Murder of a Hermit, page 3
Both Hope and Summer’s gazes narrowed.
Dylan grinned. ‘You had better be careful, officer. I’ve seen that look from them before. In another minute, they’ll be discussing hexes and curses to put on you.’
Detective Nate laughed. ‘Don’t give them any ideas, Dylan.’ He wrapped an affectionate arm around Summer’s shoulders.
Although she didn’t pull away, Summer also didn’t lean into the embrace. ‘If you’re not going to take the matter seriously, then I shouldn’t have called you,’ she said to Nate, her tone chilly.
‘You didn’t call me,’ he reminded her. ‘Dylan did.’
The chilly tone was now directed toward Dylan. ‘I don’t know why you did that.’
‘Because I was under the impression – perhaps in error – that you and Nate had recently started dating. If I was a detective and my girlfriend had a prowler attempting to break into her home, I’d want to know about it.’
‘And I appreciate the heads-up,’ Nate said, nodding at Dylan.
Dylan nodded back at him.
The uniformed policeman half suppressed a yawn. ‘Well, in this case, it was a waste of everybody’s time and energy. There hasn’t been a crime. It’s pointless to even write up an incident report. Yes, there was an attempt to gain entry, but it was clearly from something and not someone.’
Hope and Summer exchanged a startled glance.
Dylan’s grin resurfaced. ‘You two think that he’s talking about something supernatural, don’t you?’
Nate laughed again. ‘Watch out, Dylan. Otherwise, the hexes and curses might be put on you next.’
He chortled. ‘It will probably be in the form of a voodoo doll, with a needle stuck through my eye.’
‘If I were you,’ Summer sniped, ‘I wouldn’t be so eager to tempt Hope. She could take you up on it – and then you’d be missing an eye.’
There was another drowsy yawn from the policeman, which Hope was grateful for. It meant that he was only partly listening to the conversation. Nate must have been thinking something similar – or he didn’t want to annoy Summer any further for fear that their fledgling relationship would come to an abrupt end before it had barely even begun – because he returned to the more pressing issue before them.
‘So who exactly do you think attempted to gain entry here?’ he questioned his colleague.
‘A fox, in all likelihood. Or possibly a coyote.’
‘Rubbish,’ Summer muttered.
Nate agreed with her, albeit with more diplomacy. ‘There have been no recorded sightings of either foxes or coyotes in the downtown area in recent memory.’
The policeman shrugged. ‘Then it was a raccoon or a possum.’
‘What are you basing that on?’ Dylan asked him.
Motioning for them to follow, the policeman started back down the narrow border between the two properties. In a single file, the group headed after him. When they had squeezed past a pair of boxwoods that were wet from the morning’s intermittent drizzle, they halted. The policeman pointed toward a short metal door that was set low in the wall of the brownstone, just above the ground. The door was no more than two feet in both height and width. Its pewter-colored paint was faded and flaking from age. There were also numerous scratches and abrasions on it.
‘Claw marks,’ the policeman said. ‘Obviously claw marks.’
It wasn’t obvious to Hope. She knew from her and Summer’s considerable experience with the fencing around their vegetable patch at the rear of the garden that any animal interested in gaining entry would have clawed at the entire door – and possibly also the surrounding wall – leaving long, sharp, defined marks. But these marks were little chips and dents along only one edge of the door, predominantly at the latch, which had been painted shut many years earlier. Unless she was very much mistaken, they were pry marks. Somebody – was it the Hermit? – had been trying to pry open the door.
‘But why?’ she murmured.
Dylan turned to her. ‘Where does the door lead?’
‘The cellar.’
‘That’s the reason they’re trying to gain access,’ the policeman said, once again wiping his hands on the paper towel from his pocket. ‘This is the time of year when animals are looking for a good place to hibernate.’
Summer shook her head. ‘It’s barely the beginning of autumn, and the nights are still plenty warm. No animals are hibernating yet – and even if they were, they wouldn’t choose a cellar in a brownstone on a city street.’
‘A cellar in a brownstone on a city street is an excellent spot for animals to find food,’ the policeman responded.
‘Not our cellar,’ Summer countered. ‘We don’t keep any food in it.’
‘What do you keep in it?’ Nate asked her.
‘Nothing.’
When her sister didn’t elaborate, Hope explained, ‘Our cellar isn’t a finished basement; it’s a dirt crawl space. It’s difficult to access, so we don’t store much down there. In fact, I don’t think I’ve even been in the cellar for at least six months. Have you, Summer?’
Summer shook her head again.
‘I don’t understand why your cellar would have a door out here,’ Dylan said.
‘It’s for the potato-coal chute,’ Hope told him.
‘The what?’
‘The chute that was used for the brownstone’s deliveries back in the olden days. That’s why the door is so short and close to the ground. It was never intended as an entrance for people. There are no steps or stairs on the other side going down into the cellar – only the chute. It’s how they originally brought in the wood for the fireplaces. Then later, the coal for the heaters. And also when they received a wagonload of potatoes or apples from a local farmer for the winter supply.’
‘Up until a few years ago, my uncle used to get his bushels of turnips delivered that way,’ the policeman remarked.
Hope nodded, although she couldn’t help wondering what anyone in recent times would do with a wagonload of turnips.
‘Our cellar still has the old bins that separated one family’s coal and potatoes from another’s,’ Paul Larson said.
They all turned toward the unexpected voice. Paul was standing at the corner of his own brownstone, observing the group in the bordering strip of greenery. Similar to his wife, he was tall and square, but instead of her squeaky syllables, his were a booming baritone. He had a bright orange shock of hair.
‘As far as I’m aware, your brownstone was never divided into apartments as ours used to be,’ Paul continued, ‘so you probably don’t have the bins. But it’s a good thing that Miranda and I don’t store much in our cellar, either, because everything would be half submerged now. There is nothing worse than moldy, floating turnips.’
Hope smiled. ‘Hello, Paul. I’m glad to see that your contractor has arrived. It’s some progress, at least.’
‘Yes. They’re presently trying to decide which direction would be best to pump out the water. I’m afraid that it might get a bit noisy when the machinery starts, especially if they end up emptying it on this side of the property.’
There was a sigh from Summer.
‘We understand,’ Hope replied, swallowing her own sigh. ‘But the sooner the work begins, the sooner it will be completed.’
‘That’s the theory. And also the reason that I came over to speak to you…’ Paul hesitated just as his wife had done earlier in the boutique.
‘Oh?’ Hope said.
Paul shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I hate to be the bearer of potentially bad news, but…’ He hesitated again.
Summer sighed a second time. ‘But?’
‘But after a closer inspection, the contractor indicated that the source of the problem might not be limited to our property. He strongly recommends that you examine your own cellar to make sure that it doesn’t have water in it, too.’
Hope and Summer looked at each other with a mixture of surprise and concern. The possibility that their foundation might also be leaking had never occurred to them.
Nate pushed past one of the damp boxwoods to reach Summer. ‘Not to worry,’ he told her. ‘Your cellar is probably as dry as a bone. We’ll check it out. We need to go down there anyway, just to be certain that everything is all right.’ He motioned toward the marks on the door.
‘So it turned out to be nothing with that strange-looking fellow we saw earlier?’ Paul asked.
‘Nothing,’ Hope confirmed, although she wasn’t entirely convinced on that point. She had no doubt it was a person and not an animal that had made the marks, but she still didn’t understand why the person had tried to pry open the door.
‘Miranda will be relieved,’ Paul said, sounding rather relieved himself. ‘She was beginning to fret about burglaries and home invasions cropping up in the neighborhood. But it’s good to know that sometimes a peculiar man in a peculiar raincoat is simply that, with no harm intended.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Summer mumbled, sounding no more convinced than her sister.
‘We’ll check it out,’ Nate repeated. ‘And if we need additional details from either you or your wife on what exactly you saw regarding the man, we’ll be in touch. In the meantime, if you have any questions…’ He handed Paul his business card.
Reading the card, Paul was visibly impressed. ‘Thank you, detective. I have to stop complaining about the city’s high taxes when a detective of your rank handles a minor matter such as this.’
Nate smiled politely. ‘Just doing my job.’
Hope restrained her own smile. The detective was there solely because of his interest in Summer, but the neighbors didn’t need to know that.
Any further conversation was cut short by the appearance of the construction crew with a large portable generator, a small backhoe, and a mound of rubber hoses. Apparently the water was going to be pumped out in their direction.
‘Time for ear plugs,’ Summer groaned.
With a nod in parting, Paul headed toward the crew. Nate, in turn, nodded at the uniformed policeman, who headed toward his vehicle. The remainder of the group headed toward the boutique.
‘Wait.’ Summer held Hope back from the others. ‘Should we tell Gram?’ she said in a low tone.
Their maternal grandmother, Olivia Bailey, was the legal owner of the brownstone and also an important confidante for the sisters.
‘You mean about the marks on the door or the potential leakage in the cellar?’ Hope asked her.
‘Either, or both.’
Hope considered for a moment. ‘At this point, Gram can’t do anything more than we can. Let’s hold off until we have some concrete information.’
Summer twisted her hands together anxiously, but she was forced to let the subject lapse, because they had reached the door of the shop.
‘No customers came in while you were out,’ Megan reported, still sitting in her same chair at the table. ‘But there were two phone calls. The first woman wanted a palm reading. I scheduled her for tomorrow morning.’
‘Perfect. Thanks,’ Hope said.
‘Assuming you’ll be able to hear each other over the construction noise,’ Summer grumbled.
‘And the second woman,’ Megan continued, ‘wanted to know if the boutique sells Ouija boards. She said that it was for a séance at her young daughter’s birthday party.’
Summer’s hazel eyes stretched wide. ‘Good lord! Better to give the child a stick of dynamite to play with. It would be safer.’
Hope hastily tried to hush her sister, motioning toward Dylan and Nate. But it was too late. Dylan had already heard.
‘Is it the séance or the Ouija board that’s supposedly dangerous?’ he inquired.
‘Hope has some excellent Ouija board stories,’ Megan told him. ‘They’re super scary. Definitely not appropriate for bedtime.’
‘Is that so?’ Dylan turned to Hope with a rakish grin. ‘I’d be happy to tuck you into bed any time.’
She felt her cheeks warm. In an effort to conceal it, her response was dry. ‘Without the requisite knowledge, conducting your own séance is about as effective as creating your own voodoo doll. And in the case of the Ouija board, you could lose a lot more than an eye if it goes wrong.’
The grin continued. ‘Returning to the subject of your bed—’
To Hope’s relief, he was interrupted by Nate, who was studying the mammoth collection of apricot roses on the jewelry display case. ‘That is a really big bouquet.’
There was a distinct hint of apprehension in his voice, as though he feared that Summer might have another suitor, one who sent her extravagant floral arrangements. Hope was quick to reassure him.
‘Aren’t the flowers lovely? They were a gift from Daniel Drexler to cheer up Megan after she injured her leg.’
‘Daniel has set the standard pretty high for the rest of us, hasn’t he?’ Dylan commented to Nate.
Megan’s pert nose twitched. ‘Have no fear, Dylan. If Hope ever has the misfortune to be trampled by a pig, you won’t need to send roses. You’ve got those good hands to give her succor.’
The grin reappeared. ‘Indeed I do. Now if you’ll only manage to convince Hope of their value…’
Hope raised an eyebrow at Megan, then she turned and started toward the rear of the shop.
‘Are you going to the cellar?’ Summer said, and hurried to accompany her.
Dylan and Nate followed them. This time Megan didn’t remain behind. With the assistance of a pair of crutches, she rose from her chair and hobbled slowly after the group.
Walking from the boutique into the living quarters of the brownstone, Hope and Summer headed down the main hallway.
‘Where is the entrance to the cellar?’ Nate asked.
‘In the study,’ Summer answered without stopping.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ Megan called out. ‘I didn’t realize that there would be visitors today and a surprise inspection of my unmentionables.’
The door to the study stood open. It was the brownstone’s library. The walls consisted entirely of built-in oak bookcases that were stacked from floor to ceiling with thick, dusty tomes. There was an old barrister desk, an antique standing globe, a trio of scuffed leather armchairs with bronze nail heads, and the pull-out sofa that currently functioned as Megan’s bed. As she had warned, the room was in disarray. Her bedding lay in a jumbled heap on the floor, and her clothes were strewn across the furniture, with several lacy undergarments hanging indecorously from the globe stand.
Together Hope and Summer went to the far end of the room, which contained a narrow corner bookcase. Standing on tiptoe, Hope stretched up to the top shelf and slowly ran her fingers underneath it.
‘Can you reach the spot?’ Summer asked her. ‘Now would be a good time for that stepladder from Gram.’
‘Give me a second. I think I’ve got it. Yes, there it is. You had better move back.’
She waited until Summer had retreated a pace, then Hope pushed the indentation that her fingers had found and immediately jumped back herself. The corner bookcase rotated noiselessly to one side, revealing a slim door in the wall.
‘How very clever,’ Dylan remarked. ‘Are there secret passages throughout the brownstone?’
The sisters exchanged a glance, but neither one responded.
Nate’s brow furrowed. ‘It’s an odd place for a cellar door.’
Summer nodded. ‘The main door used to be adjacent to the pantry,’ she explained. ‘But it was sealed up when the kitchen was renovated some years back. Now this is the only way into the cellar.’
‘Aside from the chute,’ Hope clarified.
There was no knob or handle on the door. It simply swung inward over what appeared from their vantage point to be a large, black cavern. Reaching into the darkness, Hope felt around until she located the string for the lone lightbulb and pulled it. A dim yellow glow emerged, illuminating the top of a primitive wooden staircase.
‘Watch your head and feet,’ she cautioned the men as she started to descend. ‘The ceiling slopes down quickly, and the steps are slippery from age and wear.’
‘Really slippery,’ Summer corroborated with a laugh. ‘Hope, do you remember the time – we must have been five or six – when we tried to use an old piece of carpeting to sled to the bottom and…’
Hope didn’t hear the conclusion of the reminiscence. She had stopped on the second step, because there was something lying in front of her on the third step. At first glance, it looked like a piece of torn black plastic that had gotten snagged on a protruding nail. Hope untangled the item from the nail and held it toward the light for a better view. It wasn’t plastic; it was waxed canvas. And it wasn’t black; it was olive green. She felt suddenly cold.
‘Megan?’ she called behind her. ‘Are you there?’
‘Yes, I’m here!’ Megan and her crutches hobbled closer to the cellar door.
‘What did the cloak from the man you saw look like?’
There was a slight pause. ‘The fabric was heavy. Duck or canvas. And it was a dark shade of green. Maybe olive.’
Hope drew a shaky breath. The Hermit hadn’t only been outside the brownstone. He had been inside, too.
FOUR
It didn’t take the rest of the group long to reach the same unsettling conclusion that Hope had.
Nate immediately put his hand on his holster and moved past the others to take the lead on the stairs. ‘Dylan,’ he said, ‘I’m going to need you to keep the sisters up here.’
‘They’ll stay up here,’ Dylan confirmed, stepping in front of Hope – who was ahead of Summer – to block their way.
‘But it’s our cellar—’ Summer began in protest.
‘And I’m the one carrying a firearm,’ Nate returned.
His tone brooked no dissent, and Summer didn’t argue further.
