Bell, Book & Candlemas

by Jennifer David Hesse

  I re-placed the brochure and left the library, heading next to the entry hall. I walked over to the front door and peered out the window. The pathway was lit up, but the yard and street beyond were dark.

  Lively sound effects from the adjacent dining room prompted me to move on. I made my way back to the rear of the house. Near the kitchen, I paused at the door to the basement. It was closed, but I heard muffled chatter below. Then Tish’s blaring voice cut through. I craned to make out what she was saying when the basement door flew open. I jumped back and found myself face-to-face with the tourism director herself.

  Tish swayed unsteadily as she squinted at me. “Oh, the lawyer. Have you seen Marco? He needs to get his cute butt down here and tell these prospects all about the winery. I told them it will open in the spring—which I have no idea if that’s true or not—so Marco needs to come back me up.” She ended her rambling sentence on a hiccup.

  “I haven’t seen him,” I said.

  “I have to go to the little girls’ room,” she said, pushing past me.

  Yikes. I raised my eyebrows as I watched Tish stumble down the hall.

  Did she say “cute butt”?

  Chapter 22

  It was after 10:00 P.M. when Wes finally came back. I was lying on the bed, scrolling through Facebook on my phone, when he tapped on the door.

  “Are you decent?” he called, opening the door a crack.

  “That depends on what you think of my yoga pants and hoodie,” I said, sitting up. Then I spotted the covered plate in his hand. “Ooh! What did you bring?”

  “I asked the caterer for a salad and some roasted vegetables. Danielle seemed frazzled, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

  “You’re so sweet,” I said, taking the plate. He pulled a napkin-wrapped fork from his pocket and handed it to me.

  While I dug into the food, Wes stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. “It sure is flowery in here, isn’t it?”

  “It is a bit rosy,” I agreed. “Don’t you like it?”

  “I like the view from here,” Wes said, looking at me. He smiled and waggled his eyebrows.

  I laughed and said, “Has everyone left or gone to bed yet?”

  “The dinner guests and actors are gone, and Sheana called it a night. Some cleaning people were just finishing up in the dining room when I left. I don’t know what happened to Marco and Danielle. They probably went to bed.”

  I was about to ask about Tish’s party when a car door slammed shut. Wes walked over to the window and looked down at the parking lot below.

  “Check it out,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I recognize this car.”

  I joined Wes at the window and saw immediately what he meant. “It’s the car that cut you off on River Road the other night. Can you see the California plates?”

  “It’s dark down there, but I think so.” A back porch light cast a dim glow that just reached the rear of the car.

  “Who is that?” I peered out the window and saw a man open the trunk of the car. Wind whipped the edges of his long coat and flapped his blue scarf. His bald head was bare. He must be cold. We watched as he lifted a crate from the trunk and carried it to the back door of the mansion.

  “I’m not sure,” Wes said. “He could be the guest staying in the carriage house. Danielle mentioned he’s a single guy who didn’t want to go to the show tonight.”

  A few minutes later, the bald man returned to his car and drove around the side of the mansion. We couldn’t see the carriage house from our window, so we didn’t know if that was where he headed.

  “Well, what do you think?” said Wes. “Do you want to investigate the speakeasy now?”

  I checked my phone. “Let’s wait until after midnight, or later, just to be sure everyone is asleep.”

  “Okay.” He kicked off his shoes, walked over to sit on the bed, and leaned back on the pillows. “So, tell me about Wicca. How did you get started?”

  I took a deep breath. I crawled onto the foot of the bed and sat cross-legged facing Wes.

  “I was a young teenager,” I began. “My Goth friends liked to play around with ‘magick.’ We learned about tarot cards and runes, made up spells. It was harmless fun.”

  “Goth?” Wes grinned. “Did you do the whole black hair, black eyeliner, emo thing? I’d love to see pictures.”

  “Nah. Well, maybe. For, like, half a second.” I smiled. “I was attracted more to the nature-worship aspect. I read some books and became fascinated. The religion spoke to me. It made so much sense.”

  Wes looked thoughtful. “So when you said you know the owner of Moonstone Treasures, I guess you meant you know her pretty well.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been to her shop many times. In fact, I’m trying to help figure out who’s been harassing her.” I told Wes about all the break-ins and threatening notes.

  “Are you saying someone murdered Charlie to drive Mila out of business?”

  “It looks that way. I mean, I still think Charlie was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the notes threatened death. And now the calls are threatening further bloodshed if Mila doesn’t permanently close her business. By tomorrow.”

  “Whoa! That’s crazy.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  We speculated about the crimes for a while, then segued into a discussion of religion, philosophy, and pop culture. I was surprised when I checked the time and saw it was half past twelve.

  “Ready to do this?” I said, jumping up from the bed.

  “I’m right behind you,” he said, running a hand through his unruly hair.

  Wearing only socks on our feet, we slipped out of the Rose Petal Room and tiptoed down the hall. A loud snore from the third floor made me stop short. Suppressing a giggle, I rolled my eyes at Wes and led the way down the back stairs.

  When we made it to the first floor, I told Wes I wanted to check the front door before heading to the basement. He nodded and said he’d take a peek in the other downstairs rooms.

  Without making a sound, I snuck to the front door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.

  Darn. Had Danielle and Marco forgotten to lock up? It bothered me to leave the door unsecured, so I turned the latch. Hopefully, I’m not locking anyone out.

  I met up with Wes near the dining room, and we proceeded down the small hallway toward the basement door. He opened the door, felt for a light switch, and started down the steep stairway. I pulled the door shut behind us. As we descended the steps and entered the speakeasy, the pungent odor of hard liquor accosted us.

  “Whoa,” I said. “I guess the cleaning crew didn’t make it down here.”

  The single overhead light was enclosed in a vintage leaded-glass fixture. It was a classy look, but it didn’t give off much illumination. Wes turned on a floor lamp and then walked over to the old-fashioned bar. “Watch your step,” he said. “There’s broken glass on the floor.”

  Treading carefully, I scanned the room. Since the last time I was here, a green velvet sofa and another cocktail table had been added to the sparse furnishings.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t bring a flashlight,” I said. “What kind of detective am I?”

  “Well, don’t go lighting any candles,” Wes said. “There’s alcohol spilled everywhere.”

  I joined Wes and hopped up on a stool. He slid behind the bar and looked around. Seeing him there, in the bartender’s spot, reminded me of our first date over the summer. I smiled at the memory.

  He examined the labels on some of the bottles behind the bar. “I wonder how much the Thomisons charged Tish for the open bar. They have some expensive stuff here.”

  “Hey,” I said. “Maybe that’s what the bald guy was delivering—bottles of liquor.”

  “Maybe,” said Wes. “I don’t see a crate back here, but it could be upstairs someplace.”

  Looking around at the stone walls, I tried to imagine how there could be a secret exit down here. The walls
appeared to be solid. Maybe there was a trapdoor?

  Swiveling on the stool, I looked at the floor. It was covered in wall-to-wall carpet. I sighed.

  I was beginning to think my notion about a secret tunnel was nothing more than a flight of fancy. Then my eyes fell upon the wood-paneled wall on the side of the staircase. Usually one would expect to find a storage closet under the stairs, but I didn’t see a door.

  Leaving the stool, I walked over to the staircase and inspected the wall. Wes saw me tapping on the wall and came over beside me.

  “Is it hollow?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but that’s not a surprise. I don’t know why anyone would completely seal this off, though.”

  I ran my fingers along the edges of the paneling, hoping something would catch. Wes studied the edge of the wall. “You know, this very well could slide open. We just have to find the trigger.”

  For the next several minutes, we pushed, pulled, pressed, and tapped on everything on and around the staircase. All to no avail.

  Feeling frustrated, I flopped into a club chair. “I don’t know why I thought this would be easy,” I said. “Old man Cadwelle wouldn’t have wanted anyone accidentally opening the panel. I guess you have to know the secret.”

  Wes looked at me. “You could be onto something there. There was usually a secret password to get into speakeasies. Maybe we have to enter a code someplace.”

  I swept the room with my eyes until my gaze settled on the antique telephone at the end of the bar. Wes had the same thought. He was near the phone, so he picked up the receiver.

  “Any dial tone?” I asked.

  “No. It’s not connected.”

  “Is it plugged into the wall?” I stood up and joined Wes by the bar.

  He looked closely at all sides of the phone and then tried to lift it off the bar. It didn’t budge.

  “It seems to be bolted to the wood.”

  “Seriously?” I perked up. For the first time since we started our search, I actually felt like we might be getting close. “Try dialing some numbers.”

  Wes tried each number, from zero to nine. With each turn of the dial, we watched for the wall panel to move. It didn’t.

  I sat down and propped my elbows on the bar. “Of course, it would have to be a sequence of numbers, right?” I said. “Probably not a long sequence, though. The door would have to be able to be opened in a hurry.”

  Wes randomly dialed numbers while I scratched my head and tried to divine a code Orion Cadwelle might have used. “Hmm. When did Marco say Cadwelle built the mansion? 1901? Try that.”

  Wes tried, but it didn’t work. “I wonder when he married his wife,” Wes said. “I’ll start with 1900 and work my way back through the 1800s.”

  With every failed attempt, I felt my frustration rise. None of the dates caused a secret door to open.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to stay positive. “His wife’s name was Violet. Can you spell that on the phone?”

  “It’s kind of long, but I’ll give it a try.” When that didn’t work, Wes tried spelling “Orion.” Nothing.

  Staring at the numbers and letters on the phone, I had another thought. “Why not just try spelling ‘open,’” I said. “Six, seven, three, six.”

  I stifled a yawn as I watched Wes turn the numbers. When he dialed the fourth number and we heard a metallic click beneath the stairs, I almost didn’t realize what was happening.

  The wooden panel slid open, just as we had imagined, revealing a dark passageway within. A rush of cool, dank air blew into the room. I was too astonished to move.

  “We did it!” I exclaimed.

  “You’re a genius,” Wes said, grabbing me by the shoulders. “This is amazing! Man, I wish I had brought my camera down here.”

  I stood up from the stool and moved cautiously toward the opening under the stairs. At that moment, I had two questions in my mind: Where could I find a flashlight? And would the same code work to close the door?

  I needn’t have wondered about closing the door. It must have been designed to stay open for only a few seconds and then close automatically. Before I reached the threshold, it started sliding closed.

  “What do you—” Wes started to speak as he moved toward the center of the speakeasy but then froze.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  He put his fingers to his lips and shook his head. I turned to see what had alarmed him. A pale arm stuck out from behind the velvet sofa.

  A woman was sprawled on the floor between the wall and the couch.

  Chapter 23

  I ran over to the still body on the floor. It was Tish. Her dress was rumpled and her shoes were missing. Her smeared makeup looked garish on her pallid face. Fearing the worst, I leaned down and touched my fingertips to her wrist. She groaned. Startled, I jumped back and bumped into Wes, who was hovering right behind me.

  “Is she okay?” he asked.

  “She’s alive, at least.” I turned back to Tish and scanned her body for any visible signs of injury. My first thought was that she had been attacked. For a fleeting moment, I had even wondered if the killer had struck again. After all, it was officially Saturday now. However, it soon became apparent that Tish’s troubles were self-inflicted. She reeked of alcohol.

  Supporting her back, I helped her sit up. “Tish, can you hear me? Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

  She groaned again and lifted her hand to her head. “My pound . . . my head pounding. An’ my mouf . . . firsty.”

  I glanced up at Wes, and he dropped his shoulders in relief. He had dealt with plenty of drunk bar patrons. “Tish, let’s get you off the floor,” he said. “Keli, could you get her a drink of water?”

  I hurried over to the sink behind the bar and filled a glass with water, while Wes lifted Tish and carried her to the sofa. I sat next to her and held the glass to her lips. She took one sip, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  “Tish?”

  “Huh?”

  “How did you end up on the floor? Why are you still here?”

  She groaned again, then opened one eye. “Marco. It’s all his fault.”

  Wes and I exchanged a look. “What about Marco?” I asked.

  She sighed, shut her eye, and mumbled her response. “He . . . he said he’d come back here after all the guests left. My party ended. Everybody left in taxicabs. Marco and I had it all planned out. Our little . . . rendezvous.” She whispered the last word as a small smile flickered across her lips.

  Wes whistled softly under his breath, and I shook my head. I had heard enough. I wasn’t entirely sure if Tish had passed out before the alleged tryst could take place or afterward, but at least I knew she hadn’t been assaulted.

  Surely Marco didn’t know she was still on the floor of the basement when he went to bed.

  After a quick huddle, Wes and I decided it would be best for Tish to spend the remainder of the night right where she was on the sofa. I ran up to the main floor to snatch an afghan from the library, and then we tucked her in as best as we could. We turned off all the lights except for one lamp, so she wouldn’t be left in complete darkness. Finally, we snuck back up to our room.

  I’d had more than enough surprises for one night.

  * * *

  I sprinted down Main Street, separating myself from the other runners. They were an enthusiastic crowd of colorfully dressed women, men, and children, unfazed by the gray sky and clammy air. As a light drizzle began to pelt cold droplets on my face, I ran even faster—not only to warm up, but also to wake up and get the race over with. This was Candlemas. D-day according to Mila’s harasser. I was a little on edge.

  “Hey, speedy!” Farrah caught up with me and matched my stride. “Did you forget about a little thing called ‘pacing’?”

  “Sorry.” I slowed down slightly. “I have to take advantage of my early momentum. Otherwise, I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish.”

  “Just stick with me,” she said. “I’ll see that you make
it to the end.”

  She slowed her pace to a more moderate speed and kept talking, so I had no choice but to fall into step. Following the signs for the “Groundhog Shuffle,” we entered Fieldstone Park for our first loop. After a jaunt through the park, we would make our way downtown, around Courthouse Square, and then back to the park. At that point, runners who had signed up for the 5K would cross the finish line. The rest of us would branch off and do the whole course all over again.

  It was going to be a long morning.

  At least I was beginning to warm up. As for waking up, I probably should have been used to operating on less than a full night’s sleep by now. When Farrah had picked me up at the B&B at the crack of dawn to get us to the 8:00 A.M. race in plenty of time, Wes was still snoozing under the covers. I would have given anything to be able to sleep in with him.

  Then again, I was more than happy to miss the community breakfast with Danielle, Marco, and the other guests. I could only imagine how awkward it would be when Tish came stumbling up the stairs from the basement.

  When Wes and I had finally made it back up to our room, we had laughed at the absurdity of finding Tish on the floor—and bemoaned the fact that we didn’t get to explore the hidden exit we had found in the speakeasy. We went round and round over what to do about that. Wes thought we should go straight to the police, but I told him the police couldn’t just knock on the door of the mansion and ask to search the passageway. They would need probable cause to obtain a warrant. I thought we should focus instead on finding an entrance in one of the downtown businesses. I told Farrah as much when I filled her in this morning, and she agreed.

  “Did you hear a word I just said?” asked Farrah.

  “What?”

  “That’s what I thought. You’re still thinking about the secret passageway, aren’t you?”

  “Among other things,” I said. “I’m eager to start searching for other tunnels.”

  “Me too,” said Farrah. “As soon as we’re done with this thing, I’m going to call Ted. He should be able to get us into Gigi’s.”