Helen watched the Down Under and the two young men on board with mixed feelings. In part she saw them as adventurers diving for would-be treasures with no malice in their minds. Another part wondered if they were telling the truth. Was Ted being honest with them about not remembering much about the castle and its secret passages? Or did he and Patrick mean to lure them into some hidden chamber and lock them in and leave them there to die? With her and Claire dead, there would be only one heir to Paddy's fortune. With Richard's death, Sandra would inherit and Patrick would reap the benefits. Somehow she was having a hard time casting Ted and Patrick into the role of criminals.
Helen stood at the bow letting the gentle wind brush her hair away from her face and the gothic thoughts from her mind. "Helen Bradley," she chided herself, "imagination is a dangerous thing."
Chapter Twenty Three
They arrived back at the castle at seven o'clock. Pink pre-sunset clouds filled the sky. Dinner smells came from the kitchen, where Hillary and Martha assured them that the extra two guests would be no problem, and no, they didn't need help.
Helen and Claire went back to the sitting room, where Megan, Peter, Patrick, and Ted were deep in discussion over who besides Richard might have killed Paddy.
"I still think it's Fabian." Megan glanced at her mother. "I'm sorry, Mom, but he's the most obvious suspect, isn't he? He's disappeared, the detective Grandpa hired to find him is dead, and there's no trace of him anywhere. He's a much more viable suspect than Uncle Richard. All you have to do is look at Uncle Richard and know he couldn't hurt a fly."
Claire and Helen exchanged glances. She expected Claire to come to Fabian's defense again. Instead, she looked tired and beaten.
"You're right, Megan," Claire said. "There really is no other explanation. I don't understand why he would do it, but I'm sure you're right."
Megan let out an exaggerated sigh. "Thank goodness. You're finally beginning to see the light. What scares me is he might go after you next."
"Or Helen," Claire said. "Someone pushed her off the summit today."
"No way.'' Megan bounced off the couch more animated than Helen had seen her since her arrival at the marina the day before. "He's going to kill all of us. Just like in Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians."
"That's crazy." Patrick shook his head. "Why would anyone want to kill Helen?"
"Maybe she's a threat. Or maybe it's the money." Megan tossed an odd look at Helen. "Didn't you know our famous cousin not only solves crimes, but she inherits a third of Grandpa's estate?"
"I heard. Dad was pretty upset about that,” Patrick said. “But why would Fabian kill her? It's not like he'll get anything out of the deal."
"That's not quite true, is it, Mom?" Megan settled back onto the couch and rubbed her hip. "My mother named him in her will."
"How did you know that?" Claire bit her lower lip.
"I have my sources."
"If Fabian did it, which I doubt, how would he get back on the island without the alarms going off?" Peter was on his feet now. He walked to the window, rubbing the back of his dark head.
"With all the weird stuff happening around here, he's probably found a way," Megan said. "Nothing is foolproof."
Peter shook his head. "If there were a way in, I'd have found it. I've been over every square inch of this island."
"Have you checked the caves?" Helen asked.
"As a matter of fact, I have. There's nothing in them."
Helen didn't bother to correct him. Neither did Claire, Patrick, or Ted. Perhaps they were thinking as she was, that with Peter's knowledge of the island and of Paddy's affairs, and being in line to inherit if he and Megan married, he was a prime suspect as well.
"Apparently someone has found a way to bypass security," Helen said. "Either that or one of us is guilty."
Surprisingly Helen didn't get any response from the somber group. Maybe they were all as numb as she felt. She excused herself to get ready for dinner. She hadn't had any real thinking time since they'd arrived on the island and desperately needed some now.
Once in her room, Helen washed up and donned a soft cotton dress with a floral print in mauve and burgundy with a black background. After running a brush though her hair, she sat down on the bed with a pad and pen and listed all of the possible suspects and their motives.
Richard. As much as she hated to think him responsible for his own father's death, she put him at the head of the list. Richard may not have pushed her, but it was entirely possible that he and Sandra were in on it together. For being separated, Sandra was certainly playing the concerned wife.
Peter. He had motive and opportunity. He knew the island and admitted that if there had been a secret tunnel or passageway, he'd know about it. Peter had such a sweet disposition, she found it hard to peg him as a murderer. Yet he could easily have pushed her off the cliff and killed Paddy. He also knew the security system and could turn it on and off at will. Suppose he hadn't used a secret passageway at all but had simply turned the cameras off, entered Paddy's room, and slipped the poison in his drink.
If money was a motive, she could understand now why Peter might want to do away with her. What she couldn't understand was the detective's death. At this point she had nothing linking Peter and Trace Peterson other than that they had both been employed by Paddy.
"This isn't making any sense at all," she muttered.
Writing down Fabian's name, Helen thought again about the letter Trace Peterson had written prior to his death. Paddy had hired him to find Fabian. Fabian certainly had a motive there, especially if he was into something illegal. In trying to cover up his trail, he might have killed Paddy, but why get rid of her?
"Unless Peter and Fabian are working together." She tapped the pen against her lips. Peter seemed to know Fabian fairly well and vouched for him several times.
There were other suspects. That's what made things so murky. She continued listing them. Claire, Megan, Patrick, and of course the lawyer. Greg had a hand in Paddy's affairs. He knew all the family members and spent a good deal of time on the island. He had opportunity for each of the murders and could have pushed her. Yet what motive would he have? And why kill one of his wealthiest clients? That made no sense whatsoever, unless he stood to inherit a sizable amount. She wrote a note to herself to check the will and find out how much Paddy was leaving to Greg.
Ted came to mind again. He may have been using Patrick to learn the security system and win their confidences. Suppose there were secrets here he didn't want them discovering. Perhaps he was into smuggling contraband across the border. But then, why sell in the first place? If he were into smuggling, chances were he'd have plenty of money to keep the place up. Unless the law was closing in. Then it might pay to have the island in use as a legitimate business.
She listed the others. Hillary, Martha, Sarah, and Luis, then went back and circled Hillary because she's the one who made certain Uncle Paddy took his medication and warm milk. She also circled Fabian and Peter, Richard and Sandra, and Claire.
Helen still couldn't get the notion out of her head that her cousin might be behind all of this. Could Claire have killed Fabian and set things up to look as though he was the killer? Had she found the ring, or planted it? Had she tried to make Helen believe the ghost might be responsible? Or perhaps she and Fabian were working together.
Helen shook her head. It still wasn't making sense. It was ridiculous to consider Claire. She said herself she didn't need the money. Of course, saying so didn't necessarily make it so. Suppose her ex-husbands had drained her resources. She might be desperate enough. . ..
Disgusted with her suspicions and her failure to ferret out the killer, Helen put a big X through the entire list and shoved the pad into the drawer.
Someone knocked.
"Come in."
Claire poked her head in. "Are you decent?"
"Last I checked. What do you need?"
"Greg just called. Wanted to know how we were doing and said thin
gs weren't looking good for Richard."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I guess they have a pretty strong case. The sheriff found a vial of cyanide in the trunk of Richard's car. That and the video are enough to build a strong case against him. The cyanide had been put in Dad's inhaler." Claire stood at the foot of the bed, her hands wrapped tightly around the curved brass rail. She stared at something on the wall behind Helen.
Helen chided herself for her earlier thoughts. There was no way Claire would have killed her father. She adored him.
Claire's unseeing gaze moved to Helen's. "I guess it's over. Greg said Dad wanted to be cremated and have us scatter his ashes over the water. Father Daley will come here day after tomorrow to conduct a small service for the family."
"What about the detective? They don't think Richard killed him, do they?"
"The sheriff doesn't think his death is related to Paddy's now. They're looking for Fabian in connection with the shooting."
"I see." Helen slipped on her sandals. "What aren't you telling me?"
"I called home to get the messages on my answering machine. The bank called to tell me I was overdrawn. It appears Fabian is still in town."
"You think Fabian took money from your account?"
"I don't know. Greg had me cancel the debit card when he discovered someone was using it. Maybe Fabian took some checks and has been forging my name. Right now I don't care." Claire pulled her shoulders back and raised the corners of her mouth in a half smile. "Dinner's ready. Shall we go eat?"
They were just sitting down to dinner when Sarah came in flushed and out of breath, a look of panic in her eyes. "Have any of you seen Marcie?"
Claire jumped up. "I thought she went with her mother."
"N-no. Mrs. O'Donnell decided at the last minute to leave her here. Said she didn't want her waiting at the sheriff’s office. I said I'd look after her. I meant to tell you, but I got busy."
Helen pushed her chair back. "When did you last see her?"
"Less than an hour ago. She was in her room reading. I've looked everywhere. I even checked the fifth floor. There's no sign of her."
"Don't panic," Hillary said. She set a covered casserole on the table. "We'll help you look. There are a lot of nooks and crannies. She's probably fallen asleep somewhere."
"Have you checked the pool and spas?" Helen asked. "We should look there too." Everyone offered to look for Marcie except Megan, who felt she wouldn't be much help in her condition. They all agreed.
Hillary sent them to various parts of the castle and the grounds. The men searched outdoors and in the pool areas. Helen and Claire changed from dresses to jeans and helped the other women search the house.
An hour later they had covered every inch of the castle, including the basement, but had found no trace of Marcie except for a Barbie doll lying on the floor in Mary's room. In Marcie's bedroom on the second floor, they found her suitcase lying open on the floor with her clothes still packed, but the baby doll she'd also brought was gone. Helen and Claire took the Barbie downstairs to show the other women.
"Mary's taken the child," Hillary moaned. "I just know it."
Helen sat down at the table and rubbed her eyes. "Hillary, please stop with the ghost business. Maybe the men will find her." Helen didn't hold out much hope for that. In a few moments they'd have to call Sandra. She frowned and glanced at her watch. It was almost nine and Sandra hadn't so much as called to check on Marcie.
"Sarah." Helen glanced up at the girl. "When Sandra left, did she give you any idea when she'd be back?"
"She said she'd be here by dinner or she'd call."
"And she hasn't called?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then we'd better call her," Helen said.
"I hope she's all right," Claire said. "Sandra isn't my favorite person, but she's a good mother."
"No, please, don't call her yet." Sarah clasped her hands in front of her. "At least wait until the guys come back. Maybe they found her."
A few minutes later they had their answer. Patrick, Peter, and Ted walked into the kitchen, their faces etched with concern. Marcie was nowhere on the grounds. It was time to call the police and Sandra.
In less than an hour the sheriff and two deputies, several people from neighboring islands, and two hunting dogs arrived. The dogs went through the house, following Marcie's scent from her bedroom on the second floor up the stairs and into Mary's room. It stopped at the wall where they had found the Barbie doll, then began going in circles. Helen and Claire suggested that they look for a hidden panel as another way out of the room. After fifteen minutes of searching they found nothing.
Back outside, the search party followed the trail to the marina. The dogs circled the castle but couldn't seem to pick up Marcie's scent in any other area. With darkness settling in, they decided to resume the search the next day and concentrate instead on locating her mother. It was possible, they decided, that Sandra could have come and gone before Claire, Helen, Patrick, and Ted had come back to the island. According to the sheriff, Sandra and Greg left the sheriff s office at six. So far they hadn't been able to reach either one of them.
Helen didn't want to speculate on where Sandra or Greg might be. Perhaps they'd gone out to eat. Emotionally and physically, she'd hit a wall. Exhausted and beyond the ability to reason, she went upstairs to her room, took off her shoes, and dropped onto her bed. She'd planned on resting for only a few minutes, then go back through the castle to search for the passageway she knew must be there. Children didn't disappear into thin air. They had overlooked something in their search for a secret doorway or panel. Helen wanted to try again, but she desperately needed to rest first.
It was dark when her eyes opened again. She heard a thud. It sounded as if someone had hit the wall. She sat up and listened more intently. Was someone going into or coming out of Mary's room?
Helen tossed aside a quilt someone had thrown over her probably Claire. She slipped on her tennis shoes and pulled on a sweat shirt and then lit the candle she'd used the night before when she and Claire had gone up to investigate Mary's room.
A light shone under the door to Mary's suite. Helen's first thought was that Sarah might be there. She tapped on the door before turning the knob and pushing it open with her shoulder. A candle flickered on a nearby table. There was no one in the room. "Hello?" she said softly. "Is anyone here? Sarah?"
No one answered. Music rose from the gramophone, filling the room with its haunting refrain. The hair on Helen's neck and arms stood at attention. Her heart hammered. Helen glanced around the room again, then checked the adjoining bedroom and bath. She saw no one.
Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the outlet the gramophone was plugged into and yanked the cord out of the wall.
The music stopped.
She sat down in the chair beside the candle, determined not to let the music or the candle frighten her. Logic, she told herself. There was a logical explanation for all of this.
In the next breath she straightened and offered up a prayer. "Oh, God," she breathed, "I have no idea what's going on. But I do know evil is at work here. You are a light to brighten the darkness. And I am so in the dark." She closed her eyes and tipped her head back and prayed for her cousin's child and for truth.
She felt a draft. The candles flickered. She heard a click, then scraping again. Someone groaned. Helen blew out both the candle on the table and the one she held and sank back against the chair waiting for the door to open, then realized she hadn't closed it. Another creak. She sucked in a quick breath. The sound wasn't coming from the door at all, but the wall. A gaping hole appeared in the space next to the fireplace. A monstrous shadow emerged from the opening.
Chapter Twenty Four
The giant stumbled into the room, teetered, and fell in a heap at Helen's feet.
Helen covered her mouth and suppressed the urge to scream. It took several seconds before she could readjust her thinking from terrorized victim t
o caregiver. The man was obviously hurt. With shaking fingers she relit one of the candles and held it above the man's face.
He had at least a week's worth of beard. His ash blond hair was clumped with dried blood from a wound on the back of his head. His lips were dry and cracked, as though he'd gone without water for some time. He had the build of an athlete, tall. His clothes, a polo shirt that had once been white and a pair of khaki slacks, were ripped and stained. Except for the wound on the back of his head and a gash on his forehead, he didn't appear to have any other significant injuries.
Helen recognized him from the photo she'd seen at Claire's. "Fabian?" She shook him. He groaned and flung his hand out, barely missing her cheek.
"Helen?" Claire peeked into the room. "I heard noises. What are you doing up here?"
"It's Fabian." Helen shined the light back on his face. "He's hurt. Help me get him up on the sofa." She set the candle on the table so it cast its light on the crystal ceiling lamp and reflected back around them.
"Claire backed away as if she’d seen a ghost. “How did he get here?"
"Through the passageway." She pointed to the wall.
"I don't see anything."
Helen glanced toward the wall in question and groaned. The doorway had vanished. "Don't worry about that right now. We need to make sure Fabian is all right. Maybe he'll have some answers for us."
Together they moved the large man onto the sofa. Helen lit the second candle while Claire headed toward the bathroom to fetch a wet cloth for his face. Helen went down to her room, got a glass and filled it with water, then ran back upstairs.
Claire had barely placed the cloth on his forehead when he flung the cloth away and grabbed her wrist. His eyes flew open.
"Ow. Fabian. You're hurting me."
"Claire?" Fabian let go and fell back against the cushion. Grunting, he raised up on his elbow. "Is it really you?"
"Yes, darling. Helen's here too." Claire sat in the small space beside him and wrapped her arms around him.
A Haunting Refrain: A Helen Bradley Mystery (Helen Bradley Mysteries Book 4) Page 20
