by B J Richards
A tarnished brass plate affixed to the edge of the desk read Jonas Billamore. Then she knew. This was the desk that belonged to the founder of the museum itself. Which meant it was centuries old.
Both Josephine and Sandra looked at it with amazement. It was a momentous find and the power of the little room and what it represented sunk deeply into Sandra's awareness.
Cautiously she sat down on the old leather chair, not minding the layer of dust covering it. The old springs creaked from lack of use and oiling, emphasizing the antiquity of the odd little office.
With respect and overwhelming curiosity, she pulled opened the drawers of the desk and started through the hand-written scribblings of Jonas Billamore. Bills of Sale, accounting journals, notes to a foreman… all having to do with the day-to-day operations of running a business almost 300 years ago.
It was in the second drawer that she saw a familiar list, this time written by another hand. She could tell it wasn't written with quill and ink, and not nearly as old. It took her some seconds before she realized the list was only familiar because she had a similar list. It was the same inventory she'd been given, but with some glaring differences. Many of the paintings in the list she’d just found were not on hers.
“We need to get back upstairs to my office, Jo. There’s something I need to confirm. Plus, I can barely breathe in here, it’s so dusty.”
Out in the hall again, Josephine asked excitedly, “What? What did you find?”
“A list of the paintings that are supposed to be in the museum. I have a similar list, but many of the paintings on this list are absent from mine.”
“So, what then? Do you think someone is stealing them? Or maybe they were sold off?”
“If they’d been sold off, I’d know about that. Everything that’s been purchased or sold is carefully logged. But theft is a definite possibility. Especially in light of the recent theft of Annabel’s painting.”
“So, it wasn’t just Annabel's painting that’s gone missing. I’m glad her diary is still safe with me.”
Sandra sighed as they walked into her comfortable modern office with clean air. This was just another string of problems for her to solve. “Anything new from that diary?”
“She's in an asylum now. Her writings were incoherent at times. I assume it’s because they’ve doctored her food and drink with some kind of herb to keep her quiet and under control. She’s mentioned how everything tastes so bitter in there. But occasionally she talks about a matron that’s kind to her; she refers to her as Mattie.”
“That's depressing,” Sandra said as she whirled around in her chair.
“Yes, it is,” Josephine said sadly. “Poor Annabel. And it makes it hard to know if what we’re reading is real or not.”
* * *
The man breathed slowly in the large air vent where he’d hidden when he heard footsteps coming toward the office. He hadn't expected anyone to be in the museum on a Sunday.
He could see the brown hair of the curator through the vent as she talked to a woman with curly red hair. He assumed they must be very good friends from the tone of the chatter and how freely the curator was sharing information. You’d never go into that kind of detail comparing old and new inventories without a deep level of trust.
The air vent was getting hot and it wasn’t easy breathing quietly in such a small enclosed area. He was starting to get uncomfortable. As his impatience was rising and he was asking himself when they would leave, he heard the curator mention something about a diary. Annabel Carson's diary.
For the first time, he smiled. Who knew hiding in an air vent would mean finding the jackpot.
Chapter Ten
The floral scents in Josephine's shop sweetly permeated the air. “Whoa,” she exclaimed.
Sandra paused what she was doing and looked up from her laptop. “What is it?”
“I'm at the end of the diary.” Josephine kept flipping through the rest of the empty pages, expecting to find more. But there was nothing there.
“Really? Where did her account stop? What happened to her?”
“I don't know. She stopped abruptly after noting that she was pregnant and hoping the baby takes after Philip.”
“She was pregnant? If she had a baby, that means there's another lineage of Billamores out there no one knows about.”
“That's if the baby survived. She stopped writing before she gave birth. That could mean a lot of things. Either she lost her pregnancy or she had a stillborn baby or maybe...” Josephine trailed off as she thought of something.
“Maybe what?” Sandra asked apprehensively.
“Maybe she died.”
“You think she died before she could have the baby?”
“It's possible,” Josephine said standing up, a number of variables still running through her head. “But there's no way to be sure unless we visit the asylum and check their records”
Sandra couldn’t hold back the sarcasm. “What asylum? This is the 21st century.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny. I meant the asylum records at the Town Hall. They keep the records from the old institutions for historical reasons. Maybe we can find the asylum’s records there.”
“That might be tough. Most of those records are not public. We'll need special access...”
***
Sandra was still talking when Josephine brought out her phone and with a wink, dialed Nathaniel's phone number. “Hi hon. I need a favor.” Honey and mischief were dripping off every word.
Nathaniel could almost hear her twirling those soft red curls through her fingers. It was her favorite thing to do when she wanted something from him. Grinning and loving it, he replied, “What is it this time my little red-haired minx?”
“We’ve hit a snag in the Annabel thing. Can you get us a copy of the old asylum's records?”
Josephine giggled, silently listening to what was most assuredly a saucy conversation. Nathaniel was using this to get favors from his fiancée later.
“Thanks. See ‘ya soon. Love you,” Josephine said as she hung up the phone, very pleased with herself and whatever Nathaniel had privately proposed as a trade for his services.
“I suppose he's bringing the records over here?”
Josephine winked. “One of the perks of dating a police detective.”
* * *
Sandra lifted her head from the diary when she heard the shop bell indicate there was a visitor.
“Afternoon ladies.” Nathaniel kissed Josephine before sitting on one of the leather covered stools at the florist shop counter. “I got copies of the original asylum records from 1831 to 1907. That is the time you were looking for, wasn’t it?” Nathaniel directed the question toward Josephine whose wide grin confirmed his guess.
“According to her diary, she was already in the asylum by 1878,” Josephine said as she took the folder from Nathaniel. Sandra hurried to her side and together they searched for Annabel Carson’s name, but to no avail.
“I think we’re checking for the wrong name. We should be looking for Annabel Billamore, not Annabel Carson,” Sandra suggested. Josephine smacked her head while remarking how dumb it was to have forgotten to look under Annabel’s married name.
“Bingo,” Sandra said some seconds later. The hand-written ledger entry read, “Annabel Billamore, admitted December 30, 1877, and died August 15, 1878.”
“There's no cause of death here. We can't be sure if she died of child birth or self-inflicted injury or natural causes or what. There's no way to be sure of anything from this. We're back at square one,” Josephine fretted as she paced in frustration, softly muttering to herself.
Sandra noticed Nathaniel raise a brow when he saw how personally Josephine was taking this. She knew Josephine was committed to the ghost story, but it was just now soaking in for Nathaniel.
“Come here, Babe.” Nathaniel walked over to Josephine, put his arms around her in his typical bear hug embrace, and smiled over the top of her head at Sandra who was still going over the rec
ords with rapt attention.
“Maybe we're not entirely back at square one,” Sandra said, breaking the comfortable silence that Nathaniel and Josephine had fallen into. Josephine disengaged from Nathaniel's embrace, and gave him a quick kiss before going to Sandra's side.
“Look at this. It’s a record of asylum employees. Didn't she mention something about the matron being so nice to her in the journal?”
“Yeah, she did,” Josephine brought out the diary. “Her name was Mattie, but she never mentioned her last name.”
“Mattie Montgomery,” Sandra said, pointing to the record. “It says here that she was the asylum's head matron till 1891.”
“Then we have to find out if she has descendants here in Billamore. If she does, they may have old family records, or who knows what.”
“I can help with that,” Nathaniel said, bringing out his phone.
“You can do that?” Josephine asked hopefully.
“This is the 21st century. Of course, I can.” It was obvious to Sandra how much he loved making Josephine happy. “I can check the database to see if there are still Montgomerys in Billamore. But we can't be sure if they're her descendants, if we do find someone.”
Nathaniel continued flipping through the database. “Here it is. There's a history professor who goes by John Montgomery at 59 Washington Avenue.”
“Who’s up for a road trip?” Sandra asked, fishing her keys from her purse and heading toward the door.
“Hold on. Let me close the shop.” Josephine quickly put up the Closed sign and locked the florist shop. Then they eagerly piled into Sandra’s new SUV. The hunt for the descendants of Mattie Montgomery was on.
* * *
Some minutes later, after taking a wrong turn twice, they pulled up to the well-kept Cape Cod home and knocked on Mr. Montgomery's door.
A blond middle-aged man answered the door. “Can I help you?”
“Hello. I'm Sandra Peterson. I know this may sound a bit odd, but are you perhaps related to Mattie Montgomery? She was the head matron at Billamore's asylum before it was shut down,” she blurted out, expecting to have the door shut in her face.
An odd smile crept across his face. “Why, yes I am. Pardon me. I'm John Montgomery. I'm only smiling because just this week, I was compiling some letters that were written by Mattie to my great grandfather. They're fascinating really. And here you are asking me if I know her... life is funny sometimes, isn't it?”
As if he’d just realized they were still standing outside, he stood aside and motioned them in. “Pardon me once again. Please do come in. How did you come to hear about Mattie?”
John Montgomery's house smelled of floral arrangements from his garden and fresh brewed tea. The kind of smells that made you feel comfortable, like you were in your grandmother’s house. Ignoring John’s direct question, Sandra went right to the point. “In those letters, did Mattie ever mention an Annabel Carson or Annabel Billamore?” she asked sipping the tea John had brought each of them.
“Annabel Billamore. Yes, she did. And that puzzled me a bit, because I've never heard of an Annabel Billamore. Apparently, she married the eldest Billamore boy of that day and he died in an accident at the shipping yard. Hold on, let me bring out the letters.”
John walked over to some tall wooden cabinets by an old roll-top desk and immediately found the referenced missive. “Ah, yes. This is the one where she goes into detail about Annabel's death. A tragic ending,” he noted somberly and handed the letter over to Sandra.
Sandra read the letter carefully and said in a low voice, “Oh my God. She had twin boys before she died. They were split up and taken to different convents on Elinore Billamore's orders.”
Chapter Eleven
“Do you have any idea where Annabel was buried?” John seemed to know so much about Billamore history, maybe he knew that, Sandra thought to herself as she asked.
“There are no grave sites as far as I know. At the time of Annabel Billamore's death, her family wouldn't be responsible for her well-being anymore since she was married. And there's nothing to suggest who those family members would be. That leaves Elinore and Drake Billamore, according to Mattie’s letters. If I had to guess, it would be that her body was put in the Billamore family mausoleum. They wouldn’t want to cause a public stir by laying her to rest anywhere else,” John said with the charm of a professor quite pleased by his knowledge and ability to answer their questions.
“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery. You've been most helpful.” Standing to indicate it was time to go, Sandra extended her hand to John.
“If I may ask, why are you interested in Annabel's story?” John was more than just a bit curious at this point.
“Annabel was a Carson before she married Philip Billamore. She was a first cousin to my great grandmother, Penelope Rogers, which makes Annabel a distant cousin of mine. It never hurts to know more about your roots, does it?” Sandra explained, delivering the best lie she could come up with at the moment. Telling a college professor that Annabel’s ghost had been reaching out to her didn't sound like the best idea. This was one of those times when a little-white-lie came in very handy.
John grinned, pleased with her answer. “No, it doesn't. In fact, I encourage my students to explore their roots. It's only in searching, that we find,” he said smiling and walked them to the front door.
* * *
“He knew a lot about Billamore and the history here. Not sure about all that gel in his hair, though!” Nathaniel exclaimed as soon as they got into the car. Both Sandra and Josephine laughed.
“I know, huh,” Josephine concurred. “But he was so helpful. That letter of Mattie’s he showed us is making my head spin with theories.”
“Let's hear it.” Sandra could tell from a quick look at Josephine's face, she had some speculation she was dying to share.
“In the letter, Mattie mentioned the fact she felt guilty for leaving Annabel for some minutes at the time Annabel needed her the most. She also mentioned that Elinore insisted she go with the mid-wife to fetch water and linens after Annabel had given birth. And when she returned, Annabel was already dead.”
“Yeah, what's the theory, detective?” Nathaniel challenged.
Sandra knew they were about to be regaled by one of Josephine’s unsubstantiated flights of fancy.
“Well, what if Elinore poisoned her?” Josephine concluded.
“Why would she? What's the motive?” Nathaniel asked, wearing his detective look.
“In the diary, Annabel mentioned Elinore's contempt for her. And Elinore and Drake Billamore sent Annabel to the asylum after Philip's death. With Annabel and her kids out of the way, Elinore and her children would inherit the Billamore fortune, not Annabel or her twins.”
“Not bad. That’s actually plausible,” Sandra said and Nathaniel agreed. “So how do we find out for sure?”
“Get a sample from her remains and test for the poisons of the day. If her body was put in the mausoleum, then we should be able to find it fairly easily,” Josephine eagerly explained as Sandra drove into the precinct’s parking lot to drop off Nathaniel.
“Excuse me? Please tell me you didn't just think of breaking into the Billamore family mausoleum,” Nathaniel chided, looking directly at Josephine with his severest of professional looks.
“I just didn't think of breaking into the Billamore family mausoleum,” Josephine repeated, with her face saying otherwise and lying as cutely as she possibly could.
“Okay. Because that would be a felony,” Nathaniel warned sternly as he out of the car. “I’m serious about this, Josephine.” He always called her by her full first name when he wanted her to know he wasn't kidding.
“I know,” Josephine said giving him a kiss. “Now go catch bad guys.”
Nathaniel gave her his most forbidding look again, turned and walked into the employee door on the side of the precinct office.
“So how do we prove it now?” Sandra asked as she drove out of the police parking lot.
> “We break into the Billamore mausoleum.”
“Are you crazy? Didn't you hear Nate warn us against doing just that?”
“Think about it. There's no way the Billamore Estate will grant permission to get a tissue sample of a woman who died over a hundred years ago. To what end? Prove that one of their ancestors was a murderer? If we want answers and to get an unconventional justice for Annabel, this is the way to go.”
“You are such a bad influence,” Sandra said shaking her head, as she drove in the direction of the Billamore mausoleum.
“You said the same thing in fifth grade when we stole pumpkins from that old farmer’s patch at Halloween,” Josephine replied, a bit proud of her influence.
* * *
“We got it,” Josephine said into the phone while she held Sandra's hand for moral support.
“Got what?” Nathaniel asked, knowing he wasn't going to like what she had to say.
“We got the tissue sample... Annabel’s tissue sample,” Josephine replied using her most innocent voice, knowing Nathaniel was probably going to hit the roof. She waited for seconds and no reply. “Say something,” Josephine pleaded.
“I explicitly told you not to.” Nathaniel was almost seething and she could feel the anger oozing in every word.
“I know. I was desperate. But I still need your help. Can you have it tested for poisoning at your crime lab?” She was twirling her hair again, this time nervously.
“No.” The line went dead.
“Hello, hello...,” Josephine said into the phone, before she turned to Sandra. “I think he's angry with me.”
“You think?” Sandra said arching her eyebrow. “I'd be mad, too.”
“So how long do you think he’ll stay mad?”
“Till your wedding?” Sandra said laughing, but was interrupted by the ring of Josephine's phone.
“How about now?” Josephine said, before answering the call. “I'm so sorry Nate, honey. I'll make it up to you.”
