The Sound of Secrets

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The Sound of Secrets Page 9

by Irene Brand


  Drew wondered if Ronald thought he could cover his guilt by pretending to mourn his wife. He watched Rissa walk upstairs, pausing at the top to wave to him. In spite of his poor childhood, he decided he was better off with his family than she was with hers.

  The house was quiet the next day after Ronald went to the office. A deputy stopped by with breakfast for Drew and after he ate, he went to the bedroom assigned to him to rest for a few hours. He wouldn’t consider sleeping in the house if Ronald was around, so he decided to catch a few winks while the daily routine of the household was observed.

  Although Rissa had slept a few hours after she’d left Drew, she still felt listless the next morning. After a lunch of soup and sandwiches, she went to her room to rest. Portia had gone into town, and she’d insisted that Rissa should go with her. But her twin planned to have lunch with Mick, and Rissa wouldn’t intrude on their short time together.

  After the storms of the past few days—not only the rough weather, but the tumult roiling inside her—Rissa was happy to see the sun was shining. She had to escape, even for a short time, from the oppression of Blanchard Manor. She hadn’t seen Drew since early morning, so she supposed he was sleeping. Not deceived by the bright sun into thinking the weather was mild, she went to her room, got a heavy coat and scarf from the closet and hurried down the rear steps and into the backyard. In a few months flowers would be blooming profusely in this area, but today, except for a few crocuses and forsythia, the lawn looked bleak and dull.

  She started on the walk she and Portia had taken the day before, but a police cruiser was parked near the gate. An older man she’d seen a few times, one whose name she couldn’t remember, stepped out of the car.

  “Sorry, miss. No one is to be walking alone out of sight of the house.”

  “But I’m sick of staying inside.”

  “I can understand that, but you may not be safe. We’re here to protect you—not make prisoners of you.”

  “I understand.” She turned back toward the manor, which looked more like a prison than ever. She hoped the funeral would be soon, so she could go back to the city and her life there.

  She walked from the gate to a spot on the lawn where they could see the Atlantic Ocean when the trees were bare. Several fishing boats were outward bound, and in the far distance on the horizon she saw a large boat, perhaps a cruise liner traveling between Nova Scotia and Boston. She sat for several minutes on a wooden bench and enjoyed the view. The cool air and exercise had refreshed her spirit, and when she entered the house much of her depression had eased.

  She went to her room and removed her coat and scarf. The house was quiet and Rissa decided it would be a good time to take a nap. She had taken her medication earlier and she felt relaxed. She turned back the bedspread and sat on the side of the bed to remove her shoes. When she started to lie down, she saw a piece of paper under the pillow. Curious, she picked up the paper and suddenly the serenity she’d achieved during her walk disappeared like vapor from a steaming pot.

  If you value your life, don’t try to remember what you saw in the library.

  The message was printed in bold, irregular, smudged letters, as poorly formed as if a child had written it.

  Rissa threw the paper from her as though it were a hot potato. It fluttered to the floor and she kicked it aside as she rushed to Winnie’s room. The room was empty. She bolted downstairs calling, “Aunt Winnie, where are you?”

  Winnie stepped out of the storage room with Sonya Garcia right behind her. “What do you want?”

  “I just found a threatening note on my bed! Come and see.”

  She turned and took the steps two at a time, but she had to halt at the top of the stairs to wait for Winnie, because her aunt paused to catch her breath midway up the steps. Her shouting must have wakened Drew, because he stood outside his bedroom, his hair tousled. Not waiting for Sonya, who was waddling up the stairs, Rissa rushed down the hall and into her room. Drew and Aunt Winnie were right behind her.

  “The note was on the bed but I dropped it on the floor. There it is….”

  The floor was as clear as it had been when the maid had finished cleaning it. No piece of paper was on the floor and the bedspread covered the pillows as neatly as it had when she’d entered the room after her walk.

  Aunt Winnie’s eyes were troubled and she smiled kindly, as if dealing with a fussy child. Exasperated, Rissa looked to Drew. Undoubtedly Aunt Winnie believed she was imagining the note. What did Drew think? For an instant, pity stole into his expression before he turned away.

  “I tell you there was a note on my bed, and I dropped it on the floor before I left the room!” she screeched.

  Winnie took her by the arm. “Come and sit down, dear. You’re overwrought.”

  The torment in Rissa’s eyes alarmed Drew, and he stepped to her side. Unconcerned about what Winnie thought, he put his arm around her. Judging from what Rissa had told him last night, she might be imagining things, but he had to pretend to believe her. Either someone was deliberately trying to terrorize her or she was on the verge on a nervous breakdown.

  EIGHT

  “What did the note say?”

  “I can’t remember for sure, but it was something like ‘Don’t try to remember what you saw in the library or you’ll die.’ You do believe me, don’t you?” she asked beseechingly.

  “Of course I believe you. Settle down now and tell me exactly what happened.”

  Rissa sat on the cedar chest at the foot of her bed and Winnie eased down in a rocking chair, as though her legs wouldn’t hold her any longer. Drew glanced at the older woman before he focused on Rissa’s problem. He picked up her hand, which was icy cold, and wound his fingers around it. “Tell me what you remember.”

  “I took a walk, then came upstairs to rest. The bed was already made, but I turned down the bedspread. When I started to lie down, I saw the note sticking out under the pillow. I read it, dropped it on the floor and went to find Aunt Winnie. She wasn’t in her room, so I ran downstairs. She heard me screaming. We came back to my room, and it was like you see it now. The bedspread and pillow were back in place and the note was gone.”

  “How long were you out of the room?”

  “Not more than five minutes.”

  “Did you see anyone in the hall or downstairs?”

  “I was so upset, I really didn’t look, but I think if there had been anyone I would have seen them.”

  “Only someone already in the house could have gotten in and out of your room in that short amount of time. Whoever put the note in your room could have been watching and had time to come back into the room and straighten up.”

  “But who would do that and why?” Winnie asked.

  “It’s hard to tell. But whoever killed Mrs. Blanchard may be trying to make Rissa believe she’s seeing and hearing things that aren’t there. If there was any doubt about her mental health, a clever lawyer might discredit her testimony should she remember something about the killer in the library.”

  Sonya had followed them and she stood in the doorway listening to their conversation. When Winnie looked toward her, she said, “Miss Blanchard, if I’m not needed I’ll go on with the work we were doing.”

  “Please do,” Winnie said. “I can’t help you now.” Sonya’s thudding steps were soon heard in the hall.

  Drew realized he was still holding Rissa’s hand, and with a gentle squeeze he dropped it and stood up. “Who is in the house now besides the four of us?”

  “Miranda and the household staff. Of course, my father and his caregiver are on the third floor. He seldom leaves his room and Peg always uses the back stairway instead of this one.”

  “We can’t assume that someone couldn’t have slipped in the house. Let’s do some role playing. Miss Blanchard, you go downstairs and into the room where you were working. Rissa, you come into the room and repeat your actions. I’ll time you to see how much time actually passed.”

  She reenacted everything, starting wi
th entering the room, sitting on the bed and removing her shoes. She pulled the bedspread from under the pillows and folded it neatly to the bottom of the bed. She started to lie down, pretended to find and read a piece of paper.

  Drew started timing when she dropped the note, screamed and rushed out of the door, shouting. He stayed by the doorway as she pounded on Winnie’s door, opened it and peered inside. She turned and ran down the steps. She and Winnie returned together.

  “Four minutes,” he said.

  “Could anyone move that fast?”

  “They could have if they were in one of the rooms in this hall, or even in the bedroom closet.”

  “That’s creepy!” Rissa said, shuddering. “Thinking I started to lie down when someone might have been hiding in the room.”

  “It’s rather strange that Miranda hasn’t heard what’s going on,” Winnie said. “Even if she was taking a nap, she’s usually a light sleeper.”

  “Oh, no!” Rissa said. “Maybe terrorizing me was a ruse to get me out of the way so they could hurt Miranda.”

  She ran down the hallway and turned the knob on Miranda’s door. It opened and she called, “Miranda! Where are you?” She darted into the room and shot out into the hallway again. “The room is empty. Miranda!”

  The bathroom door behind her opened and Miranda stuck her head out. Her hair was wrapped in a terrycloth towel and she wore a bathrobe. “I took a hot bath to relax, then I shampooed my hair in the shower. What’s wrong?”

  She saw Drew standing behind Winnie. “Oh, my!” she said, and her face turned beet-red. She pulled the door almost shut. “I didn’t know we weren’t alone! What do you want?”

  “We’ll tell you later,” Rissa said, amused at Miranda’s discomfort—it was the only thing she’d found amusing in the past several days. “We were checking to see if you were all right.”

  “She couldn’t have heard anything since she was in the shower, so that accounts for that,” Drew said as they moved back to Rissa’s room. “I can’t believe anyone in the house would have had time to act without someone seeing them leave the room.”

  “How long had you been out of your room when I came up the stairs with Aunt Winnie?”

  “I saw your head as soon as I stepped out of the door. But I was watching you—if someone was in either end of the hallway, I wouldn’t have seen them.”

  Winnie went toward her room, her steps lagging, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  Rissa said quietly, “She thinks I imagined the note and everything. That’s the reason she’s so worried. You believe me, don’t you?”

  Drew hesitated only slightly. Remembering Rissa’s nervous stress on a few occasions, he thought she might be imagining things, but he was convinced that she thought these events had actually happened, so he said, “Yes, I believe you, and I wish I could help you. If I knew the background of the people in this house, that might help me understand what’s going on.”

  “I heard Father tell Aunt Winnie he wouldn’t be home for dinner tonight.” Her lip curled slightly. “I suppose he has a date with his girlfriend. I’ll meet you in the living room right after dinner.”

  Because he sensed that her father’s love life distressed Rissa, Drew didn’t comment; however, it was well known in the area that Ronald Blanchard was a ladies’ man. His latest interest, Alannah Stafford, was a rich divorcée. Alannah definitely looked upon Ronald as hers and she probably wouldn’t take kindly to the reappearance of his wife, even if Ronald had divorced Trudy years ago.

  “We’ll talk then, but try to get some rest this afternoon.”

  She promised and went to her room. Although her body was weary, her mind was too busy to allow her to relax and sleep. She moved a chair close to the window and pulled the curtain so she could have a view of the bay. The sun highlighted the incoming waves as they dipped and swayed toward the shore.

  Looking at her watch, Rissa realized it was time for her medication. She opened her purse, but couldn’t find the bottle of pills. What could she have done with them? But considering her stressful homecoming, it was little wonder that she was absentminded. She went to her cosmetic case and a got a pill from the prescription bottle she’d filled just before she left New York.

  She couldn’t blame Aunt Winnie and the others, perhaps even Drew, for thinking that she was imagining everything that was happening. At times she wondered if her clinical depression could be causing the problem.

  She rocked lazily, waiting for the medicine to take effect. When she’d been at her lowest ebb before she’d gone to the psychiatrist, God had led her to a verse in the New Testament, which had encouraged her when nothing else would.

  For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love and of a sound mind.

  Admittedly in that particular verse, the Apostle Paul had written those words to the youthful Timothy to encourage him to be fearless when he presented the Gospel to those who did not believe. But Rissa had adopted the message as the antidote for her uneasiness. And she repeated the words aloud.

  “‘For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love and of a sound mind.’”

  Encouraged to believe that she did have a sound mind, Rissa stretched out on her bed on top of the bedspread. She wanted to be rested for her meeting with Drew tonight.

  An angry, unseen figure moved silently through the hallways of Blanchard Manor. Another ruse had failed to produce the planned results. Someone needed to be arrested for the shooting before the authorities started widening their search. What else could be done to make them believe that Rissa Blanchard was mentally unsound?

  Or was it necessary to take more violent measures? Perhaps another murder? After all, the elimination of all Blanchards could be considered a benevolent act. But which one should be next? Probably Rissa—after all, she was already on the verge of insanity. A satisfied smile crossed the features hidden from view by a hooded cloak. Yes, that was the answer. It would be fairly easy to arrange a pseudo suicide for her.

  Rissa had always gotten along well with the chef, and after the table had been cleared and everyone else had gone to their rooms after dinner, Rissa entered the kitchen.

  “Andre,” she said, “would you let me have some extra servings of the chocolate-cherry torte we had for dinner tonight? It was delicious.”

  Beaming a smile in her direction, Andre not only placed generous servings of the torte on a silver tray, but with a flourish he also added some oatmeal-raisin cookies. Rissa threw the chef a kiss as she sneaked out of the kitchen with her bounty. Drew was finishing his meal from a fast-food restaurant when she approached the front hallway, and with bravado she lifted the dessert tray.

  “Dessert, compliments of the chef,” she said, wondering if he would accept anything from the table of Ronald Blanchard. “I didn’t eat my dessert—thought I would wait and share it with you. We can eat in the living room when you’re ready.”

  “You’re too good to me,” he said with an appreciative grin. “But I’m full now. Let’s wait a while before we have the dessert.”

  “Suits me. My appetite isn’t good, anyway. I have to force down practically everything I eat.”

  They moved into the living room. She took a seat on one of the settees and Drew sat on the other where he could face her. She placed the dessert tray on the table that separated the two couches. He spent most of his evenings patrolling the halls, but he wanted some information from Rissa, and it was best if they weren’t overheard.

  “Thanks for coming to talk to me,” Drew said. “I don’t expect you to betray anything about your family that you don’t want to. But it seems as if Mick and I are stumbling around in the dark. No matter how diligent we are, crimes are still happening to you and your family.”

  “I’ll give you as much family background as I know, but I feel like a traitor to do it.”

  “I can understand that to a certain extent, but if some member of your family killed Trudy Blanchard, how do you know that per
son won’t kill someone else?”

  “I don’t know anything, but I’ll tell you a few things that have happened and pray that it won’t incriminate any of my loved ones.”

  “I agree to that. But to understand what’s going on here, I have to know something about the people who were in the house this afternoon and why they might be trying to intimidate you. Give me a brief rundown on them—let’s start with your aunt.”

  “Aunt Winnie has devoted her life to looking after us girls. She and my mother were friends and she kept the memory of our mother alive in our hearts. She’s the most patient woman I’ve ever known, and she’s a good Christian woman. I can’t believe she would have done away with my mother.”

  Drew had pulled a notebook from his pocket and he made notes as she talked.

  “I suppose we could discount your grandfather because of his age and infirmity.”

  “I love my grandfather and I don’t like to think that he could have committed this crime, but he has Alzheimer’s and he does some strange things. In January, when we were all home celebrating Aunt Winnie’s sixtieth birthday, he came out among the guests and made a terrible scene. Our youngest sister, Juliet, tried to calm him down and he turned on her like a madman.”

  “So that means he can be violent. If he would turn on your sister during a dementia lapse, he could turn on the rest of you.”

  “I don’t think so. He mistook Juliet for our mother because she looks more like Mother than any of us. For some reason, Grandfather always hated her. He called Juliet ‘Trudy’ and shouted that she had to be stopped before she destroyed the whole Blanchard family.” Rissa shuddered, remembering. “It was terrible and so unlike Grandfather. I don’t like to say it, but his hate was so intense that it’s not out of the realm of possibility that if he was wandering around and saw our mother in the library, he might have killed her.”

 

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