Of Lost and Found (the Kingsborough House): Kingsborough House (Virgil McLendon Thrillers Book 4)

by catt dahman

  “I think my boy is in that damned hole,” Sheriff Thomas kept wiping his face. When Vivian brought in hot coffee, he hid his face as he drank it.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff Thomas.” Candy said.

  “Honey, we can find that hole and if we do and we can recover Danny’s body…well, it will be peaceful. It’ll help close that book for us. I can’t thank you enough for coming here to tell me all this.”

  “I’m just so sorry. Henry was a punk, Sheriff. He was a bad man. Does this help at all for the missing girl? Could someone have pushed her into the hole?”

  “It’s possible. It’s likely she fell in as well,” Virgil said carefully, “but it’s far more than we had before and when we locate this hole in the ground, we can, maybe, get a lot of answers about a lot of things. You’ve helped more than you know,” Vivian said, taking Candy’s hands.

  “Sheriff, if Ms. Ortega can show you where she and Henry sat that day and you can mark it on a map and then show me where Al’s house is, where the Kingsborough House is, and where Henry’s truck crashed, I think we can figure out a central point, don’t you?”

  “I do, Sheriff McLendon. I’ll do that this afternoon and tomorrow and then we’ll get a search party together for Saturday, and find that damned hole or forgotten well…whatever it is. I only want experienced hunters, trackers, and lawmen in those woods as we search and I want a big team.”

  Virgil and Vivian shook hands all around.

  “It’s a plan,” Virgil said.

  However, it was a plan that didn’t work out quite as they thought.

  Chapter Eight:

  On Thursday, Virgil and Ripley took the house and grounds tours but found nothing of particular interest while the rest dug through dusty books, searching for any mention of the families. Friday was the same, but Virgil went on the tour with Vivian and Tina. Vivian and Virgil told the rest of the team about searching for Lisa and about Candy Ortega’s story.

  “I wish we had known the sheriff’s son vanished.” Fin Carter said.

  “It was hard to take that. I had to back off most of the questions I wanted to ask Candy Ortega because of Thomas’ son being involved. If we don’t find the hole and some answers, I will question her without him,” Virgil said. “I know he’s got hope again, but this may break him, either way.”

  Frustration showed on all their faces.

  “If it were this easy to solve, then it would have already been solved. It’s frustrating, but there has to be something we’ve missed,” Tina said. She hated to hear about the sheriff’s situation. Emotional parts of cases made her uncomfortable; she preferred just facts and evidence. Vivian looked traumatized by the entire experience with the sheriff.

  “Tell me about the first person, other than a workman, to vanish,” Virgil asked.

  Tina began to recite information they had gathered. She liked facts.

  There was a lot of jealousy over the Kingsborough house as beautiful hardwood was brought in by wagons along with crates of building materials. Townspeople would stand for hours in the street watching the treasures being uncrated, unwrapped, and carried inside. Clear and stained-glass windows were unloaded alongside stacks of yellowish rosewood, dark rosewood, purple rosewood, teak, zebra wood, and mahogany.

  “Rosewood is and was very expensive and people chose it for its beauty but also because it smells good,” Tina said.

  The noise of the workmen and building went on every day from daybreak until dusk but no one was allowed within except for staff. Townspeople sometimes saw Edith Kingsborough, large with child, then small again, large, and small; the seasons changed and she gave birth, further causing envy with her fecundity and unusual ways.

  John Kingsborough went to his offices each day but Sunday and returned each evening for dinner, politely refusing all invitations to social events. In May of 1885, the Kingsboroughs had a small dinner for a few guests and everyone in town could hardly wait to hear what the house was like inside.

  “It was in the town’s society pages, if you can believe,” Tina added.

  Joseph and Victoria Riley, Beau and Nora Buckner, Mark and Judith Danes, and Samuel and Leesha Parker attended the dinner. As the doors were thrown open and a butler showed them inside, they stood with open mouths, forgetting manners as they took in the lavish décor. Twin fireplaces lit the room, warming it. Everything was shades of lilac and bluish purple; shadows from the life sized, carved animals flickered along the walls and zebra skin was glossy.

  It was beyond what was expected.

  “It’s far from finished, but you can see the bits we have completed,” Edith said as she swept through the room, tiny figured, in a beaded, rose-colored gown that set her hair blazing.

  “Please be seated. I’ve arranged name tags.”

  Three of the wives almost gasped aloud as they noted that Nora Buckner was seated to John’s left. No one thought ill of him, but there was plenty of gossip each time she hand delivered to him an invitation to a dance or a dinner, always dressed in a slightly shocking wisp of a gown and with her hair down, which was unseemly. Nice women only let their hair down at bedtime with their husbands.

  “You can whisper to my husband,” Edith said.

  “Pardon?” Nora’s face flamed. She looked up in shock.

  “I meant if the rest of us grow boring talking about the house, you can whisper,r and keep him entertained with talks of literature or something? My father was such a fan of all things written and I like books and poetry but John adores it.”

  “Any word of him, Mrs. Kingsborough?” Beau Buckner asked, oblivious to the gossip about his wife.

  “Not a word. Can you imagine? One day he is here on a visit and then it’ as if he vanished. I have no doubt that he is with my mother on some grand adventure, but the two of them are too selfish to let us know,” Edith laughed.

  “We’ll think good things about them. Say, John, have you heard any more about that Youngwood chap?”

  “No I haven’t, Darling,” John told Edith, “Everyone, he was actually one of our suppliers here. No doubt you might have seen him around. He up and left his wife and two children; the entire town has gone on and on about the scandal.”

  “I heard,” Leesha Parker said “What a scoundrel”

  “Better you’re rid of that sort.” Samuel Parker said.

  “I could not agree more, Mr. and Mrs. Parker,” Edith said.

  They ate small shrimp with paper-thin slices of avocado and tiny red peppers that were fully formed but less than an inch long. This was served in small cream colored bowls edged with silver. The attendant poured thin, steaming broth that was slightly scented with blood oranges.

  “Oh, is that a flame at the bottom of the bowl, Mrs. Kingsborough?” Leesha Parker asked. “It smells divine. What amazing little peppers.”

  “Yes. I’m thrilled you noticed. These dishes were created just for us. As you eat, watch how they change. And we grow the teensy peppers right here on the land. Oh, Mrs. Buckner, have you strayed too close to the flames?”

  Nora Buckner jumped and Judith Dane tittered as her bowl was removed as she finished the little soup..

  “Pardon?”

  “I thought I saw a blister on your thumb. Poor thing. It looks painful,” Edith said.

  “Oh. Yes. I did.”

  “A shame our builder is upstate bidding on a slab of pink marble I am determined to have. He is from New Orleans and I have learned so much from his stories of the city. People there, as you know, are from Spain, France, Germany, Africa, and islands far away. With such a grand gathering, you can believe there are all types of unusual ways to heal wounds or to inflict them. Mr. Moreau knows people who can whip up charms to win love or make someone grow warts or much worse. In New Orleans, they know black magic, isn’t that so, John?”

  There was a moment of quiet as everyone thought about that remark.

  “Some claim to. It’s very much a part of the culture there.”

  “That sounds frightening,” Ju
dith Danes said.

  Edith shrugged, “It’s natural. I’ve never been afraid after hearing the stories. Just beware of your hands, Mrs. Buckner.It’s a shame to burn them for touching what you ought to avoid.” She smiled brightly.

  Several of the ladies tittered.

  Edith continued telling them about herbs she had planted in her gardens that Mr. Moreau said were common to New Orleans. She clapped as the staff brought out small plates filled with crab cakes that were lightly drizzled with a lemony sauce and set onto a bed of shredded pears, bean sprouts, and bead-like tomatoes. A remoulade was at the edge for dipping.

  “Oh, there is something emerging from the flames,” Joseph Riley looked into his plate, “My compliments, Mrs. Kingsborough. I think I could eat those first two dishes until I was full to bursting. What an imagination your chef has.”

  “Thank you. He is from New Orleans as well and is…ready? He is a negro man! Every meal is like this and sometime we have negro type food like beans, cornbread, greens, and pork chops, but the way he cooks them…very French and Cajun. He uses okra as well and that’s from Africa originally, I think.”

  The others agreed. The food was unique and beautifully prepared with a slight spiciness or creaminess that was very French. The next course was served in another little bowl and was a soup of mushrooms and beef broth that was topped with pieces of artichoke, crab, and caviar. Judith Danes and Leesha Parker clapped with delight.

  It was almost too pretty to eat.

  “I know people will ask about our dinner, so I hope we are providing well,” John said.

  “It’s a bird, isn’t it?” Victoria Riley peered into her empty bowl, “How simple and refined this is.” She hoped to get Edith alone and find out where she could find a similar cook.

  For the entrée, there was a poached breast of hen with a roulade and sorrel cream sauce with tiny potatoes and sweet,green peas. Mark Danes smiled broadly, as if winning a game. “It’s Phoenix rising from the ashes. Very nicely done. Dining here is a true bit of entertainment.”

  For desert, there were slices of fruit and nuts.

  “Oh, but there is no bird now,” Nora Buckner found her voice. She was disappointed that the plate was of unblemished cream.

  “No, because he flew away,” Edith made flying motions, laughing.

  She had wine with dinner as they all had, but she didn’t seem drunk, and yet, no one could recall her being such a humorous type before. Soon, she was finished with her dinner and eager to show off her house.

  The men walked along, admiring the craftsmanship of the house, stopping to look at a room built without nails and a fireplace a marble so finely set that it seemed a solid piece while still glittering. The women drifted from one bauble to the next, exclaiming, and stroking the fabrics.

  Between the grey room, blue room, and rose room, Edith excused herself for a few minutes and then returned to lead again, laughing as she replaced a candle in the rose room that was not burning well. “Where is Mrs. Buckner?”

  Beau looked around and shrugged, “Nora? Mrs. Buckner, where have you made off to?”

  Eyes darted, but there John stood, next to Edith.

  They backtracked to find her. She wasn’t in the blue room. She wasn’t in the grey room. Curiously, every one began to look for Nora Buckner. In a few minutes, the staff was called to search as john reminded all that the house was immense and could easily cause one to become lost.

  Coffee and tea were poured as people gathered in a sitting room and the search intensified. Beau Buckner became alarmed.

  Edith whispered to the other women, “Gossip is that she was chasing some poor woman’s husband. Maybe fate caught up to her or she caught up to fate?” Her eyes looked innocent.

  Judith Parker fainted.

  Although the search continued for two days, Nora Buckner was never found. Her bereaved husband killed himself a year later with a pistol and bottle of bourbon.

  Chapter Nine:

  Vivian blinked.

  “And what was that story based on?” Virgil asked.

  “Accounts and statements given to the constables at that time. No one thought ill of the Kingsboroughs and the dinner guests gleefully described the furnishings, dinner menu, and events, and it was decided, rather quietly, that Nora Buckner had run away, in shame, because she felt everyone knew of her chasing after John Kingsborough,” Ed Ripley grinned. He was pleased to have found the account in an old book.

  Fairalee handed Vigil a folder that he opened and read, turning the pages this way and that. For a few seconds, he sat back, and then looked at the folder again, frown lines appearing on his forehead. He subconsciously tapped out a piece by Bach as he concentrated.

  Vivian recognized the motions and knew that was the piece he played, mentally, when confronted with something that deeply troubled him. He shook his head several times. “Who researched the vanishings of the Kingsborough children? I would like to hear of those, please.”

  “There isn’t a lot. Most is from newspaper accounts that were heavily censored by the family. What was printed was borderline inflammatory for that time period,” Fin said. “Lydia Kingsborough was seven when she vanished and she was the first of the children to go missing. I cross checked with physician’s reports that were so brittle they fell apart in my hands and would have been destroyed had John and Edith known they existed.”

  Virgil sat forward.

  Josie knocked and brought in a tray of hot tea and cookies. Another staff member brought in a second tray. Josie asked hopefully, “Anything?”

  “I think we’re beginning to get a few clues, Josie. If we are correct, then you may have to change some of your tour information, and take more safety precautions.”

  Josie sighed, “I see. Well, the goal is to protect the public. Sheriff McLendon…is it the house? It isn’t haunted or anything is it?”

  “No. It never was the house, but the people who built it,” Virgil said.

  When Josie left, Fin continued, “Lydia had some sort of mental handicap or illness that showed shortly after birth and grew worse. She was delayed in development. For reasons unknown, she often developed horrible rages and broke things, tore at her hair, and scratched herself until she was bleeding. The physician called it a brain disorder and they tried a special nurse, herbs, medicines, even laudanum, and spirits.”

  “My God, Vivian said, “That’s horrible.”

  The doctor suggested institutionalizing Lydia but Edith and John refused. At some point, Lydia broke several items in one of the rooms and Edith took it hard. The day she vanished, Edith had stepped away with a lack of patience and stress. She was in the blue room, a place normally off limits for the children, but she was allowed there that day and Edith claimed she threw a tantrum to go there to play. The nurse was unsure of events.

  “Anyway, she went missing, there was a search, and that was the end.”

  “Everyone that irritated Edith went missing, didn’t they?” Tina asked, “What a bitch.”

  Virgil chuckled.

  “Michael was next. He was a problem child who skipped school, beat up on other children, refused to obey his parents, and caused issues. The family doctor made notes that Michael was angry. He went missing from the new addition.”

  “And the others?”

  “Henry was five. He and his nurse vanished together. The doctor reported that Henry had a terrible bout of a stomach flu, and his nurse didn’t watch him closely. He soiled a Persian rug that Edith had to toss out. It was later quoted that Edith, being bereft, raised her voice to the nurse and child, and actually came up with a theory that the nurse abducted Henry. Nothing was ever concluded but the public and constables seemed to accept the theory and painted the nurse as a horrible woman.”

  “Another Henry,” Virgil said.

  “It’s a common name,” Vivian reminded him.

  Fin Carter continued, “Right about then, Constance Moreau vanished and there were workmen and townspeople who had disappeared. The beginn
ings of rumors began. Adele was three and stories varied here. A nurse reported that Adele died in her sleep, caught up in her blankets and smothered, and that she went to get the parents. Another staff member swore she saw John Kingsborough with a small bundle of blankets from Adele’s crib, hurrying down a hallway. Edith and John both claimed Adele vanished from her crib, and a maid swore she saw Mr. Moreau near the child’s nursery shortly before the events. In the resulting confusion, no determination was made. There were even rumors that the collies had eaten well that night.”

  “That’s sickening,” Vivian said. She sucked on a lemon from the tea service to quell nausea.

  “I doubt it’s true. Any animals that were doing any killing would have been the parents, Honey. The dogs didn’t harm the child,” Virgil said softly. He knew Vivian had a tender spot for children.

  Jane Donner vanished from the rose room, and by then, the house was secretly called cursed and people had pity for the Kingsboroughs, but avoided them as much as they could. There were a few parties and a few more people vanished.

  John died of a heart attack in 1895, died from a sudden heart attack in the blue room. It was said, he still searched for Lydia, but they found him dead in the room, lying on the floor with the rug pulled back. Edith swore she would build her house to the sky and would keep building to show her love of John. Moreau, obsessed with the project after fifteen years, was more than willing to keep developing intriguing elements.

  “Edith was so hysterical that the doctor noted she had to be sedated several times. You’ve seen John’s grave out on the grounds,” Fin said. “Okay…now…I have no idea why this matters, but you’ll totally get why it fits in with the story perfectly.”

  “It gets worse?”

  “By far,” Fin told Vivian.

  Mary was the youngest girl living. She was sent on a European tour early with several attendants because a local boy that Edith disliked, was trying to court her. She had her father’s height and a ripe figure, unlike her mother’s skinny frame. Her hair was a mixture of colors and turned out pale, strawberry blonde that was almost pink and shot through with darker, brown strands, making for a witch’s mane that men were fascinated with, and that women envied.