Another Grave Matter, page 11
part #3 of Volstead Manor Series
After rolling the key around in my palm a couple of times, I marched over to my house and let myself in. It was dark and stuffy and scented with smoke, but the house felt more settled to me, knowing that a great puzzle had been solved, and a burden in our family had been lifted.
Instead of my usual route through the hallway to get to the kitchen, I took a detour through the dining room. As I passed the French doors, which led into the library, I glanced toward the south wall where the cellar door was hidden in the woodwork.
My heart lunged, and my breathing halted. The cellar door was open, and yet I was certain I’d pushed it shut. It couldn’t possibly have come open by itself, since the thing locked as solidly as a vault door at the bank. Someone’s been here. In fact, someone might still be in the house.
I looked around me, my gaze darting around the room. “Hello?” I folded my arms around my waist, trying to calm myself.
Had someone been snooping around? My house was way too open with that tent covering in the back. It was like a welcome mat!
Think, Bailey. Standing frozen in the dining room wasn’t going to help.
I pulled myself together enough to creep over to the cellar opening and pick up a flashlight. My hands got so wobbly I had to lean against the wall to steady myself. When I’d gotten a good stream of light down the stairs, I saw nothing. But then what if someone was hiding just beyond the light? Was someone trying to lure me downstairs? I was in no mood to go down there. Maybe I should get Max. Or I could simply charge down there and get it over with. A gun would come in handy, since I’d already been cornered once before in the cellar with a loaded firearm.
What to do. There was a slight chance I’d forgotten to push the door all the way shut the last time I’d come up from the cellar. I’d been so distracted lately. It was likely, now that I thought about it. Groaning, I stepped away from the heavy door and pushed it shut.
The moment I let go of my fears I heard the faintest noise. Not the timbers shifting. Not sounds echoing in the cellar. But somebody in the kitchen.
25 – That Dark Memory Lane
Not again. I felt a sinking feeling in my spirit. And a quiet wrath. How many times would I be stalked in my own home and be terrified of every shadow, every secret, and every stranger? I was sick to death of it. Righteous indignation rose in me, and it felt reckless. I was going to put a stop to this invasion right now.
One by one I curled my fingers into a fist and made my way through the archway and into the kitchen. In the semidarkness I caught the faintest hint of movement near the tent and ran toward the spot. When I gave the tarp a push I found a slit in it near the original doorway.
Then something green caught my attention—a piece of cloth hanging on a nail. I gave it a tug. The scrap of cloth was shimmery and appeared to be a fragment from a woman’s garment. The nail must have torn her clothes in the escape.
Maybe I should follow her. I’d need to do it now, though, so she wouldn’t have a chance to get all the way to Chicago! I stuck the piece of fabric in my pocket and tried to ease through the narrow space. It wasn’t impossible, but I’d have to morph into a snake to get through there. That was probably an accurate depiction of the intruder.
I yanked on the plastic to enlarge the opening a little and sucked in several months’ worth of tacos and burritos—I’d grown to love Tex-Mex—and squeezed my body through the space. Wow, going through that hole felt like I’d been mashed in one of those heavy-duty pants presses at the dry cleaners. No time to recover. I headed across the backyard and up the side of the house, moving faster with each step.
I’d placed a metal hook through the gate-latch to secure it, but someone had lifted it off. I searched the ground. Nothing. The hook was completely missing. Not good. I opened the gate and made my way along the path and up to the front sidewalk.
The cul-de-sac was empty. Nothing stirred, but there were muddy footprints on the sidewalk, and they led toward Zola’s house. I sped up my pace again along the sidewalk and found more muddy footprints. Hmm. Lately my backyard had experienced drainage problems, and so the ground back there had been unusually muddy. How interesting.
After a few more yards, the prints became nothing more than dots of dirt. Soon they disappeared all together, but my curiosity had just gotten revved up. Something inside me kept walking, the brisk air and the clues now spurring me on. Like a piece of music building into a crescendo, I felt my suspicions rise again.
I just kept walking around the crescent-shaped sidewalk until I was close enough to Zola’s house that I knew I had to make a decision. Would I risk knocking on the door and making a fool of myself? I never seemed to mind making a fool of myself in the past. In fact, I had become quite proficient at it. Would I barge in on her privacy, scanning her clothes for tears? In answer to my own question, yes, I would. I stomped up to the house and then onto the porch without a shred of a plan.
I took in a deep breath and tapped on the door. An image of B.J. Ware lying dead on the floor flickered through my brain. I pressed on the door, thinking it was about to release itself and open wide just like it did on that fateful day, but it was securely shut. Then the thought of turning and running sounded like a really good idea.
Zola opened the door. Why was the place so dark?
I stared at her.
She stared back.
In fact, we both became two deer, stunned in the headlights of each other’s eyes.
Blink, Bailey.
26 – Their Power and Persuasion
I took in Zola’s initial appearance. She looked like a bird that had just gotten spooked and was about to take flight. And on top of that, her hair looked like plucked feathers that had been glued back in all the wrong places.
I touched my hair. I assumed it looked the same, since I too had passed through the same rubber-snapping gauntlet of a tarp. So, had Zola been caught with her hand in the cookie jar? She spoke. Words came out. I tried to listen.
“I’m a bit untidy,” she said, out of breath. “I’ve been exercising.”
Yeah, right. You’ve been exercising in a long straight skirt and a buttoned jacket? I don’t think so. But she wore no hint of shimmery green. She got points for that. But not many points, since she would have had ample time for ten wardrobe changes because of my poor detective methods. “You’re fine.”
“So, how may I help you?”
Now, what was my plan? Oh yeah, real smart. I had no plan. “Coffee. Yes. Dedra, the gal I’m staying with, is clueless about it, and well, I like coffee. Sometimes even at night.” Now why did I ask for coffee? That was beyond stupid. It was the very thing she’d come over and asked me for. It was a dead giveaway that I was nosing around.
“Sorry, I don’t drink the stuff. I’m a whiskey-on-the-rocks kind of woman.”
“Really?” I licked my lips and grinned. “You came over to borrow coffee from me once. Remember?”
“I did?” She released a slightly explosive laugh. “Oh, I guess I did.”
I’d baited her, caught her, and now I would humanely release her. For now. “So, how’s your stepbrother?”
“Who?” Her body tensed. “Oh, Charlie. He’s going to be fine.”
“I’m sure he appreciates you taking care of the house for him.” But for someone all moved in, she had no furnishings whatsoever. Not even a chair that I could see. Of course, that was pretty judgmental coming from a woman who still hadn’t purchased much furniture. But why was Zola wearing a jacket inside? Did she have no heat? No electricity turned on? The place was awfully dark. “You know they have some great stores here for buying furniture inexpensively. You know, to get you started.” For some reason I felt a need to keep the conversation going. But that was about all I could come up with at the moment.
Zola looked behind her. “Oh, I just haven’t had the moving van come yet. But they will. Everything will happen just as I planned it.” She closed the door a bit, and there was a flash of something in her expression. Annoyance? “Before you go. . .”
Was I going? “Yes?”
“I heard about. . .what was found in your house. It must have been pretty dreadful.”
“Yes, it was.”
“From what I’ve heard, it seems that there have been a lot of calamities in Volstead Manor.”
How true. Charlie must have told you everything. Or perhaps Dedra was at it again. I thought my friend had recovered from her gossipy yenta malady, but maybe she needed a booster shot.
“And I heard some of the strange history surrounding your house. The Sisterhood in particular. A strange society of women, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, they were.”
“Their influence. . .the Sisterhood. . .it must be in every corner of the place.” Zola seemed to be lost somewhere in her mind, as if she were no longer talking to me. “Their power has left an evil mark on your house.” She looked at me. Her eyes held a glossy mist that pooled, but didn’t fall as tears.
I didn’t like what she was implying. “Are you saying my house has a curse?”
Zola gripped the edge of the door. “That is exactly what I am saying. . .because it’s true.”
I suddenly wasn’t big on the conversation. “I’m a Christian, so I have no need to fear anything like that.”
“Oh?”
Okay, this is getting bizarre. “What happened in my house took place decades ago and has now been resolved. I’m hoping to move on from this. The repair work starts tomorrow.”
“I see.” Zola made a facial expression that was somewhere between perplexity and frustration. “Well, good-bye.” She held up her hand in a wave, which raised the bottom of her short, buttoned jacket just above her waistline. I saw no skin, but in the dim light I could see what was hidden underneath—the color green.
27 – Pure Revenge
The emerald material under her jacket shimmered in the streetlight. It appeared to be the same fabric as the piece I’d found caught on the nail in my house.
I faltered at the door. I couldn’t even get my feet to move, and yet I knew if I acted strangely, she would suspect that I knew something. Or I could take an unexpected approach and just pull the fabric out of my pocket and dangle it in her face to see what she’d do. That might work. I fingered the material in my pocket, ready to yank it out like a rabbit out of a hat. I paused, frantically trying to think. God, what should I do? It was too soon to let her know the gig was up. I’d need to watch and wait. Right? My fingers involuntarily let go of the fabric. “Well, good-bye.”
“Yes.”
I turned to go, and this time she closed the door. Perhaps a little too loudly.
I stood dazed for a second. I might look like a person who handles confrontations well, but they always make me perspire. Then later I sometimes got stomach cramps and gas. Beyond confrontation, the concept of spying had anxiety and exhilaration tethered so tightly into a knot, there was no untying them. In other words, I was a mess.
Groaning, I headed around the sidewalk toward Dedra’s house with my head swirling with information. So, Zola must have been in my house. I spooked her, and she fled. She came home, and then when she heard the doorbell, she slipped some clothes on over her green outfit. Made sense.
But what was Zola’s motive? What did she want? Was she trying to burn my house down to the ground since the first time hadn’t been a total success? Could she be some kind of weird pyromaniac? I doubted it. And besides, why choose Volstead Manor when there were so many other houses to burn? Then again, she did seem to think my house had a curse. Was that enough reason to burn someone’s house down and risk going to jail for years? The woman seemed smarter than that. Although I did witness her entering some kind of funky zone that was pretty creepy.
I strolled past my house as a new idea muscled its way into my thoughts. Maybe Zola had been in the process of lighting a fire, and I’d interrupted her efforts. In fact, was there a chance that Charlie Ware was giving orders from the mental institution? It seemed reasonable that he was angry the way things had worked out—that I had found the ruby and sold it. But since the stone was gone, what could be the impetus, except pure revenge?
“Don’t people have a life?” I realized I’d said those words out loud to the empty night. But that question remained with me as I made my way to Dedra’s house.
Then I remembered. My house. The fuse box! In my wild chase I’d forgotten all about it. And I’d forgotten to lock my front door. I might as well send out invitations to all the criminals in the area. Bailey was having a come-and-go housebreaking party. No crowbars necessary.
I trudged back to my house, yet again, and then up the steps to my porch. I opened the door and found myself in darkness. Hope that wasn’t becoming a metaphor for my life. I will be so grateful when my repairs are done and the electricity is back on!
I groped around to find a flashlight in the library, and after turning it on, I made my way into the kitchen. I yanked open my junk drawer, drew out a pair of wire cutters, and headed toward the fuse box to cut it loose. I was going to take that puppy home.
There’s the box. It was still dangling on the inside of the plastic tarp by a few tangled wires. I cut them, one at a time, and then rested the box on the floor. I shined my light inside to once again study the swirling burn patterns. Nothing. The area around the fuses was squeaky clean. Is that what Zola had been doing? Cleaning up all the evidence? How thoughtful. The faster I could get my house secured, the better.
I gave the fuse box a good kick. If I called the police now what would I tell them? The only real substantial proof I’d had was the fuse box, and I was foolish enough to let that get tampered with. What about fingerprints? No way. Anyone who was smart enough to clean up the box was also smart enough to wear gloves. By now most Americans had watched enough detective shows to know not to smear their greasy fingerprints all over the crime scene.
I pulled the swatch of green fabric out of my pocket. But what about this? What would the police think of a dubious hunk of material caught on a nail head? They might pause, slightly impressed, while Zola the Prowler, was busy next door whacking up her green shirt into tiny pieces and flushing it all down the commode.
Oh, well. I stuffed the cloth back in my pocket. My ragtag clues would make me look ridiculous. They would look like the tedious ramblings of a woman who was still upset about the damage done to her beloved home. I’d just keep the facts to myself and see what came up. Guess I’d sung that song before.
I made my way to the front door, thinking I’d better get myself back to Dedra’s house pronto or she might get worried again. This time she might choose to send a pack of mongrels after me. It was nice to have someone worry about me, but it was a bit of a bother too. It meant accountability to someone. Oh, dear. That sounded like the old loner Bailey. I’d better get used to constant communion and personal updates—marriage and family was about releasing one’s privacy to the great unknown. I laughed. That sounded like cold feet, and yet mine were burning up. I wanted to marry Max, and I wanted to adopt Joby. Period. It was bound to be the greatest adventure of a lifetime.
After locking up and making the trek next door, I took out the other key and opened the front door to Dedra’s house. It was good of her to loan me a key, since we both kept odd hours. Correction, I kept odd hours.
I closed the door and my cell phone came to life. It was Max at the conference. I sat down on a chair in the entry and let him talk. He sounded so animated, I decided not to mar his good day with my clutter. It was more than enough for me to know that he was meeting some good people, learning some new things about the business, and having a great time. When we hung up, I called out, “Dedra. You home?”
No lights were on, and Dedra didn’t seem to be thumping around upstairs. Maybe she just went somewhere for the evening. But she usually spent her evenings at home, working in her studio. Now I was being the mother hen.“Dedra?” I wandered around the house from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen and then through rest of the downstairs, turning on lights as I went.
As I came out of the sunroom I glanced outside through one of the back doors. Dedra stood on the deck in the cold night air. She was wearing only a white nightgown and a white boa, with no robe or house shoes. What was she doing out there? Before I opened the door, I watched her. The moonlight shown on her, bathing her willowy figure in a pale light. She stood perfectly still, staring up at the moon as if she were mesmerized by it. I shivered. Was she memorizing the moon for a future painting? Or was she losing her mind? I opened the back door and stepped out onto the open deck.
“I guess you heard,” Dedra said, without even turning around to look at me. “About what I said.”
She must be referring to the feelings she has for Max. “Do you want to talk about it?” When she didn’t respond, I walked over to her and pulled her into a hug, but for the first time since I’d known her, she didn’t hug me back. Instead, she clutched something in her fingers. A medicine bottle. I gently lifted the container out of her hands. They were sleeping pills. I held the bottle up to the light.
It was empty.
28 – Horrendous Tales
“Dedra, how many pills did you take?”
She didn’t answer.
I grabbed her arm and turned her around to face me. “How many did you take?”
“One.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded quickly, like a small child. “That’s all I’ve ever taken.”
“Then why is the bottle empty?”
“That was the very last pill.”
