Murder of a Hermit, page 14
As he disappeared through the sliding doors, Summer groaned. ‘Nate is going to be so irritated at us. At me.’
Megan shook her head. ‘Nate likes you far too much to be irritated for long. He’ll understand, or at least shrug it off. Isn’t that right, Dylan?’
‘Nate will be fine,’ Dylan assured Summer. ‘He’s got more than enough to worry about with Carter Dalton. He isn’t going to lose any sleep over the quantity or distribution of yellow tape. In fact, Nate will probably wish that no tape had been put up at the brownstone at all when he learns about these conspiracy theorists. Speaking of which, I’ve heard of Sasquatch and Bigfoot, of course. And Area 51 is the secret UFO spot in the Nevada desert. But who – or what – is Mothman?’
‘Big bug,’ Hope said.
Dylan laughed, and his arm drew more closely around her shoulders.
‘Mothman is a seven-foot-tall humanoid creature with immense wings and glowing red eyes. Repeated sightings occurred for slightly over a year between 1966 and 1967 in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. One theory is that it was a visiting alien or interdimensional being. Another theory is that it was a sandhill crane that had flown away from its usual migration route. The crane apparently has a similarly large wingspan and a red crown that includes the skin around the eyes.’ In response to their surprised looks, Megan explained, ‘We sometimes get tourists at the hotel who ask about Mothman when they’re heading up the Appalachians. You’ve now heard my abbreviated travel guide.’
Dylan laughed again, and his hand slid casually into Hope’s hair. ‘Now tell us about the Abominable Snowman.’
‘Well, once upon a time,’ Megan began, laughing also, ‘there was a Yeti, and he grew tired of everybody climbing Mount Everest in an attempt to locate him and take photos of his footprints and collect samples of his hair and scat, so he decided to take a vacation to—’
‘How did he get in from the cellar?’ Summer interrupted her.
Megan grinned, still playing the game. ‘The Yeti went on vacation to the cellar?’
Summer wasn’t entertained. ‘Not the Yeti,’ she said with agitation. ‘Carter! How did Carter get into the study from the cellar to take the book?’
Gram threw an apprehensive glance toward the house and the sliding doors. Hope shared her uneasiness. Morris’s interest in the book had been effectively sated, and they didn’t want to rekindle it.
Either Summer didn’t notice their anxiety, or she assumed that Morris wouldn’t return to the patio any time soon, because she continued to Dylan, ‘It’s been bothering me ever since you told us that Carter had the book in his cloak. There’s no question that the book is from the brownstone’s library. But Carter couldn’t get to it from the cellar. If the bookcase in the study is closed, the cellar door can’t be opened from inside the stairway.’
Megan – who had grown solemn – said, ‘I told you and Hope this morning that I’d had trouble sleeping for exactly that reason. All through the night, I was worried that the Hermit would creep up through the cellar.’
‘And I told you,’ Summer responded, ‘that the Hermit couldn’t creep up through the cellar.’
There was a little cough from Gram. They looked at her.
‘That isn’t strictly accurate,’ she said.
‘What isn’t?’ Hope asked.
Gram hesitated, as though she would have preferred not to elaborate on her previous statement.
Summer didn’t have the patience to wait her out. ‘How is what I said not strictly accurate? Are you implying that the Hermit – or Carter – could have crept up through the cellar?’
After another hesitation, Gram gave a small acknowledging nod.
Megan’s eyes stretched wide. ‘What! You mean those noises that I heard were actually Carter? One of the times that there was a creak or a squeak and I decided not to turn on the light, he was in the study? While I was lying on the sofa in the dark, Carter was sneaking around next to me and stealing the book?’
The nod – even smaller – repeated itself.
There was an indignant snort from Megan. ‘That’s the last time you’ll see me there.’ She folded her arms peevishly across her chest. ‘And it doesn’t matter one bit that Carter is now dead. Somebody else could come creeping in next! I am never again spending the night in that room.’
‘And there isn’t any need for you to do so,’ Gram replied apologetically. ‘You can stay here at the house until your leg is fully healed and your cast has been removed. Morris can check on its progress twice a day. You’ll have healthful meals, and plenty of rest, and—’
‘Stop trying to bribe Megan into forgiving you for not telling us the truth,’ Summer interrupted sourly. ‘So the cellar door can in fact be opened from inside the stairway?’
‘Yes,’ Gram admitted.
‘Even when the bookcase in the study is closed?’
‘Yes.’
Summer threw up her hands in frustration. ‘Then why have you spent the last thirty years saying the complete opposite?’
‘Because I was worried about your safety. When you and Hope were little, you got into the habit of playing on the cellar stairs. You would use an old piece of carpeting to sled down the steps. One time, you crashed hard at the bottom and cut your chin badly. It’s how you got that scar, even though it’s barely visible now. I decided that the cellar was too dangerous at your age, so to stop you from going down there alone, I told you that the cellar door couldn’t be opened from inside the stairway. I should have corrected it later, but I never thought of it. And it never occurred to me,’ Gram added, with a touch of dryness, ‘that someday a man who resembled the Hermit would wriggle down the potato-coal chute into the cellar and then climb up into the study to filch one of our books.’
Megan unfolded her arms. Summer gave a little sniffle. It was hard to remain cross with someone who had told an innocent fib to protect young children from getting injured.
Gram rose to her feet. ‘I had better go inside and check on Morris. If he can’t reach the police chief as quickly as he would like, he might contact the Fire Department or the National Guard next.’
They all chuckled, but not too heartily, because although Gram was joking, it wasn’t especially far-fetched. Morris could easily have been on the telephone with the mayor’s office by that point.
With a pat on Megan’s arm and a smile to her granddaughters, Gram headed toward the sliding doors and the house. Megan yawned and snuggled contentedly against her lounger. Summer curled her legs up on her chair and muttered some more – mostly to herself – about whether Nate would be angry regarding the removal of the police tape. Hope watched the flames bob on the firepit. The orange and gold tips blended together in a hypnotic dance.
‘Hope?’ Dylan said.
His voice was low. His fingers caressed the back of her neck.
‘Hmm?’ she murmured.
‘About the book…’
Under other circumstances, Hope would have been instantly on alert and preparing her defensive wits. But the book was still tucked safely next to her, and she was too drowsy to think any more about it that evening.
‘Hmm?’ she repeated.
‘When I was translating it earlier…’
She only heard half of his words. It was so peaceful on the settee as it rocked slowly in the cool night air. Dylan’s fingers felt warm on her skin. And his shoulder – against which she was now leaning – was growing increasingly comfortable.
‘I might be mistaken, because as I told you before, my Latin is rusty…’
Her eyes fluttered closed.
‘But the title page appeared to say that it was Volume I. Is there a Volume II?’
Hope didn’t answer. She had fallen fast asleep.
FIFTEEN
The night gradually faded, and a faint tint of pink appeared along the eastern edge of the horizon. A mourning dove cooed from its roosting spot in a magnolia. It cooed again, this time joined in harmony by its perching brethren, and Hope stirred at the sound. Stiff from lack of movement, she sat up slowly and rigidly. A thin paisley quilt dropped from her legs to the ground. Hope blinked at it in confusion. She had slept so hard that for a moment, she had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there.
She looked around. She was outside on the patio at Morris’s house. A wine bottle stood open on the table. Empty glasses had been set down on the flagstones. A pair of flies buzzed around the bowl and pastry brush that had been used to butter the cornbread the previous evening. The cornbread in its earthenware dish was gone, presumably removed to the house. The chairs were all empty, but the lounger was not. Megan was sleeping amid a heap of cushions with a matching paisley quilt spread over her.
The sky continued to lighten. The pink deepened to lilac, followed by the beginnings of a pale baby blue. It appeared that Rosemarie’s prediction as to the weather had been correct. The rain and drizzle from the preceding days had ended, and all the clouds had cleared away from the city. There was a light breeze. It carried the perfume of a late blooming rose – and also the unmistakable scent of freshly brewed coffee.
Hope turned toward the aroma and saw Summer approaching from the sliding doors. She was carrying a breakfast tray that held a small French press and a set of mugs.
‘You are the…’ Hope began, before quickly stopping herself, remembering that Megan was still asleep. She glanced at the lounger, found Megan undisturbed, and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘You are the best sister ever.’
‘I am your only sister,’ Summer whispered in return.
‘Your timing is impeccable. I was desperately craving a cup of coffee. How did you know that I was awake?’
‘I didn’t.’ Summer set the tray down on the table next to the wine bottle and began to fill the mugs. ‘The coffee was ready, so I brought it out. If you had been sleeping, I would have made a loud noise or splashed leftover wine on your face to wake you.’
‘Then you are most certainly not the best sister ever.’
Summer smiled. She added a teaspoon of sugar to her own mug but not to Hope’s, who typically preferred her coffee black.
‘Thanks.’ Hope accepted the mug with eager hands and took a generous drink. Her face crinkled.
‘Too bitter? Do you want some sweetener after all?
‘No, the coffee is excellent. Gram can always be relied on to buy good beans, even at Morris’s.’
Summer nodded in agreement, and to keep their conversation as quiet as possible, she drew a chair close to her sister.
‘The problem is my neck.’ Hope stretched her shoulders and upper back. ‘It has a bad crick.’
‘That is the price you pay for spending the night curled up on a settee,’ Summer replied drolly. ‘And before that, curled up on Dylan’s chest.’
‘Seriously?’ Hope’s face crinkled some more, except this time, it was not because of her neck. ‘I was curled up on his chest?’
‘Yup. Super cute and cozy.’
‘Oh lord. What was Dylan’s reaction?’
Summer’s smile widened. ‘He seemed to be quite pleased with the situation.’
Hope groaned.
‘If it’s any consolation, Megan fell asleep, too. Dylan suggested that since it was such a nice night – the temperature was good, and it was dry – we should leave her on the lounger instead of waking her to go inside to bed. There would be less stress and strain on her leg that way. Morris seconded the plan, and Gram brought out a quilt for each of you. Then she and Morris retired to the house, and I followed shortly thereafter. Dylan said that he would stay outside on the patio for a while longer. As I was leaving, he was tucking the quilt very thoroughly around you.’
Hope groaned again – and also blushed slightly. She had no recollection of that portion of the evening. The last thing that she remembered was rocking on the settee, watching the flames dance in the firepit as Dylan’s fingers caressed her neck. It had felt awfully good, certainly much better than the crick did now.
‘So if Morris seconded the plan with regard to Megan,’ Hope asked, keen to focus on something other than the pleasure of Dylan’s touch, ‘does that mean he returned to the patio? Did he have any success with the police tape?’
‘He said that he did. According to Morris, the police chief was highly sympathetic and obliging, and the tape would be removed from the side lawn immediately. But we can’t be sure that it actually happened until we get back to the brownstone. Their conversation was pretty late in the day, and the chief’s order might not have been so swiftly followed by his subordinates.’ Summer frowned.
‘You’re not still worried about how Nate will react, are you? I honestly don’t think that he’ll care about the tape.’
‘No, it’s not the tape. It’s the potato-coal chute.’
It was Hope’s turn to frown. ‘The potato-coal chute?’
‘After Morris announced his triumph with the crime scene tape, he moved on to his next issue of concern: the potato-coal chute. He declared that it was a safety hazard and a security risk and that it ought to be sealed up forthwith.’
‘Not so long ago,’ Hope recalled, ‘he made the same proclamation about the attic. When Gram slipped on the rickety stairs last year, Morris was so apprehensive that she might fall and break her hip, he wanted to shut off the attic permanently.’
‘Which Gram refused to do, of course. We can’t ever seal up the attic – and thereby its occupants.’
‘Good heavens, no. Imagine the wrath and retribution if we even tried!’
The sisters looked at each other and shuddered.
‘But Morris,’ Hope remarked after a moment, ‘may have a point about the chute. We aren’t obligated to keep it open like the attic. It’s not as though the brownstone is receiving deliveries of coal and potatoes. How did Gram feel about sealing it up?’
‘She was undecided. I had the impression that she wasn’t against the idea in theory, but she didn’t want to launch into any hasty actions, especially in the middle of the night and without conferring first with us, privately. Her only comment was that prior to Carter Dalton, no one had crawled through the chute in thirty years, and there didn’t seem to be much reason to think that anybody would crawl through again for the next thirty.’
Hope smiled at their grandmother’s wryness. ‘Am I correct in assuming that Morris didn’t agree with her relaxed attitude?’
‘He was astounded – and a little distressed – by it. As was Dylan. The Henshaws then teamed up to argue that the Baileys weren’t taking the situation seriously enough. Gram just let them talk and, as she usually does, she murmured polite responses at appropriate intervals. But it made me wonder…’
‘About?’
‘Well, Gram is right that prior to Carter, no one – at least no one who we’re aware of,’ Summer amended, ‘had crawled through the chute in thirty years. So why did somebody crawl through it now? How did Carter know about the chute?’
‘That’s a good question.’ Taking a drink of her coffee, Hope considered for a minute. ‘As far as I’m aware, all of the houses on our street have similar chutes. Even Paul commented on it yesterday – or perhaps it was the day before – saying that his and Miranda’s cellar still had the old bins that separated one family’s coal and potatoes from another’s dating back to when their brownstone had been divided into apartments. Most of the surrounding streets have brownstones that were constructed during approximately the same time period as ours, so they presumably have the chutes, too. Which means that anybody who either lives in the area, or is acquainted with and visits someone who lives in the area, would know about the existence of the chutes. Carter was acquainted with Miranda through their book group. He could have noticed the chute while visiting her one time. Miranda said that they didn’t usually meet in the city, but she didn’t say that they never met in the city.’
Summer was hesitant. ‘Let’s suppose all of that is correct. Carter noticed a chute during a meeting of his book group at Miranda’s or while visiting one of the local shops on an adjacent street, and he decided that it was his way into our brownstone.’
Hope nodded.
‘But how did Carter know about the study? How did he know about the brownstone’s library?’
‘Tittle-tattle,’ Hope answered.
‘Huh?
‘Word of mouth. A lot of people – neighbors, workmen, customers and clients from the boutique, assorted friends – have seen the study over the years. They always comment on it afterwards. They’re impressed by the globe, the walls of built-in bookcases, the antique furnishings. Rosemarie has only been inside a couple of times briefly, and she’s constantly talking about it. To us, to Dylan, to Gina Zaffer, to whomever she might cross paths with on her Sunday afternoon stroll in the park with Percy…’
Summer laughed.
‘Carter could have heard about the study and the brownstone’s library through the local chit-chat. Even though he didn’t know the exact layout of the rooms, it would have been only natural for him to assume that he could get to the ground floor from the cellar. Based on the piece of cloak that Nate found, Carter obviously had some difficulty squeezing through the potato-coal chute. And based on the piece of cloak that I found, he must have also had some difficulty traversing the narrow cellar stairs with only a flashlight to guide him. The cellar door probably stumped him for a minute or two, but once he managed to swing the bookcase open, it was as simple as could be for him. Instead of needing to search through the entire house as he no doubt expected that he would have to, Carter was standing directly in the study, staring straight at the library.’
‘And staring at poor Megan lying on the sofa,’ Summer added.
