Proof of Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  “Is it possible for a person to be literally scared to death?”

  “Sure, there’s no question about it.”

  “Really? How?”

  “Well . . .” Simon scratched his head. “The autonomic nervous system uses adrenaline to send signals to different parts of the body to activate the fight-or-flight response. It’s the chemical that has ensured mankind’s existence over millennia.”

  “Can it lead to death?”

  “Unfortunately, yes, adrenaline in excessive amounts is also toxic because it damages the internal organs. You know, like the heart, lungs, liver, and kidneys. Most sudden deaths are attributed to the damage of the heart, though, because when the other organs fail it doesn’t cause sudden death to occur.”

  “What exactly happens when the heart is flooded with too much adrenaline?”

  “Let’s put it this way: If the system is overwhelmed with adrenaline, the heart can go into abnormal rhythms, probably a ventricular fibrillation, which isn’t compatible with life and . . .” He raised his shoulders in a matter-of-fact shrug. “A person will drop dead.”

  “Are there any other medical factors that could contribute to a person actually dying from fear?”

  “Of course, if there’s predisposition to heart disease or the person has high levels of prolonged stress. Things like that could increase the risk of abrupt death if there was also a sudden jolt of extra adrenaline, but it happens at all ages and can happen to otherwise healthy people. We talked about her high levels of adrenaline before, and in a naturally occurring heart attack they’re bound to be elevated somewhat anyway. So what are you thinking now?”

  “I’m thinking that whoever was smuggling stolen property out of the house might have come through the hidden library door while Charlotte was working alone and scared her to death.”

  “Yeah, the shock could have overloaded her system and contributed to her heart failure.”

  “Robert told the police that the rumors about the house being haunted had bothered her, so she was on edge whenever they had to work late—there’s your prolonged stress. That night she got agitated, increasing her stress levels higher, and sent him packing. There she is by herself in this creepy old house. Picture her, sitting at the desk. It’s two or three a.m., and suddenly someone is standing behind her. She knew she was alone in the room, and the door was bolted.”

  Simon nodded his head slowly, seemingly following the imagery she presented.

  “We already discovered the peephole into the library, so it stands to reason that someone was watching her, knew she was nervous, probably why she bolted the door on the inside, and whoever was hiding in the hidden chamber used its existence to create the perfect murder weapon.”

  “If causing her death was intentional, then it is murder.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. After we talked about it before, I did some research and discovered that there was a case in North Carolina a few years back where a man was charged with first-degree murder of an elderly woman. Police said he scared her to death in an attempt to escape the police after a bank robbery. He never touched the woman, but she died from heart failure triggered by the terror of discovering him hiding in her house. Under the state felony murder rule, if someone causes the death of another person while committing or fleeing from a crime, such as robbery, even if unintentional, he can be charged with murder.”

  “Then we have to go back up, now.” She seized his hand.

  “No, Addie!” he said, releasing her grip on him. “This is something we have to talk over with Marc.”

  “You know he won’t listen until we have proof.”

  “If the theory is correct, then we get the proof some other way. You are not to go back in there and sneak around behind the walls. Who knows what danger we’d be putting ourselves into?”

  “But Simon—”

  “No buts! Do you understand me? These people, whoever they are, have already proven they are willing to kill.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said, hanging her head.

  “That’s my girl. Now, let’s get out of here and you can plan your next move, up here,” he tapped her forehead, “and not by traipsing around this old house.”

  Maybe Simon was right, probably the best thing she could do now was to work on her board. That way she could visualize it all in black and white to make the pieces fit before she took it to Marc. As they walked up the street to Simon’s car, she rearranged all the clues in her head and saw a big empty spot in the center of the puzzle. There was still one more piece to this that she needed. One she hoped would be illuminated tomorrow morning at 8 a.m.

  Chapter 29

  “Good morning, Tom.” Addie swept past the security guard the moment he unlocked the door to the town hall building.

  “Good morning, Miss Greyborne. I don’t think anyone’s in the administration offices yet, if that’s who you’re looking for,” he called out behind her.

  “I’m here to see Connie in Records. Do you know if she’s in?”

  “Connie’s always the first one to arrive. I saw her go up about a half hour ago.”

  “Great, thanks.” Addie bounded up the stairs to the clerk’s office.

  At the top of the wide landing, Addie followed the sign that indicated left. The overhead arrow pointing to her right gave directions to the courtroom and the court clerk’s office. Connie, one of her book-club members, actually held two jobs in the building. Since the courtroom in Greyborne Harbor was only used when the county judge traveled here from Salem for his Thursday—and, if needed, Friday—court sessions, Connie worked the balance of the week as the town clerk.

  She pushed the clerk’s office door open. Relieved to find the small waiting room empty, she slid up to the reception counter. No Connie. Strange. Connie had always been on the spot, ready to take care of business, even if that included assisting Addie with paying a parking ticket. Totally Simon’s fault. Today, there was no sign of her. Addie leaned across the counter. “Connie?”

  Off to her right, a mop of unruly, faded brown hair appeared around the doorjamb of a back room. “Addie? I’ll be right there.” A bang, a muttered curse, and a flustered Connie marched to the counter, favoring her right knee.

  “Are you okay?”

  Connie rubbed her leg. “Someone left a file cart where it shouldn’t have been, and . . . well, never mind about that. What brings you by today? Your license isn’t up for renewal yet.” She leaned her elbow on the counter and fixed her hazel eyes on Addie. “Or did you get another parking ticket?” She arched a sly brow that magnified the laugh lines beside her eye.

  Addie scrunched up her nose. “I told you already, if I hadn’t had to wait for Simon to finish his shift at the hospital, I wouldn’t have gotten that darn ticket. But no, today I’m hoping you can give me some information.”

  Connie stood upright. “Sure, if I can. What do you need?”

  “I’m looking for information about Hill Road House. It’s—”

  “You and half the town.” Connie reached under the counter and produced a pile of application forms. “Four private requests for that same information on 555 Hill Road over the last eight months.”

  “Four?”

  Connie nodded.

  “Who requested it?” Addie glanced at the pile as Connie flipped it over to conceal the information.

  “You know I can’t tell you that, but I will save you the trouble of filling one of these out and tell you what I told the last three.” Connie’s voice dropped to a mere whisper. “Most of the records are gone.”

  “How can that be?” Addie pinned her with a look of disbelief. “Isn’t the town required to keep records on all the properties within their limits?”

  “Yup, but all I could find was the fact the house was built by a fellow named Tobias Gallagher in about 1860. He was some sort of shipping magnate out of Ireland and spared no expense in creating what he hoped was the most magnificent home in Greyborne Harbor for his wife and
children. Rumor has it,” she whispered, “the house and fine furnishings were all to placate the wife while he spent his evenings frequenting some of the seedier taverns down on the waterfront. If you know what I mean.”

  “You don’t have anything more? The plans to the house he built or deeds or anything?”

  “Nope, sorry. According to the records I found on my first round of searching, all that was signed out back in 1950 by Tobias’s grandson, William.”

  “He signed out the plans to the house then? The same year his parents died?”

  “That’s what the logbook shows, signature and all. Now usually when those records are signed out, a photocopy is given to the requesting party, but it was almost seventy years ago.” She shrugged her round shoulders. “I guess they did things different back then.”

  “Thanks, Connie. Believe it or not, you’ve been a big help.”

  “I have? The others got upset because I couldn’t give them anything.”

  Addie could still hear Connie chuckling as she closed the door and started down the stairs to the street level. What Connie had shared made her wonder if she had been premature in thinking she was getting close to cracking this case. It seemed every which way she turned a new clue popped up. But with this one, she was at a loss to figure out how this latest information fit into the book thefts and Charlotte’s death, or if it even did. She needed her blackboard.

  “Get what you needed, Miss Greyborne?” Tom called from his station behind the information desk in the small lobby.

  “I did. Thanks, Tom. Have a good day.” She waved and scurried out the door, descending the sandstone steps.

  When she got to the bottom stair, she stopped short. Familiar voices wafted on the breeze from the steps of the police station next door. Even though the buildings had separate entrances and offices, the distance between their stairways wasn’t more than forty feet apart on the outside. There was no mistaking the voices of Marc and Ryley. Addie cringed when Marc slipped Ryley’s hand into his. Ryley leaned into his shoulder and gave him a hip check.

  Addie’s fingernails dug into her palms. That was her move. The one she used to tease him with relentlessly. In that moment, Addie was struck by the full realization that she and Marc were truly over. There was no going back. Not that she really wanted to but . . . Water under the bridge. She chanted that over and over as she scampered across the street to the Greyborne Harbor Daily News office.

  The receptionist helped Addie set up in a small cubical complete with a microfilm viewer. After assuring the receptionist she knew how to use the microfilm, Addie shut the door and organized the box of film spools. She only had about twenty minutes to see if she could learn more about Hill Road House and its early inhabitants, and then she’d have to go open her shop. She flipped off the overhead light and clicked through the newspaper headlines of the spool marked 1860’s—GREYBORNE HARBOR DAILY NEWS EDITIONS.

  With one eye on the time, she clicked through the images. There were numerous references made to the Greybornes, Davenports, and other local prominent families that she would have loved to read in greater depth. Unfortunately, there was only the odd mention of the Gallaghers, especially when it came to lists of who attended what charity function. Nothing that set off her PI radar or confirmed the scandals surrounding Tobias Gallagher’s licentious behavior that Connie mentioned earlier. The family, including their four children, despite all their wealth, appeared to have led sedate and reclusive lives.

  Nothing like Emily Greyborne, whose name appeared in a multitude of news stories over the course of the five years Addie reviewed. One article in particular piqued her interest. It reported Emily Greyborne as being responsible for discovering the identity of a man the police had sought in regard to the theft of a first-edition Bible on loan to one of the local churches.

  Now Emily was a woman Addie yearned to learn more about. Her adventures sounded similar to the ones Addie had read about in her great-aunt Anita’s journals. She felt a connection with her ancestor. She would quit toying with the idea of having her family tree traced some day and just do it now, especially after reading this. Her ancestors couldn’t learn about her, but she could learn about them. By all accounts, the sleuthing bug was genetic. When she saw Simon, she would inform him she had no choice but to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. It was in her blood, and she owed it to the long line of amateur sleuths before her to keep up the tradition.

  Her time up, she hovered her finger over the power button, scanning the last page. Under the obituary column at the bottom of the page was something she didn’t expect to see.

  Mrs. Beatrice Gallagher, 36, of 555 Hill Road, after a fatal fall down the stairway in the family home on Wednesday evening, was laid to rest in a small private service today at Harbor View Cemetery. Mrs. Gallagher is survived by her husband of eighteen years, Tobias Gallagher, and their four children, Bridget, Theresa, Fiona, and Arthur. On behalf of the family, Mr. Gallagher would like to express his sincerest appreciation to the Greyborne Harbor residents for their outpouring of support during this most difficult time.

  The fine hairs on Addie’s arms prickled. Kathleen wasn’t the first to die on the Hill Road House staircase.

  Chapter 30

  The revelation of Beatrice’s death played on Addie’s mind over the block-and-a-half drive to her shop. Perhaps she’d been too quick to dismiss the ghost stories. From what she just read it could have very well been Beatrice’s ghost that caused Kathleen’s deadly fall. It made Addie wonder if Arthur’s and Maeve’s deaths were possibly brought on by the continual appearances of apparitions. If so, was it Beatrice’s or Kathleen’s ghost that Addie saw at the top of the stairway? These questions and fifty more rocketed through Addie’s head as she pulled up in front of Beyond the Page—and the all-out wrestling match between mother and daughter.

  On the sidewalk in front of her shop, Martha and Paige were in a tug-of-war over the Rare Books sandwich board sign. Addie sprinted to intervene.

  “Addie!” Martha screeched. “Thank heavens you’re here! Maybe you can talk some sense into this daft girl.” Martha threw her hands in the air.

  Paige took advantage of her mother’s exasperation and snagged the board, plunking it on the sidewalk. A self-satisfied smile crept across her face, and with a victorious flip of her head, she sauntered into the bookstore.

  “What’s going on here?” Addie feared Martha’s flushed face predicted a stroke. Right here. She placed her hand on Martha’s shoulder. “Take a deep breath and tell me exactly what happened.”

  “She insisted on coming in to work today, no matter what I said. She says she feels fine and is under the impression that if you work alone, then the poltergeist will attack you, too.”

  “Oh dear.” Addie puffed out a deep breath. “Let me talk to her. Maybe I can convince her to listen to the doctor.”

  “I hope so.” Martha dabbed her watery eyes with the corner of her apron. “Lord knows she won’t listen to me. Stubborn, just like her useless father was.” She spat on the sidewalk and slammed the door to her bakery behind her.

  Even through the sun-reflecting window, Addie could see Paige’s narrowed eyes watching her. Just what I needed this morning. After this was all over, she’d drown herself in a good book and a bottle of wine. Or two. Addie prepared for battle and sent the welcome bells in a tizzy.

  “Did you set her straight?” Paige’s eyes fixed on Addie.

  Addie anchored both hands on the counter. “No. I’ve come in to set you straight.”

  “What? You’re taking her side?”

  “There are no sides here. We’re both concerned about your health, and the doctor told you to take it easy for a few days.”

  “I did.” Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

  Addie bit her tongue before she could echo a quip her granny used to say to her: A birdy’s going to poop on that. Instead, she went with the wise adult, but boring, “It’s only been one day. I don’t want to see you in here until at l
east Wednesday.”

  “What about the cruise ship?”

  Is it really only nine thirty? In the morning? “What does the cruise ship have to do with you defying doctor’s orders—and, might I add, mine?”

  “It docks tomorrow, and there’s going to be nearly a hundred people descending on the harbor all at once. You can’t possibly handle that amount of foot traffic by yourself.”

  “Oh.” A weak smile touched Addie’s lips. “I see. Don’t worry about that. Catherine enjoyed working here so much last week, I’m pretty sure she’d be happy to help out in a pinch.”

  “But what if the poltergeist strikes again?”

  “Paige, a mischievous spirit didn’t cause your accident.” Addie hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt after her morning excursion.

  “Then what made the books fly off the shelves, twice? And I don’t buy the police theory that it was a person, because there was no one here but me.” She pinned Addie with a piercing glance.

  Addie struggled to come up with an answer, and by the defiant look on Paige’s face she knew she needed one, fast. “Then it was most likely a big truck passing by. These old buildings are famous for vibrating and shifting with any ground disturbances.”

  Paige wrapped her arms across her chest. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see what I saw.”

  “That’s true, but I know what I saw after I found you, and that was an unconscious, very pale young woman who suffered a severe blow to the head.” Addie put on her sternest manager’s—with a dab of big sisterly love to take a bit of the edge off—voice. “Now get your bag. I’m taking you home.”

  Paige’s chin jutted out, but she didn’t say a word as Addie flipped the door sign to CLOSED and escorted her young charge to the car. As they pulled away, Addie noticed Martha’s pudgy face, complete with a grin, pressed up against the bakery window.

  “What about the sandwich board?” Paige gestured to the sign by the door.

  “It’ll be fine. This shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.” When Addie glanced in her rearview mirror, she spotted Martha, broom in hand, conducting her daily sweep of the sidewalk. “Something tells me your mother will make certain no one walks away with it.”