What did that mean? I thumbed through the pages. There wasn’t another word in the diary. Did one of the Evertons commit suicide?
“Are these items from the storage unit or the Everton attic?” I patted the box.
“The bags are from the attic and the boxes from the unit,” Wyatt said. “Though a few items might’ve gotten mixed up. One of the bags ripped so I just put the things into the boxes.”
Was this one of the books?
“Is something wrong? You look weirded out.”
“I found a diary and the only thing written in it is, ‘Life is now gone from me.’”
“That’s odd.”
No kidding. The diary in the box that was left at Scrap This was similar. Maybe that book held a key to this one. I went to the closet and took the other diary from my purse. I held up the other one. “Maybe I’ll find out something in here about who this book might belong to.”
“It could be they were writing a story,” Wyatt said, voice monotone and straining. It was the tone I remembered from school when it was Wyatt’s turn to read aloud. He always hated reading. I loved it. I preferred it to reciting times tables. I loved stories. Fiction being my favorite.
The diary was locked. “You wouldn’t know how to pick a lock?”
“Sure do.” Wyatt raised a hand up, waiting for me to hand him the book.
I didn’t ask for an explanation and gave it to him. There were some things I was perfectly okay with not knowing, and how and why Wyatt knew about lock picking was one of them.
Wyatt took a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and tugged out one of the components. He tinkered with the lock for a few moments then held it out to me. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” With shaking hands, I removed the small lock and unlatched the hinge.
In an elegant handwriting were the words: Diary of Esther Everton. The handwriting was similar to the one in the other book. My heart raced. The first born of the Everton girls. I put the diary down, going over to the dining room table to grab two pairs of white gloves. I tossed one to Wyatt. “Put those on if you’re going to touch the blueprint. We don’t want to damage it.”
“You touched it first.”
He was right. “I should’ve put the gloves on first to protect it from oil from my fingertips damaging it. This diary was written by Esther.”
“Esther who?”
I swallowed my biting remark. Wyatt had been teased enough about his intelligence while growing up. It wasn’t nice then, and it wouldn’t be nice for me to do it now. He was a nice guy. Helpful. He deserved my respect. “Everton. She was the eldest daughter.”
“Does she say anything about a door in the basement pantry area?”
“What?” I bent over Wyatt, staring at the place he tapped on the drawing.
“Right here. I think this is a secret door.”
“Are you kidding me?” Excitement shot through me. I dropped to my knees, getting a better look at the lines on the plan. I couldn’t make anything out of it. It was like handing me an algebra equation, it didn’t make sense to my mind. I like my numbers and letters separate unless the numbers started a list.
“Nope.” He ran his finger underneath a mark that was barely darker than the rest of the drawn wall. “This indicates a door, and I didn’t see one down there. It must be hidden.”
“Where does it lead to?”
Wyatt turned his head slowly, settling a scathing look on me. “Did you listen to what I said? I didn’t know there was a door there, so I wouldn’t know where it goes. And this is a blueprint for the house, not the property.”
Touché. “Maybe one of the other documents is a map.”
“I’ll look while you read the diary. See if Esther wrote about it.”
I crisscrossed my legs and opened the diary, scanning the entries that started on January 1 for any mention of a secret door or some detail that might hint at it. There was no clue until I reached May 17.
Mabel snuck out again, the entry started.
Father is furious. He doesn’t know how she has been able to leave the house. He had her windows nailed shut, and one of ground keepers guarded her room all night. He swore to Father she had never left.
While I can hide my amusement, Laura’s giggles cause Father to rage. For it is the sweet sister, the kind sister, the daughter Mother and Father always spoke of never having caused them a moment of ire that is now creating tension and constant frowning in our household. Mabel is making up for all her time at feigning goodness with total deceit. I am amused by her behavior but also troubled. Not because I do not know how and why she slips out of her room, but the reason she does so is likely for a thief. Not good enough for her but Mabel will not listen. She is besotted.
She must be more careful, for if Father finds the secret that was once just mine, it will not just be Mabel’s freedom at stake but mine as well. And my beloved Clifford’s life.
Father does not take betrayal well.
The writing faded away, some of it smeared on the page it pressed against, as if she stopped suddenly and hid the diary. Clifford Montgomery? The man who helped build the Everton mansion and was at least thirty years Esther’s senior—and married?
I showed Wyatt the passage.
“A.C. Montgomery designed the blueprint. I’m guessing Clifford added in a secret exit so his lover could sneak out to meet him.”
“This was why Edward thinks Georgia is related to the Evertons. They think her branch of the family was created from an illicit love affair.”
“Just because she was in love with him, doesn’t mean they had a baby.”
“It would explain why the diary was found in a trunk that was passed down to Georgia.” Or one of the reasons. Ruthann said the diary had been stolen from the attic. But what if the second diary, the one barely written in, had come from the attic and Esther’s had been in the heirloom trunk Georgia inherited. The handwriting did look similar, but that didn’t mean the same person wrote it.
I leaned over and looked at the map. “Rudolph Everton designed his house and built it with the help of his family. How could Clifford add in a secret door without Rudolph knowing about it?
“These might not be the original plans for the house,” Wyatt said. “Rudolph Everton might have added the basement cellar and pantry area later or expanded it as he brought in more help. He probably had to store more rations for his family and anyone he employed who lived in the house.”
It was strange for Wyatt to be making sense. “We now have three men’s pasts to untangle. Clifford Montgomery, Donald Lucas, and your dad.” Researching Clifford’s past could help me prove Georgia’s lineage to the Evertons.
“Why Clifford? I’m sure he had nothing to do with the bones,” Wyatt said.
“We don’t know how old the bones are,” I said. “They might be his. It’s possible Rudolph found out about him and Esther and did away with the guy. What if that’s what the entry in the unnamed diary meant. ‘Life is now gone from me,’ meant the man she loved more than anything was dead.”
“Or Esther. Maybe it was Esther’s book and Clifford wrote that to document her death. For a family with three girls, it’s weird there weren’t any children coming back to Eden to inherit the house and all the other property he owned. Papa Everton might have been a tyrant.”
I shuddered. That was something to consider. Most of the stories about the family were rumors, nothing ever proven and no written documentation, except for the two diaries.
There was a knock on the door. Four sharp precise raps. Ted. “That’s Ted.”
“I’m going to hold off mentioning finding my dad’s coat. Could be old man Everton killed one of his daughters.”
“Steve Davis was here earlier and wanted what was taken from the attic. He said everything in the house belongs to his client. It would be better for Ted to have the jacket
than Steve.”
“What did you tell Davis?”
“He should take it up with Ted.” I opened the door. My heart fell.
Ted had driven over in an unmarked cruiser, and he was still wearing his work outfit, which consisted of dress shirt, pants, but instead of loafers he had on his work boots. He had spent a lot of time at the Everton place. Once he stepped into the house, I noticed his shirt and pants were caked with dried dirt. The guy had a grueling day.
I rose on my toes, presenting my pursed lips for a kiss. Ted complied. It was a quick peck that spoke of exhaustion yet a happiness at seeing me. At least for now. It might change once we told him our theory on who might have been buried. “There’s pizza Cheryl made if you’d like a piece.”
“Absolutely.” Ted wiped his shoes off on the indoor welcome mat. He eyed me curiously then wiggled his cell phone at me. He wanted to know about the text I sent earlier.
“I can make you a sandwich too. There’s not much pizza left. Just a slice or two.” Small ones.
“You didn’t offer me any,” Wayne pouted.
“I figured you already ate since you arrived here so late,” I said. I hadn’t wanted to share it, but I was willing to give up pizza for my man but not for Wyatt.
“Chief had some sub sandwiches for us.” Ted stood behind Wyatt, looking down at the blueprint. “Though I can’t turn down a slice of your grandmother’s pizza.”
I warmed it up in the microwave for a few seconds, not wanting the crust to get soggy. I carried in the pizza and handed it to Ted. “We found some fascinating stuff today.”
“I can see. If you find a map of the grounds, let me know. It would come in handy. We checked all the records at the zoning commissioning, and there isn’t anything that shows there was a family cemetery plot at the Everton place. The fact there wasn’t any other bones in the area says the burying of a body was a one-time event.”
“Was it a recent burial, more recently, or way in the past?”
Ted raised his eyebrows.
“Wyatt and I were theorizing that maybe the murder happened right before the Evertons left town. Killing your daughter would be a good reason to skedaddle.”
“I know I will regret asking this, but why do you think Mr. Everton killed his daughter?”
I showed Ted the only entry in the diary Wyatt had brought over.
Ted sighed and rubbed his forehead. “You know that can be anything.”
“I know that,” I said. “But a body was found on the grounds.”
“There is that,” Ted agreed reluctantly.
“Maybe that’s why the Everton heir is so desperate to keep their name a secret, and why Steve came over here to get what was in the attic,” I said.
Ted’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean came over here?”
I explained what had happened, leaving out one small part of the tale.
Ted frowned and clenched his hands. “Steve threatened you?”
Wyatt stood and cracked his knuckles. “Ain’t right for him to harass Faith about this. If Davis has a problem with someone, he can come see me. I took what was in there. Faith had nothing to do with it.”
I stopped myself from mentioning that I kind of had something to do with it. I had asked Wyatt to bring out the items I thought were important to the town’s history. “The truth has been hidden long enough in the attic. It’s about time it came out.”
“Why hadn’t anyone gotten it sooner?” Ted asked.
“Ruthann said the city wanted to get it the legal way.”
“The big question of the day for me is why now?” Ted sat on the arm of the couch. “There has to be a reason the mystery heir made a move now.”
“They could’ve just found out about it recently,” Wyatt said. “I don’t know how long it would take to get a lawyer on board. But I bet it wouldn’t be easy. Not many would want to fight a city.”
“Either they feared the new owner would ruin the house or...”
“The heir is the person who buried the body,” Ted said.
“Which means they might’ve been lying about owning it to stop us from digging,” Wyatt said. “When can we get back into the house?”
“Can’t say. We’ve cordoned off the area. The only ones allowed on the property are law enforcement and an archeology team sent from West Virginia University. This was a little out of our league so Chief Moore got us some help from the college and the state police. Right now, I’m trying to find out the names of anyone who seemed to have left town within the last twenty to thirty-five years.”
“The bones have been dated?” I asked.
“A forensic team has given us a rough age. And it is a murder so the renovations are shut down until we’re positive all evidence has been collected. I can’t tell you specifics on how we know so don’t ask.”
My gaze shifted to Wyatt. He pressed his lips together and nodded. It was time to tell.
Ted stared at us. “I knew you two were up to something when Mrs. Barlow called. I didn’t buy the plumbing emergency.”
Wyatt stood. “I have a guess who was buried, and who did the burying.”
“Actually,” I butted in, “there are two names, but we aren’t sure which one did the burying and who’s the one buried.”
Sighing, Ted put the plate down. “Who?”
“Donald Lucas,” I contributed one of the names, feeling it was best for Wyatt to say the other.
“My dad, Ollie Harbaugh,” Wyatt said. “I found his coat in the attic of the Everton mansion. It was one of the items I put it in Faith’s trunk.”
Anger flashed in Ted’s eyes. “In Faith’s trunk?”
Wyatt lowered his head, shoulders slumped forward. “It was the only place I could think of to keep it safe.”
“Anything else I might like that was in the attic?”
“I had wrapped the coat in a quilt,” Wyatt said.
“I’d like that also, if they were stored together, evidence might have rubbed off from one to the other.”
“Or when I wrapped it around the coat.”
“Or then. I’ll go get them. Keys.” Ted held out his hand.
I retrieved my keys from the hook by the door and dropped them onto his palm. “They’re in a trash bag. I shoved it into a corner of the trunk.”
Grumbling under his breath, Ted walked outside. I turned on the porch light. It wouldn’t help much, but it gave Ted some light. The trunk slammed shut and Ted walked toward us. Nothing in his hands.
My stomach did a freefall. Where was the jacket? Ted’s evidence. “It was in there.”
“And now it’s not.” He narrowed on his eyes on me. “Do you know what this means?”
The disappointment in his eyes scared me more than if he’d been angry. I knew what it meant. Wyatt and I interfered in an investigation. I messed up.
“It’s my fault.” Wyatt draped an arm around my shoulders. “I asked Faith to keep it a secret until we figured everything out.”
“It wasn’t for you or Faith to figure out,” Ted said. “In your quest to be helpful, is there anything else you’ve stumbled on that you’re holding for safekeeping?”
“A jersey in a storage unit I won.” I explained about the auction at the Pancake Storage building, and Ruthann encouraging me to bid on any units with historical items in it. “It would’ve been horrible if it was sent to the dump.”
“And what makes this jersey special?”
“It was my dad’s,” Wyatt said.
“If you and your brother could give us a DNA sample, we’ll be able to speed this up. Some additional evidence was found at the site. We’re certain your dad is tied into it, just not how.”
Twelve
My mind spun as Ted and Wyatt drove off. Who stole the jacket, and how hadn’t Wyatt or I heard anyone? Mrs. Barlow. She kept an eye on everything
going on in the neighborhood. I ran across the street and knocked on her door.
The curtains fluttered back. In a few seconds, she yanked the door open and grinned at me. “Fill me in.”
“Hot water issue,” I said.
She looked annoyed that I interrupted her for something so lame. If only she knew the type of hot water I was talking about.
“If you and Cheryl need a hot shower in the morning, feel free to pop on over.”
“I appreciate that, but Wyatt got it working. I was just wondering if you noticed anyone milling about tonight. I had an important item in my trunk and it’s gone.”
“Then you should’ve either brought it inside or locked your car.”
You need her help, I reminded myself, shoving a sarcastic retort into the forgetful part of my brain. “I know that. Did you see anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Not anyone.”
She huffed out an aggrieved sigh. “I saw you. Your detective. Wyatt. Your grandmother. And the guy you used to date, Steve.” She wagged her finger at me. “You better be careful with that. Your detective isn’t going to be happy if you’re still spending time with Steve Davis.”
“I’m not. He came to...” Get something from me.
“For what?” Mrs. Barlow leaned forward.
“When did you see Steve?”
“When you first arrived home.” She paused, tapping a finger against her lip. “Or maybe a little later. It was definitely before Wyatt showed up.”
But after my conversation with Steve. There was no way Mrs. Barlow wouldn’t be asking questions, or have called Ted, if she witnessed me getting stuck in my trunk. “Thanks.”
Dazed, I walked back home. I stumbled into the living room, a tornado of disbelief and anger churning in me. Did Steve steal the jacket?
Who was Steve’s client that he was willing to walk away from his job and interfere in a police investigation?
My gaze drifted to the diary. I picked it up, tucked it under my arm, and headed for my room for some nighttime reading. After changing into yoga pants and a clean t-shirt, I snuggled under the covers and returned to where I left off. Would I find the answer to who was the secret heir or proof there wasn’t one?
Altered to Death Page 12
