by Ann Cook
Downstairs Brandy overheard Greene marvel over the faded dining room wallpaper, blue flowers and egrets by a water fountain. “Turn of the century,” he said. “You really cannot let someone demolish this house, Mrs. Langdon.”
Sylvania appeared torn between pride and irritation. She sat looking out the window toward the lake, as if none of them were there, her eyes fixed on something distant. “It’s not been a happy house, Mr. Greene,” she said at last. “And that’s an end of it. There’s been tragedy here, and loneliness.” Again she gave a lift to her chin. “In any case, I can’t afford to put it back in good condition, and I don’t know anyone else who can. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my days protecting…” she hesitated for a split second… “protecting the house.”
Brandy wondered what——or who——else she had shielded.
“Will you let us try to find a buyer. Perhaps a group?” Greene answered quietly. “There would be no problem in having the house registered as an historic building, like the Congregational Church in Tavares.”
Sylvania rose from her chair and surveyed them all. “You have until Saturday afternoon. I’ve given my word to sign the contract then with my friend, Mr. Blackthorne.” Polite but unshaken, she showed the committee down the hall to the front door while John stood across the room from Brandy, staring out the window, his hands in his pockets.
“She thinks no one but Blackthorne will want it,” he said.
Brandy sensed his reluctance to leave. Perhaps he thought this was the last time he would see the house. Perhaps for the moment he had forgotten his anger. “Both Sylvania and Grace Able say they don’t care about the house,” she said, moving closer. “But I think there’s more to this sale than that. After all, who wants to live with a ghost? Or,” she added, seeing John’s lips tighten, “with something folks think is a ghost? Actually, someone does live on the third floor.”
The outside door closed, and in a few minutes Sylvania clumped back into the room, swinging Brandy’s white pumps in one hand and her camera case in the other. She advanced across the worn carpet. “And now, you two——what explanation do you have for your disgraceful activities last night?”
Shocked, Brandy turned to John. Surely Sylvania owed her an explanation for the attack dogs. Instead, Sylvania thrust the shoes into Brandy’s hands. “You do not deny, I’m sure, that it’s also your car out in the lane, young lady?” She faced Brandy, arms crossed. “You can’t deny you were trespassing last night?” She rounded on John. “I recognized your boat. Apparently you’re involved, too. A family member!”
Heatedly, Brandy spoke up. “John had nothing to do with my coming here last night. I told you I wanted to investigate the tale about the house. I was trying to verify what people claim they’ve seen.”
“Surely you could have asked me first.”
“You made it plain you wouldn’t agree.”
John moved toward his great aunt. “It’s true Miss O’Bannon didn’t follow your instructions, and I’m sorry about that. I asked her not to come. But whatever she did as a reporter, she shouldn’t have been attacked by those vicious dogs. If I hadn’t been worried and checked on her, there would’ve been a second tragedy here.”
Sylvania looked more calmly out the window toward the boat house and the new board walk. “Axel——Mr. Blackthorne——is anxious because I’m alone. He’s told the watchman to keep an eye on the house. If that man saw a prowler come into my yard, he would’ve tried to scare the person away.” She looked at Brandy squarely. “Mr. Blackthorne knows I don’t go out on these grounds at night myself.”
“But you did last night,” John said. “We saw you.” In spite of herself, Brandy felt a tiny thrill. For the moment she and John were united.
Sylvania remained unruffled. “Of course. I heard the dogs and then someone call out. I had to see what was happening.” Her voice rose. “By the time I got outside, what I saw was your boat leaving.”
Brandy was ready to let the matter of the dogs drop. While Sylvania was on the defensive, she had questions. “We know Axel Blackthorne’s been a friend for a long time. Was he also at the party when Eva Stone disappeared?”
John thrust both hands deeper into his pockets and turned his back. Brandy knew she’d blown their solidarity. Sylvania rolled her eyes as if imploring the deity for patience. “Yes, as a matter of fact——since you will not let this unpleasant matter alone——Axel was there. A lot of young people were there that weekend, including Brookfield’s friend from the Air Forces. He became my husband shortly afterward. I suppose you’ll want to know about him, too.”
“I haven’t seen Uncle Ace in years,” John said, steering the conversation away from the disastrous party.
Sylvania’s face hardened. “Married me for my money. Drinks. The family all know that. But, in my time…” She sat down at last on a chair before the fireplace and spread her hands out before her, as if trying to explain something they could not understand. “In our time, we made the best of things. In the early years we got on well enough, most of the time. At least, I wasn’t the Old Maid Aunt. These days you wouldn’t know about that stigma.” She raised steel gray eyes. “But the two of us have finally come to the parting of the ways, and that’s that.”
John looked away, embarrassed, but Sylvania plowed on. “His real name’s Elton, of course. Always likes to be called ‘Ace.’ A nickname from the war years. Always had an eye for the girls, too. He did at that party you’re so interested in, and at all the parties that followed.” She turned those sharp eyes again on Brandy. “But that weekend didn’t cause Eva Stone’s death. Her tragedy has nothing to do with this house.” She stood and moved again toward the window. “I’m doing now what Brookfield would’ve wanted. I owe him that.”
Brandy ached to pull out her note pad, but she didn’t dare. “You mean, by selling the land and seeing the house pulled down?”
“I talked to him in the hospital before he died. He asked for me. He told me how he felt about this place. He’d be glad to have it gone. Tomorrow Axel’s men will take down the walls of that awful boat house. They’ll build the boardwalk over the old flooring. It will certainly improve the view. I’ll be glad to see that eyesore go. And the house, too.”
John rubbed his forehead. “Isn’t the boat house in your yard?”
“I sold that spit of land with the property on the other side.”
“Mrs. Langdon,” Brandy said, “I wanted to ask about Brookfield’s heir, his wife Grace. She seemed fine this morning, but——forgive me——I’d heard she wasn’t mentally very strong.”
Sylvania looked down at her hands, as though studying her response. “I never got on well with Grace. Very different interests. Except for our mutual concern for Brookfield, of course. Grace was always a nervous little thing, and her nerves have been worse since his death. Lives in a fancy condominium in Leesburg. Fortunately, money is no problem. He left her very comfortable. She still even has her own small flower garden.” And to his sister, Brandy thought, Brookfield left this disintegrating house.
At the end of the hallway a door opened and closed, followed by a quick step on the stairs. Sylvania jerked her head up, alert, like a horse who detects an alarming scent in the air.
EIGHT
“Came to get the rest of my things,” called a voice from the hall. A man with thick, gray hair and a wide grin peered around the doorway, as if testing the waters. Seeing John and Brandy, he gained assurance, stepped into the living room, and saluted the three by lifting a paper cup in their direction. “Face is familiar,” he said to John. “S’been a long time. You one of Cousin Jake’s boys?”
Sylvania stood. “This is John Able,” she said, ”as you’d know if your memory weren’t impaired. And a reporter, Miss O’Bannon.” She turned to Brandy. “My husband, at least for the moment——Elton Langdon. He can’t stay.”
“Oh, no.’Course not, Syl.” The old gentleman wavered forward. “Long time no see.” He winked at John and stuck out hi
s hand. Then he faced Brandy. “Name’s Ace, little lady,” he added with a mock bow. “Ace Langdon.”
Brandy had hung the camera around her neck, but she held the dirty white pumps in one hand behind her, not caring to explain them, and shook hands with the other. Langdon was of medium build, trim for his age, and light on his feet in spite of the clear liquid in the paper cup. Vodka, Brandy surmised. Probably thinks it doesn’t have an odor.
He looked up and hoisted the cup toward the portrait of Brookfield Able. “Damn fine pilot,” he said and focused bright blue eyes on Sylvania. “But I liked him better as a buddy than a boss.”
“Elton.” Sylvania advanced a few paces, menace in her voice. “Your room is untouched. Get your things. John and Miss O’Bannon are just leaving, and so am I. I’m on my way into town this afternoon and I won’t be back tonight. I’m completing arrangements for my new apartment. Saturday the house goes. Now is the time for you to pack anything you left.”
Her husband shrugged. “No problem. You’ll have to excuse me then. I have a carry–all bag in the hall.” He backed out of the room, the cocky smile still on his face.
Brandy rose suddenly. “I’m sure you’d like a few minutes alone with your aunt,” she said to John and followed Ace Langdon out of the room. She had not forgotten that he was at Brookfield’s welcome home–engagement party. In the hall Ace retrieved a blue canvas bag and went briskly into the kitchen. From the pantry he lifted down two bottles. Then, seeing Brandy behind him, his grin widened. The dimples must have been devastating combined with a flyer’s rakish cap. “First things first,” he explained. “Got to pack my gin and vermouth.”
Brandy leaned against the linoleum covered kitchen counter. “I’m researching the history of this house for the Tavares Beacon. I’m especially interested in the drowning of Eva Stone. I thought you might be able to tell me something useful. Maybe help me reconstruct the event.”
His smile faded. He set the bottles heavily down on the counter top, pulled two dish towels from a drawer, rolled them around the bottles, and thrust them into the bottom of his bag. “S’not a good time to talk. I mean with the Moose——excuse me——with Syl in the next room. But don’t go dredging up that stuff about Eva Stone now. The house and everything around it will be gone soon. And good riddance. No matter what happened to Eva Stone, she’s ancient history now.” Langdon looked toward the hall stairs. “I’ve got to pack before the Moose throws me out.”
Brandy handed him her card. “Can I see you again?”
His former grin and the dimples returned. He slipped the card into his carry–all and looked her up and down. “Little lady, if I was thirty or forty years younger, you’d see a whole lot more of me.” On the stairs he paused at the carved newel post, looked back, and winked. “I’m staying at the Comfort Inn. If you don’t reach me there, try A & S Citrus. I still stop into the office now and then.”
As he vanished up the stairs, Brandy joined John and followed Sylvania’s tall form down the hall. The older woman opened the outside door, her back rigid as a totem pole. “When I get home tomorrow,” she said, “that old boat house will be gone at last.” She stood for a few minutes looking over the ragged hedge and the weeds along the driveway, then fixed her stony gaze on John. “I’m looking forward to my nice new air conditioned apartment.”
From the porch Brandy spoke up quickly. “I noticed the boat house is locked. Doesn’t look like it’s been opened for a long time. Could there be anything in there you’d want to keep? Maybe something of your brother’s?”
Sylvania’s lips turned down. “Lands, all Brookfield kept there was fishing tackle and gear for his boat. He hadn’t used the boat house for years before he died. And Elton——“ She gave a little snort. “He didn’t care for any sports. Didn’t hunt or fish. He certainly wouldn’t have put anything in the boat house. Good riddance of bad rubbish, I say. I’m glad Axel will tear it down and haul off the trash.”
Head down, John led the way toward his Mustang. Beyond it, half–concealed under the trees, Brandy could see the fender of her own hatchback. “John,” she said, stopping and turning toward the spit of land and the boat house, “I don’t think you should let Blackthorne throw everything away, not until you’ve seen what’s there. Sylvania obviously doesn’t know.”
John made a wry face. “Aunt Sylvania’s probably right. People don’t usually keep the family jewels in a boat house.” But his long strides had halted and he sounded uncertain.
“Could be gear from the 1940’s. Even war time stuff. Sylvania said he built it right after he came home and didn’t use it long. You really ought to check it out. Memorabilia’s valuable now. Sylvania wouldn’t even think about that. It would add detail to my story.”
Again Brandy felt a twinge of guilt. Her main interest in the boat house was not family mementos. It was how the figure Charlotte described was able to walk right through the closed back door.
In a few minutes they stood before the sagging plank structure. Its boat slip faced the lake with a sizable storage shed covering the ground at the rear. The yard entrance fastened with the rusty padlock Brandy had seen the night before. On the lake side a pair of weathered doors swung outward, allowing boaters to step onto a narrow platform and enter the shed through a front door, now also padlocked.
The purr of a car engine interrupted their inspection. Across the chain link fence Blackthorne’s Cadillac eased along the grass and stopped beside the new board walk. The developer clambered out. “I need a word with you two,” he called, placing plump hands on the bars of the gate.
Brandy prepared to be bawled out again for being attacked, but John took the initiative. “Did you turn the Dobermans loose last night?” he asked.
Blackthorne’s heavy face remained unperturbed. “My watchman may have. He has orders to look out for Mrs. Langdon. If he saw somebody on her property, he might turn the dogs on them. He’d think it was a burglar.”
Brandy was sure he knew about the attack——knew and did not repent. Blackthorne passed his hand over his balding head and went on in a milder tone. “I wanted to ask you to go easier on your great–aunt, Mr. Able. She doesn’t deserve more trouble dumped on her now. Just leave her alone. She’s got enough headaches dealing with that lush she’s married to. Let her finally get rid of this place. She wants to sell it.”
John’s voice was level, but firm. “I got your message at work, but if I find a buyer with the same offer, someone who’ll preserve it, what’s the harm to her?”
The developer turned toward the crew still working on the walkway. “No harm, I suppose,” he said. “But you won’t find a buyer by Saturday.” He waved toward the workers behind him. ”The development’s well underway. We’ll put a board walk and benches all along the water front. Take down some cypress to improve the view.” He smiled. “You know the old Florida saying: You can make more money from Yankees than oranges. We can get three homes on Sylvania’s one lot.”
As Blackthorne stumped over to talk to his foreman, John frowned and shook his head.
Brandy put a hand on the blistered boat house wall. “Your Aunt Sylvania won’t be home tonight,” she murmured. “Tonight’s your only chance to see what’s inside.”
John shook his head. “You want to court the Dobermans again?”
“I’d help you. We could come across the lake in the boat and tie up in the slip. The dogs couldn’t get to us there. I’ll be the lookout. Besides, Sylvania wouldn’t care. She wants it all destroyed anyway.” Brandy ran her fingers over the corroded lock. It hadn’t been opened for years.
Above the clatter of a cement mixer, workmen were pounding posts into the damp soil. John glanced at the new boardwalk. “Well,” he said, pausing at the spindly pier, “I guess Aunt Sylvania really wouldn’t care. Tomorrow a crew will pull down the walls. Haul everything away.” He frowned. “We’ll take a quick look. I’ll bring my bolt cutter.” He gave a decisive nod. “Come over a little before eight.”
Mr. Tyler
had cautioned Brandy not to trespass. She didn’t mention the warning to John, already striding across the lawn toward his car. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got to check out a stress problem at work.”
She trotted after him, still swinging the muddy white pumps in one hand. It was almost as if he had forgotten last night’s anger. “About seven–forty–five tonight, then? It’s not as though we’ll disturb anything.”
He halted under the live oak beside her car, the planes of his face half in sunlight, half in shadow. Her heart gave a sudden lurch. Another evening together. Maybe he hadn’t lost interest, maybe that wasn’t a girlfriend leering from his dresser top.
But he responded in his ice–man voice. “I’m doing this for the family. Maybe I’ll turn up something related to the history of the house.” A wary look came into his brown eyes. “I’d better not find you’ve got another agenda.”
Still hostile and suspicious, she thought. Not, she had to admit, without reason.
***
That afternoon Brandy covered a legislative hearing and left a story for Mr. Tyler on the laptop. By six–thirty she was driving home under her street’s overhanging oaks. As she passed the sole neighbor’s corner house, she was glad to see Mack’s pick–up was-n’t waiting in front of her mother’s. No need to tell him she planned to search a deserted boat house with John. He’d either be jealous or vow again that the Able family was all crazy. Likely both.
In the kitchen she turned down her mother’s offer of fish broiled on the hibachi, slapped together a tuna sandwich, and was careful not to explain her plans for the evening. After a quick shower she changed into pair of jeans, pulled on a light–weight jacket, and made a few passes through her tousled hair with the curling iron.
