Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3

by Karin Kaufman

  He started to leave.

  “Please don’t move our folders or stacks on the table,” she said.

  He grinned again. “I won’t touch a thing.”

  “And we’ll remember not to move anything you’ve set aside.” It was a warning as well as a promise. Lawrence would recognize that. She shut the door, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach as she thought of him alone in the library with the contents of the purple folder.

  “What a strange man,” Liz said, arranging herself cross-legged on the bed.

  “Forget Lawrence. Can I help with your post?” Anna asked.

  “Thanks, but I know exactly what I want to write. You go ahead with that.” She tipped her head at the conclave photo resting on the bed.

  Liz began to type, at first hesitantly, then rapidly. Anna smiled. Oh yes, Liz knew what she wanted to write.

  Leaning against the headboard, Anna picked up the conclave photo and again examined the face of Alice Ryder. The woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties, which meant she’d been born in the mid-1940s. That was a place to start, at least, and web articles on Matthew and his gang might have more information on her.

  Half an hour later, Liz had finished her article, posted it, and was happily snacking on another sandwich. And Anna had discovered very little about Alice Ryder.

  “Can I read your article?” Anna asked.

  “You will.” Liz smiled contentedly. “Back to business first. What did you find out about Alice Ryder?”

  Anna knew that smile. The Elk News Herald was in deep trouble. She tore a sheet of paper from her small scratchpad and read from it. “Alice was born on October 12, 1945, in North Royalton, Ohio. I got that from a web article. The same article said she wasn’t a student like some of the others at the conclave. She worked as an office assistant after high school, and in 1967 she left Ohio and came to Colorado. She met Matthew Birch at a concert in Nederland in 1969.” She folded the paper and laid it on her laptop.

  “Nothing else?”

  “I can’t find any marriage record for her in Ohio or Colorado, and no death record in either state. Of course, we don’t know where she lives now.”

  Liz shut her laptop and took a closer look at the photo. “Are you thinking she’s connected somehow to what’s going on in this house? It could be a coincidence that she’s wearing an orange top. Though those letters are a psychedelic yellow if ever I’ve seen psychedelic yellow.”

  “Oh, cripes.” Anna lunged for her purse, pulling it wide, upending it, and dumping its contents on the bedspread. “There!” She lifted one yellow envelope, dropped it near Jackson, then stared at what remained, willing a second yellow envelope to materialize. “I left one of the letters in the library. They were on the chair with my purse. I thought I had them both.”

  “Which one’s in the library?”

  Anna slipped the letter from its envelope and opened it. “The story about the man asking a woman to write ‘Come to me tonight.’”

  Liz laid what was left of her sandwich on her laptop. “It was in your purse. I took it out so I could look up the words on my laptop and see if it was from a published story. It’s not something we want Lawrence to stick his nose into, is it?”

  “And that’s probably what he’s doing right now.” Anna took hold of the flashlight, raced out the door, and headed for the stairs, Jackson beside her and Liz a step behind.

  At the top of the staircase, Anna halted. Voices were coming from below, from the sitting room or library. She switched off the flashlight and crept down several steps, her eyes fixed on the doorway to the sitting room, straining to hear what was being said.

  “Do they know you’re in here?”

  A man’s voice. Anna took two more steps down the staircase with Liz at her side. She motioned for Jackson to sit.

  “Again, what business is it of yours?”

  “That’s Lawrence,” Liz whispered. “Who’s he talking to?”

  Anna shook her head.

  “It’s my business because I say it is. I don’t owe you an explanation. And again”—he emphasized the word, filling it to the brim with derision—“do they know you’re in here?”

  Mitch. Anna looked at Liz and mouthed his name.

  “Yes, they know, because I told them. Now get out and let me work.”

  “And how is that your work?”

  There was a thud—the sound of something heavy falling to the library’s wooden floor.

  “We’re at a cusp in our discussion, Mr. DeBoer. As there’s no way to arrive at a consensus within our community of two, I suggest you leave.”

  Anna heard a snorting sound, loud and protracted, as if one of the men were trying to dislodge an object from his nose by blowing it out.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Cusp? Community of two?” The snorting became a full-throated laugh.

  Anna covered her mouth with her free hand and Liz bit her lip to keep from laughing along with him.

  “You’re going to wake the house!” Lawrence said, his voice seething with anger.

  “I have no problem with that, Karlson. I’m not the one prying into things that don’t concern him.”

  Anna glanced at Liz. Could Mitch mean the letter? Everything else in the library could be said to concern Lawrence in some way.

  “DeBoer, you’re symptomatic of the dearth of education in this country.”

  Mitch roared with laughter. As they heard him come closer, still howling, Anna and Liz stood erect on the stairs. Catching sight of them as he moved for the front door, Mitch tensed, his face puckering in anger—more upset at being caught talking to Lawrence than at seeing them on the stairs, it seemed to Anna.

  “What are you two doing?”

  “I left something in the library.” Anna waved the flashlight Bee had given her as though it were a passport to every dark corner of Sparrow House.

  “Well, you’d better get to it before he starts combing through it.” He jabbed a thumb toward the library and, yanking open the front door, snarled at Anna, “And keep your dog out of the woods behind the garden. It’s dangerous this time of year.” He tugged hard on the knob before the door shut and clicked behind him.

  Anna and Liz jogged quickly down the staircase, and Jackson, who seemed to know where they intended to go, trotted ahead of them across the entryway and toward the library.

  “What the . . . ?”

  The professor was staring down at Jackson, holding aloft the yellow envelope, when Anna and Liz entered. His hand flew behind his back—a reflex only, as he was looking directly at Anna when she saw the envelope. He knew he’d been caught.

  She took two more steps until she stood directly in front of him. He wasn’t any taller than her five feet and ten inches, maybe a sliver shorter. “That’s mine,” she said, holding out her right hand.

  He gave her an oily half-grin and relinquished the envelope. “I thought it belonged to the Birches. There’s no name on it.”

  Anna flipped the envelope to its address side and held it inches from his face.

  “I see.” He massaged his nose with his thumb and forefinger then stroked his beard. “I wasn’t looking at the envelope. I meant the contents.”

  “Really? Because my name is on the letter too.”

  Lawrence scowled. “The hell it is.”

  Anna heard Liz snicker. The professor had been caught again.

  Lawrence fumed. “Can I finish my work without further interruption? Hell, it’s past two o’clock in the morning.”

  Anna sidestepped her way around him to the table and slipped the purple folder from under a stack of ledger books. It was going upstairs with her. Lawrence wasn’t going to get his sticky hands on it. Satisfied that nothing else was of interest to the professor, she called Jackson to her side and exited the library. If she found out that man had touched any of the papers she and Liz were working on, Paxton and Nilla would hear about it first thing tomorrow.

  Jackson scampered up the stairs and
waited patiently for Anna to reach the top, his tail wagging in delight at the night’s excitement. Anna could hear Liz behind her, laughing and mimicking Lawrence’s voice, saying, “I meant the contents.”

  At the top of the steps Anna flicked on the flashlight and turned to her left. Jackson growled and Anna froze. She gazed along the beam of light, straining to make out shapes that didn’t belong, but saw nothing. She angled the flashlight toward the attic door. Closed as it should be. “Jackson, boy, what is it?”

  “What does he see?” Liz asked, sliding alongside Anna and staring down the long hallway.

  Anna aimed the beam at the wall between the bedroom doors. She gasped and gripped Liz’s arm. “The ink drawing!”

  “My God, Anna, we’ve only been gone a few minutes.”

  On the wall, in place of the drawing of the fat man, was a painting in a simple wood frame.

  Anna looked down at Jackson. His hackles had lowered and he was no longer growling, but he was alert, his ears and tail rigid. She trained the beam of light at the center of the painting as she walked slowly toward it. Its muddy color palette ranged from browns to purples. No yellow or orange here. She stepped to within two feet of the painting and aimed the flashlight at the ceiling, bouncing the light evenly over the wall.

  She reared back. Faceless, hulking figures the color of dung, with misshapen backs and tiny heads, were crossing a narrow footbridge in single file while a crowd of figures gathered at one end of the bridge tried to claw their way onto the railing and join the other figures. Their weight threatened to overturn the bridge and send them all to the churning water below.

  “What’s wrong with the people in this house?” Liz whispered.

  “In my bedroom,” Anna said, giving Liz’s sleeve a pull then clicking her tongue at Jackson.

  Liz shut the door behind her and leaned against it. “I’m not sleeping in the blueberry room tonight. Not unless I get Jackson.”

  Anna rested the flashlight on the dresser and threw the folder and envelope on the bed. When had the black ink drawing disappeared? It couldn’t have been while she and Liz were confronting Lawrence in the library. It had to have been earlier. She turned to face Liz. “When we left the room a minute ago, did you notice if that new painting was there?”

  “I didn’t look.” Heaving a sigh, she dropped to the bed. “Is it all right with you if I stay here tonight?”

  “Sure. Do you want to get your suitcase?”

  “I don’t need anything. I’m not going to change into my pj’s in case I have to make a run for it.”

  Anna smiled ruefully. She went to the south-facing window, flung aside the drapes, and searched the garden below. She was certain Lawrence had read the yellow letter and decided to keep it for some reason. A normal person—if a normal person read other people’s mail—would leave the letter in the library for its owner. Especially such a letter as this, which would be meaningless to anyone else. But Lawrence had wanted it. It meant something to him.

  “Anything out there? A woman with one earring?”

  “Nothing.” Anna jabbed a finger at the door. “That ink drawing must have moved while you were writing your article. Who’s on this floor besides Lawrence?”

  “There’s not supposed to be anyone else up here according to Bee.”

  Anna marched to the door, yanked it open, and stood between her room and Liz’s. Staring intently at the floorboards, she slowly walked back and forth in front of the painting.

  Puzzled, Liz leaned on the doorjamb, looking down at the floor as Anna paced. “What are you doing?”

  Continuing to walk, Anna tilted her head to one side, listening. “Not a single creak,” she said as she came to a stop. “The whole middle part of the hall creaks, about ten feet from the staircase to a few feet from the painting.” She returned to the Forsythia Room and shut the door. “We wouldn’t have heard a thing if someone had been out here an hour ago. Not unless the floor creaked right outside our door. We were too wrapped up in what we were doing.” Tucking a leg beneath her, she sank down onto the bed next to Jackson, exhaustion at last winning out over curiosity.

  “You look beat,” Liz said.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s past two o’clock in the morning,” Liz said, imitating Lawrence again.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot.” Further research into Alice Ryder would have to wait for morning.

  At least she and Liz had completed the Birch genealogy going back five generations, including Paxton’s first uncles and aunts—as well as a half-aunt and her family. It wasn’t what Paxton wanted most, but in her hunt for evidence of a haunted house, she’d come across the remaining names in the Birch tree and filled in the blanks. She had to have something to show him when her time at Sparrow House was up.

  Liz dropped into the armchair with a sigh. “I wish we had some wine. I wonder if there’s any in the kitchen. Do you think—”

  Anna stopped her with one look.

  “No, you’re right.” Liz pressed toe to heel, pried off her shoes, then pushed them against the side of the dresser with her stocking feet.

  Hearing a scraping sound from above, Anna scowled at the ceiling. “That attic door was closed when we came up the stairs—both times.”

  Liz gazed upward, her fingers tight on the arms of her chair. “Someone’s up there. I mean, someone’s living up there.”

  “I don’t think so.” Anna spoke with certainty, but she was far less certain than she was willing to admit. How was it they had never seen anyone go in or out of the attic door? Just a moment ago she’d entered the hall, without warning to anyone who might be there, and just before that she and Liz had walked down and up the hall on their way to the library—all after two in the morning. They’d seen no one. They never had seen anyone near that door. Then who—or what—was making the noises?

  14

  “Was Nilla upset when you told her we were having breakfast in town?” Liz asked.

  “I think she understood we needed to get out for a while.”

  “Especially after last night.”

  “I didn’t mention that. She was barely awake when we talked.”

  Halfway between the house and Aspen Road, where the gravel on the driveway became sparser, Anna struggled to keep the Jimmy moving forward as the tires lost traction every few feet then dug into the mud, a dance of alternating skids and clutches.

  “It’s like driving on oatmeal,” Anna said.

  “Are you in four-wheel drive?” Liz asked.

  “Yup.” Anna accelerated, hoping the added speed would prevent the wheels from sinking hopelessly into the mud. “They need more gravel at this end of the drive.”

  “From what we’ve seen of the house, I don’t think the Birches can afford it.”

  “Neither do I.” Anna eyed the rearview mirror. Sparrow House had disappeared from view, and on his blanket in the back seat, Jackson kept watch out the side window, adding nose smudges to those already present.

  “I wonder why Nilla and Paxton didn’t wake up last night,” Liz said.

  “They should have heard Mitch and Lawrence in the library.”

  “Maybe they did and figured Mitch could handle it.”

  Anna made a right onto Aspen and headed south into Elk Park. “I put the purple folder in my purse,” she said, looking over at Liz, who was fiddling with the release bar on her seat. “If I left it in the house, Lawrence would find it.”

  “He’s probably looking for it now. Got the yellow envelopes?”

  “Yes, those too. Sure you don’t need to stop at home?”

  “All I want to do is eat.” She gave the bar a firm upward tug and the seat back dropped six inches. She groaned blissfully and leaned back. “Have you got eggs at your house?”

  “I’m making us eggs, fruit, and toast,” Anna said.

  Liz let a faint “Yay” escape her lips.

  “I’m also going to take a quick shower so I don’t have to take another one at Sparrow House. I’m tire
d of peeling back the shower curtain every ten seconds checking for a wig-wearing lunatic wielding a butcher knife.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m not doing that again. And I’m going to do some quick research on Alice Ryder before we drive back.”

  “Huh.”

  Anna glanced at Liz. Her head bobbing with the motion of the car, she was quickly falling asleep.

  Twenty-five minutes later Anna pulled into her garage. Her first thought was to run inside and call Gene, but she resisted the urge. She needed her privacy, and Liz would only ask questions. Besides, Gene had been anything but talkative last night. As soon as she mentioned his long hours, he’d clammed up. She desperately wanted to know what was bothering him, but Gene couldn’t be pushed into telling her. He’d tell her when he was ready. Maybe late tonight, when she called him at home in Loveland, he’d open up.

  “Wake up,” Anna said, unhooking her seatbelt.

  “No. Not going to.”

  Anna slid down from her seat and let Jackson out the back door. He barked once, happy to be home, and ran for the inside door as Anna hit the remote and closed the garage door. “Grab your laptop, Liz. I’m going to be on my office computer later.”

  Anna dropped her purse and keys to the counter and looked across the open kitchen into the living room. It felt good to be home, if only for an hour. There was a reason she worked from home and not an office, and it was this. This feeling. How would she ever leave this place, even if Gene asked her to?

  She was getting way ahead of herself. If Gene sold his house in Loveland, he would be looking for his own house in Elk Park, not a house for the two of them. They hadn’t talked of marriage or even of what the future held for them. For all she knew, it held nothing.

  “I’ll make coffee first,” Liz said, resting her laptop on the kitchen island and wheeling back to the cabinets. “I need some serious boiler stoking.”

  Anna let Jackson into the back yard through the sliding glass door in the living room then focused her attention on making breakfast. It wouldn’t do to think of Gene right now. She tended to become still as concrete when she did, putting on her “thinking ’bout Gene face,” as Liz humorously—and sometimes annoyingly—called it, and she and Liz had to be back in the Jimmy and on their way to Sparrow House in an hour. Both of them were still on the clock.