“I’ve considered it,” she said with a tremulous laugh, realizing that he was the reason she still had long hair.
“I hope you won’t. I know I don’t have any right to ask anything of you now, but I’d hate to see your beautiful hair end up on the floor of a barbershop.” His hands cupped her head, and with the removal of a few pins, the soft brown tresses tumbled around her shoulders. His fingers threaded her hair as he’d often done in the past, and she wished the moment could last forever. But Mrs. Timothy Hern wasn’t as pliable as Ellen Rayburn had been, so she pushed his hands away, pinned up her hair, and started the car.
“I have to go. Fannie is at the grocery store waiting for me, and I don’t want to answer a lot of questions about where I’ve been.” But before she pulled out on the highway, she said, “It’s been good to see you.”
“Hopefully, we’ll see each other often this summer. I won’t let you go out of my life again.” Sensing her hesitation, he added, “What’s wrong with meeting for old times’ sake?”
Ellen could think of one very good reason not to see him— she was still vulnerable where Lane was concerned.
Entering the streets of Daltonville, she asked, “Where shall I drop you?”
“My car is parked across from the hardware store, but I can get out anywhere. I suppose it’s all over town that you and I met again and that we took a drive into the country.”
“Once it hurt me what people said, but I’ve long ago ceased to care about gossip.”
She stopped beside the old Model-T he indicated. “Come to see me,” she invited, capitulating to her need to see him. “I think you’d enjoy seeing Arrowwood as it is today.”
“I’ll do that. And why don’t you row over to Indian Island soon?”
“Bye,” she called as she drove away without committing herself to visit the island.
Comparing her luxury vehicle to his car, Ellen drove away dejected. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it—to be on top of the world and have the proud Daltons brought low? Somehow revenge wasn’t as sweet as she’d thought it would be.
Needing time to regain her composure before she met Fannie, Ellen drove slowly. This visit with Lane Dalton was one thing she hadn’t counted on. She’d never forgotten him, but she had ordered her life without him. Now that she was a widow, and he’d never married, what prevented them from starting over again? If she hadn’t misinterpreted the message in Lane’s eyes, the old flame still burned. What barriers could stand in their way now? Her father was dead, and so were his parents. But remembering the reason for her return to Arrowwood, Ellen knew the time wasn’t right to renew her friendship with Lane.
Ellen could tell that Fannie was agitated, and after they’d loaded the groceries and started the short drive to Arrowwood, she asked, “Anything wrong?”
Fannie’s eyes glittered ominously, and she spoke through pursed lips. “There’s plenty wrong. I heard talk in the store that there’s men digging up the dead on Indian Island. People are scared to death, thinking they’ll stir up that old Indian curse. I told you when I saw the shooting star that Deerslayer would be back. I’ll bet he’s roaming these hills right now.”
Ellen had trouble reconciling Fannie’s superstitions with her strong Christian beliefs, but that was Fannie.
Ellen withheld the information that she’d met Lane and knew about the excavation.
“Sis says they’re from California,” Fannie continued. “It’s against nature to dig up the dead. Trouble will come from it.”
“People have dug up artifacts on that island for years. A few archaeologists can’t hurt much.”
Since the local residents avoided the island, she and Lane had often met there secretively. The island held no fear for them.
“We can’t be too careful, Ellen,” Fannie insisted. She reached in her handbag and pulled out two chains with a rabbit’s foot attached to each one. She thrust one toward Ellen and said belligerently, “I want you to put that on and don’t give me any sass about it. The souls of dead Indians may be wandering all over the place. And I bought a flashlight for you to keep by your bed.”
Laughing affectionately at the same tone Fannie had used when Ellen was a child, Ellen hung the chain around her neck.
“What else did you find out?”
“Lots of revenuers around. They’ve found and destroyed three stills in the county since Christmas. God is going to send vengeance on this country. Flappers running around half naked, illegal whiskey flowing like water, men and women boozing, and the government not doing anything about it.”
Although Fannie was naturally pessimistic, Ellen knew that she’d given a good assessment of the present condition of the United States.
Three
Mrs. Henderson wasn’t at the house, so Fannie made sandwiches for their noon meal. After lunch, Ellen walked outside to where Mr. Henderson was trimming the shrubbery.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
He nodded and continued to clip the branches. A pipe hung from one side of his mouth, and though it was not lit at the time, Ellen perceived a faint aroma of tobacco similar to the scent of the can she’d found this morning. As she passed by, Ellen said, “I found a can of your tobacco in Timothy’s bedroom. You can pick it up in the kitchen. And I’d still like to know why you won’t admit you were in the house last night.”
He turned and stared at her with anger sparking from his eyes, threw down the clippers, and walked away. If he’d only said he’d been in the house, Ellen wouldn’t have thought any more about it. As the caretaker, he had a legitimate reason for being inside. What did he have to hide?
Ellen walked across the lawn, sat down on a stone bench, and surveyed the magnificence of Arrowwood. The portico of the two-story white brick structure had four massive Ionic columns, and dark green shutters graced the windows. The mansion stood on a high ridge above the Ohio River, well out of flood range.
Even yet, Ellen couldn’t comprehend that this place actually belonged to her, and the ownership brought no feeling of satisfaction. Why did she have such an empty feeling? She couldn’t be mourning Timothy. Although they’d been compatible, his passing brought her no more sorrow than she would have experienced if a close friend had died.
She had thought ownership of Arrowwood would heal the wounds of the past, but she felt no elation over the fact that she was living at Arrowwood in spite of the Daltons. The nine years she’d harbored resentment against the family had taken their toll on her, and right now she would have given Arrowwood for some peace of mind. This investigation into Timothy’s death and his racketeering connection promised to be troublesome—if not downright dangerous—and she dreaded the summer. She’d expected to bask in luxurious living at Arrowwood as Timothy’s wife, but instead she’d been plunged into the midst of a mystery.
Reverend Truett had been a great one for proverbs, and she could almost hear his voice saying, “ ‘Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith.’ ” Yet Ellen wasn’t ready to deal with that precept and, not wanting to mope anymore, she vaulted off the seat and struck out to survey her domain. A five-minute walk brought her to the edge of the formal lawn, and she plunged downhill through the forest. A doe flashed her white tail as she rapidly guided her fawn out of Ellen’s path. After walking for about a mile, Ellen reached a boathouse on the bank of Apple Creek.
“Timothy must have added this,” she mused aloud. “I’m sure the Daltons didn’t have a boathouse.” Lane had kept his rowboat tied to a tree at the mouth of the creek.
She pushed on the door, but the building was padlocked. She followed the creek toward the river, climbing over fallen trees and tangled underbrush looking for a cleared area where she could view Indian Island, the two-hundred-acre island opposite the mouth of Apple Creek. Indian Island was the scene of her most poignant memories, and with all of her other problems, it was a poor time to revive the past.
When she reached the banks of the Ohio, she saw two tents s
tanding on a sandbar near the river, but she didn’t see Lane or his companions. Indian Island remained untouched—just as she remembered it. Ellen started to walk dejectedly back to the house. Would anyplace bring good memories of her childhood?
Mrs. Henderson was sweeping the front verandah when Ellen returned from her walk by the river. As she approached, she asked, “Does Reverend Truett still live in the area?”
Mrs. Henderson gave her a curious look. “Yes, he’s been the pastor at Community Church for years.”
The thought of talking with this childhood friend lifted Ellen’s spirits. She would visit him as soon as possible, but not today, for she should be at home when Warren came.
At four o’clock, Ellen waited on the portico to receive Marshal Warren and his companions.
Annie Gricosky, a tall rawboned woman, was introduced as the cook, and the good-looking plump girl with her would be the general maid. Neither of these women looked other than what they were supposed to be, and Ellen could hardly believe they were government agents.
On the other hand, she would have picked Harold Thompson out of any lineup as a deputy marshal, for his actions suggested authority. He exhibited a stubborn, brooding visage with a jutting forehead and dark, clever eyes. His square, swarthy face was covered with heavy whiskers, the same color as his reddish brown hair, and he wore brown-rimmed glasses. Thompson was of medium height and weight, and Ellen judged he was about forty years old.
He moved with assurance, and when he grasped Ellen’s hand in a firm grip, she took the first easy breath since her arrival at Arrowwood. Asking Fannie to show the two women to their quarters and to orient them with the house, she led Warren and Thompson into the drawing room.
“Do you have anything to tell me before I return to Cleveland?” Warren asked as he settled into a rocking chair.
“I believe someone was in this house when we arrived last night, and then came back after I went to sleep.”
Ellen briefly explained the happenings of the night, ending with her reception from the Hendersons. “They both acted as if they had something to hide, and it was obvious that Henderson didn’t want me to be here this summer. They have reason to be in the house, so why lie about it?”
“When you’ve dealt with people as long as I have, Mrs. Hern, you’ll find out that some of them lie when the truth would do.” Motioning to Thompson, Warren said, “You’ll have some protection from now on, and if there’s anything you think I should know, tell Thompson. He’ll telephone me often.”
“My cousin, Fannie, is with me, and she’ll sleep in the room next to mine. She wasn’t here last night, and with the servants in the other end of the house, I felt rather alone.”
“Is there any way to contact them in an emergency?”
“There’s a speaking tube in my room that connects with the kitchen and to a room in the servants’ wing where Ercell is sleeping. I didn’t know about the tubes last night.”
“What’s the reason for the rabbit’s foot, Mrs. Hern?” Thompson asked with a slight smile. “I noticed both you and the other lady are wearing them.”
Ellen’s hand went to her breast in a self-conscious gesture. “I forgot I still had this thing on.” She took the chain from her neck and dropped it in her pocket. “Fannie gave it to me, and I put it on rather than have an argument. There’s an old legend around Daltonville about Deerslayer, a Shawnee chief who was murdered on Indian Island. Supposedly, when he was dying, he put a curse on the area, and every time anything goes wrong here, it’s laid to Deerslayer’s curse. Some archaeologists are working on Indian Island this summer, and that’s activated Fannie’s superstitious nature. She thinks Deerslayer’s spirit is wandering around the neighborhood.”
The memories Arrowwood brought back weighed heavily on Ellen’s peace of mind, and after Marshal Warren left, she got in her car and drove into Daltonville. She stopped by the parsonage to see Reverend Truett, but he wasn’t at home, so with a troubled spirit she returned to Arrowwood.
Judging from the meal Annie provided, she must indeed be a cook as well as a detective, because the food was not only tasty but attractive as well. Bentley placed the roast beef and vegetables in front of her with a flourish, not in the condescending manner with which he’d offered her breakfast grits. After dinner, Ellen and Fannie settled down in the living room, and Ellen telephoned her friend, Carol Pauley, the only person in Daltonville with whom she’d stayed in touch.
“Hello, Carol. This is Ellen Hern.”
“How like you to telephone me the first day you’re here! Are you going to stay long? The whole town is buzzing with excitement. Give me the scoop.”
“I may be here most of the summer.”
“Great! Then perhaps we can do some visiting.”
“You’re welcome at any time. I want to see you.”
“Then I’ll be out in a few days.”
Knowing at least one of her childhood acquaintances would be glad to see her gave Ellen a warm glow, and she talked longer than she’d expected. When she hung up the receiver, she looked at her watch.
“We’d better go to our rooms, Fannie. This time last night the lights were extinguished, and I don’t want to be caught downstairs in the dark.” She picked up the flashlight Fannie had brought her, which she intended to place by her bed tonight.
Closing the bedroom door behind her, Fannie asked, “Is there any way we can lock up, Ellen?”
“I locked the outside doors, but there aren’t any locks on the bedrooms. We’ll leave the door open between our rooms so we can protect each other.”
Ellen wasn’t sleepy, and after she prepared for bed, she decided to read until the lights went off, which they did promptly at eleven. Why had the lights been extinguished early last night? Had that been Henderson’s ruse to keep her in bed so he could. . . Could do what? Ellen wondered.
She wished Harold Thompson could have slept in one of the other bedrooms, but Marshal Warren wanted him to keep his eye on Ercell. Her nerves tingled and her mind churned, trying to sort out the happenings of the past week. Ellen intended to stay awake most of the night so she could surprise the nocturnal visitor if he returned, but she went to sleep in spite of her good intentions, to be awakened suddenly by Fannie’s scream.
Ellen grabbed the flashlight and ran into the next room where she found Fannie slumped on the floor. She flashed the light around the room quickly, but all was quiet. The closet door stood ajar, but when Fannie groaned, Ellen ran to her.
“What happened, Fannie? What did you see?”
Fannie struggled to a sitting position, while Ellen struck a match to the lamp on the table beside the bed.
“It was a ghost. I knew something was in the room when I woke up. I sat up in bed suddenlike, and I saw it then, just a blurry movement by the closet. Is it still there?”
“There’s nobody in the closet or in the room either.” At that moment the lamp’s light flickered, and Ellen heard a sound in her room as if the door into the hallway had opened and closed. Fannie clutched at her hand, but Ellen pulled away and ran toward the door. If someone had hidden in the bathroom while she worked with Fannie, he was escaping now.
“Don’t go, Ellen. You’ll be killed.”
Ellen ran into her room and shouted into the speaking tube. “Ercell! Ercell, come help me.” She received no response from the chauffeur, and she walked hesitantly into the hall.
She peered over the banister, but it was pitch-black in the hall below. As she watched, she saw a light moving from the rear of the house.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Having trouble, Mrs. Hern?” Harold Thompson said.
Ellen breathed a sigh of relief and ran downstairs.
“Someone has been in our rooms.”
“I thought I heard you calling through the speaking tube, but when I pounded on Ercell’s door, I couldn’t rouse him.”
He checked the front door. “Still locked,” he said. “You go back to your room, Mrs. Hern, and I’
ll look around.”
At that moment Ercell hurried into the hall, and Ellen turned to him. “Where were you? I tried to contact you through the speaker.”
“I was asleep, Ma’am. I didn’t hear you at first.”
Ellen went upstairs to comfort Fannie, who cowered in the bed. When Thompson came up fifteen minutes later, he assured them, “The house is still locked, and I can’t find anything wrong.” He slanted a quizzical gaze at Fannie. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
“I was not,” she said indignantly. “There was something over there by the closet, and no wonder, what with them people digging up the dead. There’s bound to be ghosts wandering about.”
Thompson opened the closet door and flashed his light into its interior. Fannie grabbed Ellen’s arm and pointed at the closet. On the floor at Thompson’s feet lay a feather similar to one worn in an Indian’s headband. Ellen’s stomach churned with anxiety and frustration, but when Thompson held up the feather, she saw it was only an imitation feather that could be bought in any variety store.
“This is only a joke, Fannie.” But her assurances were lost on Fannie, who had swooned again.
After they roused Fannie, Thompson said, “Give me a blanket, and I’ll bed down out in the hall. Try to get some sleep.”
Ellen didn’t know where extra bedding was kept, but she checked a closet in the bathroom and found several blankets, which she handed to Thompson. “I’ll feel more comfortable with you here. I’ll buy new locks for the outside doors tomorrow, and for these bedroom doors too. I don’t know how many people have keys to this house, and I don’t want any more prowlers.”
“I’ll take care of the locks. I’m here to look after you, remember,” Thompson said, and he studied her for a long moment.
Ellen extinguished the lights and crawled back into bed. It was all well enough to say the feather could be bought in any store, but who had brought it into the house? And for what purpose? Up until this moment, Ellen had experienced only momentary anxiety that soon faded when she looked at each incident in a rational manner. But now she was afraid, fearing for her life, her well-being, and her friends. Why wasn’t she wanted in this house? If she were as superstitious as Fannie, she’d believe Deerslayer was trying to drive her away. Though she derided herself for such foolish thoughts, the question remained, Was she safe at Arrowwood?
Love Almost Lost Page 3
