A History of Murder

by Lynn Bohart

  Rudy exhaled with annoyance. “I may not have the buddy-buddy relationship with Elliott that you do with all of your many exes, but we’re on good terms. Anyway, so, what’s the big mystery?”

  I smiled. “Follow me.”

  The three of us traipsed across the back drive and entered the bakery. April’s afternoon assistant, Lynette, was busy filling the display case with a new batch of brownies. As we came in, two women passed us on the way out, one balancing a bakery box in her hands. Lynette looked up when the three of us entered.

  “Don’t tell me, it’s the newly formed Old Maids Detective Agency,” she said with a smile.

  “You’ve been talking to April,” I said. “Where is she?”

  “She ran to the store for a few things.”

  “The Old Maids Detective Agency,” Blair repeated. “That’s not a bad idea. After all, we’ve helped solve two murders so far.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Rudy said to Lynette. “It’s like pouring gas on a fire.”

  Rudy had been a career journalist with a pit bull attitude that had helped her get some tough stories. But that personality put her in direct opposition to Blair’s more carefree approach to life, and they often sparred with each other.

  “Where’s the fourth member of your team?” Lynette asked.

  “Doe is flying back from San Diego today from a garbage conference,” Rudy said, picking up a cookie crumb from a sample tray.

  Our friend Doe Kovinsky and her husband had built a major trash and recycling business in the Seattle area. Now that her husband was gone, Doe ran it as the company’s CEO.

  “I wonder what they talk about at a garbage conference,” Blair pondered. “How to keep from smelling like rotting fish when you come home at night?”

  “No, probably more like finding ways to pick up and dump trash faster,” Rudy said. “Today it’s all about productivity.”

  “How boring,” Blair said with a flippant wave of her hand. “All I care is that they pick it up when they’re supposed to. C’mon, let’s go look at this room.”

  We climbed the stairs to the attic. Mr. Piper was just slipping a hammer into his tool belt as we entered the room, while Barry clicked off the shop vac, leaving the air filled with dust.

  The disgusting smell had dissipated somewhat, but I opened one of the attic windows anyway. As a fresh breeze blew in, I sucked in a breath of clean air and turned away from the window. My foot caught under an old chest of drawers, hurling me forward. Mr. Piper was just crossing behind me, and I flew into his arms, throwing him backwards onto an old mattress. I landed right on top of him.

  We lay face to face, frozen in shock. His ribs poked me in my left breast. When I felt something protruding into my groin, I gasped and quickly scrambled to my feet, feeling my face flush.

  He rolled to the side and got up, adjusting his tool belt.

  I realized it was only the hammer and not his…uh, other tool, which had poked me, and I swallowed a sigh of relief. But Blair let out a strangled giggle as she tried to cover her mouth with her hand.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said to him, dusting off my jeans and keeping my eyes focused on the floor. “My foot caught on something.”

  “Uh…no problem. Are you okay?”

  He reached out to touch my shoulder, but I flinched away. “Yes, fine. So, you’re off to that other job?”

  “Yes. I’ll give you a call when we’re done.”

  I glanced at him and then quickly away. “Thanks so much, Mr. Piper. We’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  He nodded, and then he and Barry gathered up their things and left.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, both Rudy and Blair erupted in laughter.

  “I wouldn’t mention that to David,” Blair said through her giggles. “He might…you know, get the wrong idea.”

  “Right,” Rudy said with a snicker. “If that hammer had been what you must have thought it was, it would have been the biggest hard…”

  “I get it!” I snapped, interrupting her. “Let’s move on.”

  They shared a final amused look, took deep breaths and allowed their laughter to fade.

  “Okay,” Rudy said, “let’s see this room.”

  Mr. Piper had brought up work lights, so we flicked those on, and I directed one of the lights to shine into the room. Rudy and Blair stepped inside.

  “How weird,” Blair said. “So you don’t think this room was used just for storage?”

  “It doesn’t look that way to me,” I said, coming in behind her. “I mean, look how it’s set up. The cot is even still made up like a bed.”

  The three of us stood side-by-side, staring at the small cot.

  “And the door was locked?” Rudy asked.

  “Yeah, with a padlock.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Well, I was just wondering if the lock was used to lock someone in, or was added later to just lock the door when the room wasn’t in use anymore.”

  I stared at her. “Lock someone in? As in someone might have been here involuntarily?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Thankfully, Mr. Piper had removed the crib’s mattress. But Blair still wrinkled her nose.

  “It reeks in here,” she said.

  “Rats made a nest out of the mattress and peed everywhere.” I bent over and pulled the small chest away from the wall. “I wonder what’s in here.”

  The old chest had a domed top and was made from dark, worm-eaten wood. Only a hole remained where the old key lock used to be. Rudy came up behind me as I lifted the lid. We both stared into the interior, coughing at the stagnant air that emerged.

  “Huckleberry Finn,” Rudy said, crouching down next to me. She reached in and lifted out the old book.

  “And a baby’s blanket,” I said.

  I pushed that aside and found a small, pewter necklace with a pendant made out of two oval pieces of glass surrounded by a pewter braid trim.

  “Look at this,” I said. The pendant contained a dried yellow flower inside. “I think it’s a marigold.”

  Something brushed past my ear, and my hand flew to my neck as I spun around.

  “What?” Blair said, watching me.

  “I thought one of you touched me.” A shiver ran down my spine at the memory. I glanced down again at the necklace. “I…uh, felt something when I said this was a marigold.” My hand went to my ear again at the lingering sensation. I dropped the necklace back into the chest.

  “There’s an inscription inside this book,” Rudy said, interrupting my train of thought.

  I turned to her. “What is it?”

  “‘To my darling Rose. Love, Father.’ That’s all,” she said with a grunt. “Not very helpful. What’d you say, Julia?” Rudy asked, turning to me.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  Rudy furrowed her brows. “I swear I just heard you say something.”

  “Wait a minute,” Blair said, raising her hand. “Listen.”

  We all stopped. The faint sound of whispering made us look at each other in alarm.

  “Oh my God,” Blair said, her eyes growing round with apprehension. “Can you tell what they’re saying?”

  We all got quiet again, but the whispering faded away.

  “Darn it,” I exclaimed. “But you heard it? Right?”

  “Yes,” Rudy said. “I’ve still got goose bumps. That was creepy.”

  “I wonder if Mr. Piper heard it, too,” Blair said.

  “I doubt it. They were making so much noise up here; they probably wouldn’t have noticed it. But it seems to be gone now,” I said. “Let’s take the box downstairs. I need to get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”

  We took the chest to the inn and put it on some paper towels on the counter.

  “Anyone want some iced tea?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Blair replied. “Thanks.”

  “Me, too,” Rudy said.

  I washed my han
ds and went to the refrigerator where we kept a big beaker filled with iced tea. The girls sat down in front of the paned window that overlooked the back deck and the lake beyond.

  “It’s got to be 75 degrees out, and yet I’m still chilled,” Blair said. She rubbed her hands along her arms as if to warm herself up.

  “I know. April got such a bad headache up there earlier she had to go lie down.”

  “What do you know about the barn?” Rudy asked me.

  “Not much,” I replied. “Just that it’s original to the property. And no one has ever liked going upstairs. There’s a bad feeling in that attic.” I pulled out the small bowl filled with packets of sweetener. “I can’t help but wonder why someone locked that room,” I said, putting the sweetener on the table and going to a bowl filled with fruit. I grabbed a lemon and began to cut it into slices. “I’m telling you, I think someone lived up there. Did you notice the empty cereal boxes? You know, the kind we used to have as kids.”

  “You mean the small ones you’d open by slitting it down the middle?” Rudy asked, getting up to grab three tumbler glasses out of the cupboard.

  “Yeah. The labels had been chewed off, but that’s what they were.”

  “So why would someone live in a closed space like that? And do we think the padlock means that someone was locked in?” Blair pondered out loud.

  “Well, you’ve seen those scary movies where they lock someone up who is mad. I wonder if that was it,” Rudy said.

  I grimaced as I set spoons and a plate with sliced lemon on the table. “Wait a minute, an insane person with a baby? Okay, that’s really a creepy thought.”

  “Isn’t the history of the inn pretty sketchy?” Rudy asked, pushing a glass toward Blair. “I mean, I remember you saying that when you did some research, several people had bought the place and then suddenly left.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it seemed like at least a couple of families moved in and then almost as quickly moved out.”

  “Because of the ghosts,” Blair said.

  I brought a bowl of mixed nuts to the table. “Probably. I think there have been sightings here almost from the beginning. It’s weird, though; I’ve never felt threatened by the ghosts here.” I brought the beaker of iced tea and some ice to the table.

  “But a lot of people aren’t like you,” Rudy said, filling her glass. “Can’t you imagine someone being freaked out by seeing Elizabeth for the first time?”

  “Of course. I was,” I said, pouring my own tea. “Maybe I’m just used to her now.”

  As soon as I said this, a drawer across the room slid open. We all turned to look.

  “Speaking of…” Rudy said.

  We often had to put up with cupboard doors that opened and closed on their own, or cups and saucers that moved. Chloe, who was ten years old when she died, liked to play tricks on people she didn’t like, often putting me in an awkward position.

  “The whole idea of ghosts still freaks me out a little,” Blair said. “The thought that after you die you could be stuck in the same place for eternity is really sad.”

  “I’ll have to admit, I’d want to move on,” I said. “But there’s definitely something about that attic in the carriage barn. April gets a headache every time she goes up there, and like I said, no one wants to stay up there very long. I’ve been waiting to hear if Mr. Piper and his assistant experience anything.”

  “But Mr. Piper hasn’t complained?” Rudy wondered.

  I shrugged. “Not yet.”

  “Maybe someone was murdered up there,” Blair speculated.

  Rudy gave her a scowl. “We don’t need another murder mystery.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “We already have a mystery. Why did someone hide that room? But do you think we could ever solve it? We don’t have much to go on.”

  “If someone was kept up there against their will, I doubt anyone will admit to it,” Blair said, grabbing a handful of nuts.

  “But we could make this one of our projects,” Rudy suggested. “You’ve said several times that you’d like to have a book that traces the history of the inn, and God knows I like to write. So why don’t we write one?”

  My eyes lit up. “I love that idea.”

  Rudy was not only a great writer, but also an avid reader and book collector. The thought that she would help meant that it would be professionally done.

  “We could work with the historical society and get old pictures from when the house was originally built. They might even have information on most of the families that have lived here since then,” Rudy said.

  “But don’t you think we’d have to go all the way back to when the barn was built?” I asked. “After all, the barn predates the inn.”

  “Good point,” Rudy said.

  I turned to Blair. “You up for this?”

  “Absolutely. Instead of reading a book for the book club this time around, we’ll write one!”

  “Does that mean we can stop reading that romance you suggested this month?” I asked.

  Blair gave me a look of reproach.

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I said with a smile.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The three of us met up later that night at the Mercer Island Senior Center to begin a four-week art class in honor of Martha. Richard Welping, a 50-something hunk who was somewhat of a local celebrity for his nude sculptures, taught the class. His sculptures were scattered around the globe in places as far away as Dubai and as close as Mercer Island City Hall.

  The sculpture in City Hall was tame enough that even I could look at it without blushing, but a long-standing war that had simmered for decades between the prim and proper do-gooders in town and the more culturally liberal had almost derailed it. The do-gooders fought to keep it out of such a public place because they thought it inappropriate. The liberals had won, albeit barely. After all, it was the sculpture of a father and his half-dressed wife suckling her new babe. Only one of her breasts was exposed, the other one covered up by the baby.

  And yet, the sculpture had been moved three times in an effort to strike a balance between relegating it to complete obscurity next to the third floor bathroom (the do-gooders’ preferred choice), and finding a location where it would both honor the artist and reduce its exposure (no pun intended). The compromise was the alcove on the ground floor outside the Human Relations Department. How the do-gooders had missed the irony of that choice, I’ll never know.

  Richard Welping lived on the island and volunteered his time to teach one class a year at our senior center. He was single and built like a long-distance runner, with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. I felt sure it was his full lips and bedroom eyes that secured him the starring role in the dreams of most of the older women in Washington State, and maybe some of the younger ones as well. So naturally, I suspected the class would be filled with a bunch of 70-something women drooling over his every word, and not because they’d lost their false teeth.

  The three of us arrived a few minutes early to join a small group of people in a room with metal shelves along one wall stacked with a variety of art supplies. The linoleum floor was stained with paint and embedded with glitter. Wooden easels were stacked in one corner, while five pottery wheels took up the other corner. In the center of the room were six long tables.

  We’d been instructed to bring ten pounds of clay for the class. We each took a seat at one of the tables and saved a seat next to Rudy for Doe, who scooted in a few minutes before class started. She was still dressed in her signature black pants suit and silk blouse. As she dropped her large, black satchel on the floor, I leaned over to say, “You didn’t have time to go home and change?”

  “No. I came straight from the airport,” she said, shaking her head. “So if my stomach growls, it’s because I didn’t have dinner.”

  I rummaged around in the bottom of my purse and brought forth a squished mini-Milky Way Bar. “Here,” I said, reaching across Rudy to hand it to her.

  Doe glanced at the mang
led candy bar in my hand as if I’d just offered her a can of dog food. “I’m good,” she said.

  I retracted my hand, but not before Rudy snatched the small treat and ripped it open. “Thanks. I only had time for a breakfast bar.”

  My mouth dropped open ready to respond, but Rudy popped it into her mouth before I could say a word. A quick intake of breath made me turn to Blair.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said, pointing to the front of the room.

  I followed her gaze and was surprised to see one of the most outspoken do-gooders sit down in the front row next to his wife.

  “What is Milton Snyder doing here?” I asked.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Blair said. “I hope he’s not here to disrupt the class.”

  Blair had been the one to select the class, I suspect because it gave her an opportunity to engage in her favorite sport – flirting. In this case, with Richard Welping. And she had four weeks in which to sharpen her skills. I was sure she thought having Milton Snyder there would only serve to sour the atmosphere.

  “Maybe he’s just dropping his wife off,” Rudy suggested.

  “No. Look. He’s planted himself at a table, and he’s got a bag of clay in front of him. Why would he join this class? He hates Richard Welping,” Blair said.

  “I don’t think he hates Welping,” Rudy countered. “He just hates his artwork.”

  “What’s the difference?” Blair argued. “At least when you’re sitting in his art class?”

  “I bet it was Mabel’s idea,” I said. “She’s a peacemaker by design. She must have talked him into taking the class so he’d have a better understanding of Welping’s art. After all, Milton did lose his battle with the City.”

  “Maybe he’s here to spy on Welping,” Blair said.

  Doe leaned forward to look at Blair with a startled expression. “Why? We’re not going to be sculpting nudes, are we?”

  “No,” she responded. “This is just a general pottery class. The most suggestive thing we’ll probably do is sculpt a flower opening to the sun.” Her pretty face was twisted in a scowl. “So why is Snyder here?”