but how? And why now? Sensing my frustration, Jillian placed a hand over mine.

  “Did he have the piece with him, or was he simply asking about it?”

  “Oh, heaven’s no. He didn’t have the piece. I think he knew it would arouse too many suspicions.”

  “He found something,” I grumbled.

  “It’s possible,” Jillian whispered.

  “I can tell you, with certainty, he didn’t have the piece he was asking about,” Isabella’s voice interjected.

  “How can you be so certain?” I wanted to know.

  “Because he asked what Richard knew about Siberian emeralds.”

  Siberian emeralds? This was news to me. For a second there, I was worried Curtis Stiller had been asking about the Czarina’s Tear.

  “I’m not familiar with Siberian emeralds,” Jillian admitted. “I take it they’re from Russia? Are they valuable?”

  “Highly valuable,” Richard’s voice said, in the background.

  Sorry. I should have explained. Isabella ran the store. Richard was the licensed jeweler.

  “Rare?” I asked.

  “Very,” Richard admitted.

  “I wonder if Dame Highland had any of those,” I quietly whispered.

  Jillian shrugged.

  “What did he want to know about them?” I asked, as I leaned closer to the phone. “Aside from price, that is. Did he say anything else?”

  “Only that he expected to be getting his hands on a prime stone and wanted to know how easy it would be to sell.”

  Just then, Jillian’s phone beeped. She was receiving another call. We both glanced at the display and saw that Robert was calling. I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped Jillian wasn’t about to receive some bad news.

  “Isabella? I have someone on the other line. Can I call you back?”

  “If it’s easier,” I hastily interjected, “I can come down there and talk with you in person.”

  “Sure! I’d be delighted, Zachary. On one condition.”

  “And what would that be?” I cautiously asked.

  “That you bring those adorable dogs with you.”

  “Ah. Not a problem. I’ll see you shortly, Mrs. MacKenzie.”

  Jillian nodded her approval, ended the call, and hastily switched over to Robert’s.

  “Robert? I’m here. What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Cooper. It’s nothing serious. One of my guys located what could only be described as a secret room and I wanted to tell you know about it.”

  “In the master bedroom closet?” Jillian asked. “We already found it, but thank you for letting me know. Wait. Are you talking about the big room at the northeastern corner of the first floor? Or, maybe you’re referring to the den, which is the room adjacent to the game room?”

  “There are hidden rooms in all those places?” Robert incredulously asked.

  “They’re everywhere in there,” I confirmed.

  “Hello, Mr. Anderson,” Robert’s voice said. “But I was referring to what we found in the basement.”

  “The second basement, accessible through that tunnel in the back of the wardrobe?” I asked. “I thought you knew about it.”

  “No, señor. I’m talking about what was hidden by the pool table.”

  Surprised, I met Jillian’s eyes, “That’s a new one on us, Robert.”

  Jillian nodded, as if she had come to a decision.

  “Tell you what. I’ll be right there, Robert. Zachary? Will you be okay talking to Isabella without me?”

  “She isn’t Clara Hanson, so I’ll be fine.”

  Clara Hanson was the owner of A Lazy Afternoon, PV’s local bookstore. She was a nice enough elderly woman, only she didn’t believe in personal space and she… how do I say this in a politically correct fashion? She is single, and I do believe she’s ready to mingle. Enough said? I try to avoid her at all costs. Isabella MacKenzie, though, was a calm, collected breeze when compared to the hurricane that was Clara.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll go get the dogs and we’ll be on our way. Let me know if you find anything good at the house, okay?”

  “I will, Zachary.”

  Thirty minutes later, I was seated on the customer-side of the counter at Bella’s Baubles. Husband and wife team Richard and Isabella sat opposite me. Well, Isabella was. Richard had retreated to his little booth where he worked on minor repairs, which happened to be less than five feet from us. Dozens and dozens of tiny tools, tweezers, loupes, and so forth, rested in neat rows on their respective shelves.

  “Tell me, Zachary,” Isabella was saying, as she knelt down to give each of the corgis a few treats. I recognized the bag as being from Farmhouse Bakery, and knew they were Sherlock and Watson’s favorite goodie: bagel bits. “Why is there so much interest about Siberian emeralds all of a sudden? Yes, those gems are highly coveted, but those stones are usually no larger than four or five carats.”

  “One to two,” Richard corrected, without looking up from his work on a golden watch with a jeweled band.

  “One to two,” Isabella corrected. “And what do you know about this man? Was I right? Was he up to no good?”

  I was facing a conundrum. I wasn’t too sure how much to divulge to the MacKenzies. Do I tell them that Curtis Stiller had been illegally squatting in Highland House for years, hoping to get his hands on Dame Hilda Highland’s long missing jewelry? And what about the Czarina’s Tear?

  Something wasn’t adding up. Curtis had been inside this shop, asking about prices for a ‘prime stone’ he was hoping to get his hands on. He had to be talking about Highland House, but what stone was he talking about? What did this little punk know that we didn’t?

  “These Siberian emeralds,” I began, “do they go by any other names?”

  “A few,” Richard answered. “They are mainly known by their trade names: Siberian chrysolites, or Ural chrysolites.”

  “Still haven’t heard of ‘em,” I said, shaking my head.

  “But,” Richard continued, keeping his eyes firmly pressed to his jeweler’s microscope and performing surgery on a couple of gems embedded in the watch band, “everyone recognizes them by their official name: demantoid garnet.”

  Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. I should have seen that coming.

  “Did you tell this guy that Siberian emeralds were also known as demantoid garnets?” I hopefully asked.

  “I did, yes. Did I do something wrong?”

  “Not at all, Isabella. I was just curious what this guy has been up to. I wonder what this ‘prime stone’ is that he’s been asking about.”

  “He seemed to think it’d be worth a fortune,” Isabella recalled. “Then I told him if he could provide provenance for the stone, it’d be worth twice as much.”

  “More like triple, or possibly quadruple, depending on the history of the stone,” Richard added, from his booth.

  “Provenance?” I repeated, puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a history of ownership for a prized piece of art,” Isabella explained. “Or, in this case, jewelry. Let’s say, for example, you found an emerald ring with a five carat diamond. Depending on quality, it could range anywhere from $7,500 to $15,000. Please bear in mind that these prices vary on a daily basis, based on current market value.”

  I nodded.

  “Continuing on, let’s say it was rumored that Queen Elizabeth II of England once owned the ring and wore it. Those rumors alone would probably double it in price. Wouldn’t you agree, Richard?”

  Richard wordlessly nodded.

  “Now, if documentation was produced which undoubtedly proved that the queen did, in fact, own the ring, and let’s say was given as a present to someone, well, that one bit of proof would fetch a price considerably higher than its normal value.”

  “I get it. Provide proof and
its worth more money.”

  “A crude analogy, but accurate, none the less.”

  My cell phone rang. Jillian’s lovely face appeared on my phone’s display.

  “Hi, Jillian. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, it is!”

  Was it me, or did Jillian sound excited?

  “Are you done at Isabella’s? If so, please come over here. Hurry!”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, growing alarmed.

  “Zachary, I found a necklace. It has diamonds in it!”

  NINE

  “They said those were real diamonds,” I said to Jillian, sometime later. “Real diamonds, and Richard even said the blue ones were diamonds, too, although that doesn’t make any sense to me.”

  “Diamonds can come in other colors,” Jillian reminded me. “Blue happens to be a rare color, for a diamond. That’s why Richard appraised this necklace the way he did.”

  “He said it was easily worth more than $60,000,” I recalled. “For something that, at first glance, looks as though it could be costume jewelry.”

  “You say that only because it’s hard to believe these stones are real, and not glass.”

  I nodded, “True.”

  A lot has happened in the last hour. I had quickly driven over to Highland House to see for myself what Jillian had found. In this case, it was a very expensive diamond necklace. A blue and white diamond necklace, if you want to get technical. I had originally refused to believe the necklace contained real gemstones. I mean, there were so many stones, and all of them were real? No wonder it had appraised for so high. And, there were more blue diamonds than the standard white. Er, clear, I guess. What I had first thought to be a normal, blue tear drop necklace has turned out to be so much more. My only thought at this point was, could this be something that was owned by Dame Highland? It had to be! Who else could have afforded something like this back in the 1920’s and ‘30s?

  “Did you catch the part about the necklace being platinum?” I asked Jillian, as we drove through town.

  Jillian nodded, “I did. Why do you think we’re on our way to the bank? I don’t want to keep something this valuable inside my house, thank you very much. I’d rather not attract unwarranted attention, either.”

  I nodded, “Couldn’t agree more. Hey, have you ever heard of something called ‘provenance’?”

  “Of course. It’s a record of ownership for an antique. It can be used for paintings, sculpture, and jewelry. Provenance is used as a guide for authenticating and quality.”

  “That sounds like a text book definition,” I chuckled.

  “Because it is,” Jillian admitted. “I know where you’re going with this, Zachary. You’re hoping to find some proof that Dame Highland once owned this necklace, aren’t you?”

  “Guilty as charged. And, believe it or not, I really don’t care what it does to its value. I’m just curious to know if we’re on the right track. Did you actually find one of Dame Highland’s missing pieces of jewelry? That’s what I want to know. That sure was a lucky break. Er, no pun intended.”

  Jillian giggled, “I know, right? They were preparing to replace the burnt out wiring, which meant they had to strip paneling and sheet rock away from the walls. The den has several bookcases in it. Who would’ve thought that one of those bookcases had a secret drawer hidden within the decorative panel on the top of that bookcase? Not me.”

  “That bookcase didn’t have any books on it, did it? I think I remember seeing them empty when we were there last weekend.”

  “It was empty,” Jillian confirmed. “All three were, in that room. Most people would have thought to hide the necklace in one of the books, I’m sure. I never would have imagined it’d be possible to conceal a sixty thousand dollar necklace within the bookcase itself.”

  “I thought Robert was going to throttle that worker,” I said, as I pulled into the bank parking lot. “I could see it in that guy’s eyes. He was grateful you came to his rescue.”

  “If it wasn’t for him, I would never have found this. All right, would you wait right here? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “We’re not going anywhere,” I assured her.

  Ten minutes later, we were off, only we weren’t headed home and, for once, we weren’t headed to Highland House. Where were we going? Well, Jillian must have been thinking the same thing I had been thinking: if that necklace did belong to Dame Highland, and she deliberately hid it in a piece of furniture, then what were the chances that she had hidden other bits of jewelry in other pieces of furniture?

  My girlfriend had immediately suggested we head to the storage unit she had rented to find out. Located on the western side of town, adjacent to Rupert’s Gas & Auto, we parked in front of the office. I waited with the dogs while Jillian checked in with the manager.

  Jillian emerged, holding the key to her unit. Yes, I know most people would simply carry a copy of the key with them. However, Jillian left hers with the front desk. I will also point out that she gave me a copy of the key, too, just so she’d have a backup.

  “That was odd,” Jillian began, as we walked companionably toward her 10’ x 25’ unit.

  “What was?” I wanted to know, as I took the key from her, unlocked the padlock, and rolled the door up.

  “Steve. He’s the manager here. He wanted to know if I had talked to Rupert yet.”

  I hooked a thumb behind me.

  “Rupert, from Rupert Gas & Auto?”

  “The very same.”

  “Why would he be trying to reach you?”

  “I’m not sure. From what Steve tells me, Rupert has been over here a number of times since I had rented the storage unit, wanting to know if he knew when I’d be back next.”

  “He wants to talk to you face to face, and not on the phone,” I guessed.

  “It seems that way. If he wants to talk, then that’s fine. He just has to call me. Okay, here we are.”

  I gazed at the furniture removed from Highland House for the first time. Right off the bat, I could see that the furniture had been professionally handled and stowed. How did I know that? Because all the various pieces were covered with heavy quilted blankets and then it looked as though they were shrink-wrapped. I experimentally poked a finger at a blanket-covered item that had the right shape for a grandfather clock. It wasn’t shrink-wrap, but more like a heavy duty Saran wrap.

  “This is gonna be a problem,” I mused aloud, as I looked at all the pieces of furniture that were residing within the storage unit. “Look at them. Whoever you hired to move them did a damn fine job, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, maybe we could unwrap one or two and see if there’s anything unusual about it?” Jillian suggested.

  I shrugged, “Sure. We can do that. Where would you like to start?”

  Jillian turned and pointed at the closest object, which was what I had thought of as the grandfather clock.

  “We can start with this one. Here. Help me find the edge. That way, we can re-wrap this once we’re done.”

  Instead of trying to describe to you how difficult that was, namely unwrapping something that had been bound in heavy duty cling wrap, let me bring up another analogy. Have you ever used a packing-tape gun? Has the tape ever slipped out of its guide and adhered itself back to the roll? Do you remember how long it took to try and find the end, only to end up scratching at the surface of the roll for what felt like hours, with no progress? Now, take that and multiply it by ten. It was all I could do to not jam my fingers through the infernal stuff and simply yank that clingy crap away.

  “This stuff sure does stick to itself,” Jillian observed. “I thought I had found a… ah. There it is. Just a moment. I think I have it.”

  Moments later, we were unwrapping a great sheet of the wrapping material, and trying our damnedest not to let it touch itself, lest it render the whole sheet useless. Laughing and cursing, we managed to drape the sheet over several nearby chairs. Jillian then carefully peeled away the packing quilts and we observ
ed the antique piece of furniture.

  I was right. It was a grandfather’s clock. A 5 tube Colonial, if you wanted to get technical. Jillian gingerly inspected the finials at the top of the clock. She opened the upper door and carefully shone her light on it (her phone’s LED light, that is). She ran her fingers along the carved overlay. Then she opened the lower door and inspected the weights, the pulley system, and even the five tubes that were responsible for producing the clock’s tones. Lastly, she knelt on the ground so she could run her fingers along the toe molding.

  Nothing.

  “Would you care to try?” Jillian asked me.

  I looked down at the corgis. Both had sunk into ‘down’ positions and were watching Jillian’s clock inspection as though they were watching television. However, at no point in time had they given the slightest bit of attention to anything the two of us had done in this unit. Quite frankly, I think they were bored.

  “I trust you. You did a great job. Let’s wrap this thing back up and try something else.”

  The next piece we unwrapped turned out to be a child’s doll dresser with four drawers. It also had one of those old-fashioned flip mirrors on top of it. Jillian poked and prodded the entire thing before finally giving up. She looked at me and shrugged helplessly.

  “I really thought we were on to something. I thought, if Dame Highland was clever enough to conceal a valuable diamond necklace in something as trivial as a bookcase, then she more than likely hid the rest of her jewelry in the other pieces of furniture.”

  “It’s a good theory,” I agreed. “But, what if this Curtis guy has been locating various pieces and selling them?”

  “But nothing has turned up!” Jillian protested.

  “That we know of,” I reminded her. “Not all pawn brokers are reputable and honest. For that matter, we don’t even know if whoever he sold them to knows their full value.”

  “That’s assuming Mr. Stiller found more of her jewelry and sold it.”

  I thought about it for a moment and then shook my head.

  “No, I think you’re right. If he learned there was a chance jewelry could have been hidden inside the furniture, he would have long ago destroyed every last stick of it in that house.”