Strangulation & Strawberry Cake

by Nancy McGovern

  Rachel walked along the path, letting it lead her around the house as her thoughts chased one another. Beside a window, she suddenly paused, a gasp escaping her mouth.

  She was outside the parlor and could see quite clearly into it. A man was standing in front of a chest of drawers, his back turned to Rachel. He was ruffling through each drawer in a hurry, clearly searching for something.

  A memory flashed into Rachel's mind. So much had happened since she and Scott first came to Mulberry Mansion that she'd forgotten about it until now but, suddenly, Rachel remembered seeing a shadow in the parlor as Zizka led her and Scott towards the family room. Her eyes widened. Why hadn't she thought of it before? It could surely be connected to the murder somehow.

  Clearing her throat, she called out. The man straightened and turned around. Rachel found herself looking into Tyler's startled eyes. He shut the drawer behind him with a bang and gave her a frozen look. His eyes darted towards the door but Rachel shook her head.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you,” she said. "We need to talk, Tyler."

  The French windows leading to the parlor stood half-open and Rachel noticed that a piece of yellow tape with Police Line-Do Not Cross printed on it had been torn and was fluttering in the breeze.

  "You could get in real trouble for this, you know,” Rachel said, nodding her head at the yellow tape.

  “I…I didn’t…it was that way already. They said the police were done in here,” Tyler stuttered. "I'm not doing anything wrong. I was just looking for…for something I lost."

  "Really?" Rachel raised an eyebrow. "What?"

  "None of your business." Now that he'd had time to regroup, Tyler seemed more annoyed than afraid of Rachel finding him.

  "Let me guess. A gold lighter?" Rachel asked.

  "A lighter?" Tyler looked confused.

  "Don't play, Tyler. You can talk to me. Or, you can talk to the police. Actually, I think I should just go now and—“

  "No! No, wait!" Tyler sprang out into the garden and caught Rachel's wrists. “Please, don't tell anyone.”

  "I'll have to,” she said. "Sorry. This is a serious situation, Tyler. A man is dead."

  "I know,” Tyler groaned. “Ugh, I have the worst luck…”

  "That's awfully empathetic of you,” Rachel said.

  "I mean..." Tyler shrugged. "What do you want me to say? The guy was my dad's accountant. I've seen him maybe one time before in my life. I'm not going to act like I'm heartbroken and grieving."

  "So you don't care that he was murdered just a few rooms away from you?"

  “Well, I…” He sighed. "I guess. It's not great. But, it's just one of those things that happens sometimes, you know? They'll probably find out it was a homeless guy or a crazy vagrant or something soon enough."

  "You don't think someone from your family did this?"

  "That bunch?” Tyler snorted. "They're all so soft. They've probably never even been in a fight in their lives, forget killing someone. No. I don't think my Aunt Paris or my grandmother suddenly flipped their wigs and killed Johnny Hayes, no matter what the police say. More likely Johnny had a girlfriend or something who followed him here and killed him."

  "The police think it was one of you,” Rachel pointed out.

  "The police try to think as little as they can,” Tyler sneered.

  "Alright, if they're so dumb and you're so smart, what's your theory? An outsider somehow scaled the six foot wall surrounding this mansion, snuck to the cellar and killed the lights, then knew how to get to the parlor in the dark where he murdered Johnny Hayes before sneaking back into the cellar, turning the lights back on and then somehow escaping unseen? All in a space of fifteen or twenty minutes?" Rachel counted off each point on her fingers. "Does that seem plausible to you?"

  "Y-yes." Tyler was more than a little shaken. "I mean... I don't know. If you're crazy enough, there's no telling what you can do."

  Rachel stared him down. He tried to maintain eye-contact for a second but soon found his gaze pulled toward the ground.

  "What were you looking for?" Rachel asked.

  "None of your business,” Tyler said.

  “Actually, it is my business," Rachel said. "I've been hired to get to the bottom of this. By your Aunt Bethany."

  "Her?" Tyler laughed. "She hired you?"

  "It's her house, too. She's got a right to be worried if a man was killed in it,” Rachel said.

  "Oh, sure. Aunt Bethany wishes it were her house. She's been wishing it for years. You know, years ago, when I was just a little kid, Grandma Mallory got sick. Some kind of cancer, I think. Anyway, my dad wasn't able to leave the university and move back into the house like Grandma wanted. Neither was Aunt Paris. But Aunt Bethany? She dropped everything and ran. She and Uncle Jordan moved right into the house almost immediately."

  "That was quite kind of her,” Rachel said.

  "Not hardly." Tyler grinned. "See, Aunt Bethany was convinced Grandma Mallory would die in a year, maybe two. Then, since she and Uncle Jordan were living in the house, they figured they could just claim it as theirs. A free house is nothing to sneer at, especially when it's this fancy. Ha. Grandma Mallory wasn't dying that easily, though. And, so, Aunt Bethany was stuck staying in a house she didn't own with a woman she doesn't like."

  Rachel narrowed her eyes. "You think Aunt Bethany's that materialistic?"

  "Sure she is. You know, when I was a kid and she was babysitting me once, she took me out to the mall. I was about twelve. I really wanted a slice of pizza and she got me one. Then, for a week, she reminded me that I owed her three dollars for it. Three dollars! Can you believe it? How cheap can you get, asking a kid for money like that?"

  “Is that true?” Rachel stared at him, hardly able to reconcile this version of Aunt Bethany from the one she'd seen and talked to.

  "Oh, it’s true. Everyone in the family knows why she married Uncle Jordan. Sure, he was charming and that helped, but if he'd been charming and broke, she wouldn't have looked twice at him. Three dollars! What nerve!" Tyler shook his head. "You know, the more I think of it, if it's one of us, it's got to be them. Her and Uncle Jordan. One of them or both of them together thought this up and killed Johnny Hayes.” He paused. “I hope it's not Uncle Jordan, though. He's always been decent to me."

  "But why would they?"

  Tyler shrugged. "Money. The motive's got to be money, doesn't it? Aunt Beth was stealing or something and…bam. Johnny shows up, she gets scared, next thing you know he's dead."

  "I don't know." Rachel was unconvinced. "She's a small woman. Barely 5 feet tall and certainly not an inch above it. Could she really have strangled a man who was almost a foot taller?"

  "Using a garrote? Sure,” Tyler said. "When you use a cord to strangle someone, and if you're already behind them, it's ridiculously easy. Snap, and the man's dead."

  Rachel shivered a little. "You seem to know a lot about it."

  "Oh, well, you know, movies these days." Tyler shrugged. "To be honest, I'm interested in this sort of stuff. Criminal psychology and all."

  "You're in college, right?" Rachel asked. "How old are you again?"

  "21,” Tyler said with a sigh. "I'm not in college. Not yet, anyway. I work at a gym right now. It's not something I want to be doing all my life but it pays the bills. Dad's not too happy about it, though.”

  "I suppose that just adds to its charms then?" Rachel asked. "Uncle Sid's a professor, right?"

  Nodding, Tyler laughed for the first time, his teeth parting in a perfect triangular smile that oddly reminded Rachel of Scott. "Yep. You get it." Tyler smirked. "The other professors Dad is friends with all have kids in engineering or pre-med. I'm the odd man out, and Dad hates it. He'd do just about anything to have me enroll. I'm not falling for that, though. I've seen these kids. College just makes them corporate slaves, and I've got bigger plans."

  "You do?"

  "Sure. I've got a side business making inspirational videos online,” Tyler said. "I even have 300 fa
ns. You wanna check my page out?"

  "Maybe later,” Rachel demurred. "Right now, I'm still more interested in what you were searching for."

  Tyler sighed. "You aren't going to let that go, are you?"

  "Nope,” Rachel said. "I can be tough to shake off."

  "Fine. I'll tell you if you promise to keep it to yourself."

  "Just tell me,” Rachel said, making no promises. If the police needed to know, she'd be the first to go to them.

  Tyler looked around to make sure nobody was listening then lowered his head conspiratorially. "Yesterday afternoon I was sitting in the parlor when I heard dad calling my name. I was... kind of busy. I sort of freaked out that he was coming to the parlor. I had a package with me and I didn't want him finding it. So I hid the package somewhere in the room. Thing is, I don't remember where. I've been trying to find it ever since."

  "Ah." Rachel suddenly understood. "You were doing drugs and you hid your stash."

  "Not drugs. Weed. Marijuana,” Tyler said.

  "You smoke marijuana?"

  "How else would I survive trapped in a house with these oldies? I don't do it all the time, just recreationally,” Tyler said defensively.

  "But why on earth would you do it in the parlor in broad daylight?"

  "It's actually a pretty safe place,” Tyler explained. "I used to smoke up in the attic but then Dad nearly caught me there a couple of days ago. Luckily, I managed to hide! So I figured, parlor in the daytime, attic in the night time — that's the best way to smoke."

  "Right,” Rachel said. "Looks like you took great pains to hide from your dad. And the police."

  "Well, I have nothing to be scared of where the police are concerned. It’s legal to smoke pot in California now. So they can't arrest me. I'm an adult doing my thing, that's all."

  "Sure.” Rachel nodded. "So, the question is, why are you so afraid? Why not admit it to me right away?"

  Tyler sighed. "Well… Dad's not a big fan. And Grandma? She'd just about disown me and kick me out of the house. They won't understand."

  "It isn't a very healthy habit,” Rachel pointed out.

  "Actually, it's very natural and has a lot of benefits. It helps me relax,” Tyler said. "But... I guess I don't expect Dad to get that. He doesn't like me relaxed. He wants me to be constantly ambitious or something. The perfect son."

  “He's just giving you the same advice any dad would.”

  “I know.” Tyler grinned. “I’m hard on him, but Dad's got a heart of gold. He's doing what dads always do — looking out for me. The thing is, I guess I'm doing what kids always do. I’m rebelling. That’s just the way it goes.”

  "Sounds like you're a rebel without a cause." Rachel laughed. "You're 23, Tyler. Hardly a kid anymore."

  In response, he cracked his knuckles and gave her the sheepish grin of someone who'd heard that lecture many a time. "If you're done interrogating me, can I go now?"

  "I have a few more questions, actually,” Rachel said. "Where were you last night when the lights went out?"

  "Now you sound like the police." Tyler sighed. He looked bored. "I'll tell you what I told them. I was with Dad in the guest room — that's on the other side of the kitchen. We were looking for Grandma's gift and, when the lights went out, we decided to just sit in the room, figuring they'd come back on soon. We heard some shouts when they came back on and that's when we realized something bad had happened."

  "So you didn't hear anything suspicious? See anything?"

  "Yesterday? No. But…” Tyler hesitated. "I'm going to sound a little mad now, ok? There's something I didn't tell the police."

  "What's that?"

  "I think the house is haunted,” Tyler said.

  Rachel's mouth dropped open. For a minute, she thought Tyler was pulling her leg. Then, she saw that his face stayed serious and his eyes were as earnest as ever.

  “H—Haunted?" she managed.

  Tyler nodded. "Two nights ago, I snuck upstairs at 2am so I could smoke up in peace. Its really hard sharing a room with Dad for a week, you know?"

  "Okaaay…”

  "Well, I saw someone. A ghost."

  "Maybe it was one of your aunts or your uncle?"

  "No way, man. I'm telling you. I saw a ghost. I just saw a shadow, but I know it was a ghost. Tall, really tall. And really thin."

  “You have to be—“

  "Look, I swear. I was in the attic, ok? I was thinking deep thoughts, feeling at peace with the universe. All that jazz. Then suddenly, this closet door opens." Tyler mimicked a creaking door. "I freeze, obviously."

  "Obviously."

  "Yeah. And then a leg extends out — and what a leg — it was abnormally skinny and abnormally long. Like, that leg did not belong to anyone I knew. Certainly not anybody who's staying here. Besides, what would any of them be doing awake at 2am? This was a ghost."

  Rachel still found it hard to believe a word she was hearing. Some part of her was convinced Tyler was trying to play a joke on her but it was hard to believe he'd be able to make up such a ridiculous story and keep a straight face.

  "What happened then?" Rachel asked.

  "I shouted out. Asked who it was. Guess what? The leg goes back into the closet and the door slams shut."

  "What did you do?" Rachel exclaimed.

  "What did I do? Lady, I did what anyone should do — I went and opened up the cupboard. I mean, I wasn't going to let a ghost scare me, you know." Tyler hesitated. "Of course, I took my time building up my courage. But my eyes didn't leave that cupboard for a second. So yeah, I build up my courage, I say ‘I’ve got a gun’ — total lie, but whatever — and then I go look in the closet. And guess what I find?"

  "What?" Rachel asked.

  "Empty space,” Tyler said. "There was no one there. It was like there never had been."

  *****

  Chapter 10

  The Four Year Old

  Telepathy. Ghosts. Murder. What was going on at Mulberry Mansion? Rachel thought she'd go crazy trying to figure it out. Part of her wondered if Aunt Bethany and Tyler had somehow joined together and collectively decided to pull her leg. Another part wondered if they were just telling tall tales to scare her off or to distract her from something else. Sighing, Rachel put her head back on her pillow and stared at the wooden beams on the ceiling.

  Dinner had been strangely tense. Grandma Mallory hadn't been pleased that Aunt Bethany had invited Rachel to stay without even consulting her. Scott hadn't seemed very pleased, either. As for the rest, they were all sunk deep in their own thoughts. The clinking of forks against plates and the clearing of throats were the only sounds Rachel had heard all through dinner.

  Now she was ensconced in a quiet but tiny room on the top floor. It was barely bigger than a closet, but Rachel liked it nonetheless. There was only room enough for a twin bed and a closet, but the walls were painted a cheerful yellow and old posters of bands from the ‘80s still hung on them. Once upon a time, a teenager had clearly marked this out as her territory. Rachel wondered if it could have been Scott's mom. Def Leppard, AC/DC, Duran Duran and Roxette stared down at her from the walls, their hair gloriously permed, their costumes hilariously outdated and their expressions frozen in a permanently defiant pout. Rachel felt warm and cozy staring up at them from under a thick patchwork quilt,. She could almost imagine herself as the previous occupant — someone young and in a hurry to grow up, full of angst and hope at once. Somewhere below, the grandfather clock struck midnight, its chimes echoing through the house.

  There was a knock on the door and she shot up immediately.

  "Come in."

  Scott stuck his head in. “You sure?"

  "Hey." She smiled. “Yes, I'm sure. Come on in."

  Scott tip-toed in, shutting the door carefully behind him. "I had to make sure everyone was asleep. Grandma would be quite appalled if she found out I'm visiting you at this hour."

  "How do you know I'm not appalled?” Rachel teased.

  "Scooch over." Scott b
umped her hip. "Man, count on Grandma Mallory to be passive-aggressive. She really didn't like Aunt Beth inviting you over, did she? There's a proper guest room down the hall that's empty and she gave you this closet instead."

  "I kind of like this,” Rachel said. "It has character. Plus, whoever stayed here had good taste in music."

  Scott stretched out beside Rachel and pulled the quilt over himself, too. He looked at the posters on the wall, and a shadow passed over his eyes. "Roxette. Duran Duran. These were my mom's favorite bands."

  "Oh." Rachel hesitated, not sure what to say.

  "This was probably my mom's room, then." He shivered a little then gave a wry smile. "One of my favorite memories is Mom and Dad dancing to Duran Duran's Hungry Like The Wolf. I must have been 6. It was a busy morning, with Mom trying to rush me off to school and feed Emily at the same time. We were all in the kitchen — Dad had a piece of toast between his teeth and was smoothing his hair down, his shirt still half-buttoned. I was crying about having to eat plain, old corn flakes instead of fruit loops, while Emily had carrot puree smeared all over her face. Mom was just so stressed and irritated. Then this song came on the radio and they both just looked at each other. There was this moment, you know, just a split second, but suddenly the air between them was electric. Dad got this playful look on his face, put the toast down and started mouthing the words, exaggerating all his expressions and shaking his body like he was possessed. Before you knew it, mom was laughing her head off and shaking right along with him."

  Rachel didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Scott was deep into his own memory, his eyes gazing off into the distance and a smile playing on his lips. There was so much behind his words — warmth, happiness and bittersweet nostalgia.

  "I can't believe this place has been here, right here, all these years and I never saw it,” Scott said. "It feels strange, you know, to think of your parents as people. Real people. To think of your mom as a teenager grooving to music or as a kid crying because her older brother was bullying her. Unreal. Sometimes, I think of the fact that she was ten years younger than I am right now when I was born. It blows my mind. I don't know how she handled it. Any of it. Work, kids, a husband..."