A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  "Interesting story.” Stone all but rolled her eyes. “So this ghost's music woke you up. Did anyone else hear it?"

  "I did." Hillary sat up and swung her legs around. "But then, I always do. I sleep in the maid's quarters, and there's a PA system of pipes that runs through the house. I knew she was up to no good. I could feel it in my bones. Right then and there I should have gone and checked on Paddy, but I just lay there thinking about it. Next thing I knew it was morning and Paddy was dead." She took to wailing again about poor Paddy and how it was all her fault.

  Helen didn't try to console her. Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she laced Paddy's milk with cyanide and tried to cover up the fact by framing the ghost.

  "Mrs. Bradley mentioned seeing a rose on the mantel when you discovered that he was dead. Did either of you see it?" Stone nodded to Claire and Hillary.

  Claire shook her head. "I didn't. All I could see was Paddy sitting there." Claire lowered herself into a chair and covered her face with steepled hands.

  "I saw it," Hillary said. "That's how I knew it was her." She snatched up the end of her apron and twisted it in her hands. "Saints preserve us. It's her calling card. The roses. Only now she doesn't have to use the card. She has the real thing."

  "What calling card? What are you talking about?" Helen asked.

  Hillary scrambled off the couch. "I'll show you. There's one in the kitchen."

  Seconds later Hillary returned carrying a small rectangular piece of card stock about the size of a business card. "Her calling card."

  Officer Stone took the card, then passed it to Powell, who handed it to Helen. It was torn and yellowed with age. On the front above the stylized-script signature of Mary J. Werner was a woman's hand holding a pink rose similar to the one in the portrait.

  "Where did this come from?" Stone asked. "What's it for?"

  When Hillary didn't answer, Helen did. "I've seen these before in antique shops. In fact, a friend of mine collects them. People in the upper class used to carry calling cards in much the same way we carry business cards. They only stated the name unless they used it for business."

  "I find them on occasion and after a while they disappear again," Hillary explained. "But now, since Helen's husband sent those roses, she's using the real thing. I didn't make the connection until this morning, but it seems like whenever anything bad happens, I find a card."

  "Hill, you can't seriously believe Mary's ghost killed Paddy." Helen handed the card back to the RCMP.

  "I never would have thought it, but this morning when I saw the rose on the mantel, I knew."

  "But nothing," Powell inserted. "Paddy was not killed by a ghost."

  "He's right, Hill." Helen said, hoping to calm the woman.

  Hillary shook her head. "Helen, you can't be taking their side. You really think one of us did it?"

  "No, of course not. But I don't believe this ghost theory either."

  "Then who? You heard what Peter said. There's no way anyone could have gotten on the island during the night."

  "Perhaps not, but isn't it possible someone is here that we don't know about? Someone who's been here for a while? Someone who’s been here since the attempts on Paddy's life started."

  "If there's anyone else on the island, we'll find them," Sheriff Stone assured them.

  Helen wasn't so sure about that. The island was large and forested with any number of places a killer could hide. The killer could even be hiding somewhere in the castle. There was another entire floor she hadn't seen. She made a mental note to check out the basement.

  Hillary reminded them of lunch and went to the kitchen to finish preparing it. Helen and Claire promised to come in to help as soon as they were finished.

  "No need for that," Hillary said. "Sarah and Martha came in this morning."

  "Really. I didn't know they were here." This only proved her point. People could come and go unnoticed if they knew how to bypass security.

  "Haven't been here long. I called to tell them about Paddy and they insisted on coming. They'll stay as long as we need them."

  When she'd gone, Helen joined Claire at the window and watched the Celtic Moon sail into the marina.

  "This place has more traffic than the 1-5 freeway at rush hour," Stone said, looking at the same view. "You folks expecting company?"

  "That will be my niece, Marcie, and Sandy, Richard's wife. I don't see Patrick, um, their son, but he could be below."

  "I don't want anyone else coming in here." Stone turned away and started for the door.

  "You're not thinking of sending them away," Helen called after her.

  "As a matter of fact, I am. This is a murder investigation. I can't have all these people running around."

  "You heard Richard. He's talking suicide. He needs his family with him."

  "No. There may still be a killer on the island."

  The front door banged open. "Daddy!" Marcie yelled. "Grandpa! Hey, everybody, we're here!" Marcie nearly plowed into Sheriff Stone as she raced into the room.

  "Whoa." Stone caught her by the arm and immediately let go when the child pulled away.

  "Who are you? Why are you here?"

  "I'm Sheriff Stone. I'm here because. . ." She glanced up at Helen and Claire.

  "Marcie," Claire stretched out her arms and Marcie ran to her.

  "What's wrong, Auntie Claire? Why are you crying?"

  "Sheriff," Powell said, "I think we should leave them alone for a few minutes, don't you agree? I'd like to have a look in Paddy's suite. Maybe you could give me a rundown. I know it's your investigation, but I'll be expected to give a report."

  "Um, sure." A play of emotions crossed her face as she moved toward the door. Stone was reluctant to leave the room, yet at the same time eager to escape the grieving family.

  "Why are they here?" Marcie asked again.

  "Oh, honey. I'm afraid I have some bad news. You see, Grandpa died last night."

  "Oh no." Marcie closed her eyes tight and wrapped her thin arms around Claire's neck. "I didn't want him to die. He told me he wasn't going to for a long time."

  "I know." Claire held her close.

  Sandra, winded from her run up the hill, hurried in, her short graying blond hair ruffled but fashionable. "Honey, you shouldn't have run off like that." She wore khaki shorts and a purple University of Washington Huskies sweat shirt. Her olive skin still held its summer tan.

  Marcie released her aunt and ran to her mother. "I wanted to see Grandpa. Auntie Claire said he died. Now he won't be able to see my Irish dance."

  "He will, sweetie. He can see everything from heaven."

  Sandra glanced over at Claire. "Peter told me. I'm so sorry. Where's Richard?"

  "In his room, I think. He's in the Dogwood Room."

  "I'll go find him." Marcie pulled loose and took off running.

  "Walk!" Sandra shouted after her. "That girl," she said, shaking her head. "She is so excited to see her dad and grandfather." She paused, then asked, "How did he die?"

  "He may have been poisoned. The autopsy report will tell us for sure."

  Sandra gasped. "That's terrible. Do they have any suspects?"

  "All of us, I'm afraid.

  “I see.”

  "There's something else you should know," Helen said. "Um, has Richard told you anything about his illness?"

  "No, but he didn't have to. I'm not blind. He won't talk to me about it, or about anything else for that matter."

  "If you knew, then, how could you even think about divorcing him? He's talking about suicide." Claire released a long, hard sigh and turned away. "He's dying, for Pete's sake. Couldn't you have waited?"

  Sandra turned away. "You know nothing about my situation. It took a long time to come to this decision. It hasn't been an easy one. You of all people should be able to understand what it's like to have a husband close you out. Richard didn't run off with my money, though. He's gambled nearly all of it away."

  "Gambled? Since when? Richard hates gambling."<
br />
  "Not anymore."

  Helen sank onto the love seat, not sure if she should enter the conversation or not. She could certainly understand Sandra's decision. Gambling addictions could be as devastating to a family as alcoholism.

  "Claire," Helen said finally, "don't be too quick to defend him. Richard was at the casino when we got to the boat yesterday."

  "He's always at the casino. I've tried to get him into counseling, but he won't have it."

  "I'm sorry. I had no idea." Claire rose as a bell summoned them to the dining room.

  "Have you eaten?" Claire asked.

  "No. I'll go up and get Marcie."

  "Helen, are you coming?"

  "As soon as I wash up. You go ahead." Helen headed up the stairs. She wouldn't have had to go to her room to clean up for the meal. There were plenty of bathrooms downstairs. But she needed a few minutes alone to gather herself together. She felt scattered and confused.

  She pondered Claire's transformation from grieving daughter to mistress of the castle, intent on making certain everyone was fed. Amazing how the prospect of a meal could alter one's attitude. Differences were set aside. Even grief could be held at bay by the promise of a meal. She washed her hands in the small porcelain sink and wiped them dry on a satin-trimmed towel. The mint green and peach towels matched a row of floral tiles that bordered the tile work on the counter and wall.

  Helen paused at the dresser to check her hair. And to count the roses. Now there were eleven. Whoever had set the rose in Paddy's room must have put it back

  "I could be wrong," she muttered to herself, "but this is not the work of a ghost."

  Chapter Seventeen

  How are you, luv?" J.B.'s soothing baritone reached across time and space like a lifeline. Helen clung to it.

  "I'm not sure." She began crying again as she told him about Paddy. "I should have called you sooner, but everything's happened so quickly. On top of it all, I've just learned that Richard has cancer, he's addicted to gambling, and his wife is divorcing him."

  "It sounds as though the entire family is coming apart."

  "That's what Claire says. It's even worse for her with Fabian missing and all." She filled him in on the entire story, wishing he were there in person. She wanted his arms around her, holding her and helping her through her grief. She thought about asking him to forget the house, put everything on hold, and join her, but she couldn't. "How's the house coming?" she asked in­stead.

  "Things are at least going well here, luv. No need to worry at this end. I don't think I'll be able to break away by this weekend, though."

  "It's probably just as well. I doubt our local law enforcement team will let you on the island anyway. They're trying to keep traffic to a minimum. They suspect one of us killed Paddy. Much as I hate to admit it, I think they may be right."

  "Knowing you, you're in the thick of things."

  "Thick is right. My head is whirling with miscellaneous bits and pieces of information. I'm not sure how much of it actually pertains to Paddy's death."

  "You'll figure it out. You always do."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Helen sighed. "In this case, I'm not sure I want to. I go back and forth. The sheriff here would just as soon I keep my nose out of her investigation. She's probably right. I'm not sure I have the objectivity I should have. On the other hand, she's young and inexperienced." Helen told her about Tiffany Stone and the RCMP. "I like him," she added at the end. "He reminds me a little of you."

  After a brief hesitation, J.B. said, "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

  "It isn't necessary."

  "Would you like me to call in a federal agent?"

  "Not yet, but the thought has crossed my mind."

  "As I recall, Paddy had some gambling ties. You might want to consider that connection."

  "You're right." Helen twisted the cord around her finger. "He had that big resort in Las Vegas. As I recall, he sold that one last fall." Thoughts of Richard's gambling problem flitted through her mind. "It's too soon to call the Feds, but I'll mention the gaming connection to the sheriff. At any rate, I shouldn't be worrying you about it. You have enough to do at the moment." Helen switched gears before he could object. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, Kate's coming down to see you. She wants to check over some last-minute details on the house."

  "She'll be bringing the children?"

  Helen smiled at the hopeful tone in his voice. J.B. loved the grandchildren as much as she did. "Yes. All four of them, I'd imagine."

  "Good, good. I think I'll take them to the aquarium again."

  "I'm jealous."

  "You could come home."

  "I can't. Not yet." After saying their good-byes, Helen hung up and made her way downstairs. Her stomach growled, demanding nourishment to fill the empty crater inside her heart that death had made. Food wouldn't fill it, of course. The healing would only come with time and perhaps, in part, with finding Paddy's killer.

  Helen recalled the details of her conversation with Claire and Sandra and let it settle in her mind. Richard's addiction to gambling and desire to make certain his family was financially set before he died could certainly be motive for murder. Perhaps there was even more to it than that. Dealings with the mob, for example. Did someone want Paddy out of the way? It was far­fetched, especially considering that the killer had used poison. Not exactly an execution-style murder.

  One thing for certain, she had a busy afternoon ahead. She needed to make some notes. Writing things down helped her clarify things. What she had so far could almost fill a book.

  "Helen, I'm glad you're here." Claire set down her glass of iced tea. "Where were you? I was beginning to wonder if you'd deserted me too."

  "I thought I'd better call J.B. to let him know about Paddy. Where is everyone?"

  "Sandra took food upstairs for Marcie, Richard, and herself. Guess he was too weak to come down, and Marcie wanted to eat with him. Greg and the officers are eating out on the patio. They asked me to join them, but I said I'd wait for you. I think Peter's already finished and back to work."

  "Hillary?"

  "She's eating in the kitchen with Martha and Sarah."

  Helen helped herself to an egg salad sandwich and a green salad. Drizzling a honey-mustard dressing over the lettuce, she said, "How would you feel about eating outside with the others?"

  "Sure."

  They settled themselves at the round patio table between Greg and Officer Powell, with Claire sitting next to Greg. After exchanging pleasantries about the weather, they sat in silence. Helen concentrated on her food and enjoyed the view.

  "Helen." Claire broke the silence. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Sure." Helen leaned forward and bit into her sandwich. A glob of egg salad oozed out the other side of the bread and fell onto her plate.

  "Remember earlier,” Claire said, “before Sandra and Marcie came, you said someone else might be on the island."

  "Hmm."

  "You were thinking of Fabian, weren't you?"

  "Not necessarily. . .." Helen began.

  "Oh, Helen, you're wrong. I wish there were some way I could convince you of his innocence."

  "Fabian," Stone repeated the name thoughtfully. "Your ex-husband. We have a warrant out on him."

  "As do we." Powell wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, crumpled it up, and set it on his empty plate. "He disappeared the same day Paddy's money was stolen. You think he may still be on the island, Helen?"

  Claire shook her head. "If he's still here it would be because someone is holding him against his will,"

  "Peter said he left the island," Helen reminded her. "Unless he's lying."

  "He isn't," Greg said. "Peter is telling the truth. Richard and I came out with him. We were all going to visit Paddy that day and couldn't see going separately. We took Claire's sailboat. As soon as we docked we all went to our cars. That was the last I saw of him. The only way he'd be on the island was if he came back later." He took hold of Claire's
hand. "I know how difficult this must be for you, but you need to face facts. The man used you. He's probably in Mexico or Canada by now."

  "But his ring," Claire said. "I found it by one of the spas. He was wearing it when he left the house to come here. He wouldn't have taken it off."

  Helen's fingers closed around the ring she'd put in her pocket that morning before breakfast. She'd completely forgotten about sending it.

  Greg frowned. "I wouldn't know about that. I can give you a possible explanation. When he finished his business with Paddy, he and Richard decided to take the waters. Paddy and I were still working over some papers. Um. . . he was going to tell you all eventually, so I guess it's all right to tell you now. Paddy was putting together a proposal to allow a gaming facility on the island."

  "Gaming?" Helen nearly choked. "Are you certain?"

  "Yes. It's a great money-maker. He'd been working with the Canadian government as well as with Washington State. He was promising to give twenty percent of the revenue back to fund educational programs."

  Helen told them about her conversation with J.B. and suggested Officer Stone consider calling in the Feds.

  Greg shook his head. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. He hadn't even gone public with his plans yet. So far we were in the talking stage."

  "What's the motive?" Powell asked.

  "I don't know." Helen took the defensive. "Maybe the casinos already operating didn't want more competition. I haven't had time to think it through. I just thought the gambling issue was something the sheriff might want to pursue."

  "While I appreciate your input, Mrs. Bradley, I don't see how bringing in the FBI will do anything but confuse the issue. But I will keep your advice in mind."

  "What about Fabian and the ring?" Claire turned to Greg. "You said you might have an idea."

  "Not really," Greg said. "He may have taken it off while he was in the spa. I didn't notice him wearing it when we left, but I wasn't looking either. I was piloting the boat and he was at the stern the entire trip. He seemed to be deep in thought, so I didn't interrupt."