Haunted Page 5

  This morning I waited in ambush for Sherlock in the foyer of the great house. I’d had to resort to skulking because the cad refused to meet with me. The moment he came down the stairs I was upon him.

  “So, you show yourself,” I challenged.

  “You. Isn’t it a little soon for you to be so far away from your wet nurse.”

  “Sherlock, I consider you to be the worst sort of profiteer; namely, one who would bring misfortune upon a fine young woman simply to line your own pockets.”

  “Listen to the sniveling child speak of lining one’s pockets. Now who’s calling the kettle black?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had Jane check the family vault this morning. It seems that your mother’s ruby necklace has gone missing from the collection.”

  “There’s a simple explanation. I took it.”

  “I know you took it. Now, I want it back.”

  “I’m keeping my mother’s most prized jewel safe from your cloying hands.”

  “You’re a thief, that’s what you are. And I’ll let you know that I’ll have that necklace back in my hands by the day of the wedding or I’ll have the authorities on you.”

  I was dumbfounded. What more could I say? The man had called me a thief to my face in my own home. And now he threatened involvement of the law unless I returned it.

  I must confess that I could do no better than sputter and stall regarding the vehemence of my assault. The bounder simply smiled and walked away.

  I’ll return the necklace alright, I’ve decided. I’ll throw it in his face on the day of his betrothal to my beloved Jane. Then we’ll see if it becomes obvious who stands amongst us as the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  I flipped the page and found that I had come to the final entry.

  June 30, 1929,

  Today was the day. I can hardly convey how my heart ached watching from the doorway as my sister married a man that I hate more than the devil himself. Of course, I was forced to view the ceremony from the doorway of the church because my invitation to the blessed event had been rescinded at the last possible moment. Surely this was the work of Sherlock, one last insult to add to the injury he had already doled out to both me and my family.

  Now, alone in my room, I pen this last entry in my diary, for I intend to leave home forever after this last act is complete. Holding my mother’s necklace in my hand, I can only cry and pray she continues to rest in peace after the jewelry has been returned.

  For I go to the reception being held at the old family residence to confront the scoundrel, Sherlock, and throw the necklace into his face. God give me the strength I need to carry out this one last act.

  The diary concluded with a signature. When I saw the name scrawled across the page I nearly dropped the book in shock. Realizing that I had just found an important clue in the case, I closed the diary and slipped it into my pocket. I then went in search of Nurse Hailey to ask her a very important question. When I got the answer I’d expected, I got myself out of that house as quickly as possible. I needed to do some heavy thinking.

  * * *

  That evening was a regularly scheduled meeting of my writer’s group, the Lit Wits. Thank goodness that I didn’t have to read this evening, and neither did Althea, she being as huge as a blimp and barely able to get out of her chair. As I walked the sidewalk to the library I ran into Mr. Jackman getting out of his car and naturally fell into easy conversation with him.

  “Hello, Chloe. I heard that you were suspended,” he said, grabbing his briefcase out of his car and locking the door.

  “Oh? And you haven’t heard the one about me wanting the Chief to get me pregnant?”

  “No, I hadn’t heard that one yet. I’ll assume from your tone that neither rumor is true.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “But you have left the Hope Falls Police Department?”

  “I’m on leave of absence right now.”

  “Oh. That makes more sense. I couldn’t imagine Chief Wallace throwing you out, let alone letting you resign.”

  “I tried to resign, but he wouldn’t let me. He suspended me instead.”

  “I thought you said that you were on a leave of absence.”

  “You and my father, both. Look, we negotiated. Leave of absence was the compromise.”

  As we entered the library, we were greeted by this month’s greeter, Mary Beth Whitman. Mary Beth was a new member of the group. Tara Lee had stumbled across her at the grocery store, and after learning that Mary Beth was a published author, insisted that she join the group. Since then it was obvious that Tara Lee was grooming her as her personal protégé. Although Mary Beth had been quiet to date, she was scheduled to read this evening for the very first time.

  “Hi, Mary Beth,” I said shaking her hand.

  “Good evening, Miss Whitman,” Mr. Jackman said, bending to the woman’s hand and brushing the back of it with his lips. “Lawrence Jackman, at your service.”

  Way to go, Larry, I thought but did not say. After all, Mary Beth was an elegant woman in her fifties, with frosted hair, and wearing a dashing caftan. Why shouldn’t Mr. Jackman take notice of her? And she positively glowed at the gentlemanly attention. I could see an obvious spark between them that lightened my heart.

  But then I turned to the room and saw Mrs. Graves, standing by the coffee maker and glaring darts of anger in our direction. I didn’t think she was mad at me.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Suave had risen to stare longingly into the twinkling eyes of the newest Lit Wit. I began pulling on his coat sleeve and finally got his attention. By then, Mrs. Graves had turned her back to us and taken her seat.

  “What is it, Chloe?” Mr. Jackman asked in irritation. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

  “I can see that, and so can everyone else in the room.”

  We looked around and all eyes, except for those of Mrs. Graves, were directed our way.

  “Oh.”

  “Perhaps you should follow me and make amends,” I suggested, guiding him to a seat next to Mrs. Graves.

  I sat between the two of them just to make sure that a physical fight didn’t break out. I almost immediately felt my skin burning from the vibes coming off the two of them.

  “Good evening, Agatha,” Mr. Jackman said without looking her way.

  “Good evening, Lawrence. You ass,” Mrs. Graves replied.

  “I’m sorry? What was that?” Mr. Jackman asked, leaning in front of me.

  “You heard me,” Mrs. Graves insisted.

  I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable by the time our little get-together was called to order. As was always the case, the leader of the gathering was none other than Mrs. Tara Lee, scourge of the yet to be published. Mary Beth took a seat beside Mr. Jackman and I swear I could see the hairs on the back of Mrs. Graves’ neck bristle.

  “Good evening everyone,” Tara Lee began, then actually waited until everyone returned her greeting. “I hope that you’re all well and excited to spend another wondering evening pursuing that elusive craft we call the art of letters.”

  Maybe she calls it the art of letters, I thought. I call it writing.

  “This evening we have a particular treat in store for us since Mary Beth Whitman, our newest member, is going to read from her latest work. Miss Whitman is an published author, so we should all have something to learn from her. Now, if there is no other business to which we need to attend, I’ll pass the floor over to Mary Beth.”

  “Thank you, Tara Lee,” Mary Beth said, standing at our flimsy podium to organize her notes. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m a little nervous.”

  “You’ll do just fine, I’m sure,” Mr. Jackman assured her.

  Mary Beth returned a bright smile.

  “Ass,” I heard Mrs. Graves hiss.

  “Tonight, I’d like to read to you from the pivotal moment in my new novel. This is the point at which Jack confronts Carl, who he has found in his apartment.

  The night was inky black and the l
ight over his stoop had gone out before Jack returned home. It took him some time to fit his key into the lock, having to work by feel alone. When he finally stepped into his apartment, he immediately felt that something was wrong. It was as if there was a chill of expectation hanging in the very air.

  “If I may interrupt,” Tara Lee interrupted. “I want you all to note the atmosphere being evoked. Miss Whitman is obviously a professional who knows how to create engaging prose that will draw the reader into her story. Please proceed.”

  Mary Beth tried to smile confidently, though it was obvious that the interruption had thrown her off. Then she began reading again.

  The first thing that gave the intruder away was the faint smell of cologne in the air. The smell was accompanied by a furtive sound that directed Jack to the living room. There he spotted the silhouette of a man, standing against the dim light cast by the sliding glass window.

  “Who is it?” Jack called.

  “It’s me. Carl,” a husky voice replied.

  “What are you doing here?” Jack challenged.

  “I’ve come for you,” was the simple reply.

  “I hope that you all sense the tension that is building between these two characters,” Tara Lee interrupted again without first demanding permission. “I for one can tell that Carl means to do Jack some terrible injury. Go on.”

  Again, Mary Beth smiled awkwardly before continuing to read.

  “You know, I thought I might find you here,” Jack said.

  “So, what are you going to do about it?” Carl replied.

  With the speed of a panther, Jack was across the room before Carl could react. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Jack hurled Carl against the wall and pinned him there using his body.

  “Here comes the knife to the ribs. Get ready, everyone,” Tara Lee warned.

  With the force of a hunger too great to contain, Jack pressed his lips against Carl’s and began to devour him. Carl slipped his tongue into Jack’s mouth and pressed his hips against the man who was dominating him. Carl felt his manhood swell in response to the close contact.

  “Wait!” Tara Lee called. “What is this?”

  “This is my story,” Mary Beth answered timidly, obviously not understanding the question.

  “But, where’s the knife?”

  “There is no knife. Jack and Carl are lovers.”

  “Oh,” Tara Lee said in obvious disappointment.

  “What’s the problem, Tara Lee?” Mr. Jackman interposed. “We’re all adults here. We can handle a little smooching between two men.”

  “Take it from a man who does way too much smooching himself,” Mrs. Graves commented.

  “How’s that?”

  “Ass!”

  “Tara Lee, this is a freedom of speech issue,” Mr. Jackman pointed out.

  Mary Beth looked to Mr. Jackman as if he was her knight in shining armor.

  “You’re right. Proceed Miss Whitman,” Tara Lee said both sounding and looking disappointed and confused.

  Mary Beth took a shaky breath and started to read.

  Jack pulled down Carl’s pants and spun him around. Jack’s pants were next to come down, and while Carl bent over, shaking in anticipation, Jack climbed aboard the love train and started to drive…

  “Stop!” Tara Lee insisted. “Don’t read another word!”

  “Maybe we should have coffee now,” I suggested.

  “Just what kind of novels do you write, Miss Whitman?”

  “Why, male/male romance, really more gay erotica. I thought you knew.”

  Tara Lee stepped to the podium and removed the manuscript from Mary Beth’s hands. She turned the pages back to the cover and read.

  “Lick me, Suck me, …” Tara Lee blanched. “I refused to even say that word amongst polite society.” She handed the manuscript back and wiped her hands on her suit coat.

  I looked to Mr. Jackman. He looked horrified. I looked to Mrs. Graves. She looked smug. I looked to Mary Beth. She was already on the run, heading for the door as fast as her high heeled shoes would carry her.

  “Mary Beth, wait!” Mr. Jackman called.

  Mary Beth kept on running.

  “Ass!” Mrs. Graves barked.

  “I’m sorry, but have I done something to offend you, Mrs. Graves?”

  “I don’t know where to begin,” she replied. “Chasing after a woman half your age.”

  “She is not half my age, and I was not chasing after her.”

  “Then how do you know who I’m talking about?”

  Wow. I had to admit, she had him there.

  “Next time, look closer to home, you old fool,” Mrs. Graved declared, and then she was gone.

  That’s when it hit me. The next piece of the puzzle in my case had fallen into place. I had to admit that this wasn’t the best time or place to begin working on the case, but I had no choice. All I needed was someone to second my hypothesis.

  “Tell me, Mr. Jackman, why would a young man embarking on an important mission suddenly run away instead?” I asked.

  “What? Oh, I don’t know,” Mr. Jackman answered in confusion. “Fear, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, I already thought of that one and ruled it out.”

  “I suppose that he could have disappeared while conducting the mission.”

  “As in, something happened to him?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Possibly even an accident.”

  “Very likely.”

  “I agree.” I leaned over and kissed Mr. Jackman on the cheek. “You’re wonderful,” I said before standing to exit the library.

  “Chloe, this has been a very confusing and distressing evening,” Mr. Jackman said.

  “Hang in there, Larry,” I said, punching him in the shoulder. “She’ll turn around once she gets to thinking about you.”

  “You may be right. But which one?” He didn’t sound elated at the idea of two women being after him.

  I left Mr. Jackman to ponder the intricacies of male/female relationships while I went off to contemplate my own intricacies. Namely, should I keep working on the case or drop it like the bad penny it probably was?

  Chapter 6

  “What do you mean you’re dropping the case?” Alex demanded, mid-bite in his morning toast.

  “Simple, I’m considering dropping the case.”

  “But why? You were so adamant before about pursuing it to its bitter end.”

  “I just ran across some creepy information while I was out at the family residence in Thorny Springs yesterday. It made me feel uneasy.”

  “What could you possibly have found that would make you uneasy?”

  So, I explained everything to Alex, from the finding of the diary to the signature I found at the end of it. I even highlighted the brief, but shocking, discussion I’d had with Nurse Hailey afterward. He listened patiently, without interruption, before pronouncing judgment.

  “You’re right, you should drop the case immediately.”

  “I will. But first I have one last thing I need to look into.”

  “Honey, what are you talking about? You just said you’re dropping the case.”

  “Actually, if I can get this one last piece of information, I can write up a report and close the case instead.”

  “What exactly does getting your hands on this last piece of information entail?”

  “A little independent research.”

  “Approved.”

  “And one last trip back to the family residence in Thorny Springs.”

  “No! Absolutely not. That is absolutely out of the question. I forbid it!” Alex expostulated.

  “Alex, we discussed this before. You don’t want me to resign again, do you?”

  “No. Of course not. But I also don’t want you to go off and get yourself killed by some kook.”

  “Then why don’t you come with me?” I challenged.

  “I think I will,” he replied, stepping up to the challenge.

  “Good.”

 
“Good.”

  Now that we’d agreed things were good, we split up to go our separate ways. I agreed to meet Alex at the Cartwright place at two o’clock that afternoon. In the meantime, I had a long ride myself to the Thorny Springs county seat of Millsboro. Light sprinkles proved to be all I had to endure along the way. Once more, I dialed the radio directly to KOMA to get my easy listening fix.

  When I made it to the County Records Department, I was expecting trouble getting access to the specific records I needed. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Gladys, the head receptionist, led me directly to the archives where I began combing through the catalog of blueprints before taking my selection to the microfiche reader.

  And there it was, right in the center of the property, between the main family dwelling and the open lawn area where they must surely have held the reception. I made a printout of the property diagram and called to Gladys that I was done.

  My next stop was a pawn shop where I selected from one of a variety of metal detectors. It appeared that the hobby of scanning the beach for lost change had fallen out of favor and everyone had turned in their detectors. They offered quite a range of features. I selected the most powerful model I could find which I carried out of the shop and threw in the trunk of my car.

  Driving to the family residence, I wondered just who I might encounter: elderly woman or corpse, helpful caretaker or crone, family member or madman. All I knew is that I was glad Alex had agreed to come with me. This led me to wonder whether I had the guts to do what needed to be done without him at my side. I hoped the time never came.

  Pulling up before the Cartwright home, I was pleased to see that Alex was already waiting in his car which was parked at the curb out front. We left our vehicles at the same time but I ran to Alex throwing my arms around his neck and giving him a big hug.

  “Hey, remember, we need to keep up appearances in front of the clients,” Alex warned, pulling me away.

  “Humph,” I pouted. “I have no other intention in mind. I was simply greeting my boss the way I always do.”