Proof of Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  Addie nodded.

  “And you had no access to this room before Wednesday?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then, realistically, the first person to come to mind would be Robert. Wouldn’t he have the background to appraise the books and learn their value?”

  “You’re right, but he never left the house that night and was upstairs sleeping.” She snapped her fingers. “Unless . . . the books are still stashed away somewhere in the house and the thief is waiting until this all settles down for him or whoever to safely get them out?”

  “Interesting.” He fidgeted with the handcuffs on his belt... “And you’re convinced Charlotte’s death wasn’t a coincidence?”

  She shook her head again.

  “It still doesn’t answer my question about why someone would swap the books.”

  Addie puffed out a breath. “Whoever it was didn’t count on someone like me discovering the ruse. Remember, I stepped in at the last minute to help. My being here wasn’t planned. Whoever pulled this off might have hoped that the auction would be canceled because of the discovery of the body, and then no one would be the wiser to the missing books. To the untrained eye, it would appear that they were still here, and a theft investigation wouldn’t have been launched.”

  “Maybe . . .” Jerry said, drawing out the word as he slowly scanned the room and then focused on the table.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I know Simon’s preliminary report shows she died of a heart attack, but . . . what if . . . ?”

  “What if someone killed Charlotte to stop the auction from taking place?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But why?” Addie strolled around the perimeter of the room, taking in every detail. “We must be missing something important here. Is this room exactly the way it was when you took your photos?”

  Jerry moved over to the desk and looked at the books on the floor by the desk. His gaze rested on the fireplace, and he took a step toward it. “Not exactly.” He bent down, resting on his haunches.

  Addie crouched down next to him. “What do you see?”

  He pointed. “Those track marks in the soot from the fireplace. See how they’ve fanned out? It looks like something’s been dragged across here in front of the hearth. I’ll have to check the photographs at the station, but I don’t remember it being so pronounced on Thursday.”

  Addie stood up, her hands on her hips as she studied the fireplace. Three notches were etched into both carved wings of the eagle in the center of the marble mantel’s frieze.

  “Jerry, do you have any gloves on you?”

  “Yeah, why?” He brushed off his hands.

  She pointed to the intricate carving. “Can you press these notches and see if anything happens?”

  He tugged on a pair of blue rubber gloves and pressed on the spots she’d indicated. Nothing happened. He ran his fingers over the area. “Nothing. The holes are recessed too deep.”

  “Maybe.” Addie worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she scanned the carved marble pilasters on either side of the firebox opening.

  “What about the roses carved in the top corners? Could you please press on those and see if anything happens?”

  “Nothing; they don’t budge. They’re carved into the marble by the feel of it. They’re not castings that were added.”

  “So much for that theory.”

  Addie focused on the portrait, rumored to be of Arthur Gallagher’s father, the man who designed Hill Road House, hanging above the fireplace. An original gilded frame encased the man’s imposing pose, complete with muttonchops and tailored waistcoat.

  A slight quiver prickled across her shoulders at the man’s daunting expression. There was something alluring and menacing, haunting yet captivating about the look in his eyes. As if he knew a secret.

  She shook off her momentary mesmerization. “I don’t think there’s anything else to see in here . . .” A thought struck her, “Jerry, did you find any tea stains under the book by the desk or were they only on the cover?”

  “On the cover. Why?”

  “There were no stains underneath it?”

  “Nope, there were tea stains around it where it splashed, but nothing under it.”

  Addie narrowed her eyes and examined the area around where the book had been found on the floor. “We all assumed that Charlotte was working with the book, and then had chest pains, and as she clutched her chest, the teacup got knocked over, and the book slipped from her hands, plummeting to the floor, right?”

  “That’s what we figure happened.”

  “But that would mean the tea spilt first, and the book landed on the stained area. But since only the cover is stained—”

  “That means she dropped the book first and then knocked over the cup.”

  “Right. Does that seem odd to you? I mean, it’s like something startled her, causing her to drop the book, then after that tip over the cup.” Addie looked at the position of the chair facing the desk, which is how Charlotte would most likely have been seated. She envisioned the position she found her facing, the fireplace, and then the book covered with tea.

  “What are you thinking, Addie?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

  “Maybe she bumped the teacup over, grabbed for the book so it wouldn’t get damaged, and it slipped from her fingers and fell under the desk.”

  “Then there would have been some sign of the tea under the book.” She frowned. “No, it looks like the book fell first, then she bumped the cup.” Addie played in her mind what may have happened. “If she heard something behind her that startled her, she would have dropped the book as she spun the chair around to see what it was. Her left elbow might have smacked the cup over, which caused the staining on the cover.” Addie returned to the fireplace and frowned at the first notch in the carved eagle wing. “Jerry, can I have some gloves, please?” She held out her hand.

  “Yeah, I think I have more in here.” He dug around in his pocket. “Here.”

  She pulled them on and traced her finger over the hollowed notches. The center one was recessed deeper than the two on either side. Her fingers were still too large to see if there was a button or if it was an ornate part of the design.

  “Find anything?”

  She shook her head. “It’s exactly as you said.”

  “You doubted me?”

  “No, but my fingers are smaller. I was only hoping they might be able to feel something yours couldn’t.”

  “I really don’t like being in here.” He glanced around the room.

  “You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “That chill in the air and the sensation of being watched.”

  “I think it’s just that I feel so guilty about allowing you in here that I’m afraid Marc will walk in. We better go.”

  “Okay, I don’t want to get you into trouble.” She pulled the gloves off and stuffed them into her jeans pocket. “But thanks for indulging me.” She glanced at the desk on her way past. “Is there a reason the police took the antique feather pen for testing?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “We didn’t take any pen for testing.”

  “Interesting. I swear it was on the desk in that old inkwell Thursday morning.”

  “I can check the crime-scene inventory list and take a look at the pictures to be sure.” He reached for the door handle. “I guess it’s one more thing to add to the list of missing items.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that’s why half the police department are here right now. Overnight, there were a number of other antiques stolen.”

  “Even with the security guards Blake hired to secure the yard sale merchandise and patrol the grounds?”

  “It’s baffling, to say the least.” He headed out the door.

  Addie followed but hesitated when a rush of cold air wrapped its wisp-like fingers around her. This wasn’t the first time in this room that
inexplicable cold surrounded her. The intensity of it reminded her of the air-conditioning vent in the interrogation room. But there were no AC ducts in this room, and since the house had sat empty for over seventy years, she doubted there were any anywhere in the entire mansion.

  She swept one last glance at the room and gasped. A faint vaporous mist floated before the fireplace. It’s just the dim lighting. Old man Gallagher’s eyes drew in Addie’s gaze. They appeared to have grown darker, emptier than they looked just a few minutes ago. A quiver raced up her spine. She blinked. Twice. The vaporous image dissipated and just as quickly so did the bone-numbing cold. She fled through the door, Serena’s story replaying in her mind.

  Chapter 19

  It seemed to take forever to herd Serena away from the yard sale and load her purchases into the jeep once Elli came to pick them up. The guilt of having deserted Paige for another day ate at Addie, and she dashed through the back door of her shop. She looked longingly at the blackboard covered by the drop cloth, her fingers itching for the chalk.

  Jerry had given her a few more things to consider: the ashes having been spread around and the fact that the police had not taken the feather pen. It was time to fit all the puzzle pieces into place. This craziness had gone on long enough, and there was no way she was going to allow her reputation to be ruined, again. The evidence she needed to prove her innocence had to be hidden in at least one of the clues. She just needed time to work on it. When?

  Knowing that Paige, despite the slow day and repeated assurances through text, would need a break by now, Addie dropped her bag on her desk and scanned the shop for her assistant.

  It was eerily silent. There wasn’t even the telltale squeak of the book cart wheels that generally meant Paige was restocking shelves. She peered down aisle after aisle. No Paige. Given Paige’s fascination with mystery and paranormal lately, she headed to the far wall and screamed.

  Paige lay in a heap on the floor, her slight body covered with books. Addie fell at her side and placed her fingers on Paige’s neck. She stifled her sobs. Paige did not need her to panic. She needed Addie to be strong. Paige’s pulse thrummed against Addie’s fingers, and her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

  Addie pushed books off Paige’s head and turned her young friend onto her back.

  “Paige, can you hear me?”

  The girl’s eyes fluttered but remained closed.

  “Paige, it’s me. Open your eyes.”

  Addie dialed 911. Within minutes an ambulance arrived, and as the two paramedics loaded Paige onto the stretcher, Marc marched through the door.

  Addie eyed him. “You’re back from Salem?”

  “Yeah, we’ll talk about that later. Right now”—he glanced at the books on the floor—“we need to deal with what happened here. Are you okay?” He placed his hands on her upper arms. His eyes searched her face, concern written in his expression.

  She blinked back tears and swallowed an expanding sob.

  “Come on. Let’s sit down so you can tell me what happened.”

  A squeamish sensation settled in the pit of Addie’s stomach as Paige was wheeled out the door on a stretcher. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if she was attacked or a heavy truck went by and tumbled the books off the shelves, but I have to go with Paige.” She started for the door. Marc’s clasp on her arm tightened.

  “It’s okay, Martha’s going to the hospital with her. It’s best you stay here and tell me what you do know, because by all appearances it looks like a deliberate attack during a robbery.” Addie struggled to release his grip on her, but it was no use. His hand tightened, and she relented. “Come on, let me make you a coffee and we can talk.”

  Out of the corner of her tear-blurred eye, she caught sight of the stretcher being loaded into the back of the ambulance and a paramedic assisting Martha up the steps to join her baby girl. Addie’s sobs came fast and furious. Marc held a tissue out for her. She clutched at it, and he pulled her into his arms. They sat together not saying a word until the last of her tears dried up.

  When she pulled away from Marc, a warm blush rose up from under her collar. She couldn’t believe she had buried her face in his chest and wept her eyes out, and he let her. When she glanced past him and saw Ryley standing at the end of the sale rack, the look on Ryley’s face confirmed it had happened. Ryley didn’t say a word or take a step toward them, but the malicious look in her eyes sent a tremor through Addie. Ryley sent one last death glare before joining the other officers.

  Marc, seemingly oblivious to the unspoken exchange between the two women, pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket and clicked his pen. “Do you think you can tell me now what happened?”

  Addie blew her nose into the tissue. She relayed what little she knew, how she and Serena had been at the yard sale all morning and had only returned to the store. She didn’t mention the part about being in the library with Jerry. She couldn’t see the point of getting either of them into trouble. After all, nothing that occurred there had anything to do with what had happened here—did it?

  When she’d finished telling him what she could about her discovery of Paige and the tossed books, he had her check the cash drawer and the rare book inventory for any indication that whoever did this might have gotten away with something. After she took a quick inventory and established that nothing was missing, he snapped his notepad closed. She took that as her cue they were done, mumbled something about Paige, and started for the back room to collect her purse. Marc grasped her arm and spun her toward him.

  “You have to stay here until the officers are finished investigating. They might have more questions.” His eyes echoed what used to be his longing to take her in his arms and kiss her until neither of them could breathe anymore.

  “Marc, are you done?” Ryley’s dark eyes flashed. “I think we have everything we need from here.”

  Marc dropped Addie’s arm as if it burned him and raked his hand through his hair, causing it to stand up in chestnut tufts. “Yup.” He tucked his notepad back into his jacket pocket. “If you think of anything else, call me—”

  Ryley cleared her throat.

  “I mean, call the station.” He placed his cap on his head. “Oh, by the way, the DA is looking at the evidence Simon presented to him giving you an alibi. When he makes a decision, he’ll let me know if he’s going to drop the charges or reinstate them.”

  Addie slumped down on a stool as the two of them left and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Her thumbs flew over the keyboard as she sent a text to the one person she needed.

  Paige is on her way into ER. She was attacked in the shop. I heard you were back from Salem. If you’re working now, call me as soon as you know anything about her condition. If you’re not working, COME NOW! I need you.

  “Addie!” Serena careened around the bookshelf corner. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “Can you believe this?” Addie fought back a sob. “Paige was attacked right here in my shop.”

  “I heard. Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. I just texted Simon but haven’t heard back yet.”

  “Was anything stolen?”

  “No, that’s just the thing. Nothing was taken—no books, none of the money in the till, nothing. None of this makes sense. Who would want to hurt Paige for no reason? She’s so sweet, and everybody loves her.”

  Serena hugged Addie. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “I can’t go now.” Addie jerked her head toward the officers by the door. “I have to wait until they’re done.”

  “Unfortunately, I have to get back to my shop. Elli’s in a tailspin over all this and was terrified about me leaving her alone just to pop in here.”

  “I think we’ll need to reevaluate our working alone policies after this episode.”

  Serena’s gaze went to the floor. “Do you think this is related to the book thefts?”

  “Not when nothing was stolen. I think, if it is related, it’s more like a warning.�
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  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been so consumed with my arrest I haven’t had time to look at any of the evidence yet.” She glanced at her back-room door. “Maybe it’s time I start to try to put some of these pieces together.”

  “Well, stay out of trouble, and as soon as the police leave, lock your door. We don’t want another attack happening in case the person comes back. Maybe the first time was just a recon so they could see what was in the store and how many staff was in here.” Serena gave her a quick squeeze and trotted out the door.

  “I’ll be in the back room if you need me,” Addie called to an officer by the door.

  He ticked his head in acknowledgment, and she marched toward the storage room. Maybe if she got lucky, she’d discover who the book thief was and figure out if Charlotte’s death and the missing books were related. The same theory she’d originally presented, and one that Marc had yet to embrace. She flipped the drop cloth off the board, picked up the chalk, and tapped it on the black surface. He said he needed evidence before he could ever consider that her hunch was right, so evidence is what she would find. “Okay, girl, start with what you know.”

  Library door bolted from inside

  Windows securely latched from inside – sash warped, unable to be opened without breaking window

  No other entrance to room

  Tipped over teacup

  A tipped-over teacup. The contents had obviously dripped down the side of the desk onto the book below it. Charlotte must have been working on these books when . . . When what? The stains weren’t evident under the book, so the book was dropped first, and then the tea was spilt.

  Heard something behind her

  Dropped the book

  Spun the chair around

  Her left elbow knocked over the cup

  Contents spilled across the desk onto the book on the floor

  ???

  She drew a vicious line under the question marks. How did everything play out? She needed proof, not conjecture.

  Reading over what she’d written, Addie added:

  Books on floor dropped after tea spilt. She circled the word after.