Autumn Alibi

by Jennifer David Hesse

  Wes walked to the exit of the storeroom, training his light on the floor. “There’s a trail of it!” he said excitedly. “It goes all the way to the stairs. I guess we didn’t notice earlier, because the light is dim in here.”

  “Hmm.” Frowning, I went to Celia’s door and knocked. Maybe she’d come back after all. There was no answer, and when I tried the knob it was locked.

  Wes had already started down the stairs, so I shut off the light and followed. I found him on the second-floor landing, crouched on the floor.

  “There are two separate spots of tracked material here,” he said, pointing. “But I don’t think there were two people. I think the person left a trail going upstairs and another coming back down.”

  “Huh. Nice detecting.”

  Wes grinned up at me. “I feel like one of the Hardy Boys. Nancy Drew’s got nothing on me.”

  I smiled at Wes’s enthusiasm. Just then I caught sight of a ray of moonlight shining through a window at the end of the hall. The harvest moon.

  “I need to stop in our room for a minute. Are you gonna keep following the mud?”

  “Of course I am! I want to know who was looking at Lana’s things. Don’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah. You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  Back in our bedroom, I rummaged through my suitcase until I found a small glass jar. It contained what was left of the chamomile petals I’d sprinkled around the room on my first night in the mansion. I dumped the rest of them in the inside pocket of my suitcase and slipped the jar in my pocket. I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to make charged moon water tonight.

  I trotted down the back staircase and headed for the kitchen. I was almost there, when Wes called out.

  “That you, babe?”

  I poked my head around the corner and found Wes at the doorway to the basement.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Didn’t the trail of dirt come from outside?”

  He shook his head. “Our mud-tracking friend came and went this way.” He had his hand on the knob of the basement door.

  I looked back toward the kitchen. I wanted to fill my jar with filtered water and set it outside in the moonlight. All I had to do was say a few words of blessing and intention and let it sit overnight. By tomorrow morning, I would have a powerful addition to any ritual or spell I wanted to cast this month.

  Just then, Wes wrinkled his nose. “Do you smell smoke?”

  I lifted my chin and sniffed. “Yeah. I think it’s coming from outside.” I went to the side door in the kitchen and looked all around. Over on the patio, someone was standing over a steel firepit. It might have been Ernesto, but I couldn’t tell for sure, as my view was partially obscured by a potted cedar topiary. Wisps of smoke drifted in the breeze.

  “Somebody has afire on the patio,” I said, returning to where Wes waited. “It seems to be under control.”

  “Okay, let’s see what’s down here then.”

  “There’s just a wine cellar. They probably went for a bottle of wine. I was going to—”

  I stopped myself midsentence. To will. The element of fire corresponded with the second rule of the Sphinx. I needed to remember my purpose here and not allow myself to be distracted. Wes was right. If someone else was going through Lana’s things, we should find out who.

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  At the bottom of the basement stairs, I turned left toward the wine cellar. Wes turned right.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  He pointed at the floor. “The tracks go there, to that old door.”

  My heart dropped to my stomach. It was the door to the old root cellar.

  “Are you okay?” asked Wes. “You look a little pale.”

  “I heard noises behind that door the other day. I don’t know why, but I’m kind of freaking out right now.”

  He handed me his phone. “It’s okay. I know you don’t like to be underground. Just take a deep breath and stand back. I’ll take a look.” He removed the plank from the front of the door and pulled it open. Once again, I found myself gazing into a dark, empty root cellar.

  Wes took his phone from me and stepped inside the small room. His phone-light was a lot brighter than Crenshaw’s penlight. It lit up every dingy crack and crevice of the old cellar, including the dirt floor. Wes ran his finger along the dirt. “It’s dry,” he said. “The person we’re following didn’t pick up the mud and leaves in here.”

  “You know what?” I said, trying to think rationally. “This doesn’t make sense. They might have walked by this room, but I don’t think they went inside. They certainly didn’t leave through here.”

  The moment I said it, Wes shone his light on the far wall—revealing another wooden door. “Looks like they might have left through here, after all,” he said.

  Goose bumps prickled along my arms. “We didn’t see that the other day,” I said softly. “I guess somebody could have been in here after all. But wait! What about the board over the door to the basement? I don’t see how anybody could have entered the house through this cellar. Or left this way, for that matter. They couldn’t have replaced the board behind them.”

  “They could have if someone was helping them.”

  Before I could argue, Wes was opening the inside door. There was a brick-walled tunnel on the other side.

  “Not a tunnel,” I whispered. “Why does it have to be a tunnel?” I felt a wave of dizziness as my mind flashed back to my nightmare experience in the tunnels under Edindale.

  “You don’t have to come in,” said Wes, already crossing the threshold.

  “I don’t want you going in there by yourself ! I don’t think either of us should go. Let’s go upstairs and see if Crenshaw is back yet.”

  “Crenshaw?” said Wes, pausing to look back at me. “You’d feel safer with Crenshaw than with me?”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m just stalling. Let’s call Detective Rhinehardt.”

  Wes hesitated, clearly torn between a burning desire to continue the pursuit and an equally strong desire to respect my wishes. In the silence, I became aware of a trickling sound. Wes heard it, too. He turned and shone his light a little distance ahead.

  “What’s that?” I finally whispered.

  He took a step forward. “It seems to be a rain barrel or a well or something. There’s water dripping from the ceiling.”

  Water, the third element. To dare.

  I pressed both palms into my chest, one over the other, and mentally drew in the power of the Goddess. Then I touched Wes’s arm. “Hang on a minute.” I hurried through the root cellar and picked up the board he had leaned against the wall. I used it to prop open the door to the tunnel.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s just go a little ways and see where we end up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I’m not afraid.”

  Holding hands, we moved slowly down the tunnel. My heart beat so fast I had to concentrate on my breathing to slow it down. I was so focused on trying to remain calm, it took me by surprise when Wes stopped suddenly. He shone his light on a set of concrete steps leading up from the tunnel. Then he shone it ahead of us. The tunnel continued onward.

  “Let’s check this out,” he said, climbing the steps. At the top was a sloping, wooden double door, like that on a storm cellar. He pushed it open, letting in a welcome rush of night air and moonlight. I ran up the stairs after him and stuck out my head. I took a deep breath and said a silent prayer of gratitude.

  Looking around, it didn’t take me long to get my bearings. We were behind the garage, just steps from the stairs leading up to Ernesto’s apartment. There was no one around that I could see.

  “Shall we continue?” Wes asked softly.

  I looked down into the darkness behind him. I could have said no, but at this point my curiosity was overtaking my fear. And at least I knew there were two means of escape, if I needed to turn back. “Okay,” I agreed.

  This time we made our way more
quickly down the passage. It twisted and turned, and went on a lot longer than I expected. I was becoming increasingly nervous again, when finally we saw a light in the distance. Wes shut off his phone, plunging us into blackness.

  “You okay?” he whispered.

  “Just peachy,” I replied.

  He chuckled softly. “Just keep your eyes on that light. We’ll be out of here before you know it.”

  Creeping along, we at last drew near the light. It came from another slanting double door at the top of a flight of stone steps. One of the doors had been left open. With Wes in the lead, we quietly climbed upward and stepped outside.

  We were under the trees by the springhouse, near where Rhinehardt and I had walked a few days earlier. From the smell of wet earth and leaves, I guessed we must be near the spring. The person we were tracking had surely come from this way.

  I opened my mouth to suggest we turn back and promptly shut it. A rustling sound came from nearby. It sounded like footsteps.

  Of one mind, Wes and I stole away from the tunnel doors and slipped into the shadows. I cupped my hands over my mouth as the footsteps became louder. A moment later, a person came into view. He walked right past us without looking our way, but I recognized him in the moonlight. It was Ernesto.

  Once he was a few yards ahead of us, we came out of our hiding place and followed. He must have known the path well, because he wasn’t using a flashlight. A minute later, I heard the buzzing of insects and caught sight of reflected moonlight shimmering on water. We had come to the pond.

  Wes and I paused, watching, as Ernesto made his way toward a fallen tree. With a start, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before: Another person was sitting on the log. It appeared to be a woman, and she faced the water. As Ernesto crept up behind her, I felt Wes stiffen at my side. I had an urge to cry out in warning, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the smell of the earth, and the solid ground beneath my feet.

  To be silent.

  I nudged Wes to hunker down with me behind a tree.

  As we watched, Ernesto put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. She gasped, and turned to look up at him. I almost gasped, too. The instant the moonlight hit her face, I thought I was seeing a ghost. She was the spitting image of Elaine.

  Before I knew what was happening, Wes stood up and stepped out of the shadows.

  “Lana?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The setting was almost absurdly romantic. Stars glittered overhead, while the swollen moon cast a hazy glow on the shimmering pond. Sweetgrass and cattails swayed rhythmically at the water’s edge, and a nearby weeping willow reached graceful arms toward the ground. The young woman by the rocks spun around at the sound of her name. Her eyes were wide with fear, her round cheeks flushed in the moonlight.

  If anyone was a Gothic heroine in this story, it wasn’t me. It was Lana.

  Ernesto stepped protectively in front of her, but she maneuvered around him. Her fear gave way to confusion, and finally recognition.

  “Wes Callahan?”

  “What are you doing here?” asked Wes, walking toward her.

  She lifted her shoulders in a motion of helplessness. “Playing hide-and-seek?” she answered, with a trace of irony in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m with Keli, my girlfriend.” He touched my arm, and I joined him at his side. In spite of more pressing concerns, I couldn’t help noting how inadequate the term girlfriend sounded. I waved hello to Lana.

  “Didn’t you get my messages?” Wes asked. “Penny Delacroix told me she passed them on to you.”

  Lana appeared to be embarrassed. “My phone service has been cut off. I haven’t gotten any phone messages or texts for a while. Last time I checked my email at the public library, I had one message from Penny. She did say an old friend was trying to find me, but I thought it must be a scam or a mistake. I don’t have any old friends.”

  “I thought of you as a friend,” said Wes.

  “Penny told Wes you were staying with an old friend,” I added.

  “Oh, well that’s true.” She pointed at Ernesto. “I’m staying with him.”

  “All this time you’ve been staying in Ernesto’s apartment?” I asked. That sure explained a few things—including Ernesto’s secretiveness. But I still had a lot of questions.

  “I’ve only been here a few days,” she added.

  “But why are you hiding at all?” asked Wes. “Why haven’t you come forward?”

  She sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Lana, we’d like to help you,” I said. “Can we go back to the house and talk?”

  “Not the house,” she said. “We can talk at Ernesto’s place—if it’s okay with him.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, speaking up for the first time. “But we better take the tunnel. I saw Ray by the firepit on the patio a little while ago.”

  Ernesto took Lana’s hand and led her to the entrance of the tunnel. I realized she must have been the woman I saw running in the gardens the other night. Ernesto must have been with her right before he bumped into me. I imagined they’d be able to shed some light on a few other mysteries around here as well.

  Wes reached for my hand. “Ready?”

  “Just a sec.” The moon reflecting on the water had grabbed my attention again. I took the small jar from my jacket pocket and dipped it in the pond. Natural water was best for magical workings anyway. And there was definitely magic in the air tonight.

  * * *

  We sat at a small round table in Ernesto’s tiny kitchen. He put on a pot of decaf coffee and set out a plate of butter cookies. It was such a cozy, friendly scene, I had to keep reminding myself there were still some serious crimes that had yet to be solved. Lana seemed skittish, so I decided to start with the simple questions first.

  “Where were you last night when I came through with Detective Rhinehardt?” I asked her. Then I turned to Ernesto. “Were you warning her to hide when you made all that noise knocking over the fan?”

  “Yeah, just in case she was in here. I didn’t know if she was or not.”

  “I wasn’t,” said Lana. “I overheard Ernesto and Suzanne arguing outside, and then you came out. I heard you tell them the police were on their way because a painting was stolen. Just to be safe, I took the stairs to the garage and hid in the tunnel.”

  Now that Ernesto seemed willing to talk, I was going to take advantage of the opportunity. “What were you and Suzanne arguing about anyway? She accused you of hiding something . . . or someone. Was she talking about Lana?”

  He nodded and picked up his coffee mug with both hands. He brought it to his face, as if he hoped he could disappear behind it.

  “It’s okay,” said Lana. “I keep telling you I’m not mad at you.”

  Wes and I waited for Ernesto to speak. I imagined it must be a little awkward for Lana and Ernesto, considering he was having an affair with her mother. Or stepmother.

  Ernesto set his mug on the table. “Suzanne and I have been seeing each other on and off for a couple years. It’s casual, but she gets jealous anyway. She accused me of seeing another woman—which I’m not. Lana and I are just friends. But she thought I was bringing a woman up here sometimes. I guess she saw some signs or something. She doesn’t know it’s Lana.”

  “What does Celia know?” I asked. “I know she’s been trying to get money from you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Celia always suspects people of cheating and messing around. She actually had the nerve to hide in the garage and spy on me . . . and she saw me with Suzanne.”

  “What’s the big deal?” asked Wes.

  “We don’t want anybody to know about us,” said Ernesto. “It would ruin everything—Suzanne’s chance to marry a respectable, high-society man, and my chance to work for any of them.”

  Their lives sounded like a soap opera, but I wasn’t there to judge. I was still trying to sort through who knew what about whom. I remembered the evening Farrah translated what Celia had s
aid to Ernesto in Spanish—something about seeing him with a lady. “Does Celia know Lana is here?”

  Ernesto shook his head. “I think she saw Lana and me together from a distance one day, but she didn’t know it was Lana.”

  I took a sip of coffee, as I tried to make sense of what exactly was going on here. “So, does Suzanne even know the two of you are friends? When did you meet anyway?”

  “My uncle was the groundskeeper here for many years,” said Ernesto. “One summer, I helped him out with odd jobs.”

  “It was the summer everything fell apart,” said Lana, as if stating a fact. “Suzanne had moved out, and Dad was having some kind of nervous breakdown. Ernesto was the one high point of that time. I would sit down by the pond and draw, and he’d take breaks to fish. Before long, we came to be friends.”

  I smiled at this, but I couldn’t help feeling like we were dancing around the edges. It was time to cut to the chase. “Lana, are you aware your grandmother left you her entire estate? This place and everything in it are rightfully yours.”

  Her face darkened, and she shifted her gaze. “I don’t believe it,” she said quietly.

  “Wait—you think she made another will?”

  “Probably. As far as she knew, I was an ungrateful granddaughter who abandoned her for the rest of her life.” Her lower lip trembled.

  As far as she knew. Lana’s choice of words made it sound like she didn’t really abandon her grandmother—at least, not intentionally.

  “Why did you leave?” asked Wes. “I mean, I knew you were sick of school and small-town life. But was it more than that?”

  “I left because this place felt toxic.” Her voice took on a steely edge. “My parents fought all the time. Like I said, Suzanne had left and Dad was going through a depression or something. He was always testy and moody. Until one day, he . . . escaped the only way he knew how.”

  Wes and I exchanged a glance. Then Wes asked the question I was afraid to voice. “Did you see it happen, Lana?”

  She shook her head. “No. I had just come home from school.” She gave Wes a sad smile. “Actually, I shouldn’t have been there at all, but I decided to ditch my last class. I came in the front door and was on my way to the stairs. That’s when I heard a gunshot.”