Butler Did It

by Donna McLean

  “There’s no harm done. Clean it up a bit and it will be as good as new. What in the world did you put in here to cause such a fire, anyway?”

  Addie yelled, hands on hips, “I didn’t do it! Butler did it!”

  Pearce Allen looked shocked, then reproachful. He mimicked her stance and with hands on hips he repeated the terrible words. “Butler did it?”

  Addie stared at him, aghast. Her formerly kind and generous intentions had, at the first sign of trouble, given way to accusation and anger. “Oh, no!” she whispered. “Now I’m doing it too!”

  Pearce Allen laughed. He put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her. “At this particular moment I don’t really blame you. Now let’s open the oven and see what happened.”

  They approached it with caution. He grasped the handle of the oven door and pulled, and they leaned back to allow the wisps of smoke to escape. Then they leaned forward to peer into the interior of the blackened oven.

  “There’s something in there,” Pearce Allen said. “It looks like a piece of paper.”

  Addie grabbed a potholder and reached inside. She grabbed a corner of the paper and gingerly pulled it forward. Dark ashes floated in the air and settled on the floor as she placed the charred piece of paper on the countertop.

  The young couple looked at the paper, looked at each other in astonishment, and laughed.

  From what remained, they could still see the words “Recipe for Safer Cooking” neatly printed on the owner’s manual.

  NINE

  Pearce Allen Simms smiled at Addie McRae and caught her by the hand. They laced their fingers together comfortably and strolled across the fine white sand that lay all around Sparrow Falls Chapel. The thunderstorm that had threatened the lovely summer morning had dissipated before it ever reached the little town, and by mid-afternoon the sky had returned to its usual peaceful shade of pale blue. A hot breeze blew through the tall, longleaf pines bordering the old Scotch burying ground, just as it had done for centuries.

  Addie looked across the expanse of spires and stones. “Do you know where Alfred MacGuffin was buried?”

  “Toward the back and to the right. There’s a kind of tiny mausoleum back there too, although he was buried outside under a headstone.”

  Addie’s emerald green eyes darkened with curiosity. “That’s interesting. Wonder why he would have both?”

  Pearce Allen shrugged. “That’s just old man MacGuffin for you. He was the town eccentric.”

  He led her on a winding path through the old tombstones and she noticed the abundance of Scottish surnames. For the first time she realized that most of the older headstones were intricately carved, with figures varying from Celtic knotwork to shapes such as thistles, roses, wheeled crosses and ornate letters that she assumed to be Gaelic. Some were not headstones at all but were sculptural figures of angels or lambs, a large basket overflowing with blooming flowers, a wreath carved from stone.

  Addie suddenly stopped, pulling Peace Allen to a standstill beside her. She blinked in the bright sunshine, wondering if her eyes played tricks on her.

  “What is it?” The young man’s voice was amused.

  She pointed toward the edge of the long flat land, where pine trees ringed the cemetery and everything beyond the trees lay in shadow even on a sunny day. “Is there some sort of spotlight on that tombstone over there?” she asked, puzzled.

  Pearce Allen shaded his eyes and followed her pointing finger. “Oh, that’s the glowing girl,” he answered, and resumed walking toward the MacGuffin mausoleum as though that sentence explained everything.

  The feisty redhead clutched his hand a little tighter and stood her ground. Pearce Allen had taken about half a step before he realized that they weren’t going anywhere.

  “The glowing girl?” Addie repeated.

  He grinned. “Come on, let’s go have a better look. We’ll never accomplish anything until your curiosity is satisfied.” They resumed their pace, this time heading toward the statue in the opposite direction from their original destination. Simms told her a story as they strolled.

  “This happened, oh, a hundred years or more ago. A couple had two children, a little girl about six years old and a baby. I think the baby was a boy. Can’t remember exactly. Anyway, the little baby got very sick, I guess it was smallpox or measles or something like that, back when there was no medication to treat those things. And the couple doted on him, did everything they could to save him. Well, it worked and his life was spared. But sadly, their little girl, trying to help take care of her baby brother, holding him and comforting him and all of that, caught the disease, and she didn’t make it. People have always said that in a way, she gave her life for her brother, and that is why her tombstone always seems to glow.”

  They paused in front of the statue. Addie’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at the lovely sculpture and listened to the sad story. The stonemason had created a life-sized figurine of the little girl. She seemed to sit on a carved stone bench as though poised to stand up at any moment. Her expression was sweet, her marble lips smiled, and upon her open, upraised palm was a tiny carved sparrow. The statue was achingly beautiful, but the most unusual aspect was that the white marble seemed to have a soft glow about it.

  Addie leaned forward to read the inscription. “Lilly. Beloved Daughter, Devoted Sister. Of such is the kingdom of heaven. St. Matthew, 19:14.”

  She straightened up and gasped. Behind the statue, seeming to radiate from its soft glow, another pristine and lovely figure moved. Addie blinked, and Morwenna Goss emerged from the sunlight of the bright summer’s day.

  “Did I startle you?” she asked with a bemused smile. The lilt of her voice sounded like bells chiming faintly from far away. “What do you think of Lilly? She’s a lovely child.” Morwenna, the story keeper of the old Scottish cemetery, laid her hand gently upon the head of the glowing girl.

  “I think she’s just beautiful!” Addie said. “And such a sad story. It’s very touching. But why does the statue appear to glow?”

  Morwenna replied, “Lilly was a sweet, caring child. She was kind to everyone, and helpful, and she loved to put out seed for the birds that gathered outside her brother’s window. He was not quite a year old, and he would sit at the window and clap his hands and laugh, and she would hold him in her lap, point to each little sparrow and whisper to him, and only to him, the name she had given each little bird.”

  “At her funeral, Pastor Patterson comforted the mourners by reminding them that Lilly was a child who brought light into the darkness. Her statue was placed here so that everyone would remember and follow Lilly’s example. And as time went on, people began to realize that the white marble would never fade, and that the statue has always been bathed in light even though it is shadowed by the trees. Sometimes sunlight, sometimes moonlight, but there is always light upon Lilly’s tomb. It is the light of God’s love.”

  As if in response to the story keeper’s words, the sun broke through the pine needles and scattered light along the little girl’s stony curls. The tiny sparrow seemed to flutter its wings in a beam of sudden sunshine, then all was still again, in the burying ground of the old chapel.

  Morwenna moved toward the center of the cemetery and the young man and woman followed. It seemed only fitting that they remain quiet until leaving the shade of the trees around Lilly’s burial place. Then Morwenna asked, “And what brings the two of you here today?”

  Pearce Allen replied, “Old man MacGuffin. Can you tell us anything interesting about his headstone or mausoleum?”

  “Like why he has a headstone and a mausoleum?” Addie quipped.

  “She sees something sinister in that,” Pearce Allen teased.

  The story keeper pointed in the general direction of the MacGuffin plot. “It is a curious thing, at that,” she commented, but offered no explanation, if she knew one. “If you like, I can show you the interesting carving on Alfred’s tombstone. He carved it himself, many years before his death, but k
ept adding things to it as he grew older.”

  They stopped in front of a tall gray stone. It was curved at the top and the arch was carved in a design that gave it the appearance of a rope. Beneath the rope was the name Alfred A MacGuffin, the date of his birth and death, and an inscription. All around the stone, at various and random places, were carved different symbols. Some were flowers that did not match; some were crosses or religious symbols, some were ancient Scottish or Celtic imagery. There were geometric shapes at haphazard points that seemed to have no connection with the images on the rest of the headstone.

  “Is it okay to take some photos?” Addie asked the story keeper. She nodded, smiling.

  Pearce Allen snapped pictures of the tombstone and then zoomed in for close-ups of the various carved items. Morwenna told them a little bit more about the odd man who lay buried there, his eccentricities and his reputation, the tragic story of his long lost love and his sad death as a lonesome old man who avoided people and preferred the solitude of the strange old mansion.

  “Alfred MacGuffin was an eccentric with a creative, intelligent mind, a mind filled with dreams and inventions. But his heart was kind and generous. He met Belle McGovern when he was of late middle age, and she still a young woman. It is said that despite their differences, the years between them and his eccentricities, they instantly fell in love. But Belle’s father would not allow his daughter to marry such an odd character. He could not see that Alfred’s heart was good as gold and that his daughter was happy. So he forbade them to meet.”

  “However, Belle defied her father’s wishes. The lovers met in secret and Alfred began building the home they would someday share as husband and wife. The couple went to great lengths to keep their secret, to guard it from her father and from the eyes and ears of the townsfolk.”

  “But one day her father discovered that they were meeting. He realized that they were planning to run away together to be married, return and set up a home together in the MacGuffin Mansion. And so he took Belle far away, on a long sea voyage to the old country, believing that time and distance would change the young lady’s heart and mind. But this did not happen. Alfred and Belle wrote letters to each other during the time they were apart, secret letters, hidden from her father, letters that kept their love alive during the long months of separation and longing. Alfred continued to build the mansion, believing that Belle would soon return and become his wife.”

  “When her father discovered that his plan had failed, he relented and agreed that Belle and Alfred should marry upon their return to Sparrow Falls. Belle wrote to Alfred, giving him the happy news, and McGovern and Belle sailed for home right away. This happened in late September, during hurricane season. A terrible storm arose just off the coast of North Carolina while father and daughter were still at sea, and the ship and all aboard her were lost.”

  “Alfred MacGuffin refused to grieve. He refused to accept that Belle would never return and that his dreams of a happy life together were forever ended. And he continued to build the MacGuffin Mansion, adding rooms and staircases, creating more and more bizarre additions, painting her portrait and adding memories of her everywhere in every room. Alfred MacGuffin was still building, carving, painting, until the day he died.”

  “Oh, how tragic,” Addie murmured.

  “He must have loved her so much,” Pearce Allen said.

  Addie turned her gaze toward the mausoleum. “Do you suppose he built that as a final resting place for himself and Belle? And maybe that’s why he couldn’t bear to be buried there.”

  Morwenna only smiled her faint, mysterious smile.

  They looked again at the strange tombstone fashioned by Alfred A MacGuffin.

  Pearce Allen read the carved inscription out loud. “I shall give unto you the keys of the King.” He frowned. “Wait a minute. That’s from the Bible but it’s not the version I learned in Ms. Tilda’s Sunday School class.”

  “You were in Ms. Tilda’s Sunday School class!” Addie giggled. “I can’t imagine that!”

  “I will have you know that I won the Baby Jesus Nightlight for Most Verses Memorized in the whole third grade class!” Pearce Allen stated with pride.

  “And I’ll bet you still have it after all these years,” Addie replied.

  The pretty redhead smiled into his startling blue eyes, and he grinned. Like always, her heart melted. “Guess that’s why I like you so much. You’re sentimental.”

  “Only when it comes to subjects I care deeply about,” he replied. “Such as strawberry blonds with emerald eyes. The complete verse is something about the keys to the kingdom, not the King. Guess old man MacGuffin made a mistake on his own tombstone.”

  “Maybe he just ran out of room. This tombstone is covered with more letters and symbols than any of the others.” Addie pointed at a small mark toward the bottom of the stone. She pushed aside the short blades of grass covering it and said, “Look, Pearce Allen! That’s the same symbol as the MacGuffin initials carved on the bottom of the chess pieces.”

  “Stone carvers often hid their mark within the tombstones they created,” Morwenna said. “It’s rather like an artist’s signature.”

  “Some of these stones are definitely works of art,” Addie agreed with appreciation for the skilled hands that did such impressive work.

  Pearce Allen scratched his chin. “I wonder if MacGuffin was really trying to leave some sort of code behind him. There are so many carvings on this headstone that it doesn’t seem likely to be any sort of a message. It’s more likely to be random stuff, like the random staircases and doors in the MacGuffin Mansion.” He and Addie looked at each other across the grave.

  Addie gave a dejected sigh. “Pearce Allen, I would much rather believe that there is some kind of secret hidden among the signs and symbols. But what could that have to do with the secret panels in the old house? Maybe this is a rabbit trail, as Tilda would say. Maybe we should just give up.”

  The story keeper said quietly, “Sometimes people will go to great lengths to keep a secret.”

  The young couple exchanged glances. Addie asked, “Morwenna, do you believe there is a hidden message here, something for us to find after all this time? And is it important that we find it?”

  Pearce Allen spoke up before Morwenna could reply. “I’ve always heard that old man MacGuffin had treasure hidden in the house. Gold coins, pirate plunder from way back, jewels, something like that. And if we find the hiding place, if it is behind a secret door that may lead to the scene of the crime, maybe we will also find out how the killer did it—”

  “—and who the killer is,” Addie finished. “So we’d better not stop the treasure hunt!”

  Morwenna nodded, her raven dark hair glistening in the sunlight. A soft smile touched her lips. “Yes, there is a treasure. But treasures on earth and treasures in heaven may be very different things.”

  TEN

  Mayor Motley stood at the bedroom window and watched his young wife strolling through their garden on that bright Friday morning, only a week after the murder of the stranger. He thought, for the millionth time since their wedding twenty-three years ago, that Maybellanne really was the prettiest little thing he had ever laid eyes on. But that was not the only reason he loved Maybellanne. He admired her gentleness and generosity, and her bravery in overcoming so many obstacles that life had thrown at her. Hubbell felt a pang in his heart when he thought about the unkindness of certain people in the small town who still, to this day, whispered about Maybellanne’s “sordid” past. And a tear formed in one eye when he remembered her continual kindness towards those same people. Yes, Mayor Motley deeply, dearly loved his beautiful young wife.

  And he would do anything to protect her.

  He noticed the elegant curve of her shoulders and sensed that she was about to turn from the rose bushes and face the house. The mayor stepped back from the window quickly, pressing his portly form next to the wall beside the long drapes, peering out carefully so that he could see without bein
g seen. She thought he had gone to the office already. She didn’t know he was still home, waiting.

  This was not the first time that a stranger, a man with a slender build and short dark hair, had approached his wife in their garden. Was it the same person Mayor Motley thought he had seen on the edge of the crowd at the MacGuffin Mansion? He wasn’t sure. But the man met Maybellanne at the same spot every time, just there, at the corner of their large and neatly trimmed yard where it bordered the quiet street. An old oak tree, wide and broad and well established at the point where two black wrought iron fences met, gave the strange man a sense of cover. But he was not completely hidden from view. Mayor Motley was watching. From his second story window, he was watching them, again.

  * * * * *

  Mr. Delany, proud proprietor of the only hotel in town, beamed at the tall dark man standing before him. “Good morning! Welcome to the Hotel Delany! How can I help you today?”

  The man twisted the knot of his designer necktie with one manicured hand and cleared his throat. “A room, please. One week.” He glanced with disdain at the tattered pages of the guestbook and the pen that Delany was pushing toward him with hopeful eyes. “Haven’t you upgraded to computers yet?” he sneered.

  Delany guffawed. “No sir, we have not! None of that fancy citified stuff here in Sparrow Falls. We pride ourselves on giving our guests old-fashioned southern hospitality. Know every one of our guests by name, we sure do.” He held out the pen and waited, a huge grin on his perpetually cheerful face.

  The man took the pen with reluctance and scribbled an illegible signature.

  The proprietor turned the book around, glanced at the name, and looked at the stranger with undisguised curiosity.

  “James,” the guest said through stiff lips. “Your best room, for one week, please.”