Mysteries of Billamore Hall Box Set

by B J Richards

  Walking into the Main Hall with all the grace and professionalism she could muster, she was greeted by a tall red-headed man in an elegant pin-striped business suit. She recognized the Chairman of the Billamore Board immediately.

  “Sorry for the delay, Mr. Aaron,” she said, warmly shaking his hand.

  “No problem. I saw you have some issues to resolve.” His eyes darted over to the entrance of the Hall that had been denigrated by the afternoon vandals. She followed his eyesight direction and saw Nathaniel talking to the security officer outside.

  “Yes, we do. People are still angry, but we have it under control.” She made sure her voice was even and no lines of concern were crossing her face.

  “I bet you do,” Mr. Aaron concurred smiling, as he brought out an envelope from his inner jacket pocket. “This is for you from the Board. As you know, the gala has been slated for the weekend, and you are expected to host right here at the museum. The intent is to make people embrace the museum once again and dispel this rumor of it being a murder house. We have sent invitations to several of the local patrons here and in the surrounding area, as well as some of our international supporters. This is your own open invitation, unnecessary but customary. It gives you the privilege of bringing as many people as you see fit, being the Curator. So, see you at the gala?”

  “That was very kind of you to bring it to me personally, Mr. Aaron. Yes, I'll see you there.” As she escorted him to the door and bid him good-bye, she motioned Nathaniel in. Seeing a friendly face in the middle of this was reassuring.

  “What do you think? Do you think these are the same people that broke into my house?” she asked Nathaniel in a low voice, not wanting Barbara to be part of the conversation.

  “It's possible,” Nathaniel said. Sandra could hear the concern in his voice, even though he tried to hide it. But they’d been friends too many years for him to hide much of anything from her.

  “I fixed your security system today. I doubt if anyone is going to get past it. Everything I did was state-of-the art. You’re in maximum lock-down now,” he quipped kidding her.

  “Thanks. It does help me feel safer. Now if we could figure out why I have a ghost haunting me, and someone is trying to make me curator-victim-number-four. “

  “I know. I could attach a protective detail to you before we catch whoever these people are.” She could tell from the sound of his voice that he was more than just suggesting it.

  Sandra contemplated the option. But the thought of police officers following her around didn't seem to boost the confidence they were trying to promote to the museum's art patrons. “No, I'll be okay.”

  Nathaniel squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not convincing me, Sandy. But you’re in charge and I won’t post them if you don’t want them.”

  Sandra knew she needed to change the subject quickly, before this turned into another big-brother episode. “What do you think of attending the gala this weekend? You and Jo. You know I’d really love to have both of you here. Besides, then you could keep an eye on me personally,” she jested.

  “For you and the museum? Anything.”

  She was glad the mood was lightening up. “Yes. For me and the museum.”

  “And like you said. It’s the perfect opportunity for me to keep an eye out. Whoever is showing disapproval for the museum is definitely going to be against the gala. And that means they might show up again.”

  Sandra nodded in agreement, even though the thought of a confrontation at the gala gave her a sudden headache. That was the last thing she needed.

  Chapter Seven

  Josephine fingered the lace bodice of one of the dresses in Sandra's closet. “This is beautiful. You should wear this. It’ll go great with your green eyes,” she commented, bringing out the red dress.

  Sandra barely heard her. Her mind was completely occupied with details for the gala that night. She nodded and smiled, while mentally going over everything that had to be done in her head.

  The last few days had been quiet with no one coming around to vandalize the museum, which was a good thing. But there hadn't been an influx of museum patrons either, which was disappointing. Still, she felt better with the new security system installed in her home; and even the occasional Annabel fit had become oddly comforting to her. Although she was yet to know why Annabel’s ghost was haunting her, she was sure the ghost meant her no harm.

  Sandra came back to reality when she heard Josephine’s phone ring. She could tell Josephine was talking to Nathaniel.

  “Nate is meeting us at the museum?”

  “He's already there. He went earlier to check the perimeter and make sure you don't have outside wall paintings to greet us.”

  Sandra chuckled. “No surprises tonight would be great. Or I might begin to look incompetent to the Committee.”

  “Nonsense. You've held that place together and they’re lucky to have you. You don't see many people rushing in to take over, do you?”

  “That doesn't mean I have to be less competent, though.”

  “You're hosting a gala and you've managed to pull a crowd to a former crime scene. I’d say that’s great.”

  Sandra smiled at her friend's assessment. “You're right. I just want everything to be normal again, especially tonight. No ghosts, no intruders... and definitely no murders.”

  “I know. And I do agree with you. Ghosts are exciting though,” Josephine just couldn't help saying as she assisted Sandra with her dress.

  Sandra grinned at her friend's obsession with the supernatural. She loved her whimsy and spontaneity. It was so Josephine.

  * * *

  An hour later, Josephine and Sandra arrived at the museum. OK, looks like we’re good to go. Looking around, she saw everything was in place and felt relieved. She checked on the caterers, unlocked the doors, and tried to settle the butterflies in her stomach.

  Josephine had gone off to find Nathaniel, leaving Sandra a few moments to herself. She stood in the entrance looking at the statue that had given her such chills only a short time ago, and smiled. You've got this, Sandra Peterson. You’ve got this.

  * * *

  Guests poured into the museum, happy to be there, complimenting her on the grandeur of the event. The night was turning out to be a huge success.

  When she had a break, she walked over to where her grandmother was and hugged her.

  “Thanks again for coming, Grandmum.”

  “Anything for you, Pumpkin.”

  Sandra couldn’t help noticing her grandmother was wearing what she now thought of as the Annabel pendant. Although the filigree did seem a little different for some reason.

  But this was not the time or the place to start asking questions. Besides, she was yet to tell her grandmother about the ghost haunting and people trying to force her down a ravine. Her grandmother worried about her, and it was best not to scare her with details about all the weird occurrences in her life… at least not now.

  Standing next to her grandmother, she swiped a flute of champagne from the waiter's tray, only momentarily distracted by his distinctive jewelry.

  “Smooth,” her grandmother commented and chuckled. “Isn't the host supposed to be milling about, talking to potential donors.”

  “I'm doing exactly that,” Sandra replied, an impish grin on her face.

  Abigail Peterson smiled. “Finally, the Billamore Committee thought of an innovative way to get my money... give my granddaughter a job.”

  Sandra grinned. “What a cunning lot they are.” Just then she looked up and saw Nathaniel coming toward them and motioned him over. He walked up and gave each of them a peck on the cheek.

  “Nathaniel, I'm yet to get a wedding invitation,” Abigail said, smiling up at him.

  “When a date is set, you'll be my first call Mrs. Peterson,” Nathaniel said warmly, remembering how Sandra's grandmother had always treated him like one of the family. “Will you excuse us for just a moment please? I need to talk to your granddaughter about museum security issu
es. All rather boring and routine, but needed just the same.”

  “Of course, Nathaniel. I need to speak to Loretta Collins anyway. I intend to loosen her purse strings in favor of the museum.”

  “Thank you Grandmum. I think you’re a better curator than I am.”

  “Let’s just say I know her weaknesses,” Abigail replied smiling. “You go take care of museum business with Nathaniel and I’ll see about making sure Loretta contributes here instead of somewhere else.”

  Once Abigail had moved across the room to speak to her old friend, Nathaniel took Sandra's arm and escorted her to the edge of the room.

  “What is it? Please don't tell me we have intruders.” She made sure she kept her voice low, pasting on a fake smile so no one would know there might be a problem.

  “What? No. We just want to see the painting is all.”

  “We?” Sandra asked, following Nathaniel’s nod toward Josephine, who had a guilty wide grin on her face.

  Sandra looked back at Nathaniel and rolled her eyes. “You don't even believe in ghosts.”

  “According to the love of my life, this painting will change my belief. I'm ready for a change of heart,” the twinkle in his eye clearly giving himself away.

  “Okay then. But I can only be gone for a minute.”

  Excited about finally sharing the painting with them, Sandra led them quietly to the basement, so as not to cause a distraction. She flipped on a switch. Light flooded the space, exposing various artifacts still in their crates, awaiting homes in the upstairs galleries.

  “So, this was the murder scene?” Josephine's morbid curiosity kicked in.

  “Yep. No windows and the only entrance is the one we just took. That’s why the murder still remains unsolved,” Nathaniel explained.

  Sandra led them to the hidden hall of paintings she'd found just a week ago. She hadn't opened it since finding Annabel's face, blinking angrily at her. But now in the company of her friends, she felt a bit silly not bringing them here before.

  “This can't be... it was right here.”

  “What happened?” Josephine’s curiosity was jumping now.

  “The painting... it was right there.” Sandra pointed to the space created after the second painting. Someone had obviously moved it.

  “Maybe the Council took it away. Maybe they’re aware of Annabel's ghost. Maybe they even know more about the murders here than they’re willing to let on.” As Josephine continued to spew her conspiracy theories, they heard a scream from upstairs.

  Nathaniel raced up the stairs leaving Sandra and Josephine behind to catch up as quickly as they could.

  Though not as fast as Nathaniel, Sandra was right behind him with Josephine on her heels. Hearing someone say, “Call the police,” she got there just as Nathaniel flipped out his badge to identify himself and instruct the crowd to remain where they were and not leave the room.

  Then she spotted her grandmother sitting in a corner with her hand nervously touching her neck, pale and distraught. Sandra had never seen such a look on her grandmother’s face before. Without thinking about her form-fitting dress, she knelt by the chair where her grandmother sat and took her hand.

  “What is it Grandmum?”

  “The lights went out, and the next thing I knew someone had their hands on me. Then they snatched my pendant and were gone before I could even react.”

  The thought of some thug touching her grandmother made Sandra’s blood boil. “Oh, my God. Are you okay?” Grateful her grandmother wasn’t harmed, she hugged her and silently swore to make sure whoever did this was jailed… forever if she had anything to say about it.

  “Yes Pumpkin, I’m alright. The thieves might be disappointed though, because they have the replica, not the real thing.” At that moment, Abigail was very proud of the fact she’d listened to her deceased husband.

  “A replica?”

  “Yes. Your grandfather always insisted I make a copy of my jewelry. He was very clear. I was never to wear an original at a public gathering.”

  Sandra smiled at her grandfather's careful ways. “Thank God, they didn’t hurt you. Don’t worry, Grandmum. Nate will find them and get it back, copy or not.”

  “I know dear. I have complete confidence in both of you. And thank heavens I listened to your grandfather.”

  So, that’s it. That’s why the pendant looked different to me.

  That's when the ugliness sunk in. What if the thieves realized they had a fake, and came back for her grandmother?

  Chapter Eight

  “Hold still,” the man said to his partner as he took the photograph of the painting. The beauty of the painting was lost on his vulgarity. And Annabel's angry domineer washed off him without notice.

  “Pass me the pendant,” he said gruffly to the other man. He took a careful close look at it and smiled.

  This is what he’d been waiting for.

  Chapter Nine

  The morning sun shone through the cracks of the blinds. Sandra had slept through all four alarms she’d set. She'd come home from last night’s gala emotionally and physically exhausted and fallen into bed immediately. Stretching, she pushed herself up to a sitting position and reconciled herself to the fact it was time to get up. She needed to get back to the museum. Still half awake, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and started toward the bathroom.

  “Aahhhh!”

  Tripping and screaming at the same time, she grabbed the wall as she almost fell over the body on her floor.

  “Good morning, Sunshine.”

  Josephine's voice did nothing to quell the jolt she'd just been given. There on the floor was her best friend with her head rested on a pillow, and the red leather diary covering her face. “What are you doing here! You just scared the crap out of me!”

  Josephine dropped the diary and looked at her best friend, grinning. “You really don’t remember?” The amusement in her voice was inescapable.

  Sandra shook her head. “I thought you left with Nate last night.”

  “Nope. I was too exhausted, so I slept over.”

  “On my floor?”

  “No silly. You had the entire couch covered with work stuff, so I slept in the bed with you. And when the sun came up, I decided to crash out here on the floor with the diary.”

  Sandra looked at her through the slits of her eyes, the vague memories now coming back to her. “Oh, yeah… I think I remember that…”, her voice trailing off as she finished walking over to the bathroom. “I need to get ready and go to the museum.”

  “Why? Today is Sunday.”

  “I know. I just want to check that hallway again. I can't believe Annabel's painting is gone. Whoever took it either knows of another way in there, or he or she is a member of the museum staff.”

  “That just leaves you two ladies,” Josephine said, continuing to turn the pages of the diary.

  “What? Barbara? No. She's practically a baby, and she thinks of me as crazy... the one person she doesn't aspire to be in her art career. I doubt she'd be into anything as sinister as theft.” The bathroom door closed just as the shower came on, almost drowning out her last words.

  “Can I come with? I think it's dangerous going alone,” Josephine reminded her once she was out of the bathroom.

  “Alright.” Sandra replied begrudgingly, knowing Josephine was right. “Have you found any more useful information in that diary?”

  “So far, Annabel got married to Philip Billamore. And Philip’s little brother, Drake Billamore, isn't pleased. Elinore Billamore, Drake's wife, is really mad that Philip and ‘a commoner’ will inherit the family's estate. But right now in my reading, Annabel is mourning the death of Philip.”

  “What? He died so soon?”

  “Yeah. Only a month after they were married. She's so grief stricken that I found myself crying through the night for a woman and man I didn't even know. It's terrible, really. Now she writes of Elinore and Drake arranging her admittance into an asylum because they say she's gone mad from
the grief.”

  “That is terrible,” Sandra said solemnly, “no wonder she's angry.”

  * * *

  “It was right here,” Sandra said to Josephine after they’d returned to the once hidden hallway at the museum. She was pointing to the spot where the painting had hung and kept muttering, “right here,” under her breath.

  “All these other paintings that don’t hang in the museum… do you suppose they have their own stories too? Just like Annabel's?”

  “I don't know... probably. I think over time the previous curators dropped paintings with unfamiliar artists, or paintings they didn't like, down here. Like Annabel's… her painter is unknown, and her story must have been snuffed out of the Billamore family history after Philip's death.”

  “That's sad. All the paintings here are gorgeous.”

  “Says the person who knows almost nothing about art,” Sandra teased her friend.

  Before Josephine could reply with a come-back, Sandra forced open a stuck rusty door knob, exposing a small dark, dusty room further down the hall from where Annabel's painting had hung.

  It took some seconds before either of them could adjust their eyes to the darkness of the room. Josephine pulled her phone out of her denim jacket pocket and used it as make-shift lighting. The room was little with only one tiny sealed window. A desk and chair had been pushed into the corner and a shelf filled with books stood behind them.

  Sandra flipped on the lamp on the desk and the yellow iridescence of an old light bulb flooded the room. Some of the furnishings were definitely eighteenth century. The lamp must have been added later. It was an elaborate tarnished bronze with an archaic pull chain. The books on the shelf were all leather-bound. From the layer of dust on everything and the dank musty odor, it was obvious no one had used this office for several decades.

  Then something on the desk caught Sandra’s eye. “Jo, look at this.”