The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery

by J. S. Donovan

  “I’d love to, Deputy, but Avery’s already invited me to go line dancing tonight.”

  The deputy frowned. “Your loss.”

  He straightened his posture and brushed by Evelyn, turning back to check out her bottom before he left.

  Evelyn approached the desk.

  The girl smiled sweetly. “My name’s Claire. My friends call me Sunshine. How may I help you?

  “I’d like to discuss something important with the sheriff. Is he available?”

  “Can I have your name?”

  Evelyn told her and waited by patiently while the receptionist picked up the old cord phone and dialed one. She smiled at Evelyn as she waited. “Yes, Sheriff. It’s Sunshine. There’s a woman here who’d like to discuss something with you. She says she has evidence for a case regarding Mary Sullivan… Uh huh… Thank you… Yes. I’ll get you coffee too… Thank you.” Sunshine hung up. “He’s ready to see you.”

  Sheriff Garrett Yates opened the door for Evelyn and allowed her passage into his office. Yates had red hair and a red beard touched with gray on its sides and seemingly painted on his face. By the air of maturity about him, Evelyn could tell he was much older than he looked.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked and sat at the rim of his clean desk.

  Evelyn showed him the laminated drawing. “Mary Sullivan drew and had this laminated the day she vanished.”

  Yates grabbed the drawing in both hands and studied it.

  “I believe the three men in the background are responsible for her disappearance,” Evelyn continued.

  Yates set the drawing on his desk. He put his hands in his pocket. “Could be. But this was drawn by a seven-year-old. It’s not exactly foolproof.”

  “I guess you’re not going to reopen the investigation?” Evelyn said.

  “I never closed the investigation,” Yates replied. “But we’ve hit enough road blocks that it’s not a priority at the moment. May I ask why it concerns you?”

  “My father was Maxwell Quenby. He may be responsible.”

  “You are a Quenby, huh?” the sheriff said. “I didn’t know there were any of you left.”

  “Here I am,” Evelyn replied. “Will you help me prove my father’s innocence? My family gave a lot of money to this department over the years. I think it’s time to cash in on the investment.”

  Yates chuckled. “Just like a Quenby. I’ll tell you what: you bring me something solid, I’ll prioritize this case. Deal?”

  Evelyn let out a sigh. “Deal. Can you answer a few questions first?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who were the suspects?” Evelyn asked.

  “Maxwell for one, but the plane tickets proved otherwise.”

  “How about the scorch mark in his cotton field? Was that evidence?”

  “Never noticed it.” Yates replied casually.

  Evelyn nodded, suspicious of the man. “Any other suspects?”

  “Andrew Doyle,” the sheriff replied.

  “Where can I find him?”

  “In the Adders cemetery. Six feet underground,” Yates said, charmed by his own wit.

  Evelyn wasn’t amused. “How did that happen?”

  “That’s another case, Mrs. Carr.”

  “Cut me some slack,” Evelyn pressed. “Why did you suspect him?”

  “Because his body was recovered the morning after Mary vanished with a self-inflicted gunshot wound. There was evidence that he was moved and dumped there,” the sheriff said. “My wife says I’m forgetful, but I never forget a case.”

  “There was no information of the murder online,” Evelyn said.

  Sheriff nodded. “You must be new to Adders. Let me give you a tip. We live in a bubble. It’s a nice bubble, but a fragile one. One poke and POP, the whole town goes poof.”

  Sunshine walked in and gave Yates his coffee. He sniffed the steam in ecstasy. “Look into Doyle or don’t,” the sheriff said. “It’s not going to change the fact that Mary Sullivan is long gone. If you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Carr. I have work to do.”

  Suspicious, Evelyn left the sheriff’s office. She looked up Andrew Doyle on her phone’s Internet web search and, after about twenty minutes, found his obituary. He was thirty-two when he died. Andrew was a stone-faced man with a big nose, soft eyes, and silky hair. Something about him looked familiar. Evelyn noticed the date of his death. June 8, 2003. The day after Mary vanished. At least she knew the sheriff wasn’t lying. No cause of death was listed. The obituary read, “lived on by his brother and sister: Catherine and Stephen Doyle.” Evelyn searched for them as well, finding a picture of Stephen on a farming website. She recognized him as the twin who entered her house uninvited. Evelyn felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, starting to connect the dots.

  Evelyn couldn’t find Stephen's address. She recalled the place where she woke up in the cow pasture and headed that way in a cab. After driving down a single-lane country road, she spotted an old two-story house tucked away at the end of a long driveway. She had the cab driver pull up to the front, and Evelyn knocked on the door. Hands in her pockets, she waited for someone to answer.

  After a moment, Stephen opened the door. His bug-like eyes scrutinized her. His mouth was tightly closed above his sharp jaw. His short hair was silky smooth and nicely cut. He wore a white polo, khaki shorts, and gray slip-on shoes.

  “Hi Stephen,” Evelyn said.

  “What do you want?” he asked, looking past her and at the cab. “Did you leave something in my pasture when you were sneaking around, or are you here to threaten to call the cops again?”

  “Nothing like that,” Evelyn reassured. “Have you ever heard of Mary Sullivan?”

  “No.”

  “She went missing years ago. Your brother died the day after.”

  Stephen clenched his fist so tightly that the blue veins bulged. “Get off my porch.”

  “Stephen--” Evelyn said.

  The man stepped out of the door frame and glared down at Evelyn. He shoved his finger at her. “Go!”

  “Can’t we--”

  Stephen did not wait for her to finish before he turned back around and slammed the door in Evelyn’s face.

  Evelyn looked like an idiot standing on his front porch. Any other case, she would’ve pressed him for more information, but this was a delicate game. She needed to rethink her strategy.

  Ring!

  Evelyn’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of her own phone. The light ceased its flicker. Evelyn didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?” she answered, unable to take her eyes off the mural.

  “Mrs. Carr, this is Dr. Gregory. I have some good news. Your husband is awake.”

  “Tell him I’m on my way,” Evelyn said and hung up. She gave the Doyle house a final look before rushing to the hospital.

  Terrence rested against the backboard of the hospital bed, dressed in patient’s garb. His dark face seemed gaunter since Evelyn last saw him. A nurse stood by, checking his vitals on the monitor.

  “Could you excuse us?” Evelyn asked when she entered. It came out much ruder than she would’ve liked. Giving Evelyn a disgusted look, the nurse exited, keeping the door open. Evelyn shut it and turned back to her husband.

  “They said I was in a car accident on the way back,” Terrence said, almost disbelieving. “Is your nose hurt because of that?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.” Evelyn replied.

  “Of course it matters,” Terrence retorted. “I could’ve killed you. Eve, this is--”

  “Shut up and listen to me, Terrence,” Evelyn said quietly as she moved towards him.

  Terrence opened his mouth to speak but then shut it and reluctantly gave Evelyn his attention.

  Evelyn still felt that heavy, inexplicable feeling inside that she couldn’t trust him. Nonetheless, she needed an ally. She twisted back to the hospital hallway to make sure no one was listening and then turned back to Terrence.

  “I think I understand what’s happening now.�
�

  10

  Death at the Doorstep

  Evelyn paced as she explained the case to Terrence. “Three people killed Mary. Two had short hair. One had long hair. That translates to two guys and one girl. Andrew, Stephen, and Catherine Doyle. When Maxwell was away, they came to his house and committed the murder. Maxwell wasn’t arrested, but his reputation was destroyed. He ran off or maybe killed himself. I don’t know, but I feel this is more about the girl than my father. If we catch these killers, the girl finds peace and all our problems end.”

  “Evelyn,” Terrence said with hesitation. “Should we be getting involved in this?”

  Evelyn glared. “Yes, Terrence. It’s the only way.”

  “But how do we know?” Terrence asked.

  “The murals, as I explained. It’s all linked together. Don’t give me that look. You were the one who drove us home.”

  “You can’t blame me for that. You know I had no control over it,” Terrence argued.

  Or did you? Evelyn wanted to ask but knew it would get her nowhere. For the sake of her sanity, Evelyn needed to trust that the man was her husband.

  Terrence averted his eyes. “I only want us to be safe. Confronting someone who burned a seven-year-old for no reason doesn’t sound very safe.”

  Evelyn approached, got on her knees, and took his hand in her own. She looked into his eyes. “Please, Terrence. I have never begged for anything in my life.”

  Terrence looked at her with empathy. “I’m with you, Evelyn. I’ll always be with you. I only--”

  Evelyn pulled close to him and planted her lips on his. She felt her courage returning. Their kiss ended when the door opened. Dr. Gregory stood in the threshold. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Yes, but we’re finished now,” Evelyn said, turning back to him.

  “I’m going to have to steal your husband away,” Dr. Gregory said.

  Evelyn and Terrence traded concerned looks.

  “Why?” Evelyn asked.

  Dr. Gregory replied, “There are still tests to be done. His condition, it’s an abnormality and must be evaluated before he can leave.”

  “How long will that take?” Terrence asked.

  “Three or four days at the most,” Dr. Gregory said. “It’s for your safety.”

  Terrence leaned into Evelyn and whispered, “Can you wait that long?”

  Evelyn whispered back with fiery determination. “We need to end this, Terrence. Once and for all.”

  For a moment it looked like Terrence was going to protest. Instead, he turned to the doctor. “We’re checking out now.”

  “I would not recommended it,” Dr. Gregory said, friendly but stern. “The hospital has already taken care of the fee. Take advantage of the opportunity.”

  “We appreciate everything, Dr. Gregory, but we have something we must do.” Evelyn rose from the floor.

  “This is not a jail. I’m not going to lock you up,” Gregory said, trying to keep a lid on his frustration. “But if anything happens, like another car accident perhaps, it’s on your heads.”

  “We understand the risks,” Terrence replied. “Can I get my clothes back?”

  Once Terrence had changed back into his jeans and tan button up shirt with little instruments on it, they exited the hospital.

  “How are you feeling?” Evelyn finally asked as they waited for the cab. Stars speckled the night sky.

  “Could be worse,” Terrence said. “I’m still in one piece. What’s the plan?”

  Evelyn explained it to him.

  Even at night, the flat Georgian landscape was alive with green grass and wildflowers outside of the small town. Clusters of ancient trees spotted the fields. The cab driver let them off on the side of the road, flanked by two cattle pastures. Evelyn fished out some cash and thanked the driver for his services. He drove off. Terrence approached the fence. It had wooden pins connected by wire mesh. A number of black and white cows grazed on the tall grass spotted with dung. Terrence turned back to Evelyn. “I should’ve brought my cowboy hat.”

  “Just climb the fence,” Evelyn said, a small smile betraying her seriousness.

  After checking the streets for any oncoming cars, Terrence planted his hands on top of the post, put his feet into the mesh, and heaved himself over. His feet landed on the other side, narrowly missing a cow paddy. Evelyn followed Terrence over. Under the cover of darkness, they scurried across the open pasture. Terrence had suggested they bring a flashlight, but Evelyn knew that would draw unwanted attention.

  They swatted off bugs and steered clear of the livestock. Evelyn wondered if the blackout led her here because the supernatural force knew the Doyles were guilty. It seemed plausible. Were the shotguns for the Doyles too? They said they were looking for something. Evelyn didn’t know. She felt dread sink in, still unsure what Terrence and her shot that night.

  Jogging until their calves were sore and their shoes were stained with dried poo, they noticed the silhouette of a two-story house in the distance. Light streamed from its windows. There was a sedan parked in the driveway. Terrence and Evelyn hunched low to the ground as they neared the property. By the time they reached the fence, they were completely prone and crawling up the itchy grass on their bellies.

  “House or shed?” Evelyn asked herself.

  “This is my first breaking and entering, but I’d say shed. If we find what we need, there’s no reason to go inside,” Terrence whispered, keeping his eye on the house. It was an old building made in the thirties with a covered porch, wooden window shutters, and a symmetrical box design.

  “Stephen’s truck is not here,” Evelyn noticed.

  “Do we come back later?” Terrence asked.

  “No. The night Stephen picked me up out here, he was driving around at 4 a.m.”

  “Doing what?” Terrence asked.

  “I have no clue,” Evelyn replied honestly.

  They waited a half an hour, but it felt much longer than that. Finally, the lights in the house shut off. After a moment, Terrence and Evelyn hurried over the fence. They ran up the driveway and to the shed. It was a rectangular structure made of unpainted wood. There was a window on each side made up of four glass panes. The door had a wooden X on its front and a master lock on its rusty metal latch. Terrence flipped over the surrounding rocks.

  “Looking for a key,” he replied off of Evelyn’s look. The moon reflected on the sweat of his bald head.

  Evelyn checked her pockets and pulled out her lock-picking tool. “Never leave home without it.”

  She fiddled with the lock until it popped. Keeping the open lock on the latch, she opened the shed door. The interior was musty and cramped with tools, lawn mowers, and old car parts.

  “Keep guard,” Evelyn told Terrence.

  He nervously looked around while Evelyn pulled out her smartphone and turned on the flashlight. Every sharp rake or paint can that the light brushed across cast long shadows through the room. Evelyn tiptoed across the dirt floor. She spotted a few gasoline tanks over varying capacities and liquid levels. One of them had rust spots on its tin frame and dated back to 1988. Still, there was no possible way she could link that to Mary’s death. Evelyn headed to the back of the shed. She glanced at the wall of hammers, screwdrivers, and other tools. There was a heavy-duty metal tool trunk beneath it. Evelyn popped the latch and opened it. She removed the tray of tools from inside. Her eyes widened and her heart quickened as she looked down at the white cotton mask lying at the box’s bottom.

  It’s him. Evelyn knew at once.

  “Evelyn!” Terrence called with a loud whisper.

  Evelyn twisted to the door in time to see the large truck pulling into the driveway. Its headlights grew closer by the second. “Close the door!” Evelyn commanded.

  “What?” Terrence replied, panicking.

  “Do it!”

  Reluctantly, Terrence shut Evelyn inside and fiddled with the lock to make it look like it was set. He rushed by the right-side window and vanished behind the
shed. Evelyn turned off the light on her phone and ducked down. The truck’s high beams sliced through the slits between the shed’s plank walls and created jail bars over Evelyn’s chest and face. She held her breath as the vehicle shut off.

  The door opened, spilling country music into the night.

  Evelyn stayed still.

  The music died with the headlights.

  The door slammed. Someone yawned.

  Footsteps neared the shed.

  Turn around. Evelyn silently commanded as the figure approached the shed’s door. Why are you coming here?

  A key ring rattled together.

  Evelyn looked for a place to hide. She ducked behind the ride-on lawn mower.

  The figure outside hesitated as he saw the door. He lifted the unlocked lock and pushed open the door. Evelyn hunched low and covered her mouth. The figure was silhouetted in the door frame. He glanced around the room and lifted his t-shirt. A holster with a small pistol was tucked between his belt and pelvis. He withdrew it, clicked off the safety, and took his first step inside.

  Evelyn frantically looked for a weapon as beads of sweat trickled down her brow. Her hands found a hand shovel made for gardening. It had a pointed edge. It would have to work.

  The man took another step inside, fully entering.

  Evelyn could hear his nasal breathing. His hand reached for the beaded string dangling from the ceiling light bulb. His fingers wrapped around it, preparing to tug.

  Evelyn clenched the small spade in her paint-stained fingers, ready to lunge the second the light turned on.

  Crash!

  The man and Evelyn both twisted back.

  The noise sounded behind the shed.

  The man rushed out of the room and ran around back.

  Evelyn leapt to her feet and started running. She slipped on something, nearly smashing her face on the paint cans. She looked at what caused her to stumble.

  It was her minivan’s hubcap.

  Evelyn didn’t investigate further. She ran like hell out of the shed and over the pasture fence. She dropped prone in the tall grass and watched the man walk around the shed in search of the cause of the noise. Evelyn spotted Terrence crouching behind the air-conditioning unit behind the house.