The man wavered on his feet again and Greg had to steady him some more. “Well of course I’m sure,” he said a bit testily, “I have known those two girls since they were this big.” He held out his hand to indicate what he meant.
“So, you’ve known them their whole life,” said Jackie, intrigued.
“Yes, I’m an old family friend.”
“But I thought Alice had died,” said Greg.
“Well, that’s the mystery isn’t it?” The man took another swig of his drink spilling most of it down his shirt. “Oh, bother. I’ll have to wash this again.”
“Uh, Alice?” I urged him.
“Oh, yes, Alice. Well, she is dead, which is why it’s fitting that I should see her ghost tonight. Though tonight she seemed rather solid.”
“How can you tell it’s her?” asked Jackie. “She and Mrs. Hamilton are twins.”
“And identical in every way,” said the man, “except for one. Alice has a little mole right here on the bottom of her chin.” He pointed his index finger at the spot. “It’s not very big, but it’s there. Most people wouldn’t even notice it if they didn’t know about it.”
“Where did you see her?” asked Jackie.
“Why, she was sneaking upstairs,” replied the man, “Strange really.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Greg.
“Because she was most definitely sneaking upstairs. Preposterous though! Why would a ghost need to sneak around? Not like anyone’s going to see them, much less be able to stop them.”
“Why do you think she came back here?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.
“Well, she grew up here—in this house!”
“Yes, but you said that she was trying to get upstairs without anyone noticing her,” I said, “Could she be searching for something?”
“There is this rumor of a will—money, yes, money hidden in this house.”
“Money?” said Greg.
“Oh, yes—” he took another drink, “—most just think it’s a will that their father left them. But I know different. Harold Smythe was executer of that will and he took the money mentioned in it.”
Took? The others I had talked too only had vague rumors to give and none of them mentioned Harold Smythe actually taking the money that the father had left the two women. “But why stash it in the house?” I asked.
“Unknown to most people,” said the man, “Harold took the will out of the safety deposit box he kept it in. He then took it to the bank where their father had kept the inheritance and took that. As custodian and trustee he was able to do this.”
“So why keep it here?” I asked again.
“What more perfect place to keep it?” said the man. “This house is old. It has so many hidden rooms and passages that you can hide anything here and no one would know.”
“But didn’t Mrs. Hamilton sever ties with him?” asked Greg.
“She did, but that wouldn’t stop someone like Harold from breaking in to get the money. Besides, for appearances sake she could never banish him from the grounds. Why do you think he was invited to this party in the first place?”
“So why would Alice need the money if she’s dead?” asked Jackie.
“You’ll have to ask Alice. Funny thing though.”
“What?” I asked.
“She was dressed in the same costume as her sister,” replied the man. “Oh, Benson!” He turned and walked away from us clearly no longer interested in our conversation and decided to bother someone else.
“Alice is here?” asked Jackie, “Alive?”
“It would seem so,” I said, “That explains why Mrs. Hamilton knew nothing about the water or about being upstairs. It was Alice we found upstairs.”
“But I thought she had died,” said Jackie.
“Maybe she faked her death,” said Greg.
“Why?” said Jackie.
“If you had a record you wanted to run from, wouldn’t you?” answered Greg.
“That makes sense,” I said.
“Mel, do you think Alice faked her death and then years later decided to come back for revenge and the money?” Jackie grabbed my arm in her excitement.
“It’s possible,” I replied, “but something doesn’t add up.”
“What?” asked Jackie.
“The man we saw earlier tonight,” I replied.
“He’s her accomplice,” said Greg.
“Perhaps, but there is still something missing,” I thought out loud, “Committing murder is a poor way to sneak away with a pile of money. Don’t you think she would have killed him after she found out where Harold Smythe kept it?”
I glanced around the party area. Many of the guests became more irritated and annoyed at the prolonged police investigation. They wanted to leave now. Time was running out for me to solve this before Alice and her accomplice disappeared forever.
“I need to get back upstairs,” I said.
“Alone?” asked Jackie.
“I can move faster alone,” I replied. “You and Greg cause a distraction so the cops don’t see me.”
“Mel,” said Jackie, “what if Alice tries to kill you.”
“I don’t think she will,” I replied. “Please.”
“All right,” said Jackie, taking Greg’s arm, “but you be careful.”
She and Greg meandered over to where a couple of police officers stood patrol. They split up. Jackie walked past the cops from one direction while Greg approached from the other and they bumped into each other. Jackie shuffled back flailing her arms and knocking over some figurines. The series of crashes drew everyone’s attention.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Jackie.
“No, it’s my fault,” came Greg’s voice.
I inched my way to the stairs. Keeping my eyes peeled for anyone watching me, I placed my left foot on the first step. I walked backwards up the first few. Quickly, I turned and ran the rest of the way disappearing down the hall and around a corner. Slowing down, I listened for Alice.
Silence ensued. I knew she wouldn’t be making a lot of noise. I crept down the carpeted hallway past mirrors, paintings, and tables with decorative items on them. I knew she had already checked the library and there was nothing in the home gymnasium. I checked the handle to a door. Open. Cautiously, I peeked into the room, but it was empty.
Not knowing where Alice would have begun, I tested another door. Instantly, the room seemed different from the others. I slipped inside. Poking around, I noticed many items that belonged in a teenager’s room than a guest room. Posters of seventies rock bands lined the ceiling and walls. I checked the vanity mirror. Pictures of hot and sexy men lined one side of the mirror. Some of them looked familiar, but I was used to seeing them with older faces. I checked the date on one picture: 1977. No wonder. Many of these guys were forty years older.
My fingers brushed something. It was a jewelry box. I opened the lid hoping that it wasn’t one of those that played music. Thankfully, it wasn’t. On the inside was the name Alice. Of course! This was her room when she was a teenager. Mrs. Hamilton must have decided to keep it as it was when Alice last stayed here. I had to admit that everything was perfectly preserved. Left untouched. My mind imagined Alice as a teenager wearing bell bottoms and a colorful shirt, her hair in long braids walking out the door for the last time.
My heart ached for Mrs. Hamilton. She must have really missed her sister. I wondered how many times she came in here to relive memories or think about how things could have been different. I remarked at the lack of dust in the room. Evidently, someone came in here and cleaned it regularly. The bouncy bed was scrunched against the wall with a white quilt and throw pillows.
I noticed something out the window. Carefully, I opened the curtain wide enough to look through the glass. The man that Greg, Jackie, and I had run into earlier stood outside staring at the upper floor. Immediately, I shrank back afraid that he might have seen me. I peeked outside. His head had turned some. He must have been scanning the windows, but he o
bviously knew Alice was on the second floor. Who was he and how did Alice know him?
I heard something outside the door. Taking care to not make a sound, I opened it. No one. I went out into the hall shutting the bedroom door quietly. I heard the shuffling noises again. I followed them. Turning a corner into a little nook, I found Alice. I stayed in the shadows.
She rifled through the grandfather clock. A part of me was amazed that she didn’t make much noise. I probably would have attracted the whole police department and every guest in the house.
My phone rang. Hastily, I silenced it and backed away out of sight just as Alice whirled around. She walked to the end of the dormer. I hunkered behind a giant vase. I watched as she scanned the hallway looking for the source of the noise. Satisfied that she seemed to be alone, she turned and walked further down the hall disappearing into another room.
Curse it! Why didn’t I ever remember to put my phone on vibrate? I checked the caller ID. It was Jack who had tried calling—a rare event indeed. Knowing it had to be important, I called him back.
“Jack?”
“Mel, why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“No time to explain,” I said, “What do you need?”
“I remembered you saying that a dart of some kind was used to kill Mr. Smythe.”
“Yeah, it seemed to be one of those African tribal darts.”
“Well, in Africa, there were tribal natives who used poison darts to kill their enemies. Most of them have been westernized now, but some still keep their traditions alive. Anyway, anyone well-versed in poison and poison darts could use one to commit murder.”
“Yeah?” I wished he’d get to the point.
“Well, I found this file on a man named Miles Dawson,” said Jack. “Mostly minor stuff, but he was arrested for armed robbery. I wouldn’t put it past him to commit murder.”
“What does this have to do with Harold Smythe?” I asked, growing impatient.
“He grew up in South America, Peru actually. There are still a few native tribes there in the jungles of Peru that have managed to maintain their traditions. One of which is the knowledge of poison darts.”
“So you think this Miles is the guy I saw up here earlier?”
“Possible.”
“And he could have killed Mr. Smythe?”
“It’s possible.”
“Does your file say if he was trained in the use of this weapon?” I asked.
“No, but anyone who spends time in South America knows about a little frog that lives in the Amazon jungle. Those frogs are brightly colored, but deadly—very poisonous. If a person ingests the venom that forms on their bodies they will suffer severe abdominal pain and in some cases death.
“When the Spanish Conquistadors came through South America, many of the natives there used darts, soaked in the poison from the frogs, to kill them. In this form the poison is more highly concentrated making it more lethal. You could rub the blade of a knife on one of these frogs and then stab someone with it and they would die from the poison.”
“So someone could have used the venom from these frogs and put it on the tip of this African dart and then shot Mr. Smythe with it,” I said.
“Yep,” replied Jack, “It’d have the same effect. Instant death. He never would have known what hit him.”
“Does Detective Shorts know this, yet?” I asked.
“Probably not. He won’t know until the morning. The dart hasn’t even been analyzed yet and the toxin screens from the body aren’t even back.”
“Thanks, Jack,” I said. “You’re a life saver.”
“Yeah, well the only reason why I’m doing this is because your friends never left.”
Figures. I told Tiny it was okay to leave Jack alone and he decided to just move in and throw a party. Oh well. At least in this case, it proved helpful.
“Well, have some ribs on me,” I said and hung up. This time, I made certain to silence my phone.
Chapter 7
I trailed after Alice hoping she hadn’t had a chance to completely disappear while I talked to Jack. I checked the door she had gone through.
“Hey!”
I jumped nearly crashing into the door and alerting everyone to my presence up here. “Rachel,” I hissed, “don’t do that. You scared the daylights out of me.”
She laughed. I really hoped Alice hadn’t heard her. “You should have seen your face! You were like—” she made a rendition of what I apparently looked like, “—and then you were like—” she made another “copy” of my actions, “—it was hilarious!”
She had such great timing sometimes.
“What are you doing anyway?” Rachel asked. “And where are Greg and Jackie?”
“Downstairs,” I replied. “I’m trying to spy on Alice.”
“Well you’re doing a terrible job. Making all this noise.”
“Most of the noise is coming from you.”
“Oh. Wait! Alice is alive?”
“Yes,” I said, annoyed, “If you hadn’t disappeared you would have figured that out at the same time the rest of us did.”
“So you’re trying to spy on her?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“Well, you’re doing it all wrong,” said Rachel. “Just walk through the door like this.”
She strolled through the door with ease. I groaned. Sometimes Rachel liked to point out how she could almost do anything she wanted, while I was still subject to the laws of physics. I slowly turned the doorknob and went inside. There was no sign of Alice. Rachel busied herself with rifling through the items on the shelves, tossing them all over the place.
“Rachel,” I hissed, “we’re not supposed to ransack the place.”
“Well, how are we to find what we’re looking for?” she asked, as though her reasons should have been obvious.
“People are going to notice that this place has been ransacked,” I said, “What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Tell them a ghost did it,” Rachel flung a pile of papers around.
Well that wouldn’t be far from the truth considering that a ghost was currently making the mess. However, I knew that I would be blamed. “Find anything?” I asked.
“Nope,” said Rachel as she looked through more stuff.
“What exactly are you looking for?” I asked.
“Anything that will give us a clue.”
“Well, have you seen Alice?”
Rachel turned and looked at me with a blank expression. She had forgotten who we were following.
“You know, Alice? The dead twin that is back from the dead. The one I was trying to follow.”
“Uh, she’s not here.”
No kidding. “Well, I can see that. Did you see where she went?”
“Oh, out the window,” Rachel pointed to the partially open window that I had failed to notice.
I ran to it. I thought I saw someone running across the lawn, but in the darkness I couldn’t be certain. Lightning flashed in the distance followed by a soft roll of thunder. It looked as though we were going to get a storm after all.
“It was a dark and stormy night,” said Rachel in a raspy voice.
“Will you stop?” I said.
“What”
“We don’t need the narrative.”
“I was just having a little fun. Oh, look! Skittles!” Rachel dove for the candy jar on the mahogany desk. I sometimes wondered if she was developing the ghost version of ADHD.
“Will you concentrate on the matter at hand?”
Rachel paid no attention to me. She popped the lid off of the jar and shoved her hand into the colorful rainbow of skittles rattling them around. I watched as she tried to eat one. It fell to the carpet.
“So you were able to drink champagne, but you can’t eat a skittle?” I said as I studied the trellis on the side of the house. Alice must have used this to climb down.
“You know life would be really boring if everything had a logical explanation,” said Rachel waving
her hand and sending skittles all over the place. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to find a way down,” I said. I fiddled with the trellis. It seemed sturdy enough. Anyway, if Alice was able to use it, I was certain I could without too much trouble.
“Well, getting down is the easy part,” said Rachel, putting the jar of skittles down. “You just do this.”
I got a sudden chill as Rachel dove out the window going straight through me.
“Cowabunga!” she screamed.
I watched as she landed gracefully on the grass. Show off.
“Come on slow poke,” said Rachel.
“I can’t just defy gravity,” I yelled at her.
“Well we’re losing them!”
“Them?”
“Yeah, some guy walked out of the trees and followed her.”
Knowing I would regret this at some point, I hung onto the windowsill as I crawled onto the trellis. My foot crushed some leaves of the grapevine that snaked its way up the exterior wall of the house. Suddenly I wished I was not wearing a Greek goddess costume. As the wind whipped my slitted skirt around revealing everything underneath, I found myself glad that I had worn boy shorts. Though at the moment I didn’t feel so confident that I wasn’t flashing the world my behind.
Sweat formed on my neck and face as I slowly climbed down. The trellis creaked with each movement I made. Please hold, I thought to myself. The last thing I wanted was for the stupid thing to give way and send me tumbling to the ground. Good luck explaining that to Detective Shorts.
“Whoa, Mel!” shouted Rachel from below. “Nice undies!”
“Shut up!”
“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look dressed up like that and hanging onto the side of the house?”
Rachel wore a huge grin on her face. I knew she was only kidding around, but sometimes I just wanted to kill her. Though since she was a ghost that would be a bit difficult to do.
“I bet Greg thinks you’re hot!” She giggled and danced around below me.
“You know, I’m trying to concentrate here.” I checked my footing as I carefully placed my hand on a rung of the trellis. Something cracked. This wasn’t good.
“Come on, Mel,” shouted Rachel, “We’re burning moonlight here!”
Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 08 - Trick Or Treat Or Murder Page 5
