Her Deadly Inheritance

by Beth Ann Ziarnik

  She hurried through Windtop’s front door, hoping no one would notice her. No such luck!

  A harried flush on her cheeks, Lenore appraised her from head to foot. “You look decent enough. Keep watch, and let me know the minute Mrs. Wentworth arrives. Tia is getting ready and I must do the same.”

  Without another word, her aunt rushed up the stairs.

  Jill blinked. In a backhanded sort of way, Lenore had both complimented and included her, even depending on her as if she belonged. For a moment, Jill dared to hope that her fears about her mother’s death would prove untrue, but at the moment, she didn’t have much time to think about it.

  The door to the master bedroom closed as a car crunched gravel outside and pulled to a stop before the front door.

  Elma darted from the library, carrying fresh towels and scurrying toward the stairs. The poor thing never appeared at ease.

  Jill stopped her. “Tell Mrs. Bradwell her friend has arrived.”

  Elma nodded and scrambled up the stairs. Moments later, she called down over the railing. “Mrs. Bradwell says to entertain Mrs. Wentworth until she is ready.”

  In that case, she had better go out and greet the woman.

  Tall and in her forties, Katherine Wentworth emerged from the car and glided up the porch steps. Exquisitely dressed in a summer-weight suit that flattered her slightly plump figure, she smiled graciously and extended her hand. “You must be Tia.”

  Taking the woman’s soft hand, Jill returned her smile. “I’m Lenore’s niece, Jill Shepherd, Mrs. Wentworth.”

  “Kitty,” she invited.

  “Welcome to Windtop, Kitty.” Jill opened the screen door for Lenore’s guest to enter. “My aunt has been looking forward to your visit.”

  “So have I.”

  “Please come into the parlor.” She led Kitty through the entrance hall. “Lenore will be down in a few minutes.”

  Kitty surveyed the room before seating herself on the gold brocade sofa. “So this is Windtop. Lenore must be thrilled to finally be the mistress of this grand old house.”

  A small gasp drew their attention. Tia stood at the parlor entrance. “Oh, but Jill—”

  “Kitty, I would like you to meet Tia.”

  Kitty extended her hand. “You are just as lovely as your cousin.”

  Tia blushed and came forward. “Thank you.” As Mrs. Wentworth reseated herself, the girl tilted her head toward Jill, confusion in her eyes.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Wentworth didn’t notice. She continued to reminisce. “When your mother and I were college roommates, she said one day she would live here. Of course, your father was so shy, I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

  “Kitty!” With a rustle of long skirts, Lenore rushed in to hug her friend. Kitty rose to meet her. “Please forgive me,” her aunt went on, “for keeping you waiting.”

  “I didn’t mind at all,” Kitty said. “It gave me a chance to meet your lovely niece and charming daughter.”

  “Really?” Lenore slipped her arm through Kitty’s, turning her toward the entrance hall.

  “What an exquisite place to host your party,” Kitty remarked as the two women prepared to leave the parlor. “You must be so proud of your home.”

  Lenore flicked a nervous glance at Jill. “Yes, well, we must get you settled after your long journey. I see the girls failed to offer you refreshments. Please accept my apologies.”

  She paused to look back at Jill and Tia. “Tell Mrs. Fenton to serve tea in the library in about fifteen minutes. After that, I assume you girls have plenty to keep yourselves busy.”

  As Lenore retreated with her friend, Jill gaped after her. Had she heard Kitty right? Did she imply that Lenore knew about Windtop before she met Uncle Drew? That would put a whole new spin on Lenore’s obsession with Windtop.

  The possibility continued to nag her that afternoon, even while lost in helping the other women with an avalanche of party details. Fortunately, with Kitty’s experience, everything quickly fell into place. Jill didn’t have a moment alone to make use of the steel measuring tape. Instead, she fell into an exhausted sleep that night, praying for a better opportunity tomorrow.

  Early the next day, two rectangular pink-and-white striped party tents arrived by rumbling truck. From the talk during breakfast, Jill gathered that one tent would shelter a varnished dance floor, and the other a banquet hall, each complete with crystal chandeliers. Lenore had spared no expense, and understandably, she and Kitty intended to supervise the set-up beyond the gardens and gazebo.

  Jill removed the linen napkin from her lap and pushed back from the dining table. She had a hard time keeping herself from grinning. This was just the opportunity she had hoped for. With those two busy, she was free to search Windtop for that hidden escape route for a while. She itched to begin.

  But she didn’t get far.

  “Jill.” Her aunt’s voice held an edge that pushed Jill’s buttons. “Bring two lawn chairs, and tell Tia to join us.”

  Jill inhaled a calming breath. A slight delay, that’s all. She could handle it.

  On the lawn near the tent sites, she arrived to set up the chairs.

  “How unfortunate you couldn’t use your lovely house for this occasion,” Kitty lamented against the clatter of boards and the workmen’s noise as they prepared to lay the flooring.

  Lenore sighed. “My first choice, of course, but you know how guest lists grow. This was the best answer.”

  Jill unfolded one chair, much relieved that Lenore, Kitty, and even Tia would be busy outside, leaving the house free of intrusion. Thank you, Lord.

  Kitty shaded her eyes against the morning sun. “And your idea of transporting guests from William’s Landing in vintage cars is inspired.”

  Unfolding the second chair, Jill glanced up in time to catch Lenore’s proud smile. “That was Carver’s idea. Since we collect them, he believed they might add a unique touch.”

  “Well, I can tell you, my Ben and his friends are looking forward to the fun of driving them, even as temporary chauffeurs.”

  “May I get you ladies anything else?” Jill asked.

  “No, thank you.” Kitty smiled graciously.

  Lenore waved Jill off, appearing unaware that she was more than happy to leave. As she moved away, the women’s conversation faded, and she noted Mrs. Fenton and Elma gathering fresh vegetables from the garden. Clay and Sam were lining the graveled walkway to the tents with alternating pots of pink geraniums and white. With a quick smile, Tia hurried past her to join her mother.

  Perfect!

  Within minutes, Jill snagged the steel measuring tape from her room, along with a notepad and pen. She could almost taste victory. If that hidden route existed, she was sure to find it.

  Jill wiped her moist brow with the back of her hand and checked her watch. She had forgotten how tedious the work of measuring every interior wall could be. Worse, the first floor had netted her exactly nothing. She wasn’t doing any better with the second floor.

  She mumbled under her breath, “Lord, I know it’s here somewhere. Why can’t I find it?”

  The others had gathered on the veranda for lunch. If she had any sense, she would join them. She could use a break, a cold drink, and something to stop her stomach from growling. On the other hand, how much time did she have left before the house teemed with people again?

  Groaning, she moved on with measuring the second floor, but the extra half hour did her no good. She blew a stray lock of hair away from her face and went down to join the others.

  Lenore dabbed her lips with a damask napkin and set it beside her plate. “You’ve been such a help, Kitty. How can I ever thank you?”

  “It’s been my pleasure, and I’m sure my son and his friends are enjoying your lovely home in Munising since their arrival this morning.”

  Jill poured herself a tall glass of peach iced tea, relishing the cold glass against the palms of her hands.

  Lenore sighed. “I wish you all could stay at Windtop.”
>
  “We’ll be fine in town,” Kitty assured her.

  Lenore raised her brows. “We?”

  Kitty took Lenore’s hand. “I hope you don’t mind. I plan to stay at your home in Munising tonight.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, Lenore. Someone has to look after those young men, and we will arrive in plenty of time for the party tomorrow. In the meantime, you will be so busy that you’ll be glad we aren’t underfoot. And before I leave here today, I will have done all I can to help you.”

  Kitty noticed Jill and smiled. “We missed your delightful company at lunch.”

  Lenore stood. “Uh … yes. Unfortunately, we now have work to do. Please excuse us.”

  Kitty smiled apologetically and joined Lenore. They left the porch, walking toward the party tents where workers were unloading tables and chairs.

  Tia tilted her head to one side. “I don’t know what it is, but something’s not quite right about all this,” she whispered. “I feel it in here.” She touched her breastbone.

  Jill frowned. She felt it too.

  “Tia,” her mother called sharply. “Are you coming?”

  The girl moaned. “See you later.”

  Jill grabbed the last croissant stuffed with chicken salad and munched on it as she headed back into the house. She didn’t have a moment to waste. But would she find what she was looking for? Or simply rule it out?

  The afternoon waned with no sign of space discrepancy on the third floor. Returning to the second floor, she rechecked some areas, then blew a weary breath. If not for her mother’s letter, she could believe that Windtop never had an escape route. But most likely, she wasn’t quite skilled enough to detect it.

  In need of a short rest with fresh air, she sought the secluded balcony at the end of the second-floor hall. Sitting on its wooden bench, she leaned against the wall behind her, welcoming a soft breeze wafting off the bay.

  Stumped! That’s what she was. She didn’t have a clue what to try next.

  As the rumble of car motors grew, she raised her gaze to catch sight of a fleet of classic cars arriving. Six shiny black, red, green, and buff cars, each unique, approached the carriage house. Carver had the lead in the red car. He parked it on the lawn across from the carriage house and leapt from it to direct the remaining drivers. One by one, the young men parked side-by-side and bounded out noisily, each covering his vehicle with a beige car cover. With the protective car sheaths in place, they followed her cousin as he headed toward the party tents.

  Those young men with Carver must be Kitty’s son and his college friends. They were so carefree, full of fun, and completely oblivious to the pain permeating Windtop.

  Jill shook herself. She would not allow herself to sink into grief. Somewhere in this house, she would find the answer to her mother’s death, no matter what it took.

  She stood to re-enter the house and caught a movement in the shadows within the open carriage house door. She peered at the figure of the man standing there.

  What was Clay up to?

  Stepping through the open doorway, Clay looked around. Not a soul in sight. Good. He’d never get a better chance than now.

  He let his gaze sweep the covered cars and moved closer. If the one he sought was among them, he’d see tell-tale signs of damage. By now that damage would not be easily visible, but if the car used to kill Janice was among them, he would find it.

  He stole from one to another, peeling back the edge of the covers over the passenger’s side fenders and staying alert for anyone who might return. This sleek, red Porsche might be it. He crouched and ran his hand over every inch of the painted metal. It was as smooth as a candy apple, and just as he expected, not a detectable sign of repair—at least from the outside.

  He doubted that Janice’s killer had purchased a whole new fender. The transaction would have alerted the law. If this was the car, the fender had been expertly repaired.

  He glanced around once more, sweat beading on his brow. Then, easing himself down onto the grass, he reached up along the underside of the fender.

  From the shadows of the balcony, Jill observed Clay. What was he doing and why so secretive? With a sick, sinking feeling, she realized it had to have something to do with Janice’s death. Lord, please. Whatever he finds or thinks he finds, help him change his mind and do what is right.

  As Clay moved out from beneath the car, she quickly stepped back. She couldn’t let him catch her gawking.

  Slipping back into the house, she wanted to cry. Clay was obviously moving forward with his plan with no one to stop him. She gripped the second-floor railing and looked below. Well, she and Clay had one thing in common. They were both stubborn. In his case, it could spell disaster. In her case, she had no choice. In her deepest heart, she couldn’t accept her mother’s suicide. It just didn’t make sense. All she needed was some way to flush out the killer.

  She smiled slowly as an idea formed. Bringing her fists down on the railing, she whispered. “That’s it!”

  “What’s that, cousin?”

  Jill jerked around. How had Carver managed to sneak up on her like that?

  “You look pale, Jill.” He moved closer as if genuinely concerned. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Pale? Ill? She glared at him and turned away. When he touched her shoulder, every nerve in her body tightened. She shrugged him away.

  “We’re all worried about you, you know.” He played it so well she could almost believe his feigned concern.

  She pressed her lips together. Of course they were worried, and whoever was responsible for her mother’s death had better worry.

  “Have you considered seeing a psychiatrist?” he said. “Not pleasant to contemplate, but wouldn’t you want to know if you inherited your mother’s unfortunate mental weakness.”

  Jill whipped around. “What a wicked thing to say!”

  He shrugged. “Suicide runs in families, Jill, and with the strain you’ve been under lately, well, who knows where it might lead if you don’t get help?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jill had itched to slap Carver’s face. His words still stung as she finished fastening the dress she would wear to Tia’s party.

  Mental weakness, my foot! What he really meant was mental illness. Her mother had been fragile, yes, and delicate, certainly. She had even been frightened at times but never mentally ill.

  Jill brushed her hair with quick, strong strokes.

  So the family believed Susannah Bradwell Shepherd had ended her life because she was mentally ill. Well, tonight Jill would prove them wrong.

  Sweeping her hair up, she secured the mass of curls cascading to her bare shoulders. Just like her mother’s. She released spiraling wisps to frame her face and tipped her head from side to side. Did it duplicate the arrangement in the portrait now at her place in Chicago? Was it close enough to startle the killer?

  In a soft rustle of floor-length skirts, she turned slowly before Maggie’s mirror to examine the lovely white gown she had taken from her mother’s trunk before sending the rest on to Chicago. “What do you think, Button?”

  The kitten eyed her from his perch on the bed. He jumped to the floor, and with his tail held high, he left the room.

  “Not exactly my type of occasion either,” Jill muttered as she adjusted the dress’s off-the-shoulder neckline and added her mother’s string of pearls.

  Standing back from the mirror, she made a last check, her heart racing a few beats. If she didn’t know better, she would believe that her mother looked back at her.

  Just the effect she hoped to work at the party. Not that she wanted to take the focus off Tia. She only wanted to unnerve a killer. She lifted her chin. So what if the game was dangerous? She intended to win.

  Moving through the quiet of the house, she started down the stairs. No need to hurry. Dressed in Victorian finery, the Bradwells had left for the party tents well in advance.

  In the shadows of the second-floor hall, she paused at an un
expected sound. A faint but frantic scratching noise, like … oh, no!

  She dashed forward. “Button, stop!”

  Pawing at the base of the paneled wall outside the master bedroom, the kitten ignored her. She snatched him away, but with single-minded determination, he wriggled free and sprang back to resume his pawing. She moved him gently aside and found a bit of white cloth embedded at the base of the wall.

  Her heart leapt in her throat, and she found she couldn’t move. Button had found the elusive passageway.

  Off-center to the massive fireplace on the opposite side of the wall, the escape passage was likely encased in its brickwork. But where was its entrance release?

  She stepped back to study the wall’s intricately carved surface. Decorative wood medallions were placed at the corners of both the upper and lower panels, the motif repeated throughout the hall. She pushed those on the panel above the bit of cloth. Nothing. She attempted to turn them. They refused to move.

  Maybe a sequence would work.

  After trying different combinations with no success, she pushed two at her shoulder height, and a four-foot width of wall slid open without a sound. Blood pounded in her ears.

  As she grew up, she had lived in this house every summer for as long as she could remember. How had she not stumbled across its secret?

  A chill snaked through her. The bit of cloth was ample evidence that someone else knew.

  She crouched to retrieve it. An inch of delicate handmade lace surrounded a square of white lawn. Her stomach knotted. Lenore presented that very handkerchief to Tia this morning. “Every Victorian woman must carry one,” her aunt insisted.

  Oh, please, Lord. Not Tia.

  Jill forced herself to breathe slowly. Why grab the first obvious answer? A handkerchief was flimsy evidence. Her aunt probably had more like it and a better reason for wanting her mother out of the way.

  Sudden tears overtook her. No! She must not cry. She couldn’t arrive at the party red-nosed and teary eyed. Above all, she had to keep a clear mind and calm demeanor.