by CeeCee James
I was taken by the word “again.” Was the officer saying there were frequently dead bodies in this house? What exactly was going on around here?
Chapter 4
The officer’s partner squatted next to Mr. Green before I could get a good look at him. The cop took Mr. Green’s vitals, and then reached for his shoulder mic and called a code in.
I recognized the voice. It was Frank Wagner, Cecelia’s grandson.
A part of me was overjoyed to see someone I knew here. An ally or something. But another part felt the exact opposite.
Frank and I had gone to school together. I used to see him all the time at my grandma’s house as well as Cecelia’s. And he’d always been an annoying know-it-all. Growing up, I swear his face had been perpetually marked by a slew of freckles and a scowl.
Our reconnection since I’d been back had been limited to a few, what Cecelia termed “family dinners’ at the B&B. And he’d been as obnoxious as ever. So seeing him now, knowing he was the one who’d probably be interviewing me, kind of made my guts twist.
Mr. St. Claire stood rocking on his heels next to us, his hand over his mouth.
“You feel better?” I asked him quietly.
He nodded, and pushed his glasses up his nose.
The officer who had been talking with Mrs. Stilton turned to me. “I’m Sheriff Parker.” He took out a pad of paper and a pen, the pen glinting weirdly in the kerosene light. He pointed it toward the room at the end of the hall. “How about we move down there to answer some questions?”
Frank had his gloves on and was patting down Mr. Green. Bile rose in my throat at the sight, and I hurriedly turned away. Mr. St. Claire must have felt the same way as me, because his shoulder bumped mine as he rushed past.
Sheriff Parker followed us into the other room. It was my first time getting a good look at the space, long and narrow. Two old-fashioned porcelain table lamps—the type with flowers painted on the white body—barely threw out enough light to brighten the room.
Mrs. Green sat on a wooden bench with Mrs. St. Claire’s arm around her. The young woman seemed calmer now, and was wiping under her eyes with a tissue.
“This is the…” My mind struggled for a word that wouldn’t send Mrs. Green into hysterics again. “The wife,” I said.
Sheriff Parker squatted next to her and rested his hand on her knee. He began to ask questions to gather details about Mr. Green. Mrs. Green’s voice was low as she answered him.
Mr. St. Claire bobbled on his heels at the end of the bench. He stared down at his red-haired wife, as if trying to grab her attention. She briefly glanced up at him and shook her head ever so slightly, before looking away.
Mr. Peterson still continued to pace, now from one end of this room to the other.
One, two, three, four… I silently counted the tourists. Who was missing? I glanced around, my gaze finally settling on Eliza Sue. She was seated on the floor behind a small secretary desk. But where was Sarah? Funny, how that girl kept disappearing.
“You tried to turn on the lamp and then there was a big explosion?” I could hear Frank asked Mrs. Stilton. The two of them came down the hall and joined the rest of us. Frank was tall and had to duck his head to get under the unusually low doorway.
“Yes, that’s correct.” Her hat-covered head bobbed in agreement.
“Had you been down here earlier?”
“Just last night, with Sheriff Parker and another officer.” Sheriff Parker looked up when he heard his name. The curator continued, touching her chin with a finger. “Remember, we used flashlights down here?”
Sheriff Parker nodded.
Frank looked over at Mr. Peterson about to pace the hall. “Come join us, will you?”
Just then, we heard something clattering down the stairs. A crew of EMTs appeared in the hallway. Their shadows cast by the oil lamp on the table stretched toward us.
Mrs. Green stood at the sound of their footsteps. She glanced down the hall and seemed to waver on her heels.
“Someone catch her!” I yelled.
Just in time, Mr. Peterson caught her under the arms. He pulled her close to his chest as her sobs started once again. Mrs. St. Claire and Eliza Sue joined them as well. I could hear them murmuring to comfort the crying woman, but I couldn’t understand the words.
We all shifted uncomfortably at the display of her grief.
Sheriff Parker nodded toward Mrs. Stilton. “Can you tell me where everyone was in approximation to the victim?”
The curator pursed her lips and stared back at Sheriff Parker blankly. “I’m not really sure. I was leading the group. I do believe Mr. Green was the closest person behind me though.”
“Can anyone else confirm that?” the Sheriff asked the rest of us.
Mr. St. Claire shrugged, and pushed his glasses up his nose again. “It was dark. I was just trying to keep hold of my wife. Honestly, the whole thing was a hazard. Someone could have fallen and broken their neck.”
“Shhh.” Mrs. St. Claire frowned at her husband. She tucked her red hair behind her ear.
“It’s not normally like this!” Mrs. Stilton snapped back. “The overhead light usually turns on when I pull the string.”
“That’s right. We tried it last night and the light was out,” Sheriff Parker said. “You didn’t replace it?”
Mrs. Stilton blushed. “Honestly, with the alarm and rushing down here at two in the morning, I was a bit flustered and exhausted. After we searched the place, I completely forgot about it.”
“Wait, you were here earlier with the police? What’s going on?” Eliza Sue asked.
Mrs. Stilton wrung her hands. “The alarm went off this morning. Sheriff Parker met me down here and searched the manor for intruders. I had to show up to check to see if anything was missing. After a careful examination, I was able to verify that nothing was. We thought it was just a glitch in the security system.”
Sheriff Parker continued to take notes. “It seems we need to look a little deeper. And this time, not at ghosts.”
Mrs. Stilton nodded.
“I realize you’re all in shock, but we’re going to take official statements from each of you. Don’t leave town without stopping in at the station and speaking personally to me,” Sheriff Parker warned.
The next few minutes were rough as the stretcher came and Mr. Green was loaded on to it. None of us watched him be carried upstairs.
Mr. Peterson offered to accompany Mrs. Green to the hospital. She shook her head in refusal, saying she’d rather ride with her husband. I told her I’d meet her at the hospital once I finished dropping the rest of the group off at the bed and breakfast.
Finally, we were able to make our departure from the Three Maidens’ Manor. Everything felt numb to me. On my way down the hallway, I tripped over a large, brass candelabra that was sitting on the floor by the entry table.
“You okay?” Mr. Peterson asked, catching my elbow and steadying me.
I nodded wearily, and walked out to the van. Never had the scent of barbecue and corn been more welcoming. As we settled into our seats, I swore I could hear everyone breathe a sigh of relief.
I dropped the tourists back at Cecelia’s. She met us at the front door, looking confused at our early arrival. The guests filtered into the living room and sat like statues on the couches. I could tell everyone was still trying to process what had happened.
“What on earth is going on?” Cecelia asked. My stomach felt like a leaden ball as I beckoned her to follow me into the kitchen. She shut the door and turned her questioning eyes toward me.
I cleared my throat, and tried to break it to her gently. But there was nothing gentle about the news. “It’s Mr. Green. He was murdered at the Three Maidens’ Manor.”
Her hand flew up to her mouth. “No,” she whispered.
“Frank was there,” I added. “I suspect he’ll be by soon. I have to get to the hospital to support Mrs. Green.”
“The hospital?” she asked. “Oh, that’s right.
The morgue is in the basement.”
I gave her a hug. “You okay, Auntie?”
She nodded and looked about her kitchen. “I suspect they’ll need some food. Maybe hot cocoa. Poor things are probably in shock.” She grabbed my arm. “But you… are you okay?”
I knew what she meant, and Derek’s face floated in my mind. I nodded, but tears prickled my eyes. I squeezed them shut and shook my head.
She sighed sympathetically and patted my arm. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It takes time.”
I licked my lip, now dry and painful. “One day at a time.”
She nodded and patted my arm again. Then she spun away to the counter, and returned with a cookie. “Here, take this. You’re looking pale. Your blood sugar is probably low.”
I smiled and accepted the cookie. Trust Cecelia to try and fix everything with a little home-cooked food. But, amazingly, it usually worked. “Okay. I’ll be back later.”
“Go take care of Mrs. Green. Don’t worry about the rest of the guests.” She put on a kettle of water. “I’ll bring them cookies and cocoa right now. If there’s a group that needs a little refortification, it’s them.”
After another hug, I left, peeking into the living room as I passed. Half the group had their eyes closed, and the other half were on their phones or softly talking. I knew they were in good hands.
Once at the hospital, it took me a bit of time to locate the widow. After asking around, I finally found her in the chapel. It was a cold room, with stiff chairs and gray walls. The front glowed with a few lit candles. Another woman was with her.
Mrs. Green glanced up as I arrived, her eyes rimmed in red.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. She glanced at the person next to her. “And thank you for waiting with me.”
“Of course,” the woman said. She stood and reached a hand toward me. I shook it as she said, “I’m Charity with grief services here at the hospital. We’ve been able to get ahold of Rachel’s parents, and they’re making plans to come support her.”
The hospital worker took me off guard at the mention of Mrs. Green’s parents. I glanced at the widow again, and her young age registered a little deeper. The poor girl was only in her twenties. This had to be a lot for her.
“Okay. Thank you.” I sat down next to Mrs. Green and reached for her arm. “How’re you doing?”
She shook her head, and turned her face toward the ceiling as her eyes puddled up. When she looked back me, her face was pinched with grief. “I’m doing horrible. But the truth is, we’ve been expecting something like this for a long time,” she whispered.
Her words chilled me to the bone.
Chapter 5
I gasped at her statement, taken off guard. “What? You expected this?”
Mrs. Green nodded. “He’s gotten death threats numerous times.”
“Did you say something to the police?” I asked.
“Yes, they know.” She sighed and stared at the candles. I could see the tiny reflection’s of the flames in the pupils of her eyes. “It was a knife. They got him right here.” She pointed between her ribs. “There was someone else down there with us.”
The thought gave me the shivers. Someone else? Well, that thought was better than the explanation that had been creeping around in the back of my mind.
She continued, musingly, “I thought Michael’s secretary was supposed to join us on this leg of the trip, but I guess she didn’t show. Actually, I don’t even know if the secretary is a she. He?” Her bottom lip trembled. “Oh, Michael.”
I swallowed. Watching her grieve was tearing my heart apart. I felt so helpless. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Green.”
She glanced at me, her face flushed and tear stained. “Oh, please. Call me Rachel. I’ve never been comfortable with being called Mrs. Green.”
I nodded and patted her arm. She took a deep breath to compose herself. “We’ve only been married a year. There’s really so much about him I didn’t know. I can’t even name a single person who worked with him.”
“You never spoke with them on the phone?”
She shook her head. “Michael was mostly retired. He rarely went into the office. In fact, most of his office days were really out on some golf course. He didn’t want to be disturbed, and I didn’t think anything about it.” She bit her lip. “So many things I’m never going to know.”
I tried to gently change the subject. “How well did you know the other guests? Did you spend time with any of them?”
She nodded. “Yes, we hung out with all of the guests. Played cards at night. Went out to dinner twice with the St. Claires. Honestly, if it was any one of them, there were easier ways they could have done this. Heck, they could have just broken into our bedroom at night.”
I nodded. That was true. This group had hung out together nearly twenty-four seven.
But the Three Maidens’ hallway was so narrow. How could another person have snuck in without any of us noticing?
There was a tap at the chapel’s entrance. We both turned to look. A nurse walked in, her face showing deep compassion. She held a clipboard.
“I just need a few more things filled out,” she said, passing it over to Mrs. Green. I got up to leave to give the young woman some privacy as they spoke about where the body would go. As I passed through the door, I cringed at the word “autopsy.”
Of course there would be an examination. But to hear that word bantered around about a man I’d just seen that morning was too much.
My head ached from all the stress.
I walked down the hallway to a fish tank I remembered seeing earlier. The lights in the tank reflected water ripples on the far wall. I touched the glass, feeling the coolness under my fingers. Plastic green fronds bobbled in the airstream. White angelfish with long streaming wings sedately swam by. A sucker fish worked its way along the glass, cleaning the surface with its open mouth. Buried in the sand was a small pirate ship and pirate treasure. Every so often the treasure chest opened up and released a new stream of bubbles.
One of the people in my group could be the murderer.
There it was, the thought I’d been trying to hide. It jetted into my mind like the spurt of air bubbles through the water before me. There was no denying it, no way around it. It seemed improbably that another person was hiding among us when we huddled behind to the curator before the lamp’s light bulb blew up.
Mrs. Stilton didn’t count. After all, how could she have known who I was bringing today? And I was out. Mr. Green, for obvious reasons, was out. Which left six.
I mulled them over in my head.
Mrs. Green, the young grieving widow. Her shock seemed very authentic. I couldn’t believe someone was that good of an actor.
Mrs. St. Claire. The red-head hadn’t behaved any differently than anyone would expect at the scene of a violent crime.
Mr. Peterson. Young and single, he’d been pacing the entire time. Obviously, he’d been agitated. But more than normal?
I bit my bottom lip and shook my head.
Mr. St. Claire had been out of sorts, but again that was expected in light of a murder.
Eliza Sue had been very compassionate toward Mrs. Green.
That left the last on my list, Sarah. The young body builder had been quiet after the murder. I barely remembered seeing her at all.
I caught sight of the frown I was wearing in my reflection in the aquarium glass. Something about Sarah was bothering me. What was it? It was on the tip of my tongue—
“Oh, there you are!”
I jumped and spun around. Mrs. Green had unexpectedly popped up behind me.
“I’m sorry!” we both said simultaneously.
And then we laughed.
The laughter was odd, and I tried to rein it in. But then Mrs. Green snorted, which made me laugh harder. Maybe we just needed some stress relief, or maybe we were both crazy, but we laughed like two loons. She stumbled forward and clung to me for balance.
Finally, the giggles settled down into a f
ew humming sighs. She wiped tears from under her eyes.
“I think I’m a lunatic,” she confessed.
“If you’re one, then I am one, too.” I hugged her briefly. She snuffled a bit and then took a few deep breaths.
When she seemed to have settled down, I asked, “You ready to get back home?”
She hesitated, her eyes going wide.
I suddenly pictured how she would feel going back to her empty room at the bed and breakfast. Her husband’s clothing strewn about from where he’d left them that morning, his toothbrush by the sink.
“Hey,” I added, “I only have a couch at my apartment, but you’re welcome to it, if you’d rather…”
She nodded right away. “Yes, that would be great. If you’re sure that’s okay? My parents will be here some time tomorrow.”
“You got it,” I said and guided her to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
On the way home, I took a detour through the drive-through at a fast food restaurant. She asked for a burger, but as we pulled back onto the street, the paper bag sat unopened on her lap. She stared out the passenger window. Street lights strobed across her face as we passed under them. She didn’t say a word the entire way home.
Parking was usually slim around my apartment complex. But tonight we were lucky, and there was an open spot in front of the brick building.
I pulled the van into it and climbed out. Rachel moved slowly, as though she were an eighty-year-old woman. With a sigh, she finally got out. I led the way to the building’s huge front steps and front door.
The apartment building required a security code to open the doors. I quickly punched it in, and we walked inside.
The entryway was dimly lit with wall sconces. Rent was inexpensive, but the place was respectable and clean. I loved how it still held a lot of its old-world charm in the wood-hewn staircase and heavy, carved bannister. I walked up to the fourth floor with her trailing behind me.
My legs were used to the trek now, but I remembered how they burned when I’d first moved here. I wondered how she was doing.
