He squeezed my hand as he turned back to face me. His voice was lowered to a whisper. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to spread her ashes at the beach. I guess I’ve been putting it off. Maybe we could do that together this weekend.”
“I’d be honored,” I said. “But you shouldn’t do it until you’re ready. It took me almost two years after my mom died to spread her ashes into the lake where she grew up.”
“I know.” He smiled again but his lips quivered. “I think I’m ready. Beth wouldn’t want me to keep holding on to the past. She’d want me to move on. I’m just not sure how.”
I recalled the first time I ever saw Max. Two days after is sister’s death, he’d approached me at the restaurant where I was having breakfast. He asked for my help. Would I be willing to help find his sister’s killer? How could I say no to him? His vulnerability touched me. Little did I know a tragedy so painful would spark a romance between us.
“It’s okay to move on,” I said. “It doesn’t mean you’ll forget.
Chapter 5
Monday, October 28
Sheila Hansen sat behind her large white desk, a tube of lipstick in her hand. She expertly applied it to her lips without the help of a mirror. “Forgive me,” she said. “I was running behind schedule and forgot to put my face on this morning. You mentioned on the phone that Mari left for the weekend? Is she all right?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, scanning her luxurious office full of modern black and white furnishings. “No one has heard from her in two days.”
“You said Mrs. Rossini hired you?”
“Yes, Mari was supposed to spend the day with Alice, but left abruptly the morning after the party. She sent a text to her husband indicating she’d be away at a spa for a few days, but when Kenneth checked their credit card transactions yesterday, Mari hadn’t made any purchases.”
Sheila leaned back, crossed her shapely legs, and twirled a strand of blonde hair between her fingers. “That’s odd, isn’t it? Did she mention which spa?”
“No. Do you think it’s more likely that she went away with a boyfriend?”
Sheila blinked a few times, patted her hair down, and smiled innocently. “Um, what makes you think she has a boyfriend?”
“Kenneth mentioned their open relationship policy,” I replied.
The smile faded, but an impish expression remained. “Well, if Mari had a boyfriend, she never told me about him.”
“You’re her best friend, right?”
Sheila laughed. “Ah, Mari is a sweet girl, but she can also be … well, she’s a private person. She knows a lot of people, but I don’t think she has many close friends. We spend time together mostly because of work.”
“How long have you known one another?” I asked.
“About four years. She hired me to organize her first event to raise money for the Haiti earthquake victims.”
“Did Mari ever talk about having problems with stalkers?”
“Ah. You must have heard about the nude photos she got in the mail. We had a good laugh over that one.”
“Did she show them to you?” I asked.
“I wish. She said she tossed them in the trash.”
“In your opinion, was Mari upset by the photos? Did she feel threatened?”
“Not really. I think she actually felt sorry for the guy and decided not to press charges.”
“Do Mari and Kenneth have a good relationship?”
Sheila’s laughter filled the room. “I’m the last person to give opinions on relationships. Why? Do you think Mari has left him?”
“I’m exploring the possibility.” I replied. “Do you think it’s likely?”
“Hardly. She needs Kenneth and his connections. Honestly, it’s the biggest reason her charities are successful. Plus, once you get used to the lifestyle, I would imagine it’s hard to go back. I mean, Mari is gorgeous, but she’s almost thirty-seven. Past her prime. That’s why her modeling career took a nosedive. She had to latch on to a man before her looks started to fade.”
“Has Mari ever complained that Kenneth is controlling or violent?”
“Let me put it this way,” she said. “Mari wouldn’t stand for that. If he ever tried to hurt her, she’d be long gone.”
I let that comment hang in the air for a moment. “I see.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sheila said. “And I’ll agree, Kenneth can be kind of a macho guy, but I just can’t picture him abusing his wife. Honestly, I’m not surprised Mari needed to get away for a few days. She spent weeks tirelessly planning for last Friday’s event. ”
“But why not call Alice Rossini to let her know?” I said. “That’s the part that doesn’t make sense to me.”
“I understand your concern, Ms. Woods, I really do. But maybe Mari just needs to be left alone. Maybe you should honor her privacy.”
“Point taken. Well, I’ll be seeing Alice tonight. I’ll let her know we’ve spoken.”
“You know, come to think of it, there was something that happened a while back,” Sheila said, tapping her freshly lacquered nails on her cheek.
I sat back down. “Oh?”
“I really shouldn’t say anything, but Mari did complain about Kenneth once. This was about two or three years ago. I’d almost forgotten about it, in fact. It has to do with Ethan, Kenneth’s son. Have you met him?”
“Briefly yesterday.”
“Well, the poor kid. Imagine being a fourteen-year old kid, hormones raging, and having a father who marries a gorgeous model. Long story short, Ethan was caught spying on Mari one night while she was taking her bath. Mari wasn’t that upset, but she made the mistake of telling Kenneth. He wasn’t as understanding.”
“What happened?”
“He gave Ethan a beating he’ll never forget. Mari was absolutely horrified. In fact, she threatened to call the police on him if he ever touched Ethan again.”
“I take it there were no more beatings?” I said.
“I guess not. At least, Mari hasn’t mentioned any to me. I think Ethan learned his lesson.”
“How bad were Ethan’s injuries?” I asked.
“He had a few bruises and needed some stitches. The authorities weren’t involved, but Mari insisted that Kenneth see a therapist for anger management. And he did. I guess it worked.”
“How many people know about this?” I asked.
“I have no idea, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Thank you, Sheila. I’m sure you have work to do. Here’s my number, just in case you think of something else. And if you should hear from Mari, please let her know that Alice Rossini is worried sick about her.”
Sheila slipped my number into her purse. “Of course.”
Chapter 6
A heavy rain fell as Max and I approached Alice’s front door. The plate of cookies I brought was getting drenched. I could smell good things cooking and realized I hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
Once inside, Lucy took our coats and invited us to join Alice in the sitting room.
“Sarah neglected to tell me you were so handsome,” Alice said, extending her hand to Max.
He gently clasped it in both of his and offered her a pleasant smile. “Mrs. Rossini, thank you for inviting me to your incredible home.”
“Please call me Alice.”
A platter of various hors d’ouveres had been set on the coffee table. “May I offer anyone a drink?” Lucy asked.
“Lucy, why don’t you open that bottle of wine I’ve been saving?” Alice suggested.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”
Alice turned back toward us. “I assume you both drink. Forgive me if I’m wrong.”
“Oh, we drink alright,” I said, giving Max a wink.
Alice laughed heartily. “Well, I used to drink my dear Henry under the table back in my younger days, but now all I can handle is half a glass of Chablis. Young people often ask me, how did you grow up without the Internet? My reply is always the same; once y
ou’ve lived through Prohibition, you can deal with anything.”
Max chuckled, clearly enchanted with the woman’s sense of humor. “So Alice, I have to admit, I did some research on your husband. Is it true he produced over twenty-three films in his career?”
Alice seemed impressed. “Why, yes. Have you seen any of them?”
“I can’t say that I have, but I’m a huge fan of the genre.”
“Well, I have many treasures from his films. I’ll have Oliver give you a tour of the house.”
“I’d love that,” he said. “Sarah also mentioned the dungeon.”
Alice laughed again. “Oh, that. Well, we don’t go in the dungeon. As a matter of fact, I haven’t been down there for several years. And it’s not because of my bad knees. You see, dear, the basement is haunted.”
Max almost choked on his second stuffed mushroom. “Haunted?”
Alice became very serious. “My husband … well, he passed away down there.”
I could tell by Max’s face he was confused. “Alice, with all due respect, if it’s only your husband’s spirit, why are you afraid?”
“That is a logical question. I’m sorry I can’t offer you a logical explanation. All I know is, intuition tells me to stay away.” By the glimmer in her eyes, I assumed she was having a grand time pulling our legs.
Lucy strolled back into the room with a tray of wine glasses. She handed one to each of us, then returned to the kitchen without a word.
In the next moment, the sound of heavy footsteps prompted us to look up. A young man stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the parlor. He had a ruddy face, wind-blown, thick dark hair, and wore a plaid flannel shirt, denim jeans, and work boots. “Excuse me, Mrs. Rossini?” he asked in a courteous voice.
Alice turned to face him and a smile erupted on her face. “Oliver, dear. Come and meet my guests; Sarah Woods and Max Stevens.”
Oliver nodded his head toward us with a slightly bowed torso. “Nice to meet you both,” he said, his southern accent even more pronounced than his wife’s.
Alice asked, “Were you able to fix that rotting old door on the shed before the rain came?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry it took so long.”
“I’m just glad you finished in time for dinner. Oliver, would you mind taking Max on a tour of the house?”
“Of course, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.”
“Splendid. That will give me and Sarah a chance to talk.”
After Max followed Oliver out of the room to explore, Alice’s expression turned serious. “So, dear, you spoke with Sheila Hansen today?”
“Yes, unfortunately she doesn’t have a clue where Mari is.”
Alice lowered her eyes, focusing on her own wine glass. “That’s a pity.”
I set my glass on the coffee table. “After talking to Kenneth and Sheila, its likely Mari is simply taking a few days away for herself. If she doesn’t want to be bothered, maybe we should respect that.”
Alice nodded. “Perhaps you’re right, dear. It’s just … well you know that nagging feeling you get when you sense something isn’t right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I guess its just part of caring for someone. My son is an adult now and I’m sure I’ll never stop worrying about him. Mari is like a daughter to you, isn’t she?”
“Yes. I tell myself all the time, she’s a capable woman who doesn’t need looking after.”
“I hate to bring this up, but has Mari ever mentioned anything about Kenneth being abusive to her or to his son?”
“I’ve never witnessed Kenneth so much as raise his voice to either of them.”
“Have you ever seen bruises on Mari? Or marks that she couldn’t or wouldn’t explain?”
Alice’s gaze shifted to a painting on the wall, as if it might help jog her memory. “No, not on Mari. However, about a year ago, Mari brought Ethan over here one day to show him the house. She thought he’d enjoy the movie props. I noticed he had some bruises on his wrists, so I asked him what they were. He said it happened in gym class.”
“Did you believe him?” I asked.
“I had no reason not to believe him. It never occurred to me that it might be some kind of abuse.”
I paused to think. “So Ethan was probably in high school at that time, right?”
“Yes,” Alice replied. “I think so.”
“Just out of curiosity, do you know what happened to Ethan’s biological mother? Where is she now?”
“Mari told me that Kenneth doesn’t like to talk about his ex-wife, so I know very little. But what I do know isn’t good. She’s serving time for embezzlement or fraud, I can’t remember which.” Alice shook her head solemnly. “I don’t think Ethan has seen his mom in many years, at least not since his dad remarried. Five years or longer, perhaps.”
Distracted by the shadow looming in the doorway, I looked up.
“Ma’am, dinner is ready,” Lucy had an oven mitt in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other. “Shall I keep it warm until you finish with your discussion?”
Alice looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Lucy. We were just wrapping things up. The men are around here somewhere.”
* * *
After a satisfying dinner of chicken and dumplings, Lucy cleared the dishes and busied herself in the kitchen while Max and Alice shared a lively debate about the best horror films ever made. I didn’t have much to add to the conversation, so I sat back and observed Oliver, sitting with arms folded across his chest as he listened to the chatter. He seemed content to listen, and I imagined he was the kind of person who spoke only when asked a question. He had soft hazel eyes, a wide mouth with full lips, and an overall gentle demeanor. At one point, he must have sensed me watching him and he returned my gaze. I figured, since Alice and Max were so engrossed in their own topic, I might as well engage him. “Alice tells me you and Lucy are from North Carolina,” I said.
He smiled. “Little town called Ashland. Lucy and I went to high school together.”
“How do you like New Hampshire?”
I noticed sadness in his eyes that was probably just homesickness. “I like the change of seasons but I’m not used to the cold yet. I love this house, even if it needs a lot of work. I’m lucky to be here.”
“And your wife? She likes it, too?”
His smile faded. “It’s taking her a little longer to adjust. But she really adores Alice.”
“I believe the feeling is mutual,” I said.
“Lucy wanted to stay in Ashland, but I convinced her to move. I reckoned it’d be good for her, you know, to get out of a small town and experience a different life. Where I’m from, people usually don’t leave.”
“And you?” I asked. “You’ve been places?”
“Took a road trip to Texas the year after I graduated high school. Lucy wanted to go but her mother was sick; sick her whole life, in fact. That’s why Lucy is so good at taking care of people.”
“Well, that makes sense,” I said. “So, do you believe in ghosts? Alice says her husband is haunting this place.”
The smile returned to his face. “I think it’s fun for her to believe it.”
I laughed. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
Alice cleared her throat in an attempt to get our attention. “Oliver dear, do you mind taking our guests to the dungeon? Max is chomping at the bit to take a peek.”
“I’d be happy to, but I haven’t gotten around to fixing those stairs.”
Alice sat back with a smirk on her face. “You know Oliver, I think you are afraid of ghosts. Lucy and I will wait up here. But take your time.”
As we descended the staircase, Oliver made a point to warn us. “Please hold on to the railing and watch your step. When the oil burner man comes to service the unit, I usually take him through the bulkhead. Past that, I don’t think anyone else has been down here in years.”
The stairwell was so dark; I immediately wondered why I had agreed to this. Creepy crawlers love to dwell in moist, dark places. I was
reminded of a scene from an Indiana Jones movie and my flesh quivered at the thought.
Once we reached the bottom of the stairs, Oliver switched on a light; a single light bulb suspended from a wire with a chain. In the faint glow, we got a glimpse of our surroundings. However, the first thing I noticed was the stench. “What is that smell?” I said, covering my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my sweater.
“Probably a dead raccoon,” Oliver said. “They’re able to get in, though I’m not sure how. Found a dead one down here a few days ago. Made a real mess of the place. Scratched up all the furniture. Even bit chunks out of the coffin over there.”
Sure enough, across the room sat a full sized coffin that looked like something from the Dracula movies.
Max strode over to the coffin and glided a finger across the dusty top. “Sarah, you’ve got to get a picture of me laying in this thing.”
Oliver put a hand up. “Not a good idea. It’s flimsier than it looks. Not even a real coffin. It might collapse if you try to get inside.”
“Right. Sorry.” Max turned and pointed to something else. “Is that an asylum hospital bed over there?”
“Yes, sir. There’s a box of straight jackets around here somewhere, too.”
“You’re kidding. I have to try one on.”
Oliver made a face. “Not sure if you want to do that. Full of dust. Maybe spider webs, too.”
Max’s expression reminded me of a little boy who had his favorite toy taken away, but something caught his attention and he hurried over to another gruesome looking object; a tall wooden chair with tiny spikes all over it. “No way. Look, Sarah. That’s a Judas chair.”
“Yep,” Oliver said, as if he were an authority on such things. “You seem to know your torture devices.”
“Yeah,” I said, following Max across the room. “And it’s starting to freak me out. Is this some kind of weird fetish thing?”
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