Crops and Robbers (27 page)

Betsy nodded. “Okay. Well, I think we should take advantage of him not being home and try to look around the inside of the house. Let’s get those statements.”

She might have been even more inclined to criminal behavior than I was.

It was a risk, but one I was willing to take. I’d left a message for Ian. If I didn’t show up in good time, he’d check the area. Even if my truck disappeared, he’d be smart enough to suspect I was curious about the odd miniature castle and wanted to check it out.

“Sure,” I said.

She smiled conspiratorially. I hoped she wasn’t a killer, because I was beginning to really like her.

“Come on,” she said.

I looked around. There wasn’t another soul in sight, no humans or animals. It was just us, the mansion, and the vamps.

I followed as Betsy stepped surely along a cobblestone pathway to the front door, which was probably made from a whole tree. The dark wooden door was massive—tall and wide and carved with delicate vinelike detail. It was foreboding enough to scare away even brave solicitors, but not Betsy.

As she knocked, she looked at me and said, “It’s an act. The whole castle is some sort of compensation thing. I don’t know Nobel well enough to guess exactly what he’s compensating for, but I know he’s terribly insecure. Building this behemoth is somehow his way of dealing with all that.”

“You’re knocking. Do you think someone’s inside?” I asked.

“No, but it never hurts to make sure.”

“Good point.”

No one answered, and we were greeted with the type of silence that leaves no doubt that no one’s home.

Betsy tried the button on the door handle, but it didn’t budge.

“Didn’t think that would work,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go around back. I was allowed to walk around outside when I was here. If I remember correctly, there’s a sliding glass door.”

I hoped she didn’t plan on breaking the glass if the door was locked, but I just nodded and followed her. I looked up and around the building and surrounding trees as we made our way. I was looking for security cameras, but I didn’t see anything that made me think we were being watched or recorded. Unfortunately, that didn’t help settle the hair that was standing up on the back of my neck. We were out in the middle of nowhere, and the setting was creepy and disturbing.

And I liked it. More than I could admit to anyone, including myself, I liked acting on my curiosity no matter what risks were involved. There was something so compelling about the search for answers or truth that I didn’t want to resist it.

Betsy watched her feet, which made me think that either she wasn’t worried about security cameras or she knew for certain they didn’t exist or she didn’t care.

It was just as wooded behind the castle as it had been in front of it, but after only a short distance back, the trees cleared to a wide-open countryside. I could look through the trees and see rolling green hills past the tree line. I was glad there was no fence. If I needed to run, at least I wouldn’t have to climb or leap over anything.

True to Betsy’s memory, there was a sliding glass door in the back. It looked strange amid the vintage doors and windows, but it was probably extremely useful. On this side of it, a concrete patio held the most modern grill I’d ever seen. The only other things on the patio were one chair and one small side table. The sheer loneliness of the few items in the middle of the huge patio sent a wave of sympathy through my chest.

But, I told myself silently, weren’t many criminals loners? And strange, perhaps strange enough to build a castle out in the middle of the South Carolina countryside? And keep it a secret? I was continually surprised at the weirdness in the world.

On the other side of the glass doors was a kitchen to match any restaurant’s anywhere. There was a three-bin sink against a tiled wall—it was difficult to tell from the outside looking in, but it seemed the tile was a dark green, the cabinets a dark wood, and the floor done in just as dark a wood.

Against another wall stood a large six-burner stove with built-in oven and grill and a huge stainless refrigerator. A butcher-block island took up the center of the space. There was a slot around the perimeter of the block that was packed with knives, their points sticking down like ragged teeth. Of course, I wondered if Nobel had a fascination with the utensils and if that fascination had been why two people had been killed the way they had.

“People don’t know about this place? He doesn’t entertain?” I said.

Betsy shook her head. “He loves to cook. He loves to experiment with recipes. He’s probably always in his kitchen when he’s here, but he’s always alone from what I understand.”

If I lived in such a place—which I would never choose to do—I would have to have family and friends over just to justify having so much space. I wasn’t very social, but I also wasn’t a loner. I didn’t like anything about the way the eerie mansion made me feel.

Betsy reached for the door handle and pulled. The door swished open, and a gust of cool, air-conditioned air blew at our faces.

“We’re in,” Betsy said as if she’d said it before. “Come on.” She stepped up and into the kitchen.

“In for a penny,” I muttered quietly as I joined her in the kitchen.

Betsy sniffed. “Oregano. I know he’s been working on the spaghetti sauce here, too.”

I sniffed and was surprised at the smell. I knew what oregano smelled like. I’d smelled plenty of Herb and Don’s. I’d sometimes used it on foods I’d prepared, but there was something different about what I was smelling, something I recognized but couldn’t place.

“What else am I smelling?” I asked.

Betsy shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just smell oregano.”

“Does oregano smell like something else? Maybe cologne or something?”

Betsy laughed. “Not that I’m aware of. It smells good, but not that kind of good. Come on, we’d better get searching.”

Again, I let Betsy lead the way down a dark hallway and past some darker rooms. The temperature in the house was particularly cool, which only added to the atmosphere. We passed a bathroom, a room with a large grand piano, and a library with only one shelf stocked with books. After a left turn in the hallway, we came upon an office. It was well furnished with a large desk, a separate table with a couple more chairs, a large flat-screen television, and a recliner.

“When he’s not in the kitchen, I bet he’s in here,” I said.

“Yeah. And this would be the place to find bank statements if he’s got them. Let’s look around. I’ll take the desk, you take the file cabinet.”

“Remember, don’t leave fingerprints,” I said.

“Oh. Yeah. I should have thought of that,” Betsy said sincerely.

Using my knuckles, I opened the top file drawer. It was jam-packed with hanging files that were in turn jam-packed with papers. The drawer was so full that it was difficult to continue to use my knuckles, but I was motivated not to leave evidence.

“See anything?” Betsy said.

“It doesn’t seem organized. There are folders with months written on the tabs. From the best I can tell, each of those are full of recipes, either from newspapers or maybe just printed from a web page. I wonder if he looks at them after he files them.”

“He memorizes them.”

I turned and looked at her. “All of them?”

“So I was told.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s a crazy savant thing, but he can recite any recipe he’s ever read.”

“I can’t even remember my grandmother’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. I have to look at my recipe card every time.”

“What about your jam and preserve recipes? Do you have to look those up?”

“Well, no, but they’re not all that difficult, and I’ve made them hundreds of times.”

She shrugged. “It’s his passion—food, cooking, creating recipes that keep people coming back for more. I don’t think Joan contributed one new recipe to the restaurant since Nobel starting working there; that includes when he was a teenager and only worked part-time.”

I couldn’t fathom having the kind of mind that could memorize recipes.

“I bet he never has to write down a grocery list,” I said.

“Actually, he does. It’s just with recipes. It’s weird.”

We each went back to our searches. The two-drawer file cabinet didn’t seem to hold anything more important than recipes and more recipes. I didn’t take the time to inspect any of them closely, but one for apple fritters caught my attention briefly. I didn’t take it, though. If Nobel had some freaky gift for memorizing recipes, he probably knew where each of them was filed, too.

“Hey, Becca. I think I found the statements,” Betsy said incredulously.

“Really?” I closed the file drawer and joined her next to the desk.

She’d been rummaging around in the bottom side drawer of the desk and had pulled out a stack of cellophane-window envelopes. They were slit open across the top. The statements were back in the envelopes, the address showing through the cellophane windows. The recipient was Central South Carolina Restaurant Association with Nobel’s house address.

“I guess we’d better look at one. That’s what we came here for,” I said, though a part of me wondered if I was being set up. She seemed to find the statements pretty quickly—too quickly, maybe.

“How do we do that without leaving fingerprints?”

I had an idea, but I didn’t tell her what it was.

“I’ll risk it,” I said as I took an envelope from her hands and pulled out the statement.

It was a single sheet of paper that listed the account’s balance at the beginning of the month and then at the end. The account had $17,765 in it at the beginning of the month, and $1,389 at the end. There was no itemized listing of what the money was spent on, but a comment at the bottom read, “Thank you, valued customer. As per your request, your itemized listing of deposits and withdrawals is available online only. Please let us know whatever we can do to serve you better.”

“Shoot. They bank online,” I said.

“I wouldn’t have a clue what he uses for a password,” Betsy said.

Suddenly a loud click sounded from . . . from somewhere.

“What was that?” I said.

Betsy shrugged and then said quietly, “Can’t be Nobel. No way is he home early.”

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” My heart rate sped up as panic-induced adrenaline began to shoot through my system.

“What do we do?” Betsy asked.

“We get out of here.” I took the statement and envelope I’d touched and put them in my pocket. Without getting fingerprints on the other envelopes, I put them back in the drawer and shut it with my shin. Just as it shut, I heard the sound of barking dogs.

“Nobel has a dog? Or dogs?” I said.

“I didn’t think so.” Betsy shook her head. She was getting paler.

The barking got louder and louder as more than one dog got closer and closer. They sounded very angry, rabid maybe.

“Holy crap,” I said. “This isn’t good.” Had Nobel come home, seen our vehicles, and then gathered the dogs to attack? I didn’t remember seeing or hearing dogs anywhere.

The barking got even louder, but we were both frozen behind the desk. It was hard to tell from which direction the dogs were coming, which meant we didn’t know which direction to run.

“Maybe we should just shut the door and hope for the best,” I said.

I didn’t wait to hear Betsy’s response but stepped from behind the desk and ran to the office door. The barking continued to get louder, and it seemed my feet were in molasses as the dogs got closer.

Just as I reached the door, the barking reached a fever pitch and I was certain that I’d be greeted with foaming mouths and sharp teeth before I could shut it.

To make matters worse, Betsy screamed as my hand almost hit the doorknob. I thought maybe she’d seen a dog leaping for my fingers, so I abandoned that idea and took some steps backward. I lifted my arm to cover my face and waited for the imminent attack.

The barking dogs approached, their claws silent but their collective bark becoming deafening. And then the barking decreased in volume, as if the dogs had passed right in front of the door and then kept going.

I hadn’t seen them. How had I not seen them?

For a few long and thoughtful moments, I stood and stared at the open doorway and listened to my heavy, panicked breathing.

Finally I turned to Betsy and said, “What the hell was that?”

Her eyes were wide as she shook her head. Suddenly, the barking that had now become distant and faraway stopped altogether, followed by another click.

Betsy’s eyes went to the space above the door. I turned and looked up. There was a small square that was pocked with holes.

“Do you think that’s a speaker?” she asked, her voice still tight from the previous moments of fear. “Do you think the barking is part of some security system recording? I bet you could hear that outside. If I’d heard that when we were at the front door, it would have deterred me from trying to get inside.”