Another Grave Matter, page 18
part #3 of Volstead Manor Series
They were the eyes from the old photo—Alexandra Hertzberg—the young woman who became the last president of the Sisterhood of the Penumbra. Alexandra would be dead by now, but her daughter could easily be alive. Might even be about the age of Zola Fowler.
The Realtor drove past me, giving me a somber wave. She would return in an hour to make certain the house was empty. I glanced back. Zola had disappeared through the front door, presumably to get her things together. I was almost to Volstead Manor when I stopped cold.
Each suspect at the party appeared quite capable of arson. And they each had transgressed in their own ways, but the key question was, “Who had the most profound need to burn down my house?”
I think the eyes have it.
40 – Pure Obsession
Zola Fowler should never have taken off her glasses. That was her final mistake in a series of blunders. But then she could never have known I’d seen a photo of her mother, Alexandra. As the daughter of the last president of the Sisterhood of the Penumbra, Zola wouldn’t have seen or participated in any of the bootlegging business, but she could have known about its dark legacy. She may have even known about the murder.
I ground my fingernails into my palms. Why had Zola made her life so complicated? The Lord would have offered her peace. But she seemed convinced the house was cursed. Perhaps Zola thought that burning Volstead Manor to the ground would rid her family of the curse. A way to be absolved. It was flawed thinking, of course, and yet being raised as she was, who knew what kind of strange beliefs she would have embraced.
I glanced up at the sky. The sun seemed almost frightened now, as it hid itself above a vault of granite clouds. The wind turned frigid, but no matter the cold, I couldn’t move from that spot. Something was still unwrapping itself in my mind—the details of Zola Fowler’s plan.
Zola had set fire to Volstead Manor with the intention of burning it to the ground. Her method, of course, had been the spurt of oil behind the fuses to make them overheat. Once she’d discovered her efforts were only partially successful in destroying my house, she chose to live near Volstead Manor. Her sole purpose was to try to complete her mission, even if that meant living next door illegally. Somewhere in the evolution of her design, she decided to cover her tracks by removing the evidence within the fuse box. Unfortunately for her, she’d left a piece of her garment behind—a telltale clue. And then she knew that I knew. To encourage my silence she would threaten me with a funeral announcement. Very clever, but equally depraved.
Yes, I felt more certain of my conclusions by the minute. I snuggled into my coat, trying to get warm. Even though anyone and everyone could have had access to the outside of my house to start a fire, only four people had motivation—the count, Zola, Jason, and Penelope Herring. Dedra would not be included in my list. But none of the suspects had as much motivation as did Zola. Her objective and desires, I felt certain now, had morphed into pure obsession.
I shivered at the next round of terrors. Zola had to be pacing the floors about now, feeling cornered. She might be desperate enough to follow through with her plan immediately. Or Zola might calmly leave the neighbored and then do her dastardly deed at a later date—perhaps when everything had settled down. Confronting her before she disappeared seemed like the best move. I suddenly felt a need to speak to her, to try and reason with her. Before I could tell myself how truly dangerous that prospect might be, I did an about-face and strode toward the enemy.
But what would I say to her?
41 – A Pale Green Light
I ran back along the sidewalk and then up the steps of Charlie Ware’s house—a place where Zola Fowler only pretended to live. After ringing the bell a couple of times, I waited. Nothing. What had I expected—an immediate response? A warm reunion?
I knocked on the door, giving it a few hard raps. It eased open, groaning all the way. I smelled something rotten and then cringed with the memory of B.J.’s body on the entry floor. I grabbed the doorframe for support. The door swung open all the way. Except for a garbage bag full of trash, the house looked empty. Thank God it was no more than garbage. “Hello.” The answer was my own voice echoing back. I pulled the door shut.
Then again, Zola might already be at Volstead Manor. Woody G. didn’t have the house secured yet, so she could have entered through the tarp. Remembering the smell of gasoline on her hands, I knew I needed to go now.
I ran to Volstead Manor, yanked the key out of my purse, and opened the front door. I crept in, thinking Zola might be at the back of the house. It would have been so much easier if Woody G. and his crew had been hammering and sawing. They would have kept all mischief at bay. But there were no workers on the weekend, so the house seemed quiet enough to welcome trouble with open arms.
I tiptoed in farther. No sound of Zola. I glanced to my left into the living room. The gargoyles glared at me from under the mantle as they always did. I stepped lightly through the dining room and into the library.
My hand went to my mouth. The hidden door was open wide, the passageway exposed. A crowbar rested against the wall. I hurried over to the door, ran my fingers along the inner edges, taking note of the splinters on the floor. One had to know where the secret door was to force it open. Zola. But how could she have done it so quickly? Had she been in the house before the party? Perhaps snooping in the house all along?
I stood at the edge of the cellar stairs and noticed the smell of gasoline. Zola was going to torch the place, and this time she was going to make sure it burned to the ground.
There was no time to call the police. I needed to stop her now. But where was she? As my eyes adjusted, I could see a pale green light in the cellar. Was she trying to draw me down there? Would I find a loaded gun and a sinister replay of the past?
Sweat drizzled inside my clothes. With trembling fingers I picked up my flashlight at the door and made my way down into the shadows. How many times had I felt terror in my own home? Too many times to count.
The weight of all that had transpired in Volstead Manor washed over me like a black torrent. I stopped and closed my eyes for a brief respite from the heaviness of the moment. So many times the burden had been too great.
I opened my eyes and took the steps a bit faster, both hating and needing to face my adversary—wanting to finally put a name on my torment.
After stepping down into the cellar, I shined my light around in the space. A battery-powered lantern sat on one of the tables, putting off a glow bright enough to see what Zola had been up to. More chairs and tables had been knocked over, and all the expensive glassware lay crushed into glistening bits on the brick floor. But she was gone.
The smell of gasoline was more intense now, especially closer to the east wall. The large tapestry with the embroidered emblem of the Sisterhood of the Penumbra had been torn from the wall and cut up. The symbol with the scorpion’s head and tail was now no more than unrecognizable fragments. I picked up one of the pieces, and found that it was soaked in gasoline.
I’d been right about Zola’s plans. She’d wanted to set another fire, and this time she meant business. But there was no way she could have done so much damage in a few short minutes. She’d been here earlier, perhaps even while I was preparing for Dedra’s party.
But where was Zola now? Thinking I was being watched, I pivoted around with my light. No one hid in the shadows, but I had yet to check the closet. Could Zola be hiding in the very place where I’d found the remains of my great grandfather? Maybe she was waiting for me to leave the cellar so she could set fire to the tapestry.
I’d never wanted to go back in that room again, but I knew I’d have to check. I stepped over the broken glass and the strewn furniture and made my way back across the room to the west wall. My hand, sweaty and claw-like, reached out to the knob on the closet door. I hesitated. I shouldn’t do this. I could run. Call the police. The fire department. God, what should I do! Even as I breathed the prayer my fingers wrapped themselves around the glass doorknob.
I paused again. Prayed again. Sweated more. What had been Zola’s plan? To murder me in the same room as my great grandfather? And then burn the house down around me? Was she in there waiting for me? For a second my head went fuzzy, and I thought I’d pass out. My heart did double time and then skipped a beat. My fingers went numb, gripping the doorknob.
And then, like in a slow-motion scene in a movie, I opened the door and awaited my fate. I looked up to see my adversary standing in the closet, holding a flashlight. Zola. She had been waiting for me.
42 – The Notorious One
My flashlight slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor. My knees buckled, and I thought I might go down, but bits of strength came to me as I thought of being unconscious—at her mercy.
“I knew you’d come, Bailey,” Zola’s voice hissed at me softly.
“Why are you doing this?”
“You’re pretty smart. I think you’ve figured it out by now.”
“Arsonists go to prison. But if you turn yourself in right now, the—”
“Yes, I know.” She cocked her head at me. “The police will go easier on me. I don’t care about that.”
“What do you care about?” I tried to calm my irregular breathing.
“I inherited a legacy of great iniquity. It’s in every heartbeat. . .of my body and of this house. We’re connected that way. And I’m going to set us free.”
God, if I don’t say the right things, she’s going to destroy my home. “I know who you are. You’re Alexandra Hertzberg’s daughter. Your mother was the last president of the Sisterhood of the Penumbra.”
She took a step closer to me. “How do you know this?”
“I’ve found some things in the house. A journal with your grandmother’s writings and a chest with your mother’s photo.”
Zola shined her flashlight into the opening in the brick wall. “And you found Agent Radburn. . .here.”
“Yes.” I slowly picked up my flashlight without taking my eyes off her.
“I’m pleased you found him. That was part of the plan too. Revelation.” In the strange light, Zola’s eyes appeared like dark empty sockets. “They murdered him, you know.”
“I know.” I paused. “Agent Radburn was my great grandfather.”
Zola cringed. “How strange and unexpected. . .that you should be the one to find him. Well then, you’ve earned a brief account, I suppose.” She paused. “Growing up, my mother, Alexandra, hated the Sisterhood. But before her mother died, Alexandra had to promise that she would continue running the organization. At first she resented the women and their secrets. But little by little, she succumbed to the power and the money and even the danger of such a life. And then she, Alexandra, became the notorious one. . .even at a very young age.”
“So, Alexandra murdered Agent Radburn.” Somehow I knew if I kept Zola talking, I might be able to find her weakness. Find a way to talk her out of her plan. And hopefully soon, Max would start to worry.
“Alexandra, my mother, ruled with an iron fist, but she became reckless. She broke the code and boasted to an outsider of her exploits. Because of that, more people heard rumors about the Sisterhood. Then when Agent Radburn paid them a visit, my mother had him bound, and then she cemented him behind this wall. The Sisterhood thought they were safe again, but they didn’t know that my mother had swindled some of the people they’d done business with. One night a member of the Sisterhood found out that they were all in grave danger, so they took their money and fled to Mexico. Prohibition eventually ended, but by then they’d decided to stay there.”
“So you were born in Mexico?”
“Yes, and as I grew up there, I heard all the stories and found out all the secrets of the Sisterhood. But then as a young woman I also learned that people in the bootlegging business. . .had very long memories. Especially when they’d been betrayed. One night two men came to our house and killed the last remaining members of the Sisterhood. Three had already died of malaria. But that day I watched as they gunned down the rest of the Sisterhood, including the president. . .my mother.”
Oh, Lord, what a terrible thing. “What happened to you? Did the men see you?”
“No. I was hiding under a bench. But I saw all of it.” Zola splayed her hand over her heart, but her words seemed to come out more prosaic than grievous.
I felt a stab of grief for Zola, and yet I knew I still had to be cautious. The wrong words and she would turn on me.
“Their lives,” Zola said, “had been eaten away. Their crimes had taken their toll. So, when they were murdered that day, all I saw were shadows falling to the floor. There was so little blood. So little blood. They were all of them. . .like ghosts.”
What could she mean? Perhaps her memory had been distorted. “After that. . .where did you go?”
“I eventually came back to Texas. Drifted through life. Married briefly and then divorced. The blight that had eaten away at the lives of the Sisterhood began to afflict me as well. . .disfiguring my spirit. I finally slipped into despondency and thought of suicide. Until I was given this plan.”
“What plan?” I feared I already knew her sole objective, and yet I still hoped I could talk her out it.
“I’d never seen the cellar, but I’d heard about it in great detail. It looks just as I imagined it.” Zola pressed her palm against the brick. “This place was deep in my spirit, but I’d never felt it. . .until now.”
“What plan?” I repeated.
Glassy-eyed, Zola looked at me, and then suddenly seemed shaken from a trance. “Don’t you see? Volstead Manor has absorbed all their secrets, their evil. Haven’t you felt it as you lived here? The cellar. . .it was like a place of worship. Purification is the only way to end this curse. Refinement by fire. After I received that epiphany, I had a mission, a purpose. I finally found my way.”
“This house is no more than wood and stone. It was the Sisterhood that was evil, not the house. Volstead Manor is a place to live. It’s my home.” Like Charlie Ware, Zola was not in her right mind. I doubted now that I could reason with her, and I had no idea what she’d do if she felt cornered.
“Well, then that is your tragic mistake.” Zola opened her free hand. She held a small box of matches. “The time is now, and no one will stop me.”
Okay, I needed to back away and run. She had no gun, none that I could see anyway. I took a step backwards toward the opening of the closet door and said, “Burning this house down won’t break anything but the law. Fire won’t purify your life. Only God can.”
She chuckled.
Without turning around, I took another step toward the closet doorway. “If you do this, the Sisterhood will have won. It will turn you into one of them. A criminal.”
“Maybe I am just like them.”
“You have a choice.”
“My choices have run out.” Her voice had gone back to a sinister whisper.
Before I could think through my action, I rushed over to her and tried to force the box from her hands. In our struggle, the lid burst open, making matches scatter everywhere.
Zola’s eyes lit with anger. She lowered herself to the floor and scrambled to retrieve a match.
No more time for persuasion. I ran out of the closet, but Zola caught up with me and pushed me to the floor. I made a hard landing on the brick. Pain shot through my leg and ankle.
“I know you’re trying to stop me. But it will only get you killed!” Zola hurried toward the pieces of tapestry and struck a match against the brick.
As I tried to stand another spasm surged up my leg. My foot caught on the edge of a brick, and I tumbled down again.
Zola dropped the lit match onto the gasoline-soaked tapestry. The fabric ignited instantly. Then she hurried up the stairs, without even glancing back.
Ignoring the pain, I lifted myself off the floor and limped toward the stairwell, already feeling the heat from the fire. A loud bang filled my ears. Was it a gun firing? Then the sound registered. It was the unlocking of that upper section of the staircase—the trapdoor that opened wide enough to swallow a person whole and then snap back shut again. Had Zola fallen through? But there was no tripwire.
Smoke, thick and caustic, began to consume the air. I coughed, feeling my chest burn and tighten. The smoke surrounded me. I covered my mouth with the top of my coat and with hobbling steps, mounted the stairs.
“There will be no escape now,” Zola said from the landing. “I’ve pulled a hidden lever in the wall. The spring is now broken. The trapdoor won’t close again.” She coughed. “I didn’t mean for you to die. It was never in the plan. But you got in my way. Don’t you see?”
I’m trapped. There was no way over the gap. I still had my cell phone, but would it work? I pulled the phone out of my pocket and pushed in 911. Nothing. Then I checked. No signal. Now what?
Latching onto what was left of the railing, I mounted the stairs, hoping that by the time I got closer to the top, I’d have a plan. After a few more steps, I could see the opening. The black gulf made by the open trapdoor was too wide for me to jump over. Where was Max? Hadn’t they noticed I’d been gone too long? Maybe Zola was still up there, hiding on the other side of the wall. I could speak to her. Reason with her. I had to try. “Is this what you want, Zola? To take a life as your mother did? You can overcome evil with good!”
I climbed a few more steps, right to the edge. I looked back toward the cellar. Flames licked up the stairwell, looking otherworldly and full of fury. Sweat covered me. I yanked off my coat and let it fall on the stairs. What can I do? There’s no escape, God. Is this how You want me to go?
Zola appeared again on the landing, looking angry and scared. “I can’t help you with the trapdoor, but. . .” She disappeared for a second and then came back with the long crowbar. She stepped down to the edge of the fissure, raised the crowbar in the air, and then let the clawed edge plunge full force into the wood on my side. Once the metal hook was secured, she rested the rubber end of the crowbar on her side, making a makeshift bridge over the opening. “You’ll have to try it. There’s no other way.”
