by Marja McGraw
Again, I wanted to roll my eyes, but I didn’t want Max to see me. So I lowered my head and crossed them. Mikey saw me and grinned.
Max took off in a hurry. I guess he really did have other appointments.
“Okay, you can let the dogs out now.” Judith had taken charge.
Sherlock leaped out of the car, but fortunately I had hold of his leash. I handed it to Mikey. Sherlock was actually the better-behaved dog of the two, most of the time. I reached in and took hold of Watson’s leash. She could be a handful when she wanted to be.
We took one last look at the outside of the place before entering.
“I believe there’s a basement in the house,” Judith said. “Why don’t we start there and work our way up.”
“Because the basement is probably full of black widows.” I hated dark places that might be filled with spiders.
“I brought gloves and bug spray.” Judith had brought a backpack instead of her purse. She set it on one of the tables that had been left behind and opened it. “I also brought some baseball caps. This stuff should protect us.” I studied the backpack. It looked heavy, and full.
Mikey grinned and took one of the hats from her, putting it on as he reached for a pair of gloves. “Good thinking, Grandma.”
Giving up, I grabbed one of the hats. I pulled my long auburn hair up and pulled the hat on over it. No spiders were going to make a nest in my hair.
“Okay, let’s find the door to the basement. Pamela, you lead the way.”
“Me?”
Judith nodded and I headed for the kitchen. I figured there might be a doorway there that led to the cellar. And I was right. One door led to the outside, and a door on an interior wall led to a set of stairs. I leaned over and looked down, into the dark.
“We can’t go down there. We won’t have any light.”
Judith pulled three small flashlights out of her backpack.
This time she saw me when I crossed my eyes. “Careful, Pamela. They might get stuck that way.”
“Oh, my gosh! Is that a standard line for mothers?” My own mother used to tell me the same thing when I rolled my eyes.
Judith smiled but didn’t reply. She held her hand out to indicate I should go down the stairs first. My heart sank. What were we getting into?
“Be careful, Mom.”
What were we getting Mikey into?
I tested the first step and it seemed sturdy. At least the staircase had a handrail. I shook it to see if it was sturdy. It was. I carefully tested the next step, and turned back to Mikey and Judith, or Ace and Mom, or whoever they were at the moment. “You two stay upstairs until I know this staircase is safe.”
I shined the flashlight down and saw that the wood of the next step had a split in it, although it wasn’t split all the way across the board. I decided not to chance it and skipped that step, going to the next one. Two dogs whizzed past me, looking for some trouble to get into. Considering their combined weight equaled around one hundred ninety pounds, I figured the rest of the stairs were probably in good shape.
I didn’t see any spiders or spider webs as I descended the stairs. Maybe the Realtor had cleaned, at least a little. How could they show the house if it was full of bugs? I saw a canister and realized they’d set off a bug bomb. I picked it up so the dogs wouldn’t get it.
Stepping off the last step, I slowly swung my flashlight around the room. There were boxes stacked everywhere. I could see the shapes of furniture under old sheets, too.
“Come on down,” I called out, “but watch out for the third step. Judith, hold Mikey’s hand so he can bypass that one.”
I turned my light toward the dogs. “Sherlock and Watson, come! You keep your noses out of those boxes. The
last time you got too curious in a cellar, you found a stiff.”
Chapter Eleven
Glancing up I saw a hanging light with a chain. I pulled the chain and we had light, although not a lot of it.
Judith ignored me and began tapping on the walls. Mikey followed suit. The dogs, also ignoring me, started investigating, sniffing each box as they padded past them.
“What on earth are you doing?” I asked, turning to Judith.
“I’m checking to see if the walls are hollow. What did you think I was doing?”
Hollow? She was actually hoping to find a secret passage or hidden closet. “I wasn’t sure, but you could have been testing to see if the walls are sturdy.”
I didn’t know whether to cross my eyes or roll them, because I suddenly realized that basically I was babysitting two dogs, one child and one aging child.
Briefly I thought about my own mother who would have been back at the house sipping tea and talking about her neighbors. She’d never dream of looking for hiding places. She might be a little boring, but at least she was safe and sane. She’d never lead me astray.
Shaking my head, I approached the boxes and pushed Sherlock out of the way so I could took a good look. The containers were labeled, and I could only hope the labeling was accurate. I saw the top box of the first stack had Dishware written on it. I opened the box and found paper napkins – the kind you’d find in a diner. Assuming they were protecting the dishware, I started pulling them out of the box. There were no dishes. I found stacks and stacks of paper napkins, and under those were more napkins. Sometimes seniors save the oddest things.
I glanced at the dogs. They were now sitting side by side, panting. While Watson sat primly, every bit the female of the pair even though she was panting, Sherlock sat with his long tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, making him look dopey. He had a half grin on his face and he was watching me intently. He might look silly, but I knew he was always alert.
I moved to the next box, which was labeled Dish Towels. Opening the box, I found soup bowls. I sighed, realizing I shouldn’t be opening the boxes and going through them.
Suddenly the dogs sat up straight with their ears slightly back and their noses testing the air. They stood and walked to the bottom of the stairs. Sherlock hunched forward, looking upward.
Judith saw how the dogs were acting and took hold of Mikey’s hand, moving to my side.
“Who’s down there?” a loud male voice yelled.
“Just us chickens,” Judith yelled back.
I slapped my hand over her mouth and whispered to her. “Judith, that could be the killer, for crying out loud.”
She pushed my hand away and the corners of her mouth took a sharp downward turn. “I didn’t think of that.”
I pulled Mikey over and pushed him behind me. “Who’s up there?” I called, trying to sound authoritative.
“It ain’t chickens, that’s for sure,” came the reply. I saw
a foot move onto the top step.
“Stay right where you are,” I ordered. “I have two yellow Labs down here and I’m not afraid to use them.”
I heard the man chuckle. “Yellow Labs? What’re they gonna do? Lick me to death?” The man knew Labs and he took another step. I decided I wouldn’t warn him about the third stair, just in case he was a bad guy.
The dogs were on alert, but the hair on their backs wasn’t standing on end. I hoped this was a good sign. Their noses were still twitching as they sniffed the air.
The man came down the stairs far enough that the light shone on him, and he stopped. “What’re you ladies doing down there?” He appeared to be around fifty, with longish salt and pepper hair. He looked tall, but I couldn’t tell much with him on the stairs and us standing at the bottom.
“Who are you and what do you care?” Judith asked.
“I’m the next door neighbor. I see that the Realtor isn’t here, but you are, so what’s going on?”
“The realtor let us in,” I replied. “He said we could explore the house until he returns. Are you watching over the house?”
“I am since they found that little girl’s dead body. I’m not too thrilled about living next door to the scene of a crime.” He walked the rest of the way dow
n the stairs. “Or didn’t you know that someone was murdered in this house?”
“We know. Did you know Kimberly?” I asked.
“Not well, but yeah. And she was a nice young lady, from what I could tell.” He stood in front of the dogs now, and I’d been right. He was over six feet tall, and slender with the beginnings of a pot belly.
The dogs wagged their tails, which gave me some relief. They were generally pretty good judges of character. I trusted them, usually. There had been one time when their judgment had been out of whack, but it wasn’t really their fault. Long story, better left in the far reaches of my memory.
“So what are you women looking for?”
Mikey stepped out from behind me and took a defensive stance.
“My mistake,” the man said. “What are you women and the young man looking for?”
“We’re not looking for anything in particular. Since so many things were left behind in the house, we’re curious. That’s all.” Judith looked up at him, defying him to argue with her. For some reason she seemed to be on the defensive with the neighbor. I assumed she didn’t want him to know she’d been looking for a secret compartment.
“And what’s the name of the Realtor who let you in the house?” He was still suspicious.
“Max,” Judith and I said in unison.
The man’s shoulders seemed to relax. We’d passed his test. He held his hand out to first me, and then Judith. “I’m Mark Stanford.”
We shook and he reached out to Mikey, who gave the man a very firm handshake. I had a feeling my son was trying to let Mark know he was the man of the house, at least for the moment. “How do you do?” my son asked.
I saw Mark’s eyebrow raise slightly. “I’m doing well, young man. Are you keeping an eye on these women?”
“I am, and they’re not doin’ anything wrong.”
I almost laughed. His reply had been as good as saying we were snooping and doing all kinds of things wrong. Turning, I saw there was no guilt on Judith’s face, although there probably was on mine. She didn’t seem to see anything wrong in poking through the house.
Mark looked past me, and I knew he was eyeballing the opened boxes, but he didn’t comment.
“Are you thinking about buying this old house?” he asked, looking me in the eye.
“I’m thinking about it,” Judith said, drawing his attention away from me. “So let’s try to get off on the right
foot, just in case we end up neighbors. Okay?”
Mark smiled and his face smoothed out. “Okay.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to work. I’m trying to see just how solid this place is, and so far it doesn’t look like it’s falling apart, even if it does need a little work.” Judith seemed to be dismissing the man.
He wasn’t having it. “Marguerite Turnbal was a classy woman. You be careful with her things.”
A flag went up and I knew I wanted to talk to this man. “Judith, why don’t you and Mikey keep exploring while Mr. Stanford and I go upstairs and talk?”
She looked at me with a question in her peepers, but turned and took Mikey by the hand again without asking what I was up to.
“Let’s go upstairs, Mr. Stanford. I have a few questions that you might be able to answer.”
“Please call me Mark.” He held his hand out toward the stairs, indicating Ladies First.
“Okay, Mark, what can you tell me about the woman who lived here for so many years?” I talked over my shoulder as I climbed the stairs, hanging onto the handrail.
“What do you want to know? Anything in particular?”
“Let’s start with why her things are still in the house.” I walked through the kitchen and out to the formal dining room. Pulling out a chair, I sat down.
Mark pulled out another chair and sat across from me. He ran his hand lovingly across the surface of the mahogany table before answering me. He knew quality when he saw it.
“After Marguerite died, her two daughters couldn’t decide what to do with the house and her belongings. One daughter wanted to keep the house for sentimental reasons, and the other one wanted to sell it. They argued about it for so long that the house fell into disrepair and they finally agreed to sell it. I have no idea why they left their mother’s things here.”
“Didn’t the daughters want their mother’s antiques? There are some nice pieces here,” I said, glancing around the room.
“There wasn’t really any sentimentality about the house or its contents. Setting aside the story the daughters tell, truth be told, the daughters were really fighting about who’d get the lion’s share from the sale of everything. They were greedy to the point where they wore each other out and decided to let it all go. Marguerite left them each a hefty inheritance, but in their minds it wasn’t enough.”
“Marguerite was wealthy?”
“She made quite a bit of money over the years. She was a crafty old gal and never told anyone exactly what she was worth. The daughters have been living high off the hog since Marguerite passed, and they won’t tell anyone their worth either.”
“How did Marguerite make her money?” I asked.
“I think you’ll figure it out if you go through her things down in the basement.” Mark had a cryptic expression on his face. “I think you’ll enjoy the treasure hunt in this house. Margy had renovations done to the place while her husband was still living.”
“It doesn’t look like the house has been done over,” I said.
“Not that kind of renovations. Margy wouldn’t tell anyone what work she was having done, but one of the construction people had a big mouth. The things he told me might make for some interesting… Never mind. Just have a good time looking around.”
“We’re not looking for treasure. Honestly. We don’t know a thing about Marguerite, so we didn’t know she was a woman of means.” I paused and thought for a moment. “Do you think what you’ve told me could have had something to do with Kimberly’s murder?”
He frowned. “I hope not. Although Marguerite would
have thought so.”
“Why?”
“You’ll find out.” Abruptly, he stood up and shoved the chair in. “I have to go now.”
“How do you know so much about Marguerite and her daughters?” I asked.
“I grew up next door and when my parents died I inherited the house. I’ve known the family since I was a kid.”
Without another word he walked out of the room and left me sitting by myself. I watched his back until he was out of sight, and I heard the front door close with a firmness that wasn’t quite a slam.
What the heck was that all about?
Chapter Twelve
After Mark left I hurried back down the stairs where I found Judith and Mikey still tapping on walls. I’d tuned into the sounds of the house and after a few minutes I heard footsteps near the top of the stairs. Had Mark forgotten something?
“What’s going on down there?” It was Chris’s voice this time, and I was glad he’d driven over to see what we were doing.
Something about Mark Stanton had unnerved me, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe it was because his remarks sounded like he knew a secret about the house, and maybe about Marguerite.
“Come on down, Chris. We’re just looking around.” I examined the outside of another box while Chris made his way down the stairs.
“At least you’re not up on the second floor looking for clues,” he said, kissing my cheek.
“No, we’re down here looking for clues,” Judith said.
“But she wasn’t murdered down here.” Chris, a good son, gave his mother a hug.
“Who says? Her body could have been moved upstairs.” I wasn’t sure why Judith had switched from secret hiding places to the body.
“According to the police, she was murdered right where you found her.”
“Oh.”
“Actually,” I said, “I think your mother is looking for secret hiding places.” I glanced
at Judith, wondering if she’d been trying to hide her intentions from Chris. If that was the case, I’d just given her away.
She smiled and returned to tapping the walls, so I figured she wasn’t trying to hide anything. She glanced at the meager light bulb in the basement and then at a window at ground level. It wouldn’t provide any extra light because there were bushy plants shielding it from sunlight.
“We met the neighbor from the other side of the house,” I said. “He came over to see if we were trying to pilfer stuff.”
“Were you?” Chris moved a box from a stack and checked to see how the carton was labeled. “You should be eyeballing these boxes, Ma. This one says Books, and you know how you love to read.” Chris shoved Sherlock and Watson out of the way with his foot. They were too curious and he didn’t seem to want them to get into anything.
I didn’t either. After nudging Chris out of the way because he stood between me and the books, I opened the box. For once it contained exactly what it said it did. I picked up one of the books to see what type of story Marguerite might have enjoyed and saw that the title was Summer’s Ghost. The cover showed a dark old house with a wispy–looking woman standing in front of it, looking up at a second story window. A candle sat on the windowsill, and interestingly it cast light all the way down to the lone figure. The book looked brand new even though it must have been in the cellar for at least twenty
years. Opening it, I read the flap which indicated it was
probably a gothic romance.
Closing the cover, I saw the author’s name and knew we’d actually found something interesting. The author was Marguerite Holden, and I set the book down to see who the authors of the rest of the books were. There were four more copies of Summer’s Ghost, and all of the books, including other titles, were by the same woman – Marguerite Holden. I didn’t believe it was a coincidence that the first name was the same as the owner of the house.
“Judith, come look at this.” I held one of the books out to her. “I think the woman who owned this house wrote these books.”
