Mysteries from the Keys : A Collection of Short Stories (9781927899410)

by Cushnie-mansour, Mary M. ; Jamieson, Bethany (EDT); Tanguay, Danielle (EDT)

  “Mark, please…”

  “No, Mother…”

  Caroline heard a guttural scream coming from the woman. She stood and raced for the partially open door, just in time to see the woman lunge at Mark, catching him off guard. He fell to the floor beneath the ranting mad woman. Caroline jumped on her back, trying to loosen her hold on Mark. Footsteps were running down the stairs. A flashlight beamed into the basement.

  Officer Sarah raced to Caroline and grabbed hold of her wrist before she struck Mark’s mother again. “It’s okay, we’ll take it from here. Jason! Cuff this woman!” she ordered as she put her arm around Caroline. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs. It’s over.”

  Mark was picking himself up. His face was lined with pain as he looked at his mother.

  Sarah turned to him: “I think you have some explaining to do, sir.”

  He nodded.

  Nathan, who had crawled under the stairs, groaned, bringing to the attention of the group that he was still there, and was hurt. Sarah took out her phone and dialled 911. “I need an ambulance to 55 Deerfoot Lane.”

  Princess was overjoyed to see Caroline. “That cat showed us where you guys were,” Sarah pointed out. “She was pacing in front of the basement door, meowing like crazy.” She motioned for Caroline and Mark to sit at the kitchen table. Sarah looked around at the mess before joining them. “I need to get your statements,” she began, taking out her notebook. “Do you know if she had an accomplice?”

  “She mentioned to me that someone had helped her to get Mr. Malcolm’s body into the boat and that they had also helped her with the girls,” Caroline began. “But she didn’t say who it was—just that it was a friend.”

  Sarah kept asking questions and writing on her notepad. Soon, the ambulance arrived and Nathan was brought up the stairs and taken to the hospital. The paramedics had managed to get the trap off his ankle, but it would be a while before he would be able to walk on it.

  Caroline grabbed hold of his hand before he was taken out of the house. “I’m so sorry, Nathan.”

  Nathan smiled sheepishly. “It’s okay, you didn’t know. Come visit me in the hospital?”

  “I sure will.” Caroline let go of his hand and then headed back to the kitchen.

  Jason was waiting in the living room with Sophie. As Caroline passed him, he caught her by the arm. “Sorry I was so tough on you earlier; Malcolm was my friend.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I understand. If it were me, I would have probably done the same,” Caroline returned. She just wanted everyone to leave so she could relax with her Princess.

  Sarah was still talking to Mark. He was looking down at the floor. His shoulders slumped forward, and his hands were twisting in his lap. He kept nodding his head whenever Sarah spoke.

  The female officer looked up as Caroline approached the table. “You going to be okay out here all alone?” she asked.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “I can stay the night with you if you like? With that broken window…”

  “It’s okay, I’ll be fine. I’ll call Mr. Calvin first thing in the morning to come out and fix it. I’ll nail a piece of wood over it for tonight.”

  “The Department will pay for your window,” Sarah added. She turned to Mark. “Well, that will be all for now, but don’t leave town.” Sarah closed her notebook.

  Mark stood and approached Caroline. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? I can put the piece of wood over the window…”

  Caroline cut him off. “I’ll be fine, Mark. I just need some time alone right now.” She noticed the disappointment in his eyes as he turned and followed the police out of the house.

  Sophie was directed into the backseat of the cruiser. Caroline stood watching from her doorway. Sophie had gone quiet, but as the car door closed on her, she turned her eyes toward Caroline. If hatred could be pure, it was the look that radiated through the window of the cruiser.

  Mark paused at his car door, turned and waved to Caroline, who had stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll call you,” he shouted up to her.

  Caroline smiled and waved. She watched the police car leave and sighed deeply. Mark was busy fiddling with something on his car’s dashboard. Princess meowed for her mistress to come back in the cottage. As Caroline turned, she glanced down at the top step where she had left Mr. Calvin’s file. It was gone!

  She looked around nervously. All was quiet. Even the shadows. Caroline hesitated at the door. She heard Mark’s car engine start. Quickly, she turned back and ran down the steps to his vehicle, and knocked on the window.

  Rolling his window down, Mark smiled. “Change your mind about me staying?” he asked.

  Caroline nodded, but for some reason was unable to speak.

  Mark shut the engine off and stepped out of the car. As he went to put his arm around Caroline’s shoulders, he noticed her shrink away from his touch. He dropped his arm back to his side. “Let’s get that window boarded up,” he suggested as they walked up the steps together.”

  Caroline just nodded again. As the door opened, Princess took one look at Mark, hissed, and raced up the stairs.

  Mrs. Janson’s personal companion in 1995. Mrs. Janson had been frail then, to say the least, but Linda never dreamed the old woman would live ten more years and that she would have such a fabulous time caring for her.

  There had only been one strict rule—Linda was never to enter the attic. In fact, even if she had wanted to, the door was locked, and if there were a key, she was not privy to its location.

  Linda travelled the world with Mrs. Janson during the first five years. Mrs. Janson loved to visit the beautiful flower gardens in different countries. In fact, she would bring home seeds, and Linda was instructed to plant them in the gardens surrounding the old mansion.

  Linda laid her car keys on the kitchen counter and gazed at the emptiness. It was hard to believe Mrs. Janson was gone, and she had no idea what to do now. She’d decide after she spoke with Mr. Kennings, Mrs. Janson’s lawyer. He had approached her after the funeral and said she was expected at the reading of the will at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.

  Linda spent the evening packing her meagre possessions. The next morning she loaded her car and headed off to Mr. Kennings’ office.

  She was surprised to be the only person there. “Are there no others?”

  “No.” Mr. Kennings pulled a file from his drawer and set it on the desk.

  “Strange, Mrs. Janson had several pictures of young women on the wall in her den. I just assumed they were nieces or relatives of some sort.”

  What happened next was even more shocking: Linda was named the sole recipient of an estate greater than could ever be imagined. “Sign here, miss,” Mr. Kennings directed.

  Linda drove back to the house, returned the suitcases to her old room and then wandered around, revisiting all the places where she had spent time with Mrs. Janson—where they had listened to music together, and where she used to read to the elderly lady. She had been a peculiar old bird, though, very secretive about her past.

  “We should live only for the present,” she would say, “because that is a gift. The past is gone, and the future is uncertain.” She would smile, sip on her cup of tea and sit back in her old rocker, surrounded by the fragrance of fresh flower bouquets handpicked from her gardens.

  Linda stopped by the den and gazed at the pictures. An eerie sensation crept through her bones when she saw a framed picture of herself hanging on the wall. It had not been there yesterday. She wondered who had hung it. To Linda’s knowledge, no one else had been in the house for weeks.

  She continued on, her steps leading to the once forbidden attic. As Linda drew near, she noticed the door was cracked open. Strange, who could have opened this door? It has always been closed and locked.

  Taking no heed of her apprehension, Linda pushed it, and the creaking warned her it probably had not been used for some time. As the door swung open, an angel wing formed in the dust. Linda step
ped over it, not daring to walk on an angel’s wing.

  She proceeded cautiously up the stairs, watching for broken boards, splinters, or nails. She noticed holes in the wall where there once must have been a railing.

  Finally, the last step. Did she dare? What treasure awaited her—or would she only uncover the ghosts of lives lived long ago? Linda jumped—she was not alone! She thought she noticed a figure on the far side of the room. Silly fool—just a reflection in a mirror. Strange, though, how dust covered everything was, yet not the glass. She shuddered. Had someone managed to clean the mirror, yet not disturb anything else?

  Linda meandered her way around the room, running her fingers along the dusty furniture; touching the soft, velvet clothing hanging in an antique armoire; eyeing the corner filled with old wooden toys—toys that had been meticulously crafted by someone’s loving fingers.

  What was that—there—in the middle of the room? A flower garden? Linda knelt down beside the enormous wooden barrels and touched the leaves of the plants. They were real enough. She dug her fingers into the earth and enjoyed the delicious aroma that floated into her nostrils. Strange, the flowers seemed to have been freshly watered. The blooms appeared ripe to be born. Linda observed the intense colours peeking from the buds.

  She heard the door at the bottom of the stairs creak shut. Linda looked back and noticed her footsteps on the dusty floor had vanished. She stared up at the mirror. Mrs. Janson smiled and reached out her arms.

  “Welcome, Linda, we have been waiting for you. Our garden is complete once again. Unfortunately, our previous white rose came to a most tragic end.”

  The mirror’s reflection shimmered into the room. It stopped over the barrels of flowers and hovered there. Mrs. Janson began to sing a sweet melody and the blooms began to grow and dance, drawing Linda into their loveliness. The last thing she heard was the gentle voice of Mrs. Janson: “Well done, Mr. Kennings.”

  “Likewise, Mrs. Janson,” he replied.

  years and have observed a lot of things pass by my window. But on the night of Saturday, July 26, I witnessed a crime—in a roundabout way. Thank goodness I was there too, for, without my keen eye and superior intellect, the police would have taken forever to crack the case.

  My name is Toby. I am a stout redhead—well, Jack Nelson, whom I share a house with, would consider me an overweight, orange tabby. He retired in April from the police force, which kind of upset my daily routine, but he does pay the mortgage, the household bills, and buys all our food. In turn, I reward him with affection when he most needs it. I especially enjoy it when he scratches behind my ears.

  Jack has a friend—Mitch—a young man who’d been his partner during his last year on the force. Mitch has become a regular visitor, especially since his wife left him. My Jack didn’t have a wife—guess I was enough for him. Well, there is a picture sitting on the mantle of him and a lady, but she isn’t around now. Must have been before my time. Anyway, I don’t really mind sharing Jack with others, especially if it is during my nap times. Jack is trying hard to help Mitch keep it all together.

  “That boy has a short fuse,” he told me one night. “Next time he comes over I think I’ll tell him to get some counselling. He can’t get over Yvonne leaving. Do you know what he said the other night, Toby?” I blinked. “Said he wasn’t going to let her have his kids…said she was an unfit mother! I’ve never thought so…oh well, what you want to watch tonight, old boy? How about Law and Order?” I curled up beside Jack and closed my eyes. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he joined me.

  We were both startled from our nap by a loud knocking on the door. Jack staggered off the couch. “Who the heck can that be?” he grumbled. I stood up and stretched. Jack opened the door and Mitch stumbled in. It was obvious he’d been drinking.

  “She’s got a court order against me,” he shouted. “I can’t see my own kids unless I’m supervised!” He plopped into the La-Z-Boy chair. “Can I crash here for the night?”

  “Sure, I’ll get you a blanket.” Jack returned a few minutes later and threw the cover on a snoring Mitch. What an interruption to an otherwise peaceful evening! “Keep an eye on him, Toby old boy; I’m heading off to bed.”

  In my opinion, Jack should have just shut the door in Mitch’s face. I jumped up on the back of the couch and peered out my window. The usual nighthawks were staggering home from the bars. The joy of living downtown. Nothing out of the ordinary happening, though, so I may as well get some shut-eye.

  I awoke to the sound of a loud crash of thunder and glanced at the La-Z-Boy chair. The blanket was still on the chair but I could tell it wasn’t Mitch under it. Just to make sure, I made the leap and landed on a pile of pillows that had been arranged under the blanket. To an untrained eye, it could have been a body. Well, good riddance, I say; Mitch is exploiting too much of Jack’s time now anyway!

  I decided to check out my dish in the kitchen. All this extra responsibility of keeping a watch on things had made me hungry. Good man, my Jack; he’d remembered to fill it. Now, off to a proper bed. I jumped up carefully on the end of Jack’s bed, made a little dough, purred softly so as not to wake him, then curled up and went to sleep.

  The next morning I followed Jack into the kitchen. I rubbed around his legs and then ran to my dish, pointing out that it was empty. “You’re eating me out of house and home, old boy,” Jack laughed as he filled my dish. He turned the radio on…

  “The police have put out an all-points bulletin for Yvonne Carter’s two missing children and her husband, Mitch. The children were not in their room this morning and she believes her husband may have had something to do with their disappearance…”

  “Hey, Mitch!” Jack walked into the living room and pulled the blanket off his friend. “I just heard the news—someone kidnapped your kids! Yvonne thinks you did it!”

  Mitch leapt out of the chair. “What do you mean she thinks I did it? I’ve been here all night!”

  I flattened my ears and glared at Mitch. What better alibi than a retired cop!

  Jack returned from the kitchen with a cup of steaming coffee for Mitch. “Here, this will help calm your nerves,” he said.

  Nothing’s going to calm his lying nerves, I thought, glaring at Mitch and switching my tail.

  “Thanks, buddy.” Mitch took the coffee. His hands were shaking—probably from guilt! “Who would have done something like that?” he asked. “I ain’t got no money—not on my cop’s wages. And how dare Yvonne think I would kidnap my own kids!”

  Jack put his hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll give the Station a call…”

  “No! No! They have an all-points on me; you can’t let them know where I am.” He paused. “I have to figure out what to do here.”

  Turn your lying self in! I hissed at Mitch as he reached over to scratch behind my ears.

  “What’s up, Toby? I thought you liked that?” Mitch was surprised at my reaction.

  Not from you! I headed to the kitchen, stopping just inside the doorway. I turned and sat down, not wanting to miss a thing! I listened as Mitch cursed the system and Yvonne, as he repeated over and over that he had been here all night; how could he have kidnapped his kids? With every lie Mitch told, the hair on the back of my neck bristled.

  Jack came into the kitchen. I raced to my dish. “No more food for you, old boy.” Jack reached down and rubbed my back. “I have to go out for a bit; can you be nice to Mitch? He’s hurting pretty bad.”

  Hurting, my back paw! Only thing going to be hurting on him is his conscience once I get finished with him! I growled and switched my tail furiously.

  “What’s wrong with you, Toby? Come on now, be nice.” Jack grabbed his jacket from the hook by the back door and headed out. “Won’t be long.”

  Mitch walked into the kitchen. I glowered at him. He reached down to pat me. I hissed. “What’s the matter with you? Oh well, just a dumb cat!” he mumbled as he headed back to the living room.

  I
watched as Mitch picked up his jacket and headed for the front door. If he was going out, he was probably heading to wherever he had stashed the kids. I knew he was the culprit! I made a beeline for the door and as it opened, I managed to slip out unnoticed. I’ll admit to you at this point that I have been an indoor cat for 15 years and it was a pretty strange world on the other side of my window, but I had to press on—the children’s lives were at stake. Mitch looked around nervously and then strode quickly, heading north. I followed, close enough not to lose him, far enough back that I could slip quickly out of sight should he turn around. He went into a variety store and came out with a bag of something—food for the children, I presumed.

  Mitch continued on, entering a part of the city where abandoned industrial buildings lined the sidewalks. He looked around furtively before opening one of the doors. I was too far away to slip inside before the door closed. I looked around and then noticed some boxes by the wall at the side of the building. A window was just above them. The ledge seemed wide enough.

  I leaped onto the boxes and then to the ledge. The window was thick with years of factory grease. I pawed at the pane and cleared a small patch to peek through, just in time to see Mitch leaving a room. Something moved in the corner. I squinted my eyes and saw two little girls huddled on an old mattress. The variety store bag sat beside them. I flattened my ears and switched my tail. How could a father do this to his own children?!

  Mitch stepped out onto the sidewalk. I jumped down from my roost but missed my target. Mitch swung around at the sound of me crashing into a garbage can. But, Lady Luck was with me: another cat skittered out from the boxes, giving me a chance to hide. I watched Mitch shrug his shoulders and heard him curse at the cat as it raced past him. He turned and headed off in the direction of Jack’s house.

  I followed as closely as possible, almost wishing I knew the great outdoors better because I might have been able to take a shortcut and beat Mitch home. Of course, I would have to figure out how to get back into the house. But the real concern now was to figure out a way to get Jack to where Mitch was hiding his two little girls!