“Dude! If there's anything recorded, and we see the criminal in action, I'll owe you dinner for an entire month.” I grabbed my best friend by his shoulders and slapped his back a few times to express my gratitude for his brilliant memory.
Nicky brought up the software on his tablet and motioned for us to join him, then clicked on the live feed button. “It's just the one temporary camera, but maybe we got lucky. It's working, so the vandal didn't cut any cables.”
We watched as he accessed the feed from the last twenty-four hours. As he activated the new feed, I matched the time on the live one to my cell phone. The clock was working properly, meaning we were certain the camera had captured the correct time.
“I'm gonna speed it up. We left after my crew finished around noon. This disaster happened in the last five hours.” Nicky fast-forwarded in ten-minute jumps. A construction worker returned to the door and spoke with his boss on the porch. Then, he left, and Nicky shut the door, fiddling with something we couldn't see. “That's when I locked it. Besides, there is glass all over out there and inside the mudroom. Your vandal must've knocked the glass out of his way to enter safely.”
About ninety minutes into the recording, a shadow appeared on the porch. We waited but nobody ever showed up on camera. “I don't get it. Is that a ghost? What did we miss?”
“Hold up,” Connor interrupted, stopping and rewinding the software. His expertise in security operations was immensely helpful. “Is that a broom handle jabbing the window?”
Nicky trembled. “Someone was inside already and broke the glass to make it look like they entered through the mudroom door. I don't understand. No one was there when I locked up.”
We watched at least another thirty minutes preceding and following when the windows had been knocked out. “Whoever did this must've entered the house some other way.”
Connor stepped away, brooding over the puzzling situation. “The new message isn't written in paint like the last time. That's…” he paused to sniff the door, then wiped his finger on the material. “That's red clay. It smells like the musty floor of the caves near my childhood home.”
“Why is it here?” My frustration heightened, leaving me raw and angry that someone played games on my property. I was lending more credence to the ghost theory and felt compelled to dive deeper into the investigation. Somehow, this was connected to Prudence Grey's disappearance.
Connor tapped his knuckles on the basement door. “Down there. Your vandal didn't break the window. He or she came through the basement. A house of this age has tons of red clay under the foundation. Just like what we saw at the bottom of Memorial Library with the skeleton.”
“We need to get in that basement,” Nicky advised, a hand cupping his chin and tapping his cheek. “I haven't found a way to open it. If you can't locate a key, I'll bust through with a chainsaw.”
After Nicky confirmed he could wash off the clay and salvage the door, I asked him to delay breaking it down. “Let me rattle a few cages. I'd love to preserve the door. It's a hundred years old.”
While Connor instructed one of his fellow police officers to draft a report on the damage and take photos, I called the cottage to verify Emma and Ulan were home from school. I was usually back by five o'clock to greet them, since Emma was so young, but I needed to talk to Connor and Nicky before exiting. Ulan offered to make Emma a snack and walk Baxter. I promised to leave within the hour.
After Nicky confirmed his team would address the repairs the following morning, I left a message for Bartleby to contact me. If that lead didn't pan out, and no one could pick the lock, I'd unhappily sacrifice the door. “This makes little sense. I admit, for a wacky moment, the ghost theory idled inside my mind. Can spooks inflict this much damage? Then again, if it is Prudence messing with me from the Great Beyond, she would've stopped now that you found her body and killer.”
Connor darted his eyes to the far left, measuring the damage. “If I asked my aunt in the Caribbean, she'd agree about your ghostly visitor. But now that it's looking unlikely the body….”
I waited for him to continue speaking, but he walked down the hall away from me. I knew that meant he was hiding something. “Out with it. I don't have the energy or the patience to pester you for information. For once, can't you just forget that I'm a private citizen and reveal what you know?”
“We received the initial report on the DNA analysis. Let's just say, it wasn't what we expected.” Connor leaned against the banister, tapping the smooth, shapely wood in slow motion.
“The skeleton belongs to Prudence Grey, doesn't it?” An involuntary spasm in my neck flinched. Or was some ghost sticking me with invisible needles? My patience had worn thinner than a dryer sheet.
“We aren't complete, but two things are pointing me in a different direction.”
“Wasn't Damien's DNA a match?” I knew the Wharton County labs didn't have the most advanced technology, but surely, they could decipher the connection between a parent and child.
Connor updated me on what he'd recently learned. “We compared Damien's hair follicles to the DNA we could pull from the remaining teeth on the skeleton. Although the special forensic anthropologist working on the case assures me we're working with the same 1960s timeframe, the owner of that skeleton and Damien could not have been mother and child.”
A small gasp escaped my lips. “Are you confirming that it's not Prudence Grey?”
“No, I don't believe it is,” Connor scoffed.
“But everything fits based on Lloyd's confession. Was Damien secretly adopted?”
“I haven't shared the most peculiar aspect of the case,” he continued, aimlessly wandering the foyer with a heavy tread. “Damien and the skeleton's owner share DNA. It's just not possible for them to be mother and child.”
“Explain it to me slowly. I'm fairly knowledgeable on the monumental advances of DNA studies, but you're not making any sense.”
Connor again pulled out his tablet. “Based on these reports, the skeleton belongs to a male, not a female. I don't know all the ins and outs of this science, but the consultant has assured us there is a genetic connection between the two samples. He needs to run more tests to confirm the specifics.”
“So, the skeleton we found is a member of either the Grey or Garibaldi family?”
“I found out after seeing you at the library. We haven't decided our next steps. I don't want to ask Hiram Grey random questions about him or his former wife's kin without a plan.”
“Bartleby Grosvalet might know. He's knowledgeable of most families in our town's history. As far as I'm aware, Prudence didn't have any siblings, so the skeleton must be related to Damien through Hiram. Who could it be?”
“I might call him. As our former mayor, Bartleby knows how to be discreet. We'll release Lloyd this weekend, unless anything changes. I'm certain we're dealing with murder, but I can't tell you why yet. Give me a little more time to confirm everything.” Connor withdrew car keys from his pocket.
“Nothing to hold him, I guess, huh? I wonder how he'll explain this latest revelation.”
Connor didn't want to discuss the case any further and left to update April. I drove to Danby Landing to meet the kids, astonished at the newest discovery. If the skeleton didn't belong to Prudence, then my instincts dictated she was still alive; however, it also left me with a new theory to consider. What if Prudence had murdered a secret family member during the Memorial Library fire? If she had, she'd gotten away with the crime for fifty years. The urgency of the situation smacked me upside the head with another intrusive reminder. Forget about naming the new house… if Prudence was alive, then The Old Grey Place absolutely didn't belong to me. Not only did I need to solve the mystery of the skeleton's owner, I required legal advice on how to protect my investment. That meant contacting my brother, Hampton. Could this day get any worse?
* * *
Ulan and Emma lumbered off to school the following morning, lamenting how much longer before they could move into
the new house. I wouldn't commit to a new date until I was certain our home belonged to me and was safe—primarily after Emma kept jumping out of closets to intentionally scare me.
Now that Connor had confirmed the skeleton wasn't Prudence, I formally committed myself to the investigation. It was imperative that we determined who had been killed and if Prudence was responsible. My house had been vandalized, I'd found an unidentified fifty-year-old body, and several of the town's senior citizens had been acting cuckoo over the entire affair. I called Minnie to affirm my plans to dig into Lloyd's confession, detect the true victim's identity, and discover the killer. Lloyd had some explaining to do and would be one of the first people I attempted to speak with.
I spent most of the day teaching courses and conducting student meetings. I wanted to grill Hope, but she never stopped in her office. Even Myriam questioned where her newest professor had traipsed off to. Hope had taught both her classes, so we at least knew she'd been on campus in the morning. Post the standard weekly lunch with my mother, I focused on solving my trespasser problem. Bartleby, although initially brash and confrontational about my insistence on his help, promised to rummage around for the key that would unlock the basement door. “Ask your friend and the former homeowner, Judge Hiram Grey, about both the key and the wind chimes, please.”
The latest sabotage even surprised Nana D. “I'll have the idiot drawn and quartered. Tell that to your girlfriend. Maybe she'll move faster than a salted snail to catch herself a criminal.”
“Let it go. April and I are friends. If that changes, I'll clue you in. For now, mind your own beeswax, Nana D.” A sudden urge to hang up the phone crossed my mind, but I ignored it. The punishment would outweigh the benefits of a momentary win. “I'm sorry for being rude. These wind chimes are baffling to me.” I texted a photo of them to Nana D to ask if she knew anything.
“Pish! We all get grumpy.” Nana D guffawed after explaining that the wind chimes formerly hung at the Garibaldi house but had disappeared around the same time as Prudence. “Maybe Hiram dropped them off for you. What's the good word on the other ding-a-ling you call a wife?”
“Francesca has been in court all week. I haven't spoken to her.” I'd finished reading my brother's report. His ultimate recommendation was not to file for formal custody of Emma until we had a sense of the California judicial system's plan to penalize my wife. Hampton suggested it would be better to ignore Francesca while she wasn't requesting anything unreasonable or out of the ordinary.
“You've got some awful taste in women, brilliant one.”
“Let's switch topics. If you keep pestering me, I might have to tell Mom that you entered her in a pie-baking contest for the Fall Festival.” Nana D loved to torture her family, but it was even sweeter when her victims had no clue she'd been behind their embarrassment and awkward humiliation.
“Your mother can't even brew coffee. Honestly, to think I birthed that one….”
“I'm taking Emma to St. Mary's in an hour for her first class. She's super excited about it.” I was too but for various other reasons. I desperately wanted to find out whether Minnie knew the latest details about Lloyd's potential release. “How's Minnie doing? Have you talked to her today?”
Nana D uttered a noise I took as a no. “I'm waiting on news about Lloyd's official charges. The last update from your sheriff sweetie was ages ago. Have you heard anything on the DNA results?”
In the panic, as I didn't want to lie to my grandmother, I opted to tell a much smaller alternative truth by claiming my boss had interrupted. Myriam Castle was always an interruption in my life, so I was, via an indirect path, telling the truth. “Talk to you over the weekend. Love you.”
Had Prudence Grey magically bestowed me with the gift of her treasured wind chimes? Why were all these strange things happening at my new house? Was I being cursed? Uncertain, I dropped Ulan at my parents' house and brought Emma to St. Mary's. While she was in class with Minnie, who still hadn't communicated with Lloyd, I poked my head into the main part of the church.
Father Elijah stood near the altar, deep in thought until I interrupted his focus. “Kellan, you must be here with that lovely daughter of yours. It's a pleasure to see you, but I am on my way to the hospital to check on a pair of sick parishioners. God Bless.” As he gripped my shoulder, a sense of peace filled the holy space around us. He genuflected at the cross, then turned to leave.
“Before you head out, Father, may I ask a personal question?” I hadn't meant to approach him so bluntly, but I'd been curious about his reaction to a skeleton being found at Memorial Library.
“Certainly. What's troubling you, son?” Father Elijah's collar must've been too tight around his neck. Red blotches crept up the thin skin around his throat as if it strangled him while he spoke to me.
After mentioning what had happened the other day, I felt even guiltier. “I don't mean to pry. It's just that I've had inexplicable events happen in the house I bought from Hiram Grey. I rarely believe in ghosts or other supernatural experiences, but something odd is going on.”
“I understand. At times, we feel the presence of people we've lost as if they're sitting right next to us. Often, it's a loved one who's moved on to Heaven. At other times, it's our fears manifesting themselves in unusual ways.” He paused and reflected on the cross hanging on the wall behind us. “Prudence was a friend of mine before she passed away. I must admit, it hurt to lose someone I treasured having in my life. Minnie and I are alike in that manner. I think it's why we get along so well.”
“When you heard about the skeleton, what made you think about Prudence? You called her Prue, I believe.” I wasn't being disrespectful. It felt like a natural question to pose.
“You are perceptive, Kellan. Prudence never liked to be called by her full name. Her closest friends called her Prue. I counseled my friend right before she disappeared. Her death was impactful to me, but God helped direct a path in which I could accept his decision to call her back home.” Father Elijah whispered something with his eyes closed, then gestured toward the ceiling of the church. It appeared to be a blessing for the memory of his lost friend.
“I understand. I can't imagine what it's like to hear such news after fifty years. You mentioned Minnie had also lost someone. Are you talking about her husband, Ian? He was your brother, right?”
Father Elijah smiled while studying his watch. “Ian was fighting in Vietnam. A heart condition exempted me from serving, but I was proud of my brother. We lost him that year too.”
“Two deaths in such an abbreviated time. I'm sorry, Father. Your faith got you through it all?”
“Mostly. It helped me to officially accept the call of the priesthood that year. I couldn't decide what to do with myself, but after losing Prue, then my brother's disappearance, I was lost. God helped me discover the right path.” Father Elijah inhaled deeply, the stress of the past heavily weighing on him.
I hadn't realized his brother had vanished too. Had he gone AWOL during the war? “I suppose he went missing in Vietnam. Minnie must've leaned on you heavily for support.”
“Oh, she did, but Ian didn't disappear while he was fighting in Vietnam. He'd been injured and flew back home. He suffered from posttraumatic stress syndrome, though it wasn't widely known at the time.” Father Elijah shared how his brother, Ian, had returned home, according to the military, after they had honorably discharged him. “Neither Minnie nor I had ever encountered my brother that fall. I eventually assumed Ian couldn't handle reentry into normal life after everything he'd seen and been through in Vietnam.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
“No, we didn't know until much later. Minnie received a letter that her husband was being discharged, but she never saw him. She believes he died in the war and that the government made a mistake. She's unwilling to accept he left her or couldn't find his way back to her.” Father Elijah explained that it was the following winter when he'd contacted the military to inquire why his brother hadn't y
et come home. Once he'd learned about the official discharge, Father Elijah tried to convince Minnie that her husband was an ill man who didn't know what he was doing by abandoning them.
“That's such a tragedy, Father. I am so sorry to hear about it.”
“Thank you.” Father Elijah excused himself to visit Wharton County General Hospital.
A haunting theory percolated inside my head about what might've happened to Ian O'Malley. I couldn't explain why, or how he shared DNA with Damien Grey, but something uncannily convinced me he was the owner of the skeleton. Could the O'Malley family somehow be related to Prudence Garibaldi? I called April to relay Father Elijah's news. “What's my favorite sheriff up to?”
“I was just thinking about you,” she crooned, noting she was leaving the office to meet Augie for dinner. “I've been dealing with the forensics team on the skeleton discovery. We can't figure this one out. I need to get away from it for a day to clear my mind. Maybe something will become obvious when I've gotten enough of a break. What's up?”
“Oh, I'm certain you won't like what I'm about to tell you. Just keep in mind, April, this information fell into my lap. I promise I didn't go in search of it.” After gulping, I closed my eyes and explained everything I'd just learned from Father Elijah.
“That's a long shot, if I'm being honest. Did you tell the priest what you suspect?”
“No, I wanted to discuss it with you first. If that skeleton belongs to Ian O'Malley, and he returned home from Vietnam during the Memorial Library fire, it creates a whole new level of complexity in our investigation.”
April grunted. “Did you just hear yourself?”
“No, what did I do now?” I'd told her everything she needed to know without holding back.
“You said, our investigation, Kellan.”
“Did I?” I vaguely recalled the word slipping from my mouth but acted surprised. “Accidental.”
“Accidental my a—”
I stopped her before she said something she'd regret. “How about I buy you dinner this weekend and we chat all about it?”
Haunted House Ghost: Death At The Fall Festival (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 5) Page 11
