Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1)

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  Thankfully, the movers were on time. It was a relief given all the horror stories I’d been reading in the papers about various moving companies scamming customers. Most of the scams seemed to involve movers who refused to unload a person’s belongings unless they agreed to demands for hundreds more in additional fees, such as negotiating stairs—I’d heard as much as fifty dollars per stair—and other miscellaneous charges. I’d been careful to get references, but you never knew if those were faked. Working in the bank’s call center in the fraud unit, I’d pretty much heard it all.

  A couple of burly guys hopped off the truck, surprisingly graceful given their bulk. The taller of the two, Marty according to the name tag on his coveralls, came up to meet me. The other, a heavily tattooed guy, went to the back of the truck and began unloading.

  “I shouldn’t take me ’n Tim more than a coupla hours,” Marty said. “You don’t have much stuff.”

  That was true. My rental had been a 550 square foot one-bedroom with a miniscule balcony. I suppose I could have supplemented my new digs with things from my father’s townhouse, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. In the end, I’d donated what I could to the Salvation Army and ReStore and hired a company to take the rest to the dump. The only thing I’d kept was his filing cabinet—jam packed with paperwork I’d have to go through and shred—and his toolbox, which was bound to come in handy. Until now, my screwdriver had been a bread knife and my tape measure had been my feet.

  Marty and Tim worked in harmony, neither one showing the slightest sign of strain. After about ninety minutes, Marty handed me the release paperwork to sign and asked for cash or a credit card. I suppose given the state of the house, I didn’t look like a good bet for a personal check. I looked at the invoice and decided I’d been in the wrong business all these years. I was just about to hand over my Visa when I noticed that tattooed Tim looked a tad squeamish.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Sure, of course,” Marty said. “It’s just that Tim here thought he heard noises in the attic. Bit of a little girl when it comes to mice, Tim is.”

  “Weren’t no mice,” Tim said, the freckles on his pale face standing out like fireflies. “I’m sure I heard footsteps and then something like a lady crying. It was ever so soft, but—”

  “Well, I didn’t hear anything, and I was standing right there beside you.” Marty sniggered. “You’d tell us if you were hiding someone in the attic, now wouldn’t you Ms. Barnstable?”

  I folded my arms in front of me and tried my best to look annoyed, but the truth was Tim hearing things made me nervous. What was it Leith said? Something about one of the previous tenants getting out of her lease because of noises in the attic. And I had heard that creaking sound earlier. Not exactly footsteps and a lady crying, but still disconcerting.

  “Do you mind taking a look inside the attic? I have to admit the idea of mice sort of freaks me out.”

  “We’re on the clock,” Marty said, shaking his head. “Boss only pays for the hours we invoice.”

  “Fine, I’ll pay you another fifty dollars each.”

  Tim and Marty shrugged in unison.

  “Very well. Seventy-five dollars each. Cash. Just do me a favor and take a peek.”

  A furtive look passed between Tim and Marty, one that suggested I’d just been the victim of a scam, though I couldn’t be certain.

  “I’ll look. Tim can stay down here and protect you.” Marty gave Tim a not-so-playful punch on the arm. “Show me where the entry to the attic is.”

  I led them to the master bedroom and opened the closet door. “I noticed the laddered footstool earlier today.”

  Marty pulled out the footstool, folded down the stairs, and reached up. “There’s a padlock on the entry way. Who padlocks an attic?” For the first time he sounded suspicious.

  I didn’t much care for his tone. “My father, that’s who. He rented this place out for years. I guess he didn’t want folks snooping in areas that didn’t belong to them. Hang on a sec.”

  I came back a minute later with the key ring Leith had given me. “Has to be one of these.”

  Marty stared at the keys and the lock and somehow managed to select the correct key right off. He pushed open the wooden door, sticking his head and shoulders inside the opening.

  “So far no evidence of rodents,” he said, his voice getting increasingly muffled as he clomped through the space. Tim, the gutless wimp, went outside under the guise of needing a smoke.

  “What is it?” I asked as Marty climbed back into the bedroom. If the stunned expression on his face and the pale white pallor was any indication, he’d seen something that went way beyond spiders and mice.

  “I think you might want to go see for yourself, Ms. Barnstable, and you might want to call the cops.”

  “Call the police? Why? Has something been stolen?”

  “Stolen? How would I know what’s supposed to be up there? There are a couple of dust-covered trunks. I’m guessing you’ll need a key to open them.” He handed back the brass ring. “It’s what’s not supposed to be up there that’s the problem. At least I don’t think it should be up there.”

  “And that would be?”

  “I’m no expert, but to me it looked like a coffin.”

  “A coffin? Did you open it?”

  “Hell, no. I got out of there the minute I saw the coffin.”

  “If you didn’t open it, why do you think I need to call the police?”

  “How many times do you find a coffin in the attic?”

  How many times, indeed. I just hoped there was a reasonable explanation.

  One that didn’t involve a dead body.

  Chapter 6

  The attic was every bit as creepy as I expected, a windowless, claustrophobic space, the walls and ceiling filled with pink fiberglass insulation, the air smelling faintly of mothballs. Given the padlock, I had expected it to be stockpiled with valuables. It wasn’t. There was a large leather steamer trunk that looked like it might be vintage, a newer trunk, bright blue with brass trim, and what appeared to be a picture triple wrapped in bubble wrap.

  There was also a coffin, full-sized from what I could gather. I took a deep breath, resisted the urge to bolt out the cubbyhole entry, and inched my way over.

  Unlike the attic, there was no lock on the coffin. I almost wished there had been, if only to delay the inevitable. I took another deep breath, put on the yellow rubber kitchen gloves I’d brought with me—I’d watched enough episodes of CSI to know the importance of not leaving fingerprints—bent down, and gingerly lifted the lid. It was lighter than I expected, but that didn’t stop me from dropping it abruptly. The thump echoed in the room, scaring me more than I could have thought possible.

  Because what I saw lying against the cream-colored satin wasn’t a dead, decaying body, but a skeleton. One that looked decidedly human.

  I had been ready to uncover some skeletons in the closet. A skeleton in the attic was another matter entirely.

  “Someone is playing a prank on you,” Constable Arbutus said after a thorough examination of the coffin and skeletal remains before her. “This skeleton is very high quality PVC, the sort that might be used to teach medical students about anatomy.”

  I didn’t know whether to be relieved, terrified, or annoyed. I also didn’t have a clue who could have put it here. Or why.

  “A prank? Are you sure?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure it’s a prank, but I can be sure that this skeleton isn’t human.”

  “What about the coffin?”

  “Nothing more than a stage prop. It’s very lightweight, probably made from papier-mâché, painted to look like wood.” Arbutus studied me for a moment, her gray eyes assessing my every movement. “It’s obvious you’re upset by this, and you have every right to be if you’re not the one who put it there. Do you have any idea who might be behind this?”

  I shook my head. “I just moved into the house this morning. For all I know it could have b
een here for years.”

  “Judging by the lack of dust on the coffin, versus everything else up here, it’s a fairly recent addition. You say you just moved in this morning. Didn’t you look in the attic when you were buying the house? What about the home inspector?”

  “I didn’t actually buy this house. I inherited it from my father. It’s been rented out for years. What I don’t understand is how someone could have gotten into the attic. It was padlocked.”

  “The lock is an older model,” Arbutus said. “It probably wouldn’t take a lot of skill to open it. There are tutorials online that give step-by-step instructions. The simplest explanation is that the person had a key.”

  Which meant either my father had put the coffin up there or a key had been hidden in the house somewhere. Arbutus interrupted my thoughts.

  “You mentioned that the property has been tenanted until now. When was the last time the locks were changed?”

  “I don’t know if they’ve ever been changed. I can call the lawyer handling the estate. He might know.”

  “I’d suggest you do that, if only to try to figure out who might have had access. Regardless, you should also change the locks, replace them with deadbolts.”

  I nodded. Arbutus was right. I had no idea how many people had a key to Sixteen Snapdragon Circle. And deadbolts sounded like a good idea.

  “Why did you go into the attic on your first day?” Arbutus asked.

  I told her about the noises Tim the mover had supposedly heard and how Marty, the other mover, had agreed to check it out for me. I left out the part about thinking I was being scammed.

  “You’re saying that this Tim heard footsteps and a woman crying?” Arbutus asked.

  I nodded.

  “Had you heard anything like that?”

  I admitted I had not, although I had heard a creaking sound.

  “Creaking I can understand. But footsteps and a woman crying, that’s something altogether different. You say Marty checked the attic after you paid the bill. Did he do that as a favor to you?”

  “I agreed to pay them seventy-five dollars each. In cash.”

  Arbutus chuckled. “Nice. They see a single woman moving into a house alone, then they find a way to check the attic to earn a few dollars under the table. I’m willing to bet that Marty got the shock of a lifetime when he saw the coffin.”

  “He was the one who suggested calling the police. I thought if it was just an empty coffin, it might be strange, but nothing criminal. When I saw the skeleton, I decided he was right.”

  “To be honest, it’s still not criminal. There’s no law against putting a coffin with a PVC skeleton in an attic, and we have no reason to suspect that anyone other than your father put it there. I’m afraid there really isn’t anything the police can do.” Arbutus watched me through narrowed eyes. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

  There was, of course, starting with my mother’s disappearance in 1986, and my father’s more recent suspicions that she might have been murdered. Suspicions fueled by a psychic named Misty Rivers.

  Something stopped me from telling Arbutus. Maybe it was because I still believed my mother had run off with the milkman, or some other male equivalent. Or maybe it was because I was afraid Arbutus would think I had staged the whole sordid attic scene, just to get the police involved and save me the trouble of doing the legwork myself.

  “Nothing important,” I said.

  I’m not sure if Arbutus believed me, but she nodded and handed me her card. “Call me directly if you learn of any deliberate attempts to frighten you, or if any other unusual happenings occur that concern you. Now how about we get out of this attic?”

  She didn’t have to ask me twice.

  Chapter 7

  I rang Leith the next day and grilled him about the locks. He admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that they hadn’t been changed in a couple of years. “I’d have to look up the exact date to find out,” he said, “but the tenants were required to hand in their keys when they moved out. It was in their lease agreement.”

  I wondered, not for the first time, just what Leith had actually done to earn his property management fees. The house was in disrepair, the locks hadn’t been changed, and who knew what else I was going to find.

  “It didn’t occur to you that they might have made a copy and kept it?”

  Leith didn’t answer directly. Instead he asked why knowing who might still have a key to the house was important.

  I filled him in on my attic adventure. That got his attention.

  “A plastic skeleton in a papier-mâché coffin, which is in all likelihood a stage prop. Who would put something like that in an attic?” Leith let out one of his theatrical sighs. “Let me go through the paperwork. I’ll call you right back.”

  Right back might have been an exaggeration, but Leith did call a couple of hours later. He was all business.

  “In addition to myself and your father, two tenants potentially have a key, the last one being Misty Rivers. My assistant has left for the day. I’ll have her scan and email you both of the rental applications tomorrow. There might be something there you can follow up on.”

  “Thank you, I’ll look them over. In the meantime, is there anything you remember, specifically, about the other tenant?”

  “Her name is Jessica Tamarand. She’s the woman I told you about. The one who complained about hearing weird noises and got out of her lease early.”

  Interesting. “Could anyone else have a key?”

  “Royce Ashford, the next-door neighbor at Fourteen Snapdragon Circle. As the contractor your father hired, he might have a copy.”

  “I met him earlier today. He didn’t seem like a nutcase.”

  “I’m not passing judgment, Callie. I’m just telling you who might have a key. They might also have made a copy and given it to a friend, or in the case of Royce, an employee.”

  “You’re starting to make me nervous.”

  “And a skeleton in a coffin doesn’t? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’ve arranged for a locksmith to come to the house tomorrow. He’ll replace the locks on the front and back doors with deadbolts.”

  Something that should have been done before I moved in, and after every tenant left. “What time can I expect him?”

  “Between noon and three p.m. I’d suggest you stay in the house until he’s finished. You don’t want any other unwelcome visitors while you’re out.”

  “You’re not making me feel any better.”

  “My concern with this entire scheme of your father’s has been exacerbated. I’m sure he didn’t mean to put you in any danger, but I don’t like what’s transpired thus far.”

  “What do you suggest? That I hire Misty Rivers after all?”

  “I think that might be the safest course of action.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Did Leith actually think I’d walk away because of a skeleton in the attic? I vowed to be more selective about what I shared with him in the future. Give him the bare minimum to fulfill the reporting clause. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt me. Or stop me.

  “I was being facetious.”

  Another theatrical sigh. “I was afraid you’d say that. You’re even more stubborn than your father. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I promise.”

  Somehow I managed to get a decent night’s sleep and woke up feeling ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead of me. I wrestled my hair into an oversized clip and pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a Toronto Raptors t-shirt. Then I went around the house, checking every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen and bathroom, and scouring the inside of every closet, upstairs and down. If there had been a spare key to the attic, it was no longer in the house. I’d be glad when the locksmith had come and gone.

  While I waited, I decided to assess the amount of renovations required. Even with fifty thousand dollars, it was quickly apparent that I’d need to do at least some of the work myself.

  Getting rid
of the ugly gold carpet and refinishing the hardwood floor beneath it would be a good first step. I fired up my laptop and checked the local regulations for disposal. I could put it out with my weekly garbage on Friday as long as it was tied into rolls no longer than four feet and no heavier than forty pounds. No problem. I didn’t think I could even lift forty pounds. Which reminded me that I needed to find a local gym.

  A check of my father’s toolbox yielded a utility knife, just the thing to cut up carpet into manageable bundles. Pulling the carpet up, however, proved to be a more difficult and far dirtier job than I had anticipated. The thought that I should be wearing rubber gloves crossed my mind—who knew what disgusting things lurked in those wooly loops—but I’d left the only pair I had in the attic and I wasn’t quite ready to go back up there yet. While I didn’t consider myself overly vain, I wasn’t about to head out shopping dressed the way I was. I covered up the sofa and chairs with a set of flannel sheets and push-pulled them down the hallway and into the spare bedroom.

  After the first few hard tugs on the carpet things got a bit easier, although no less messy. The underpadding had all but disintegrated through the years, leaving behind scraps of speckled blue foam, which I balled up and put inside a large green garbage bag.

  I had just about finished stripping carpet off the living room and dining room floor when I came across my first discovery: a small brown envelope, wedged against the dining room wall. Someone must have lifted the heating vent and slid the envelope along the floor as far as they could.

  The envelope had one of those tiny metal clasps to close it up. The lack of a glued seal meant that anyone, before now, could have added to or removed contents. But who would have hidden an envelope under the carpet, and more importantly, why?

  I was just about to open it when the doorbell rang, a chirpy sing-songy sound. I glanced at my watch. Eleven a.m. It was too early for the locksmith.

  Some instinct told me to hide the envelope before answering. I was putting it inside one of the kitchen cupboards, behind a box of bran flakes, when the doorbell chimed again. Someone was impatient. I went to the front door and looked out the peephole. A plump fifty-something woman with a mass of fluffy bleached blonde hair, jet black eyes, and oversized silver hoop earrings stared back. She wore jeans, a long-sleeved navy blue jersey knit shirt, and a polar fleece vest with an abstract pattern of the moon, stars, and assorted astrological symbols.