The Ashford Place

by Jean Copeland

  “She’s been so moody recently and had some discipline issues at school this year, which is totally unlike her. I think puberty hormones are doing a job on her. She got her period about six months ago, and maybe she’s resenting that her mother isn’t around for this crucial stage.”

  “Well, I can only speak from what I’ve heard, but it sounds like you’re the best mother she could ask for.”

  “We’re super close, but she knows I’m not her real mother. Lately, she’s been of the mindset that her mother chose drugs over her.”

  “Ugh. And how do you convince a twelve-year-old otherwise?”

  “I’ve explained to her many times that drug addiction is an illness. Some moms die from a physical sickness, and others go away because of mental sickness. She gets the concept, but I don’t know…I just hope I’m protecting her from growing up feeling like she was abandoned.”

  Belle’s eyes grew cloudy as she processed the pain on Ally’s face. What a ton of shit she was dealing with.

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” Ally said. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. I haven’t really talked to anyone about it before.” Ally’s plaintive smile tugged at Belle’s heart. “Now you’re probably happy I left without saying good-bye.”

  “Not at all,” Belle said softly. “I’m just not furious with you anymore. And I’m glad you shared this with me.”

  “Really?” Ally flashed that signature smirk that drove Belle wild. “I would think you’ve already met your lesbian-drama quota for the year.”

  Belle shrugged. “You’re not drama, Ally. This is what adult life looks like sometimes. As for Mary, she’s a non-issue. My lawyer is handling the eviction.”

  Ally looked around, squinting at the sun’s glare bouncing off everything in their surroundings. “Well, I’m not sure where we go from here, but if you ever want to get a drink or a bite to eat, I owe you a venting session after listening to me. However, if you’d prefer to keep it professional through the investigation, I’ll understand that, too.”

  Belle studied her handsome face for a moment, contemplating the deliciously appealing paradox of “woman of steel” law enforcer and vulnerable surrogate mom grappling to do right by her equally vulnerable niece. She realized she no longer had a choice in whether to pursue whatever this complexly irresistible thing was with Ally.

  “This time I choose door number one,” Belle said, heavy on the flirtation. “I’d love to meet Chloe sometime, too, if you’re not worried I’d be a bad influence on her with my sordid past.”

  “I’m worried you’re a bad influence on me.”

  Belle laughed. “Yeah, right! With your seduction skills, I’m sure it’s the other way around.”

  Ally leaned toward Belle’s ear. “Seducing a woman like you doesn’t require a skill set. It’s raw, natural instinct.”

  “I’m seriously about to swoon,” Belle said, waving a hand in front of her face.

  “You’re funny.” Ally seemed relieved at the lightness into which their conversation had drifted. “Well, I better get in there with lunch before Bob issues a silver alert on me.” She was about to walk away but stopped and held Belle’s hand. “I’m glad I ran into you this morning.”

  “Yeah, some coincidence, huh?”

  Belle winked and headed back to her bicycle parked outside Ethel’s. She wheeled around and walked backward a few steps for a last glance before Ally went into the station.

  ***

  When Belle arrived home, Ralph Jr.’s van was in the driveway, and the squeal of some type of electric saw peeled out from the kitchen.

  “Ralph, you’re amazing,” she said. “You move faster than a centipede across my bathroom floor.”

  He smiled. “Happy customers are repeat customers.”

  She looked through the two-by-four wall frame remaining after Ralph’s sledge hammer and electric handsaw had their turns at the Sheetrock. “I can already see how fantastic this will look.”

  He smiled again and kicked the Sheetrock and decades-old wallpaper scraps aside as he prepared to cut out the remaining wood.

  After offering him a bottle of water that he politely declined, she leaned against the counter and sipped hers. “Ralph, did you ever do any work for my aunt, Marion?”

  “Did it look like I ever did any work for her when you got here?”

  “Fair enough. Did you know her at all?”

  He shook his head. “Only as the old recluse people occasionally told stories about. You weren’t close?”

  “Not at all. In our family, she was the old recluse people occasionally told stories about.”

  Ralph chuckled. “Whelp, if anyone around here knew her, it’d be Ethel or the Morgans. They’ve lived here forever and seem to know everybody.”

  He was right about that. Another meal at Ethel’s Quiet Corner Café would soon be in order. She would’ve loved to pump the Morgans for information, but now that she knew their predicament, she realized they had enough to worry about without some stranger poking around in the embers of their memories.

  Given the light breeze and low humidity, it was a day to spend outside scouting locations where Ally should plant her flower garden and where Angelo should re-dig the koi pond in back. That is, if she could convince him he wouldn’t disinter any more goblins.

  ***

  The next morning, Belle was restless. After weeks of inhaling clouds of dust, and paint and cleaning-product fumes, she’d allowed herself a day off. Ralph Jr. was coming to complete the wall removal and install the new hardwood floor from the kitchen into the now-contiguous dining room.

  Besides, she needed a change of scenery. Danville and her recently acquired house of horrors had left her stewing in some bad mojo. The bright spot was Ally, but even that had its complications. After their chat yesterday, she realized that even though they were on the same page, they needed to slow the pace.

  She’d popped in on her parents for lunch to update them on the strange and fantastical things brewing up there in the quiet corner, eliciting much the reaction she’d anticipated.

  “I wasn’t comfortable with you alone so far away from the beginning,” her mother said as she cleared the lunch dishes. “Now I don’t like it at all. You should stay home while the contractors finish their work.”

  “She can’t stay home and let them have the run of the house,” her father said. “I’ll go with her.”

  Her mother spun around at the sink. “Like hell you will. You’re not going anywhere until your follow-up appointment next week.”

  Belle made the time-out sign with her hands. “Uh, guys, nobody needs to babysit me. I’m fine. Whatever crime or crimes occurred there happened ages ago. As Deputy Yates explained, it’s been so long the person or people involved are probably all dead.”

  Her mother brought over a pitcher of fresh lemonade and sat down at the table. “I think it’s just awful about that baby. I’m sick over it. I hope to God they can catch whoever’s responsible.”

  “I wonder whose it was,” her father said.

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  “Wouldn’t Judy be the obvious choice,” her mother asked.

  “I highly doubt it belonged to my aunt Marion.”

  “I don’t know why you say it like that,” her mother said. “Your aunt was very attractive in her day. After she lost your uncle, maybe she was lonely and met a nice gentleman…”

  “And took him home and banged him without protection?” Belle finished her mother’s sentence with a giggle. “Mom, are you saying Daddy’s uptight aunt got her groove back after her husband croaked?”

  “Oh, Isabelle, stop it. Don’t be flip about such a sad situation.”

  “What have the cops said about it?” her father asked.

  “It’s in the hands of the medical examiner’s office now. They’re analyzing everything to see if they can extract some DNA and determine a cause of death.”

  “In the meantime,” her mother said, “don’t go around getting strangers
involved. You’re so cut off from everyone up there in that dinky little town. Do they even have 911?”

  Belle laughed. “Yes, I’m sure they do. Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve gotten very friendly with the deputy sheriff. She’s been a big help during all this.”

  “How friendly?” Her father grinned.

  Belle felt her smile expand to her earlobes.

  “Are you seeing someone new?” her mother asked.

  “Yes and no,” Belle said.

  “Is Mary out of your condo?” her father asked.

  “Yes and no.”

  Her parents both glared at her from across the table like attorneys cross-examining her.

  “Are you doing your overlapping thing again?”

  “Mom!” Belle feigned insult. “I beg your pardon. I’m not that woman anymore. Mary and I are done, kaput, finito. We have been for many months now.”

  “I’d like to see you settled down with someone like your friends are. I want you to have your gay happily-ever-after.”

  Her father remained silent, trying not to smile.

  “Well, thanks for lunch,” Belle said, rising from her chair. “Have to be on my way.”

  Her mother clutched her forearm. “Belle, we want to know what’s going on in your life. You always rush out whenever the topic turns to your personal affairs.”

  “Sorry. Old habits.” She sat down again. “I like Ally. I think she likes me, but we’re both not sure it’s the right time to pursue anything beyond that.”

  “Is Mary out of your condo or isn’t she?” her father asked.

  “She will be as soon as she’s served with the eviction notice.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know where you find these women.”

  Her mother admonished him with a look. “She’s forty years old. She knows what she’s doing.” Her head jerked toward Belle. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

  “Yes, Mom.” She smiled at her parents’ antics and rose from the chair. “This time I really have to get going. Thanks for lunch.”

  She kissed them both and headed toward the door.

  “Let us know how you make out with everything,” her mother said.

  “And don’t move anyone into the new house,” her father added.

  “Bye, parents,” she said, waving without looking back.

  She started up her SUV. As long as she was down by the shoreline, she might as well pay Craig Wheeler a visit at his garage.

  ***

  “Well, if it isn’t Nancy Drew again,” he said as he came out of his office and met her at the counter.

  “Hi, Mr. Wheeler. I hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”

  “No problem. And call me Craig.”

  “Okay.” She paused before launching into her pitch. She’d rehearsed what she was going to say during the car ride down, but when she was standing right in front of him about to spring on him the news of baby remains that might or might not be the fruit of his adolescent loins, all that preparation kinda flew out the window.

  She opted for a less incendiary approach.

  “I, uh, was wondering if you think your sister would be willing to talk to me about Judy. You’d said they were good friends.”

  “They were. And I don’t think she’d mind. The only glitch for you would be that she’s three thousand miles away.”

  Belle groaned. “California?”

  “She’s lived in San Diego for the last thirty years. But I can give you her email address and let her know you’ll be contacting her.”

  Email? She wanted to say the year 2000 called and wanted its mode of communication back, but at the moment it took more energy than she had. “That would be a big help,” she said instead.

  He took out his cell phone and thrust it at her. “I think I have an email app on my phone. You wanna check it? Look for Charlene Highland.”

  As Belle scanned through the few names in his contacts, she contemplated how furious Ally might be with her when she found out she’d spoken to Craig about the baby. But if she’d discussed it with her beforehand, Ally would’ve told her to stay out of it, leave it to the professionals, blah, blah, blah. She didn’t want to be shut out. The women of the Ashford place were her family, even if she hadn’t known them personally. Judy was her dad’s first cousin, and her short life seemed so tragic.

  So was that pile of little bones. She had a right to be involved.

  “Is this it?” She showed him his phone, then snapped a picture of it with her own. “Great. Thank you.”

  “Say, you’re going through a lot of trouble searching for answers you’ll probably never find. At this point, after forty-some-odd years, does it really matter whether her overdose was accidental or not?”

  “I think someone should know her story. I’m basically all the family she has left who cares. Something made her swallow a mouthful of pills.” She lightened her approach a bit. “Besides, who doesn’t love a good mystery, especially if it’s in her own backyard?”

  He seemed distant for a moment, as if unpacking darker memories of Judy he’d stored away decades ago. Belle inched closer in anticipation.

  “Well, good luck,” he said with a shrug and turned to walk away. His newfound indifference toward his alleged first love irked her.

  “Uh, Mr. Wheeler, sorry, uh, Craig. I didn’t come here just for your sister’s contact info.”

  “No?” His thin lips pursed in obvious annoyance.

  “Can we talk for a minute in private?”

  “Sure.” He sighed. “Come on.” He led her into his cubbyhole of an office and offered her a seat on a dingy orange vinyl chair as he closed the door. “Okay, shoot.”

  “A contractor was excavating an area in my yard and made a rather gruesome discovery.”

  “What was it?”

  “A container with a baby’s skeleton in it.”

  “You’re kidding?” Although surprised, he didn’t appear to connect any dots.

  “I wish I was. They’ve been there for many years. Do you think it could’ve been Judy’s?”

  The suggestion silenced him for a moment, his face a palette of various grays and greens.

  “Any chance it was yours?” she said delicately.

  He finally exhaled and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Jeez, I suppose it’s possible. I mean we had a scare once, but it turned out she wasn’t—at least that’s what she told me. If it was mine, she never said anything to me about it.”

  Not surprising. If Judy had planned to get rid of it, she wouldn’t have. Then again it could’ve been Craig’s, and he knew about it and had helped her dispose of it.

  She gulped air. Was she sitting directly in front of the murderer tipping him off that he was about to be the subject of a police probe?

  Ahh. So that was why Ally hadn’t wanted her talking to Craig and giving him any sensitive information.

  Oops.

  She struggled to conceal her growing panic and claustrophobia at being locked in a murderer’s tiny office after informing him the remains of his victim were finally recovered.

  She stood up and reached for the doorknob. “Well, I better be on my way so I can email your sister.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  His tone chilled her as she bobbled and then dropped her phone on the floor. “People know I’m here,” she blurted.

  “Huh?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  “What, uh, what are they gonna do with the baby’s body?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, still nervous. “I mean, if they can’t identify who it belonged to, I’ll make sure it, I mean he or she, gets a proper burial.”

  “Oh,” he said somberly.

  “You wanna submit a DNA sample to see if it was yours?” she added, feeling braver now that it seemed as though he didn’t intend to make her his next victim right then and there.

  “How do I do that?”

  “Give me your cell number, and I’ll have an investigator call you. You might have to come up
to the Danville police department. Would that be okay?”

  “Uh, yeah, I can probably do that.” He didn’t sound particularly on board.

  She took his phone number and shook his hand.

  As she was about to leave, he asked, “Hey, were you ever able to locate any of the boarders Mrs. Ashford had?”

  Record scratch.

  “Wait, what?” She whirled around, her hanging jaw taking an extra second to catch up.

  “The boarders,” he said. “I remember a young, big woman with big, round eyeglasses who rented a room for a while—a schoolteacher or something. And a guy. He was an army reject ’cause he was missing two fingers. He smoked a lot of grass, but while he was there, it was the only time the outside of the house was kept up.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this when I was here before?”

  “I didn’t think of it. You only asked me about my relationship with Judy and her overdose. What did I know that it mattered that they had boarders?”

  Belle scratched at her head in frustration. This thing was starting to spiral.

  “You don’t happen to remember their names, do you?”

  “The guy’s name was Phil. We called him Three-fingers Phil. That’s how I remember. I got no clue about the woman’s name. Maybe the baby was hers, not Judy’s.”

  “Did the guy and woman rent there at the same time?”

  Craig shook his head. “From what I remember she only had one renter at a time.”

  “Can you remember anyone else who was there?”

  He shook his head again. “I got sent off to juvie when Phil was there. That tight-assed sheriff caught the two of us smoking pot in the Ashfords’ yard. I got mouthy with him, and he arrested me. That was the last time I was in Danville. I did ninety days. Then on my eighteenth birthday I joined the marines and went to ’Nam. That straightened my ass out.”

  “Sheriff Morgan?”

  “Yeah, that prick. Excuse my language. I had a lot of issues when I was a kid, got in a lot of trouble, you know. He’d finally had it with me, recommended to the judge that I go away.”

  She thought about old Bob and how her impressions of him didn’t match the prick picture at all. But then when had teenagers ever appreciated a strict authority figure? “Seems like you ended up on the right path though.”