"So, somewhere after he dropped her off, Johnny Hayes suddenly realized something. And that something was so urgent he had to run and tell Grandma Mallory right away,” Rachel pondered, tapping her lower lip with a finger. "What could it be? Whatever could it be..."
"Well, he could have figured out Uncle Jordan’s—“ Scott paused suddenly, his body quivering slightly. "Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Rachel asked.
"Shh." Scott held up a finger.
Silence filled the air. Rachel strained her ears, trying to figure out what Scott had heard. The usual nighttime noises filled the air. She could hear the tick of the wall clock, the creak of furniture settling and a slow wind rustling through the leaves outside. Besides that, there was the sound of Scott's breathing, mingled with hers.
“Scraping,” Scott whispered. "Do you hear it?"
Suddenly, she could. A distinct noise came from above them —wood scraping against wood. Goosebumps erupted over her skin as she remembered Tyler telling her about the ghost in the attic. In the daytime, she'd dismissed his story with a laugh. Now, way past midnight, the memory of it chilled her flesh.
Scott's eyes were blazing and his jaw was set in a look she recognized well. Before she could stop him, he had rushed out of the room, his feet gliding across the floor without making a single sound.
*****
Chapter 15
The Ghost In The Attic
The attic was a chilly maze of darkness with wooden beams and a slanted ceiling that would have been charming in the daytime, but looked ominous at night. Piles of old knickknacks and decorations were scattered around, dusty and untouched.
Scott entered first, opening the attic door carefully, inch by inch. Rachel was on the ladder right behind him, shivering despite herself. She couldn't hear any scraping noises now, though she occasionally thought she heard a thud or a creak. Scott turned back to her and indicated that she should stay put and guard the door. Rachel nodded, for once deciding to obey him.
Slowly, Scott hoisted himself up and shut the door behind him. Rachel stood on the ladder, one hand holding on and her other arm wrapped around herself, wondering what would happen next. A sudden cry had her nearly tumbling off. She heard Scott shouting, followed by a series of curses and the sound of things falling on the floor.
Without hesitating, Rachel flung open the attic door and jumped into the fray. In the darkness, she could see one dark figure hunched over another. Patting the wall, Rachel found a switch and flicked it on. The light shone bright, shining directly into Scott's face. With a bellow, he suddenly fell backward. He'd been in the act of tying the intruder's hands when the light half-blinded him. The split second worth of distraction gave the intruder all the leeway he needed. Pushing Scott away, he rushed towards a closet that stood next to Rachel. She saw him scrambling to open it, her brain somehow taking the time to notice that the man had very long legs.
He opened the door and tried to rush inside but Rachel stepped into his path and began tussling with him. With an irritated cry he tried to push her off, only to be caught once more by Scott.
This time, it was all over. In seconds, Scott had the man in a wrestling hold, unable to move. Rachel handed him the cord with which he’d initially been trying to secure the man. Scott dusted his hands off and looked proudly at the man who was now trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Rachel took a deep breath and stared.
The man had a pencil-thin mustache and a small, triangular beard under his lower lip. Long-lashed, brown eyes stared out from a dark-brown face full of dramatic planes and sharp cheekbones. He was a handsome man by any standard, with a long, delicate face, long fingers and extremely long legs. Rachel noticed the dried paint around his hands and could guess immediately that he was an artist of some sort.
But who was he?
"So,” Scott said. "We've caught the Ghost of Mulberry Mansion."
"I can explain,” the man said with a gasp. "It's not what you think."
"Oh, I'm sure you can explain." Scott looked radiantly happy. "Explain to the police, that is, exactly how you got here and how long you've been stowed away up here.”
"Oh, man. Hey I—“ The man's eyes suddenly grew large as he caught sight of something on the floor. Rachel followed his eyes. While the men fought, they had disturbed several of the piles of items that were strewn throughout the attic. Now the man seemed to be staring at a dirty, old teddy bear sandwiched between a picture of The Beatles in a chipped frame and a dusty painting of a giraffe on fire.
"Hey, quit the games,” Scott said, snapping his fingers in front of the man's eyes. “Wake up! You think you can distract us so you can run away, am I right? Wrong. Not happening. We're not amateurs here, buddy."
"One of us is,” Rachel said wryly, pointing to herself.
Scott caught her in a one-armed hug and gave her a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "My hero,” he said. "You've helped me catch the killer once again."
"Killer? Me?" the man sputtered in indignation. "How dare you! I wouldn't hurt a fly! I'm an artist. I'm all about peace and love."
"Let's see. Breaking and entering. Stalking. Murder. Doesn’t sound very artistic or peaceful to me,” Scott said. "Well, let's get our cellphone and call Captain Walter."
"Before you do that,” Rachel said, "I'd like to ask our friend some questions."
"Sure,” Scott agreed. "Ask away."
"One, what's your name?" Rachel asked.
"Rafael,” the man replied. "They call me Rafael Long Legs. Listen, I'm a respected painter in California. You can ask anyone in San Francisco. The gallery owners all know me well. I promise I'm not your killer."
"I believe you,” Rachel said.
Scott stared at her, his mouth open. "You what?"
"I believe him,” Rachel confirmed.
"Rach, this is the so-called ghost Tyler saw the other day. It has to be,” Scott said.
“I agree. Speaking of which, Rafael, how did you disappear when Tyler saw you?” Rachel wondered.
Rafael simply smirked, but Scott shrugged. "Obvious, isn't it?" Scott asked. "That closet is some kind of old laundry or elevator shaft. Rafael here used it to sneak in and out of the attic at his convenience."
"That...is actually a really smart explanation." Rachel smiled.
Scott winked. "They do teach us sheriffs something in detective-school."
"Yeah. He got me." Rafael sighed. "I used the elevator to go up and down. But listen, I didn't break and enter or anything. I was let in."
"Of course, you were,” Scott said. "I figured you couldn't do this on your own. So spill. Who conspired with you?"
Rafael suddenly pressed his lips together, looking determined not to say a word.
"Alright, don't tell,” Scott said. "I think I can guess anyway. Given the layout of the house, this elevator shaft should directly reach..." He raised an eyebrow to let Rachel take a guess.
"Aunt Paris' room?" Rachel ventured.
"Ding ding ding. We have a winner." Scott smiled. "So, Rafael, care to tell us your relationship with Aunt Paris?"
"You're so smart, you guess yourself,” Rafael grumbled.
"Better yet, let's wake her up and ask her,” Scott said.
"She's already awake, I think,” Rachel said. "Rafael here was probably getting ready to go down to her when we interrupted. The other day Aunt Paris wandered into the kitchen at 5 am. I thought she'd simply woken up early. But I think she was just getting a snack before she went off to sleep. Right, Rafael?"
Rafael's face looked stormy. "Well, it's not like we can meet in the daytime with all you interfering busybodies around,” he said. "She was just trying to get me a snack from the kitchen that day."
"Where you're going, buddy, you’re going to be surrounded by busybodies,” Scott said cheerfully.
"I told you, man. I didn't kill anybody!" Rafael exclaimed. He groaned. "Look, untie me, will you?"
"Not a chance,” Scott said.
"Look. Paris and I ar
e in love,” Rafael pleaded. "We want to get married. That's the truth."
Scott snorted. "You're what? Twenty years younger than her?"
"Twenty four, but who's counting?" Rafael asked. "Real love doesn't come with age limits."
"Says every conman ever,” Scott sneered.
"Scott,” Rachel was gentle, but firm, “give him a chance to speak."
"Sure. Sorry." Scott shut up and motioned for Rafael to go on.
"Thank you,” Rafael said. He took a breath. "So, like I was saying. I'm in love with Paris. We met at an art exhibition and we've been together ever since. Love at first sight. Explosive, like I've never felt before. She wasn't my usual type, and I'm not hers either. Neither of us expected it. But it happened, and it's real."
Rachel sighed. He was telling the truth. She could see it in his eyes. He looked simultaneously pleased, embarrassed and passionate when he spoke of Paris. And, most of all, he had a tenderness in his eyes that only a man in love possesses.
"Well, we fell in love but, to my shock, Paris said her mother would never allow us to be together. Her mother? I mean... at her age?” Rafael shook his head. "Anyway, I decided to visit her at home a few days ago. It was the maid’s day off. Paris let me into the house. She was both scared and delighted. She hid me from everyone else and took me to her room. I wanted to meet her mother, but she told me that there would be hell to pay. She hid me in the attic in the daytime and bought me down to her room at night."
"This is crazy,” Scott said. "You really expect us to believe that Aunt Paris hid you from her own mother?"
"She's terrified of her mother,” Rafael said. He sounded sad. "I've never seen anything like it. She told me...she told me she's actually afraid that her mother might brainwash her into leaving me."
"Yep." Rachel shrugged. "Sounds about right."
"I mean…I couldn't believe it,” Rafael marveled. "Paris is a fully grown woman still deathly scared of her own mother? It made no sense to me. Paris and I actually argued about it. I gave her an ultimatum — either we tell everyone about us, or there is no us."
"Wow. She can't have taken that well."
"She didn't. She cried and pleaded. But I stayed firm,” Rafael explained. "So she agreed in the end. She told me that we'd wait until her mother's birthday, and then she'd introduce me."
"Ah,” Rachel said. "A disastrous idea, as it turns out?"
"Very much so,” Rafael agreed. "I nearly got caught once or twice anyway. Tyler was up here a few times, so was his father. Luckily I managed to give them the slip."
"Never mind that,” Scott said. "Where were you when the murder happened?"
"I was in Paris' room,” Rafael said. "She had come to get me. We were finally ready. Then the lights went out. We were confused at first, we just sat in the room. Then, Paris thought she heard a noise. She went out to check and then the lights came on. I started hearing screams. So I snuck back up the elevator shaft into the attic. We were both terrified when we realized what had happened. We thought I'd get caught and thrown in jail if anyone saw me."
"Yep,” Scott agreed. "You were right.”
"But I didn't do anything!" Rafael exclaimed. "We tried so hard to smuggle me out of the house after the murder but...you were there, the police were keeping a close watch. It was all just too dangerous. I've been surviving up here on pieces of the strawberry cake Paris brought me."
"So that's where the rest of the cake went!” Scott shook his head, disappointed. "I was looking for it."
Rachel tapped her lower lip. "So you didn't do it, and you and Aunt Paris now have an alibi?"
"Alibi?" Scott stared at Rachel. "Rachel, Aunt Paris has the perfect motive. Don't you see? All these years, she hated Johnny Hayes for exposing her love affair with Diego to Grandma Mallory. History was probably repeating itself. Johnny Hayes went to an art gallery before he died, right? Maybe he heard the gossip about Paris and Rafael. Maybe he'd come to tell Grandma Mallory. That could be why she killed him, all these years later. To prevent a broken heart all over again."
*****
Chapter 16
Arrests
They dragged Rafael down to the family room. By the time they arrived, lights had gone up across the house and voices were heard up and down the hallway. Scott phoned Captain Walter immediately while Rachel stood guard over Rafael, who was still trussed up, now seated on a fluffy floral armchair that didn't suit him in the least.
"I really didn't do this,” Rafael said. He looked close to tears.
Rachel didn't know what to say. Part of her really did believe him. Then again, he wouldn't be the first murderer to declare himself innocent and cry crocodile tears.
The doors to the family room burst open and Aunt Paris sprung in, her white nightgown trailing behind her.
"What have you done to my Rafael!" she cried, her eyes wide. "Let him go! Let him go immediately!”
"Your Rafael?" There was a low rumble behind her as Grandma Mallory walked into the room.
Aunt Paris froze. Rachel could see determination and fear at war upon her face. Fear won. Her voice was meek as she said, "Mama, I can explain—“
"You will explain,” Grandma Mallory demanded evenly. "You will also cooperate with the police and help put this man in jail. If you were foolish enough to bring riffraff like this into the house and he ended up killing Johnny Hayes, there's no help for you!"
"Mama, no! It isn't like that! Rafael didn't kill Johnny. He wouldn't kill anybody. He isn't capable of it. He's... he's..."
"Who is he to you, really?” Grandma Mallory explained. "Paris, don't you see? It’s perfect. A stranger did it, after all. Our family is safe." There was a note of wild joy in her voice, a lifting of the anxiety that had been present in it ever since Johnny Hayes died. "All this time I thought Tyler or Jordan or perhaps even Bethany… But no! It's this…scum. He killed Johnny. And we're all going to be alright."
Paris stared at her mother, her eyes wide. "You don't really care who did it?” she asked, stunned. "You don't even care that he's innocent? You just want him to go to jail so that the family reputation isn't smeared?”
“Don’t be silly,” Grandma Mallory said. “Of course he did it. You're so taken in by him, Paris, that you're blinding yourself to the truth. Just be sure to remember your side of the story when the police get here.“
"My story? I'm not telling stories!" Aunt Paris thundered. "I'm telling the truth! The truth is that Rafael is the love of my life. I snuck him into the house because I was scared of what you'd think about us. But he didn't kill anybody. He was in my room with me when the lights went out and Johnny Hayes was killed."
"Nobody will believe a silly alibi like that." Grandma Mallory rolled her eyes. "You really are a stupid little girl, Paris. I thought you were at least a tad smarter than that. Rafael? What a ridiculous name. And he's so young, too. Do you really think — are you honestly so stupid as to think — that this man loves you? Everyone you know is probably laughing at you. Over sixty years old but not a lick of sense in her. That's what they're saying. How old is this boy? 30? He's clearly flirting with you just so he can make some money. There's no question of love." Vicious, Grandma Mallory turned to Rafael. "What do you do for a living?"
"I paint,” Rafael said. "And I'm 41. Quite old enough to make up my mind about who I love."
Ignoring him, Grandma Mallory turned back to Aunt Paris. Over the few days that Rachel had known her, Grandma Mallory had let out little strands of her rage in the form of snide comments here and there. Now, the full force of her anger flared out.
"Paris, you are a worthless waste of space. Nobody loves you. Nobody ever has. Diego dumped you once he realized there was no more money to be had, didn't he? Your ex-husband left you for a younger, prettier woman, didn't he? But you still didn't learn your lesson. This little thief here is after your money and nothing else. Do you really think he's attracted to you? Do you really think he loves you? Of course not. Deep down you know your mother is right and
that he's just using you. Now are you going to side with him or are you going to stand by your family?"
Aunt Paris' head was bowed and tears sparkled in her eyes. She gave Rafael a desperate look and he only shook his head as though he wanted to deny everything Grandma had said. Rachel and Scott were both frozen, shocked at this blatant display of fury from Grandma Mallory. Rachel opened her mouth to say something but Aunt Paris spoke first.
It was a soft whisper, barely heard. "I choose Rafael.”
Grandma Mallory’s jaw literally dropped. She closed her mouth, pursed her lips and look dead into Paris’ eyes. “You'll regret this,” she said. Turning to Rafael, she said in a voice like a whip-crack. "You leave her and there's money in it for you. You stay with her, and I will cut Paris off. Understand? There won't be a single dime left to her name."
"I love your daughter,” Rafael said, his chin up in defiance. "I don't care if we live in a hovel, I’ll be with her. And I've seen women like you before. Women who value money over their own children. And I pity you for not being able to see that Paris is worth more than all the money in the world."
Grandma Mallory raised her hand as though to slap Rafael but Aunt Paris stepped in between them. "Stop it, Mama,” she said softly. "You've lost this time. I'm staying with Rafael even if it means leaving you. So don't. Don't interfere anymore."
Grandma Mallory's fists were clenched and, like a dragon, steam seemed to be coiling out of her mouth. She trembled all over as though this loss of control were the ultimate insult, an unbearable fate. The others had all gathered at the door, and were staring at this showdown with panic and fear on their faces. Nobody wanted to be in the way of Grandma's wrath. Rachel saw Bethany burying her face in Uncle Jordan's shoulder, while Tyler and Uncle Sidney fidgeted uncomfortably on either side of them. Zizka was just behind them all, her round face looking especially pale.
Strangulation & Strawberry Cake Page 10
