She shook her head slowly to clear it and went into the music room where Noel was laying out her copies.
“Here’s the picture I told you about. Couple of the year.” Noel tossed the copy across the table to Claire.
The picture was blurry, from time and the poor quality of the copy machine. The figures were stiff; their clothing formal for an evening out.
Beatrice looked as youthful as she had in the portrait, her pale hair piled atop her head in glossy curls. Her smile was bright, and the hand she looped through her husband’s arm was deliberately loose. Her dress was an elaborate hooped concoction that nipped in close to her narrow waist and flared out in a graceful bell to the floor. The trimming was lace, the details indistinct in the gray and white palette.
Henry was scowling, grim lines around his mouth and a stray lock of hair falling over his broad forehead. His stance was rigid, one hand with a heavy ring holding his coat at the lapel. A bowler much like the one they had found next to his body was clamped in his free hand.
Claire felt a flash of recognition, which quickly faded as she looked more closely at the picture. Something was similar to a picture she had seen before. Not the hat, not the jacket. Could it be the ring? Where had she seen that before? It certainly hadn’t been on Henry’s body when they had found it. Only his wedding band had adorned his skeletal fingers. As distasteful as it had been, they had studied the body before it was removed, looking at any details they could see without actually touching the desiccated corpse.
She turned her attention to their faces. They may not have been the typical romantic couple, but they also didn’t look like a murderess and her victim. What had taken them from this to the horrible ending that followed?
“Here’s one,” Noel said, interrupting her thoughts. “Mr. and Mrs. Henry Hagen reported they are completing the building of their home, Talitha, and are due to move in during the summer.”
Claire looked up from the picture. “A mention in the newspaper; he was a little proud of his place, wasn’t he.”
“Yeah, it goes on to mention sculptors, masons, carpenters, and some pretty impressive designs. I wonder why, with all the money he was pouring in, he didn’t choose better paintings or decorations.”
Claire shrugged. “Maybe he had really bad taste.”
Noel grinned, “Okay, are you ready for the real dirt?”
Claire nodded, knowing from the eager gleam in her eye Noel had a good story.
“We found a relative of Beatrice’s.”
“No, are you serious?”
“Absolutely. We looked up some information about the Hagen line. It seems there were quite a few of them, but someone had luckily constructed a family tree somewhere along the way. Beatrice and Henry were mentioned as only distant cousins, but it did tell what her maiden name was. We tried to find any close relatives with either her name or his, but it seems his line sort of died out. The folks still around are distant cousins, twenty times removed. But when we looked up her name, Namous, we struck gold. The name is not all that popular and we got a listing in this area. Turns out we actually found one just a couple hours away in southern Indiana.”
“How did you know it was the right group, the right branch of the family?”
“Well, I sort of called about 18 of them on the list. I just lucked out. There was a bunch more I never got to.”
“So, her family lives around here?”
“No, actually most of the family is out west, but the guy I talked to said Beatrice was his great, great aunt once removed, or something.”
“It’s amazing he even knew of her.”
Noel grinned. “Not really, she’s something of a family legend.”
Claire raised her eyebrows, looking at her friend, her eyes alight with barely controlled curiosity.
“Apparently a lot of her story was known by her own family, and they did not approve. She was reputed to have left her husband for another man and was booked on a ship to head back home to meet with her estranged family. She told them her husband and she were separating and a ‘friend of the family’ was taking her out of Shelbyville to find a lawyer in a bigger city. But, get this, the tickets were never used, and the family never saw her again.”
“What?”
“Well, she wrote to them, telling them she was coming in a few days but she never showed up.”
“Surely someone went looking for her? Contacted someone at the house?”
“No, the family had already decided to disown her because she left her husband against counsel. When she didn’t come around, they decided she finally understood they didn’t want her in their lives and had given up contact. No one even bothered to check on her until years later, and by then the house had been abandoned, and the rumors she had left willingly were firmly implanted in the minds of the locals.”
“So that’s the end.”
Noel nodded. “Unless we can find out who her lover was, it seems like they got away clean.”
Claire sighed. “A dead end.”
“In more ways than one,” Noel said grinning.
Claire paged through the rest of the papers, finding a few mentions of the husband and wife at local parties and teas. Beatrice was more outspoken than her husband, quoted on occasion but with no great revelations. Claire sighed with pent up frustration. She could feel a breakthrough coming on, but kept butting up against one obstacle after another. It appeared the couple, to cover their horrendous act, had disappeared from society and family ties as well. Perhaps the maid, Etta, knew their fates, but she had remained silent since the first clue.
The door closing reminded them of the other occupant of the house, and Claire listened as his footsteps grew closer, pausing at the library. He continued, the sound louder as he climbed the stairs. Moments later they heard him descend and he came in, the portrait from Claire’s room, in his hand.
Noel rose, her bright hair catching the light in an array of red and golds, and moved to the door, closing it behind him.
Cole gave them one of his rare smiles and set his burden on the floor.
“I figured you would be in here. I’m afraid the work in town took longer than I expected.” He walked up behind them to look at the stack of papers. “I saw the car outside but no lights were on.”
Noel frowned. “We left the lights on in the foyer unless it blew.” She rolled her eyes. “The lights aren’t that reliable here.”
“Sorry,” he replied dryly. “Either my electrician isn’t very competent, or my relatives aren’t very nice.”
Noel shook her head vehemently, “No, not your relatives. It had to be Henry, we’re pretty sure.”
He nodded and pulled a folded envelope from inside his jacket pocket. The envelope was thin with only a few sheets of paper, which he removed and tossed onto the table.
“I’m afraid I have to agree. I went to see the medical examiner this afternoon. He wasn’t very anxious to give me information, but a few dollars loosened him up.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down slowly, spreading out his notes before him. “It was a male, approximately 5’10” or 5’11”, large boned, wide shoulders. No broken bones, fractures, or other signs of violent injury. It’s hard to say at this late date about what killed him, and they were hesitant to run any tests on him.” He paused and moved to another page. “We can tell he had dark hair, was relatively young when he died, thirties or forties. His clothing was worse for wear but there was a ring, a plain gold wedding band encrypted with initials, HMH.”
Claire stood, stretching slowly, her hair falling sleek and soft in the dull light. Cole watched her for a moment, his mind momentarily distracted.
“No other jewelry, no other rings?” she asked, thinking of the heavy ring they had seen in the picture.
“No, one was all.”
Claire nodded, her expression distant. Something was still bothering her. She glanced up, surprised, when Cole spoke again. He looked vaguely uncomfortable with a slight reddening beneath his cheekb
ones.
“I think now I could use a drink. We can look at your portrait later.”
Cole walked slowly to the kitchen, leaving the girls exchanging silent looks.
“I think he’s relieved it’s not his family,” Claire said softly, looking at the pages of notes.
“I would be too. But now what. We have the victim, but not the murderer for sure. Do you think Henry will feel better, now that we know what happened?”
Claire looked absently at the darkened windows, seeing their reflection in the panes. “No, I think he wants what anyone would. Justice.”
Chapter Eighteen
Claire looked up from her paper, carefully examining the portrait they had re-hung on her wall. She was pleased to see the eyes watching her now, and felt good now that they had a name to go with the face. Galiena. They had found it written in miniscule print on the back of the canvas, and had later found the matching name among the family papers. Galiena had indeed been the mysterious German aunt of Margaret; the lady who had persevered and stayed in the house after her niece had run out in fear. Claire had a secret feeling, an innate knowledge that Galiena had known a lot more about the spirits in the house than any other member of the family. Perhaps she knew the true story of the Hagens, or at least part of it.
Claire looked back down at her paper, taking a few extra minutes to re-examine her work. After a stressful week, the exams were finished and she was anxious to get home, to enjoy Christmas away from the house and its ghostly inhabitants.
She had told Noel goodbye the day before, holding her hand a moment too long before releasing her to leave with Ben.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go tonight?” Noel had asked. “You know you could stay in the hotel until your exams were done.”
Claire shook her head firmly, pushing her long hair behind her shoulder. “No, I just have one more tomorrow and will leave on Friday, early.”
Noel watched as Ben loaded her bag, then turned her concerned eyes back to her friend. Her face looked pale, contrasting with the deep auburn flame of her hair. “I don’t like leaving you here.”
“I won’t be alone. Cole will be staying for at least another week and nothing has happened in at least three weeks. Even Etta has made herself scarce. Maybe Henry’s at rest...”
“I know, I know. I just worry.”
Claire smiled, her eyes misting. “We’re only going to be apart for four weeks and I already feel so...”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay. I could leave a little later and meet Ben in a couple of days. I would in a second if you need me to.”
“I know. But you need to go. I’ll be fine, and you’ll have a great holiday. Ben’s family already adores you, so it should be a lot of fun.” She playfully shook her friend, “and you be sure to call me if any important questions are asked.”
Noel grinned, “Trust me, if he pops THE question, you’ll be the first to know.”
They had left in a cloud of steaming exhaust, and Claire had returned to the house, an uneasy premonition causing her to turn and watch them as they left. But the night had been uneventful, and the following day had dawned garish and golden, a herald of good weather. Several hours later, she put down her no. 2 yellow pencil and sighed, feeling the euphoria of freedom with the completion of her exams. Her bags were packed for the next day, and she had only a few toiletries to add in the morning.
The shrill bell jolted her out of her concentration and she handed in her paper, filing out with the rest of the students. The walk to her car was less than a block and she felt an almost tender regret as she bade the stately brick building of the education department goodbye.
The car started on the first try, and Claire felt a small twinge victory. She had become almost obsessed with the vehicle, always feeling as though it were the only thing standing between herself and possible freedom from the house. And distance from Cole.
Her smile melted as she pondered the fact. Her feelings for him had grown, but she wasn’t brave enough to put a name to them. Her life had become very confusing and in the upheaval, the last thing she needed was to find herself in the middle of a relationship. But how could she control the way her heart fluttered when she heard his voice or her breath quickened at his touch?
She rubbed her hand wearily over her forehead as she watched for the road leading out of town. The sky remained a cerulean blue, the clouds a white and gray relief from the blinding color. The air was crisp, the temperature sinking to below freezing in the evenings. A few flurries had drifted to the ground the day before, and the weather was predicted to disintegrate as the week went on.
As she pulled into the drive, she paused the car, looking at the shadowed facade of the house. It looked cold, dead. But then she noted lights were showing in the foyer, glittering through the curvy glass of the windows and giving the impression of habitation. Claire was relieved and pulled her car around back so she could enter the rear door. She no longer trusted the house, even if they had lived in relative peace for the last few weeks.
When she unlocked the door, she heard noises from above and dropped her books off in her room before following the noises up to the attic. It had to be Cole, and like a thread pulling from her heart, she followed the tug of emotion.
The bare bulbs illuminated isolated patches all along the attic floor, turning motes of dust into flakes of fire. The piles of furniture and knick-knacks, boxes and trunks, created a narrow alley to the middle of the attic. Claire followed the lights, nervous and regretting now she hadn’t picked up a flashlight in her rush. She stopped as the room widened; relieved to find she was not alone.
Cole was sitting at a dining room table, a desk lamp placed on the tabletop. He looked up quickly, his smile welcoming.
“How’s it feel to be that much closer to graduation?”
“Great! I’m just glad for the exams to be over.”
“And just one more semester left?”
She nodded in agreement and skirted the table, curious to see what he could be working on in such a dirty and cluttered space.
“Since we haven’t gotten any more messages from the other side, I thought I’d take advantage of the quiet and do some investigating.”
“Yes, I noticed you had been doing something like that in the library,” she said, glancing down to avoid his probing gaze.
“In the library?”
“The blueprint. I didn’t mean to pry but I happened to see John’s drawing on your desk...”
He raised his hand to silence her and smiled wryly.
“That’s fine. I wasn’t trying to hide it. I was just mapping out the house, looking to see if the proximity of the bodies had anything to do with John’s death.”
“And did you decide anything?”
“Well, we’ve got the stories of the house to validate some of this. One man supposedly died in the parlor where you’ve experienced your sightings. And the parlor is situated almost precisely under the original master bedroom. In addition, John was killed in the foyer where we have another story of an ancestor hanging himself. There is some correlation there, however circumstantial it is.”
She nodded slowly and walked behind him, leaning over to look at the thick album in front of him.
“This was in a trunk with a pile of other mementos. It looks pretty old.” He flipped back a few pages. “Just look at those faces. They must have been ordered not to smile.”
As he turned back in the album, the black and white photos gave way to earlier forms of photography, tin types with formal poses, stiff and lifeless as porcelain dolls.
Claire pulled up a second chair and they sat in companionable silence, both absorbed in the images in front of them.
“Some of these must be before they moved into the house. None of this looks familiar,” Cole said, pointing to a family posed in front of a Victorian home.
“So, when the next family moved into the home, after the Hagens were gone, they brought their own mementoes that ended up in the
attic as well.”
“I suppose. Since the house hadn’t been empty for too long, I guess there weren’t as many repairs to do. They just brought their things and moved in.” He flipped another page and made a strange sound in the back of his throat, like he was choking back an exclamation. A larger portrait dominated the next page, two men sitting stiffly in matching upholstered chairs, and set in front of a huge fireplace.
The fireplace was unchanged in the parlor, the rest of the room surprisingly warm and attractive with soft florals, but most surprising were the men. As identical as clones, they stared solemnly at the photographer. Their clothes were similar, one suit a shade darker than the other, but the hair was the same dark shade and they were both clean shaven. It was a toss-up as to which had posed for the portrait in Cole’s room, not that it would have mattered. They both resembled Cole strongly; the strong boned face, dark hair, and crystal eyes.
“Twins,” Claire breathed. She felt the surprise punch the air from her lungs, as though a huge revelation had emerged.
Cole gingerly pulled the picture loose, its corners held by small black tabs. On the back was a brief line scrawled in a loose, but distinctive hand.
"Matthew and Michael Edwards, Matthew’s home, Talitha, 1857." Cole’s voice was odd, restrained, as he read the words.
“Gemini, the twin,” Claire said. “It’s the same handwriting, I’m sure of it.”
Cole’s face seemed to tense as he realized what she was referring to. “Where are Beatrice’s love letters?”
“Down in the music room. We left them there with the rest of the papers. Do you want me to go there?”
“No, let’s both go. I’ll bring this with us. At least the lighting should be better.”
Claire ran down the stairs first, feeling as though she were being chased by darkness, by deception. Her unwilling mind spun out of control, the missing piece of the puzzle shifting into place.
Cole followed, turning off lights and shutting the door to the attic. He moved with quiet efficiency, almost automatically, taking her elbow lightly with his free hand at the base of the staircase.
Talitha Page 21
