A Catered Thanksgiving, page 24
Bernie nodded her head up and down vigorously. “Which is why we need to get this Monty thing sorted out, because if we don’t, we’re going to be answering questions from the cops forever when they finally arrive. And if we’re really unlucky, they’ll hold us over.”
“I…”
“Which means,” Bernie continued, “that we have to find Geoff and we have to find him now. He’s the nearest thing to a lead we have.”
Libby leaned forward. “I’m not disagreeing with you, Bernie.”
“Good.”
“You know, you’re not exactly Little Miss Sunshine, either.”
Bernie grinned. “That makes two of us.”
Libby rubbed her temples. She felt slightly better after she had the coffee, but not by much. “How are we going to find Geoff?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Bernie admitted. “I already looked through the house. He’s somewhere, but I don’t know where.”
Libby drained the rest of her coffee and put the cup on the coffee table. “If that’s the case, then I think we should do the next best thing. I think we should go back upstairs and wake everyone up. Maybe one of them isn’t asleep. Maybe we’ll learn something. At least it’s something to do.”
“As in if I’m up, they should be, too?”
“Precisely,” Libby said. She got up and put her parka on. “It’s gotten colder in here.”
“Yes. It has.” Bernie grinned. “Let’s go and kick some butt. That should warm everything up.”
“Let’s,” Libby said. For once in her life she was looking forward to it.
She followed Bernie up the stairs and down the hall. The floorboards creaked and cracked under the weight of their footsteps, and Libby wondered once again how anyone could walk on them without being heard. Bernie came to a stop in front of Bob and Audie’s room. Libby did the same. She was watching Bernie fish the skeleton key out of her pocket when her dream flashed through her mind. Something occurred to her. She held up her hand.
“What?” Bernie asked impatiently. She was primed and ready to go.
“Wait a minute.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“No. I just had an idea.” Libby gestured to the hallway. “Remember how I said the layout of this floor struck me as odd?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think I finally figured it out. Something isn’t here that should be.”
Bernie’s eyes flitted over the hallway. She wasn’t getting it, and she didn’t want to waste time figuring it out. “And that is?”
“This house has an attic, correct?”
“Correct,” Bernie said, still not seeing where Libby was going with this. “We saw it when we came in. It’s got three small windows and a fourth with a window fan in it.”
“So where’s the door to it?” Libby asked. “We have doors to the bedrooms. We have doors to the bathrooms, but that’s it. No attic door.” Libby pointed to the ceiling. “And the entrance is not one of those pull-down trapdoor jobbies with a ladder.”
“There isn’t any entrance,” Bernie said, marveling at how she could have missed something that obvious.
“But,” Libby continued, “there has to be one. Whoever built this house wouldn’t have built an attic without some kind of access to it.” She realized they were whispering. “That wouldn’t make sense.”
“And the logical place for it would be in this hallway,” Bernie said, taking up where Libby had left off. “Which means someone closed the doorway up and covered it over with the wallpaper.”
“Has to be,” Libby said.
Libby and Bernie studied the walls. After a few minutes Libby thought she saw a raised line.
“I think it’s here,” she told Bernie as she ran her finger up the line. “I can feel it.”
Bernie stepped in front of her and ran her thumbnail up the line. “Never underestimate the power of fingernails,” she said as the paper split in two. She carefully tore off a little piece of the paper. “Look,” she said to Libby. “Here’s the wallboard and here’s the plaster.”
“Someone used wallboard to sheetrock over the doorway.”
“So it would appear.”
“It looks like a do-it-yourself kind of job,” Libby noted. “They didn’t use joint compound or tape. Plus, there’s an eighth-of-an-inch difference between the Sheetrock and the plaster.”
“Well, it was good enough. We didn’t see it.” Bernie was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “The question is, why did they do it at all?”
“More importantly,” Libby said, “is Geoff hiding up there?”
“And if he is, how is he getting in and out?” Bernie chewed on the inside of her cheek while she thought. “If he is up there, that would explain why we haven’t heard him walking around.”
“Indeed it would.” Libby licked her lips. They were dry. She needed her ChapStick, which was at home. “The entrance has to be on this floor. A closet would be the most logical place to locate it.”
“Well, we were going to wake everyone up, anyway,” Bernie noted.
“I know, but…”
“But what?” Bernie asked.
“I think there may be an easier way to find out what we want to know.”
“Such as?” And then Bernie realized why her sister had said what she had. “The plans,” she cried.
Libby nodded.
The women ran for the stairs.
Chapter 37
Bernie turned on the kitchen light, while Libby yanked open the bottom drawer of the kitchen cabinet and grabbed the manila envelope she’d seen yesterday. While Libby looked over her shoulder, Bernie opened up the envelope, shook the remodeling plans out, and spread them across the top of the kitchen counter. As she did, she noted that the date they’d been drawn up and the name of the architect, P. Bidwell, were stamped in the upper right-hand corner.
“You ever hear of him?” Bernie asked Libby.
Libby shook her head.
“Me either,” Bernie said. “I wonder if Dad has.”
“Probably,” Libby replied. “Dad knows everything about everyone in the tri-county area.”
“Too bad we can’t ask him.” For a moment Bernie thought about seeing if she could call him and then decided against it. It was too early, and she didn’t want to alarm him, so she turned her attention back to the plans.
There were twelve pages in all. Nine of them had to do with four separate jobs: remodeling the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom, combining four of the smaller rooms at the back end of the first floor into one great room, and adding a sunroom onto the left side of the house. The tenth, eleventh, and twelfth pages contained what Bernie and Libby were looking for.
“The good news is these are what we need,” Bernie said, pulling the pages out and setting them side by side. She smoothed out the creases with the side of her hand, while Libby squinted to get a better look. “The bad news is they’re in really bad shape.”
The print on the three pages was faded, making them extremely difficult to read, but Bernie managed to make out the labels on their tops. The first page showed the original position of the stairs, the second page showed the stairs’ projected new position, while the third page showed sketches of the two rooms that were going to be built in the attic.
“If I’m reading these plans right,” Bernie said to Libby, “the new access to the attic is through the closet in Monty’s room. If that was Monty’s room back then.”
“Very odd,” Libby said. “It’s not where most people would choose to locate a flight of stairs.”
“And it was probably quite an expensive undertaking even back then.”
“Had to be.” Libby indicated the other pages. “Note that none of the other proposals were implemented.”
“The stairs might not have been, either,” Bernie pointed out. “Maybe whoever did this just got as far as closing off the hallway entrance.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Then you couldn’t get up to the attic.”
Bernie shrugged. “Maybe whoever was paying for it ran out of money and figured they’d finish off the job later, only they never did.”
“I bet Monty was the one who commissioned it.”
“I bet you’re right.” Bernie rat-a-tatted her fingernails on the countertop. “I wonder if Ralph and Perceval would know.”
“I’m sure they’d know. We should ask them,” Libby suggested.
“We will.” Bernie looked at her watch. It was a little before six. “After we see if we can find those stairs.”
The sisters left the kitchen. On the way, Bernie grabbed two pieces of bread and some Brie that had been left over from the night before and handed half to Libby.
“Eat,” she said.
Libby made a face. “My stomach is still kind of rocky.”
“Eat anyway,” Bernie told her. “I have a feeling we’re going to need all the energy we can get.”
“What if Geoff is up in the attic?” Libby said as she chewed on her bread. It was slightly stale.
“What if he is?” Bernie asked. “In fact, I hope he is.”
“He does have that sword.”
“Yes, but we have truth on our side.”
“Seriously.”
“Seriously, you’re right.” Bernie turned around, marched back into the kitchen, and picked up the knife they’d used to carve the turkey with.
“This does not make me feel confident,” Libby said when she got a gander at what her sister was carrying.
“Well, it makes me feel better.”
“Boy, I’m so-o-o relieved.”
“You know the problem with you?” Bernie said.
“That I’m sensible?”
“No. That you worry too much.”
Bernie walked over to Monty’s closet, opened the door, and stepped inside. She reached up, took the clothes that were hanging on the rod, and handed them to Libby, who laid them out on the bed. When the closet was completely empty, Bernie stepped inside. Libby joined her, but it was too crowded to see anything with her in there, so she stepped back out and waited while Bernie eyeballed the wall.
“I don’t see anything,” Bernie said after a moment had gone by. She rapped on the wall with her fist. All she got back were thuds.
“Maybe Monty never got around to changing the stairs,” Libby said.
“We already discussed that.”
“Well, I’m saying it again. Lots of people commission things but don’t follow through,” Libby said, thinking of the kitchen renovation they kept postponing. “I think we should wake up Ralph and Perceval and ask them.”
“Give me another minute,” Bernie said, turning back to the closet wall. She knew the opening was here, and she was damned if she wasn’t going to find it.
She studied the wall some more. It was blank. There were no seams. Nothing to indicate a door. Maybe there was some kind of lever you had to push to get the door to open. That was a possibility, but a far-fetched one in her estimation. No. The door was here. It had to be. But where?
She turned and examined the right-hand wall of the closet, tapping lightly on the wall as she went. Then she turned to the left-hand side and that was when she saw it. The slight indentation in the wall. It was barely visible. She wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t been looking. She reached over and placed the tips of her middle fingers in the depression.
They just fit. She pushed. Nothing. She pushed harder. She could feel a slight movement. She tried again. More of a movement. On the third try, the wall slid away, revealing a dark space. A burst of cold air came rushing out. And a hint of something else, which Bernie knew but couldn’t name. A moment later Bernie’s eyes got used to the dark, and she was able to pick out a vague outline of the steps. She picked up the carving knife she’d left on the floor and started up them.
“Wait!” Libby cried.
But Bernie didn’t.
Chapter 38
The stairs were so dark that Bernie had to feel her way up them. She counted seven steps, then a landing, then five more steps after that. She could hear Libby crying, “Come back,” behind her, but she ignored her and kept on going. She was determined to get this squared away one way or another.
She tightened her grip on her knife, just in case Geoff was up there waiting for her, but she didn’t think he was. The space felt empty, devoid of life. She wouldn’t be able to explain to anyone why she felt that way, but she did, and by this time she’d learned to trust her instincts. It was when she didn’t that things usually went wrong.
She heard Libby say, “God, I hate you,” as she scrambled up behind her. By that time Bernie had reached the attic. It was lighter up there, the illumination coming from the moon shining through the window. It had finally stopped snowing. She moved over so Libby would have somewhere to stand.
“Welcome aboard,” she told her when she made it.
“I’d rather be on a cruise ship.”
“You get seasick.”
“I’d still rather be on a cruise ship.”
Bernie didn’t reply. She was too busy looking around. The room looked like the storage area their dad had built in their attic for their winter clothes, only this area was intended for human habitation. The room had been framed out with two-by-fours and sheetrocked with three-quarter-inch brads, which held the Sheetrock in place.
The Sheetrock went only two-thirds of the way up the two-by-fours. The rest of the space was open, leaving a view of the underside of the rafters supporting the roof. Bernie noted that the Sheetrock hadn’t been finished off here, either. It was down and dirty construction at its finest. Probably an amateur job, she decided. Certainly a professional would never want his name attached to something like this.
There were two pieces of furniture in the room. A twin bed and a small dresser with a lamp sitting on it.
“Home, sweet home,” Bernie murmured as she walked toward the bed.
She touched the coverlet. It was a thin cotton chenille. She lifted up the coverlet and felt the sheets. They were thin from too many washings. The single pillow on the bed was lumpy.
“It’s cold in here,” Libby noted. There was no sign of a heater.
“And boiling hot in the summer,” Bernie added as she went over to the dresser.
“You know how we said that Alma probably lived somewhere else and came in every day?” Libby said, taking in the surroundings. “I think we were wrong. Who else would be living up here?”
“The mad sister,” Bernie said.
“What?”
“Obviously you’re not up on your gothics,” Bernie said.
“Not since I was thirteen,” Libby answered.
She watched as Bernie pulled the top dresser drawer open. It was filled with neatly folded socks, cheap underpants, two old bras, and a couple of pairs of folded pajamas. There was a manila envelope sitting on the bottom. Bernie pulled it out and opened it up. The envelope contained three birthday cards signed Love, your son Roberto, a photograph, and a letter.
Bernie opened the letter and read, “‘Alma, if you continue harassing me, I will have no choice but to turn the matter over to the authorities. Your accusations re your son are baseless, and I will not be blackmailed by you.’ It’s signed ‘Monty.’” Bernie passed the letter over to Libby. “The letter is dated a little less than three weeks ago.”
“I bet that’s when he called the immigration on her.”
“It’s not too much of a stretch to make that assumption.”
“I wonder what she was accusing him of.”
Bernie studied Alma’s son’s photograph for a minute. “I think I know.” She tapped the picture with her fingernail. “Look at the kid’s chin. Does it remind you of anyone?”
“No.”
“Look again.”
“I still don’t see it.”
Bernie took the photo back. “The kid has Monty’s chin.”
“I think you’re stretching it.”
“He does,” Bernie insisted.
“I think you’re seeing that because of the letter. I can think of lots of other explanations.”
“But what if it is true?” Bernie insisted. “What if Alma had a son with Monty?”
“Well, it would open up a load of possibilities,” Libby conceded. “I wonder what Alma wanted Monty to do.”
“Obviously give her some money for the kid. That would explain why she agreed to live like this.” Bernie gestured toward the room. “He probably promised her he’d take care of the kid….”
“Like send him to college…,” Libby hypothesized, going along with Bernie’s scenario.
“And she kept asking him….”
“And he kept putting her off.”
“So finally she makes a threat—like she’s going to tell everyone.”
“And he calls immigration on her and has her taken away. Problem solved.”
“Which, if true, makes Monty even more of a turd than I thought he was.”
“Which is saying a lot.”
“Well, it’s certainly one way to get cheap labor.”
“Slave labor, really. With the attic door positioned the way it is, she couldn’t come or go without his knowledge.”
“And approval. I don’t think the door opens from the inside.”
“Lovely.” Libby sighed. “Good reason to kill someone. I wonder what the rest of the family will say when we ask about Roberto.”
“Something snotty and unhelpful, no doubt.” Bernie cocked her head toward the opening leading to the next room. “I bet that’s where Roberto slept,” she said, walking toward it.
“At least he had a room of his own,” Libby said.
“I suppose that’s something.”
“But not a lot.”
“Well, as Mom used to say, it’s better than a sharp poke in the eye,” Bernie replied as she and her sister stepped inside the second room.
It was very much like the first one. There was a narrow bed and a small dresser with a similar-looking lamp, but there was a thicker coverlet on the bed, a small area rug on the floor, and a small mammal cage shoved over into the far corner of the room.
