Melanie Travis 06 - Hush Puppy

by Berenson, Laurien

  “Sure. We’ve been up for hours. We made you breakfast.”

  That got both eyes open. “You did?”

  “Yup. I did most of it, but Faith helped.”

  I was sure she had. The Poodle was an expert at licking up spills. “What are we having?”

  “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chocolate milk.”

  “Sounds great,” said Sam. Carrying Davey easily, he slid out from beneath the covers, stood up, and headed for the door. “Let’s eat.”

  After breakfast, Sam took Davey and Faith and drove to Redding to check on his Poodles. Whenever he’s going to be away for the night, he has a pet-sitter come and stay with them. The arrangement has always worked out well, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying. In his place, I’d have felt the same way, and usually I’d have been happy to ride along.

  Today, however, I used the time to drive over to Greenwich and see what I could find out about the Howard family. Perched on a busy corner near downtown, the Greenwich Library is a wondrous place. Renovated and significantly enlarged in the seventies, it’s a haven where I could happily lose myself for hours.

  I started my quest at the Information desk. The local newspaper is the Greenwich Time, but Miss Abbott, the librarian, looked through the files and informed me that before 1937, the town had had another paper, the Greenwich Press. Records for both were stored on microfilm. Since I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, I began by simply browsing through editions from the early to mid thirties. It was slow going, with very little reward.

  It quickly became obvious that the Howard family was not the type to make front-page news. I was reminded of the old adage declaring that a proper member of society should appear in the newspaper on only three occasions: at birth, at marriage, and at death. With that in mind, I began to devote most of my scanning to the social pages. There, I finally had some luck.

  I found the birth announcement for a daughter, born to Florence Pickwick (née Howard); and an engagement notice for Matthew Putnam Howard, Ruth’s older brother. As I skimmed through the decade, all the Howard siblings eventually made an appearance, except Ruth. There was no mention of her anywhere.

  After two hours of reading, my eyes were beginning to grow bleary. I’d reached the conclusion that I was going to have to track Ruth through other means when Miss Abbott appeared beside my chair.

  “I’m glad you’re still here,” she said. “I was thinking about your request for information on the Howard family, and it jiggled something in the back of my mind. It just took me a little while to figure out what it was. Maybe this will help.”

  The book she handed me was large and heavy; a coffee-table book with thick, glossy pages entitled, The Great Estates of Early Greenwich. I set it down on the desk and opened to the table of contents.

  “The Howard family home is one of those profiled,” Miss Abbott said, peering over my shoulder. Her finger traced quickly down through the list of chapters. “Not the building that houses the current school. That mansion was actually constructed by the founders for the purpose it now serves. The Howard home in Deer Park, however, was once one of Greenwich’s finest showplaces. Ah, there it is. Page one seventy-eight.”

  Together we flipped through the heavy pages. I gasped softly when the picture appeared. Even in black-and-white, the home was gorgeous.

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  “You were meant to be. Joshua Howard was a man of some standing in the community, and I’m sure his house was built to reflect his position.”

  There were two columns of text opposite the photo, and the story continued over the next several pages. “I’m more interested in the family than the house,” I said. “Especially the youngest daughter, Ruth.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s something here. It’s been a while since I’ve had an occasion to flip through the book, but the histories are pretty detailed.”

  According to the text, Joshua Howard had commissioned the plans for his house from a prominent architect of the time, then overseen the construction himself. He and his wife had moved into the mansion a few years into the new century; and all six of his children had been born there.

  “The historian who wrote this was more interested in Joshua Howard’s business accomplishments than his family,” I said, skipping on ahead. Toward the end of the piece, I finally found what I was looking for. The last several paragraphs explained why I hadn’t been able to find any mention of Ruth earlier.

  This grand house was the scene of a tragedy in 1936 when Joshua Howard’s youngest daughter Ruth, committed suicide in her second-floor bedroom. She was only eighteen years old at the time.

  The Howard family sold the mansion the following year. Much of the furniture and artwork from the vast estate was donated to the eponymous private school, Howard Academy. During the next several decades the mansion changed hands regularly as rumors of ghostly sightings abounded. Ruth Howard was said to haunt the back stairs and the gardens below her bedroom where, according to legend, she’d once sneaked away to meet with her lover.

  Plagued by superstition and bad luck, the house was allowed to fall into disrepair. It was demolished in 1960 to make way for new construction. By all accounts, the spirit of young, beautiful Ruth Howard vanished with it.

  “That’s some story,” said Miss Abbott.

  “I wonder whatever happened to her baby,” I mused.

  “What baby?”

  “Ruth Howard got pregnant when she was seventeen. Her lover was paid off and her family sent her away to have the baby and put it up for adoption. That’s why I wanted to look through the records. I was hoping to find out what happened next.”

  “Now you know.” The librarian picked up the book. “I’m sorry your story didn’t have a happier ending.”

  “Me too.”

  Back at home, I found I still had some time to kill before Sam and Davey returned. On a hunch, I pulled out a Greenwich phone book and ran through the listings, looking for the names I’d copied from the newspaper accounts. There were a number of Howards listed, but none with the first names I was looking for.

  By now, at least one more generation would have passed, maybe two. It was theoretically possible that everyone listed could have been related to Joshua’s family. It was equally possible that none of them were.

  Grumbling, I put the phone book aside and wandered into the kitchen to pour myself a soda. The house around me was still and empty. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been home alone; with no child to distract me, no Poodle to bring me a soggy tennis ball. Most days I could only dream of peace and quiet. Now I had all I could possibly want, and it was driving me crazy.

  Too bad my little Cape had been built too recently to come with such amenities as ghosts, I mused, thinking back to the story I’d read in the library. Something about that tale had struck a familiar chord. But what was it? Someone else had been talking about ghosts recently . . .

  I was staring out the window into the empty back yard when it came to me. Shawna and Bobbi, the two girls who worked in the kitchen—that was who I’d been trying to remember. Each had mentioned something about Howard Academy being haunted. At the time, I’d thought they were just being dramatic. Now I wondered if they were aware of the old family legends.

  Despite what I’d told Russell, I was coming to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions. Cover some bases that hadn’t been covered. Prick a few consciences and see what kind of information turned up.

  Especially after what had happened on Friday, I could hardly be blamed for wanting the whole process to move along. Somebody had to get to the bottom of this mess.

  Monday morning, I dropped Davey off at school early again. He’d enjoyed playing doughnut delivery boy so much that he didn’t mind a bit. Especially after we swung by the bakery for the second time in less than a week.

  I’m not going to make a habit of this kind of behavior. I swear.

  Faith’s trial period was going so
well that that morning I was bold enough to bring in a dog bed for the corner of my classroom. It was big and round; filled with cedar chips and covered with fake sheepskin. Faith loved it, and it smelled divine. It made a fine addition to the room, not to mention a good place to leave her for a few minutes while I went down to the kitchen.

  “Uh-oh!”

  I heard Shawna’s high-pitched voice as soon as I entered the dining room. She and Bobbi were working together, setting the tables. A handful of silverware clattered to the floor at Shawna’s feet.

  “Girl, watch out!” she said to her friend. “Here comes more bad news.”

  “I don’t have any bad news,” I said. “What makes you think I would?”

  “ ’Cause that’s what you bring around here, don’t I know it?” Shawna nodded vigorously in support of her question. “First time, a man’s dead. Second time, you got that runaway kid with you. She’s another one who’s up to no good. And Lord knows we got plenty of that around here.”

  I pulled out a chair and sat down, hoping to look less threatening. Hoping to indicate my intention to stay a while. Bobbi smoothed a tablecloth, snapped her gum, and looked perfectly pleased to watch the show. Shawna bit her lip and looked worried.

  “What makes you think Jane is a runaway?” I asked.

  “I got eyes, don’t I? That child needs somebody to take care of her.” Shawna stooped down and hurriedly gathered up the cutlery she’d dropped. “Ain’t nobody’s mama lets them go out looking all raggedy like that. Besides, she don’t belong here, that’s for sure. So why’s she hanging around all the time? If you ask me, that’s the trouble with this place. There’s entirely too much of that going on.”

  “Nobody asked you,” Bobbi said, casting her friend a warning look.

  “Too much of what?”

  “People running around where they’re not supposed to be. Some days, it’s enough to give me a heart condition.”

  “Shawna doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Bobbi said.

  “I do too!”

  “Does this have anything to do with Howard Academy being haunted?” I asked.

  “Saints preserve us!” Shawna quickly crossed herself.

  Bobbi rolled her eyes. “You get her started, it’s your own fault.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m going to have ghosts to contend with, too. Don’t you tell me that!”

  “Wasn’t that what you were talking about?”

  “Not me,” Shawna said firmly. “I’ve never seen a ghost, and I’m not planning to neither. I got enough trouble with the here and now, without looking for somebody from the hereafter to come and take me away.”

  “I told you not to get her started,” said Bobbi.

  Ignoring her, I concentrated on Shawna. “Then who are you talking about? Who’s been running around where they shouldn’t be?”

  Shawna shook her head. “I work in the kitchen, okay? I get my job done. I do what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Of course you do. But that doesn’t mean you don’t see things. You and I both know that something strange has been going on around here. I want to find out who’s behind it.”

  “I’m outta here,” Bobbi said, striding across the room. “Girl, you can put your own butt in the fire, but you ain’t taking me with you.” The door to the kitchen swung shut behind her.

  Shawna glanced at the door as it continued to swing. Then she looked back at me.

  “You won’t get in trouble from anything you tell me,” I said. “I promise.”

  “Maybe that’s not your promise to give.”

  True, but I could probably convince Russell to back me up. “I won’t let you down.”

  Slowly, Shawna walked over to where I sat. “I been working here four years,” she said. I patted the chair next to me, but she didn’t sit down. “I like my job, you hear what I’m saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “My job is just fine with me. But recently . . . things began to change around here. There’s stuff going on that never used to happen.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Shawna’s voice lowered. “People running around where they got no business being. Sneaking like they think nobody can see them. So I ask myself, why would anybody be prowling around like that unless they were up to no good?”

  “People like Krebbs?” I asked.

  “He’s one. First three and a half years I work here, I barely even saw the man.” Her teeth flashed in a smile. “Mrs. Plimpton, she runs this place like a drill sergeant. She tells Krebbs not to be coming around bothering us in the kitchen, and he don’t dare. Not until recently, anyway.”

  “What did Krebbs want in the kitchen?”

  Shawna scowled at my lack of comprehension. “It wasn’t the kitchen, it was the stairs. You can get down to the basement from here. You can get up to the second floor, too.”

  As far as I knew, the second floor contained only a few administrative offices and some storerooms. I’d never had occasion to venture up there, but I knew perfectly well that there was a wide staircase in the front hall and I said as much.

  “A place this size, you don’t think it has back stairs?” Shawna scoffed. “Front stairs are for people who want to be seen, back stairs are for people who don’t. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Who else have you seen using the back stairs? The girl, Jane?”

  “She’s another one. Upstairs, downstairs. She’s been all over the place. We keep some extra supplies down in the basement, so when I go down, I got a reason. But that don’t tell me what everyone else is up to.”

  “Who else?” I pressed.

  “That new teacher, the drama guy. He’s another one who’s been poking around like he thinks he’s got a right.”

  “Michael Durant?”

  “That’s the one. Half the time, he don’t even care if I see. He looks right through me like I don’t even exist.”

  “Do you think he’s looking for something?”

  “How should I know?” Shawna sounded angry. “Man can’t see me, I think maybe it’s just as well if I can’t see him.”

  Krebbs, Jane, and Michael. Apparently, Shawna had noticed all of them behaving in ways she found suspicious. But so what? Nothing she’d told me so far was enough to send Bobbi running from the room. There had to be something more.

  “Who else?” I asked.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Shawna shrugged. I didn’t need my teacher’s skills to know she was being evasive.

  “Not if you’ve got more names to give me.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I guess there’s another guy. I don’t know his name. He wears those stupid tweed jackets with elbow patches. He heads up there to have a smoke. Like nobody can smell what he’s up to.”

  Ed Weinstein. It had to be.

  “Sometimes he isn’t alone.” She paused, waiting to see if I’d grasped her meaning.

  I hadn’t. “So?”

  “So he meets somebody up there, sometimes. And maybe they do a little business together.”

  “Business?” I thought quickly. “Are you talking about Brad, that kid from town? Is that who Ed meets?”

  Shawna glanced around the room, satisfied herself that we were alone, then nodded warily.

  “Is that everybody?”

  Shawna was squirming again. She’d already blown the whistle on Ed and Brad. What could possibly be left to make her nervous?

  “Shawna?”

  “You promised me I wouldn’t get into trouble,” she reminded me.

  “You won’t,” I said firmly. “A man has been murdered. This is important, Shawna. You have to tell me what you know.”

  She sat for a moment, weighing her options. Judging by the expression on her face, she didn’t like the conclusion she came to.

  “There was someone else who’s been sneaking around,” she whispered.

  I waited, letting her take her time.

  Shawna’s eyes darted from side to side. I’ve seen rats in a maze
that looked happier.

  “It was Mr. Hanover,” she blurted finally. “You know, the Big Guy. The headmaster.”

  Twenty-four

  I guessed that meant I needed to have a chat with the Big Guy. You know, the headmaster.

  While I’d been trying to mind my own business, it seemed like half the school had been acting suspicious. Russell made as good a place to start as any. Besides, I’d brought Ruth’s diary to school with me as he’d requested, and I wanted to place the book in his hands personally.

  The bell to announce the start of first period was ringing as I left the dining room. Already late, I stopped in the office and grabbed the mail out of my box. Aside from the usual batch of Monday morning memos, there was a terse note from Michael canceling the pageant committee meeting he’d scheduled for noon. No explanation was offered. Just for the heck of it, I bumped his name up to second place on my list.

  When I got to my classroom, I found Willie Boyd sitting on the floor beside Faith’s bed. He was telling her about the Poodle that had belonged to his aunt. I knew that boy had potential.

  Seeing me, Willie leapt to his feet and brushed off his pants self-consciously. “Just checking out your guard dog,” he said, unsure how much I’d heard. “I guess she’ll do.”

  “She likes to be talked to.” I put my things down on my desk and walked over to where he stood. “I do it all the time.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure, Faith makes a great listener. Besides, she understands almost everything I say.”

  “Nah, she’s not that smart.”

  “Want to bet?”

  Willie’s gaze narrowed. “This is a trick, right?”

  I shrugged innocently. “Some people look at Faith and can’t see past the silly hairdo. They think she must be some kind of circus dog with mush for brains. That’s their mistake. Luckily, Faith’s way too intelligent to let other people’s ignorance bother her.”

  “Don’t tell me. We’re having some kind of life lesson here, aren’t we?” Willie pulled out a chair and sat down. “You’re using that dog to make a point.”