Eaves of Destruction

by Kate Carlisle

  “Let’s see,” I said.

  We followed him out to the foyer and walked halfway up the stairs. He stopped and pointed to one piece of the richly stained mahogany, and sure enough, it was lighter than the others. Amanda and I walked up several more steps to get a closer look. He took a few steps down to get out of our way.

  “It’s probably being bleached by the sun, which pours in every day,” I suggested, pointing to the plate glass window near the threshold.

  “It’s not too badly damaged yet,” Amanda added. “But to be safe, you might want to put a shade on the window.”

  “Or maybe a nice awning on the outside,” I suggested. “And in the meantime, we can stain this piece.”

  “I would appreciate that,” he said, gazing up at us. “Do you think you can match it?”

  Amanda smiled. “I’m pretty good at matching wood tones.”

  “I thought I might be good at it, too, since I work with paints,” Matthew said. “But I’d rather turn the woodworking jobs over to you.”

  I looked at Amanda. “Why don’t you take a picture and try to match it to a few of the stains at the hardware store?”

  “I will. I’ll take care of it this afternoon.” She started to walk down the stairs.

  “Amanda, stop right there,” Matthew ordered, pointing up at her.

  She froze on the spot and I would’ve done the same. It was a shock to hear him sound so forceful.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. Was he about to accuse her of something? What was going on?

  He stared at her, mesmerized. Finally he shook his head as though he were trying to break some spell he was under.

  “Matthew?” I said. “Are you all right?”

  “Wow.” With a wobbly sigh, he said, “Sorry. I was just so . . . I don’t know what to say. But I want to show you both something. Please. Come with me.”

  He walked past us and continued up the stairs to the second floor, where he stepped into a long, wide gallery hall. I knew the house was big, but this hallway was like something out of an English Regency scene. Both sides were lined with large, fancy gold-framed paintings, mostly portraits, but also a few hunting scenes and pastorals. He led us past at least six paintings and then stopped.

  “Look at this, please,” he said, and gestured toward a full-length painting of a woman seated in an elegantly gilded chair, a small, fluffy dog at her feet. The woman was dressed formally, as though she were about to go off to a fancy ball, and held a yellow rose that stood out against the black lace bodice of her dress. Rather than gazing into space, she stared somberly at the observer. Despite the regal hairstyle and sophisticated dress, the lady in the painting looked so much like Amanda Walsh that I had to take a few deep breaths to maintain my balance.

  Next to me, Amanda gasped.

  I couldn’t blame her. Facing her, I said, “Wow, that’s amazing, isn’t it?” I was trying to keep it light, but Matthew wasn’t helping. He stared at Amanda as though she were some alien goddess.

  I tried again. “Is it just me, or do you look a lot like this lady? Except for the baseball cap,” I added, smiling. Turning to Matthew, I said, “All of these paintings are remarkable. Are they all your ancestors? It must be amazing to be able to trace your family back to the Regency era.”

  “Uh, yes,” he murmured. “But actually, we go back to the time of King Henry the Eighth.”

  Amanda ignored us both and simply stared at the painting. She wore a look of fear, as if the black-lace-clad woman might jump out of the canvas and take a bite out of her. I could see her shaking now. Worried for her, I moved closer and looped my arm through hers. “Are you okay, Amanda? I mean, it’s weird, but—”

  “It was the baseball cap that threw me,” Matthew said slowly. “I fancy myself a pretty good observer of people, but I’d never really seen your full face before. You were always in shadow. But when I was standing on the lower stairs looking up at you, I could see you clearly.”

  Amanda seemed to realize he was talking and I could feel her tension. She coughed to clear her throat. “It—it’s a fascinating coincidence, isn’t it?” she said. But her words sounded so weak. Not like her at all. Or at least not as if she really believed what she was saying.

  I turned to Matthew. “Do you think the two of you are related in some way?”

  “I don’t see how it’s possible.” He was still staring at Amanda and I could sense that she wasn’t comfortable. But she also didn’t seem inclined to scream and race out of here and forget that she’d ever seen the painting before.

  “Amanda was raised in Baltimore,” I said to Matthew, still trying to keep things on an even keel, although they both looked shell-shocked. “Do you have any family there?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Matthew and Amanda both looked as if they’d rather be anywhere else. Neither of them was at ease, but my sympathies were more for Amanda in this. She’d been caught off guard completely and now Matthew was staring at her as if she were a ghost.

  “Well,” I said, feeling like a third wheel in this little drama, “we should get back to work. Are you ready?”

  Amanda’s shoulders jerked as if she’d just been awakened. “Uh, yes. We’d better. Thank you for showing us the painting, Matthew. It’s very, um, pretty.”

  “You’re welcome,” he murmured. “I have work to do as well.” He walked away first, heading to the staircase, where he jogged up to the third floor and disappeared.

  Amanda and I followed him as far as the stairs and went down instead. She continued to clutch my arm for dear life and I seriously wondered what was going on in her head. Had the painting completely freaked her out? Would she be too anxious to continue with the Jorgensen job? Would she want to avoid the house and the family? I didn’t know what to think, but I was going to make every effort to get her to talk to me.

  As we reached the landing, I heard the floor creak above us. Gazing up, I watched Petsy Jorgensen stride purposefully down the hall of the gallery and stop in front of the very same painting we’d just seen, of the Regency-era woman who could’ve been Amanda Walsh’s twin sister.

  Chapter Five

  Once back in the dining room, I told Amanda that I thought we should go right back to work so she wouldn’t have time to sit around and dwell on the fact that she’d just seen a picture of her nineteenth-century doppelgänger. Because really, that sort of thing could slow down your whole day. Work was always the best medicine as far as I was concerned, and Amanda agreed.

  But before we could get started, the front doorbell rang. Lindsey ran to answer the door and I heard her murmur a few words to whoever was there. A moment later, she ushered Eric Jensen into the dining room.

  “Thank you, Ms. Jorgensen,” he said. “I’d like to speak with you in a few minutes, right after I’ve talked to Ms. Walsh.”

  She looked a little rattled by the statement coming from the police chief. “Yes, of course. I’ll be in the kitchen. It’s the door at the far end of the foyer.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lindsey nodded and walked away, and Eric glanced at me.

  “Let me introduce you to Amanda,” I said.

  They shook hands and Eric said, “I’d like to talk to you if you have a few minutes. Shannon mentioned that you were around at the time she found Mr. Scully’s body.”

  “I was, but just for a few seconds.”

  “Can we talk in here?” he asked, glancing around the dining room. He didn’t wait for an answer, but pulled out a chair and indicated that Amanda should sit. She did, and he sat in the chair across from her.

  I had no intention of leaving, and I started to work with one of the panels on the plywood. I heard Eric cough; then he said, “Shannon.”

  I looked up and saw him give me a sharp glance. I took the hint.

  “I was just leaving,” I lied. “I’ll be on the side
of the house if anybody needs me.”

  I hated to go, but I didn’t have much choice. I just hoped he wouldn’t be too tough on her. She’d been an accidental witness, after all.

  Forty minutes later, Amanda walked out to the side yard, where the guys and I were laying down the inner section of heavy brick.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Oh, sure. It was no problem. He’s in there interviewing the Jorgensens now.”

  I took a longer look at her. She looked pale, and her usual resilient attitude seemed to have deflated. Hard to blame her. Most people didn’t show up for work, find a body, and then get interviewed by a police chief, all before lunch. Speaking of that . . .

  I glanced at Wade. “Amanda and I are going to take a lunch break.”

  “Go for it,” he said, clearly having noticed the change in Amanda. “See you when we see you.”

  “Let’s go to lunch,” I said to Amanda.

  She hesitated. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Fine. Then come with me and don’t make trouble.”

  She smiled at that. “You’re the boss.”

  I drove us to my house a half mile away, thinking all the while about that crazy old painting of Amanda’s nineteenth-century twin. Maybe I should’ve been more worried about finding Scully dead a few hours earlier, but Amanda’s stunned reaction to the painting had almost broken my heart. And I wasn’t even sure why.

  When we walked into the house, Robbie came scampering and practically slid across the kitchen floor, he was so beside himself with excitement that I was home in the middle of the day. And I’d brought a new friend with me. What joy!

  Amanda knelt down on the floor. “Oh, what a precious little thing.” Robbie took immediate advantage of the new girl and rolled over to get his belly rubbed.

  “This is Robbie. Isn’t he the cutest?” I leaned over and patted his tummy. “Yes, you are.”

  I stood up. “It’s a little too early for wine, so I thought I would make some tea. Unless you want something cold.”

  She chuckled. “Since it’s not even noon yet, tea sounds perfect. It’s been a weird day.”

  “To put it mildly. And I’ve got tuna if you want a sandwich.”

  “Maybe in a while.”

  I started the teakettle and found some shortbread cookies. “Let’s sit in the living room until the water’s ready.”

  We walked into the living room, where Amanda sat on the couch and I chose the big chair nearby. Robbie hopped onto the couch and plopped himself in Amanda’s lap. That was enough to bring Tiger out of hiding and she moved in to sniff delicately at Amanda’s boots.

  “You have a cat, too. She’s so beautiful.”

  “She’s a sweetie. Her name is Tiger.”

  “You’re so lucky.”

  “I think so.” The kettle began to scream and I jumped up to pour the water. Minutes later, I set a cup of hot tea down on the end table nearest her. The plate of cookies went on the coffee table, where we could share them.

  “So,” I said, sitting back down in the chair, “how are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine, really,” Amanda said. “He’s nice. Chief Jensen, I mean. He knows I had nothing to do with Mr. Scully’s murder, so it’s not like I was afraid of being arrested or something.”

  “Of course not.”

  She frowned. “I couldn’t really tell him much except for what I saw when I was standing right behind you. Basically, a dead man.” She rubbed her arms, adding, “I won’t forget that sight for a long time.”

  “No. Trust me, you won’t.”

  We talked for a few more minutes about Joe Scully’s murder and what it might mean to the contractors around town. Sad to say, but with Scully gone, work was going to go much more smoothly for everyone.

  But this was all small talk. Before, when I’d asked her how she was holding up, I hadn’t been referring to her interview with Chief Jensen or the murder. I was talking about the painting hanging in the Jorgensens’ house, of the woman who looked so startlingly similar to Amanda. They could’ve been twin sisters. So when the conversation about murder faded, I broached the other subject.

  “So, what did you think of that painting?”

  She sighed heavily. “I suppose I should talk about it.”

  “Only if you want to.” Although I really wanted her to. “It might help you sort out your feelings. I mean, it’s weird, right?”

  “Totally.” She ran her hands through her hair and flopped back on the couch. “Believe me, I would love to sort out my feelings, but I doubt that’ll happen.” She sipped her tea pensively and finally looked right at me. “To be honest with you, there’s something else going on. I’m not sure how to say it.”

  She looked a little hesitant and weary. “Something else you told Chief Jensen?”

  “No, no. It has to do with why I moved here.”

  “I thought you moved here to work on Victorian houses.”

  She pressed her lips together, apparently trying to figure out how to say whatever it was she wanted to tell me. “That’s only partly true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She winced a little. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  “I love long stories, so don’t worry. I won’t—”

  The doorbell rang just then and I wanted to scream. Jumping up, I said, “This will only take a second. I’m going to shoo them away.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said lamely.

  “Yes, I do.” But when I opened the front door, Mac was standing there, looking as appealing as ever. His hair was still wet from the shower and he beamed when he saw me. So no, I wasn’t about to shoo him away, despite my best intentions.

  “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be home. I finished my book, so I cleaned up and was out driving around. And then I saw your truck. Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said. “Wait. You finished your book? That’s wonderful!”

  “Yeah, I was hoping we could celebrate.” And without warning, he picked me up and whirled me around and kissed me soundly on the lips. Nothing like a good celebration.

  “Congratulations,” I said, holding him close.

  “Thanks.” After a few seconds, he must have noticed we weren’t alone. “Hey, hi.”

  I stepped back. “You remember Amanda?”

  He chuckled. “Sure, I do. How’re you doing, Amanda?”

  “Oh, not too great,” she said.

  “We’ve had a bit of a shock,” I said.

  “Oh yeah. I made a quick stop at the drugstore and heard that somebody found a dead body. Gotta love a small town.” His eyes widened. “Wait. You’re the one who found him? Holy moly, girl. You’re batting a thousand. Are you okay?” He pulled me into his arms again and held on. I felt warm and cozy and cherished. It was a good feeling. He gazed at me and touched my cheek. “Irish,” he murmured.

  I smiled. He’d started calling me that soon after we’d met, mainly because of my tangled mop of red hair.

  “So, I guess we have a mystery to solve,” he said.

  “More than one,” I said. I glanced over my shoulder at Amanda.

  He got the message. “I can come back later if you’re . . .”

  “No,” Amanda said. “It’s all right. Please don’t shoo him away.”

  Mac grinned. “I don’t shoo easily.”

  “I know.” I smiled. “Come on in and have a seat. Do you want some tea?”

  “Maybe just a glass of water,” he said. “You sit down. I’ll get it.”

  “Okay.”

  He walked into the kitchen and I turned to Amanda. “We don’t have to talk while he’s here.”

  “No, it’s past time I told you about me.” She shrugged and gave me a small smile. “And I
think I can trust you both.”

  “I promise you can.”

  Mac walked back in and sat in the other chair facing the couch. “So, what’s going on?”

  Amanda spoke up. “I was about to tell Shannon why I really moved to town.”

  He cocked his head in puzzlement. “I thought you wanted to live in a small town and work on Victorian houses.”

  “Yes, that much is true, in sort of a roundabout way,” she said. “But I was actually looking for one particular house to work on. And I finally found it here.”

  Mac glanced briefly at me before asking, “Which house is that?”

  She gave me an imploring look. “Please don’t fire me when I tell you.”

  “Why would I fire you? You’re saving my life here. I have time to do other things now that you’re working for me.”

  “I know, but I’m still concerned.”

  Okay, we hadn’t even gotten to the long story yet and I was wildly intrigued. Why would she be so worried I would fire her? She was terrific at her job and I really needed the help.

  “Don’t get freaked out,” I said. “The only reason I might be mad at you is if you lied to me.”

  “Well, that boat has sailed,” she muttered, looking so distraught that I almost laughed.

  The woman really was nervous about telling me something. But now I was so curious, I couldn’t wait another minute. “So you lied to me about something. It couldn’t be about your experience as a carpenter, because I can see for myself that you’re as great at woodworking as everyone said you were. So what is it? Did you rob a bank?”

  She smiled with reluctance. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, then.” I sat forward, impatient to hear the truth. “Come on, Amanda. I like you. What could you possibly tell me that could be so bad?”

  Mac gave me a look that made me think I should be prepared for the worst.

  Amanda twisted her lips nervously, then let out a breath. “Maybe it would be better if I showed you instead.”

  “Okay.”