Murder at the Mansion (9 page)

The
ooh
s and
ahh
s started again as people tasted the melt-in-your-mouth goodness of her creation.

Deputy Stanton put his fork down. “That was fabulous. Helen, you did a great job. Redwood Cove B and B might lose you to this new business of yours.”

“Thanks, Bill. I'm glad you liked it.” Helen busied herself in the kitchen.

“Gotta go. A lot to do.” Deputy Sheriff Stanton stood.

Gertie picked up his dish. “Have you had dinner?”

“No. I'll catch a bite on the way back to the station.”

Gertie put an empty plate on the counter. “Nonsense. We'll fix you something to take.”

“No, really, don't bother—”

“William.” Gertie's stern voice belied the twinkle in her eyes. “Be polite and accept the offer.”

“Yes, ma'am. Thank you.” The fondness in Deputy Stanton's face was clear.

Helen pulled some plastic bags from a box Gertie had put on the counter so everyone could take some leftovers. “We'll put some food together for you while you talk to Gertie about what happened this evening.”

He frowned. “Something happened I should know about?”

Gertie told him the story, and Rudy handed him the notes.

Wearing an exasperated expression, Stanton said, “Why didn't you call it in?”

“Billy, the person was gone, I knew you were coming, and the officers all have so much to do. It just didn't make any sense to do that.”

Stanton shook his head.

While the group cleaned up in the kitchen, I touched Stanton's arm. “I have something to show you.”

I inclined my head toward the room where my coat was, and he followed me. I turned on the light, pulled the hatpin from my purse, and handed it to him in its protective tissue.

“I found this when I collected the chard damaged from Gertie's fall. It could easily have caused the marks on Gertie's hand.” I showed him the photos of her scratches.

His lips formed a tight line when he saw the jagged red lines on the back of the frail hand. He inspected the piece. “I agree with you.”

“There's more. I believe this is one I inventoried at the mansion this morning.” I showed him the picture. “The top has a distinctive pattern. I left it locked in the cabinet. I checked, and I still have the key in my purse.”

“Who else would have a key?”

“The only person I know of is Margaret Hensley.”

And she was about my height.

M
argaret Hensley? Unlikely. An image of the designer skirt-and-jacket manager donning a bulky coat and sweatpants flashed through my mind. Highly unlikely. But the hatpin tied the attack on Gertie to Redwood Heights . . . the scene of a murder.

The deputy put the hatpin on a nightstand. “Can you think of any reason why she might do something like this?”

“Absolutely none. I don't know if she's ever even met Gertie.”

Stanton reached in his pocket for his phone.

“Deputy Stanton, this pin links Gertie to the mansion.” I looked at him. “Where a woman was killed today.”

“You're right. I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “I'd appreciate it if you'd get Stevie for me.”

“Sure.” I left the room as Stanton speed-dialed a number.

Gertie was resting in the living room recliner with Jill curled up in her lap. Stevie sat on the floor, leaning back on his mom's chair. Jack stretched out on the big bed Fred had been in. The basset hound pretended he fit in the little beagle's bed. The other bed is always better. Life with dogs.

“Stevie, Deputy Stanton would like to talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure.” Stevie stood, and we returned to the bedroom.

Deputy Stanton closed his phone as we walked in. “Stevie, I know your mom thinks this is nothing more than a purse snatching and the person is long gone. She could be right, but until we know more, I think we should be very cautious. Are you staying here tonight?”

“Yes. I always do when I'm in town. It gives us more time together.”

“Good,” Stanton said.

“The Sentinels are meeting at Kelly's place tomorrow, and I plan to drive her there,” Stevie said.

Stanton cocked an eyebrow at me.

“One of the boxes from Redwood Heights had photos and newspaper clippings. The group plans to sort those for me,” I said.

Stanton nodded. “She's covered for now, then. I'll see what I can find out.”

We joined the others. The Professor and Helen had prepared containers and resealable bags of food, and they were piled high on the counter: Thanksgiving leftovers for everyone to enjoy.

Helen picked up a paper bag and handed it to Deputy Stanton. “Bill, this is for you. I put a couple of extra pieces of cake in there in case some of the other officers needed a pick-me-up this evening.”

“Very thoughtful of you, Helen. I know they'll appreciate it.”

Her cheeks blossomed a rosy color. “Glad to help.”

Stanton left and the rest of us packed up to go. I noticed an antique butcher block in the center of the kitchen, its top uneven from years of use. I knew from the one on the ranch, the four bolts on the side connected to a through-rod, and there'd be matching hardware on the other side. The thick slabs of wood were probably maple.

“Gertie, this looks like it's been around for a while. It's an amazing piece.”

Gertie was helping distribute food. “Belonged to my grandparents. My roots are Pennsylvania Dutch. Everything sturdy, long-lasting, practical . . . furnishings, equipment . . . even people.”

“What about the beautiful star-patterned quilt in the bedroom?”

“Same. Sewn together over years from leftover scraps of material. Waste not, want not.”

“It's a work of art.”

“Thanks. It's a family heirloom.”

We left with our bags of food and warm feelings of friendship. It would've been perfect if it hadn't been for the attack on Gertie.

 

The alarm sounded and pulled me from a deep sleep after what had mostly been a night of tossing and turning. The bloody scratches on the back of Gertie's hand had dominated the dark hours. Who had done it? Were they only after the phone? What was the connection to the mansion?

I hoped answers would be forthcoming soon. While the coffee brewed, I took a quick shower. Pouring myself a cup, I readied myself for the day. The strong black liquid gave me the energy I'd been deprived of from lack of sleep.

I'd decided the small table next to the picture windows in the main room would be a good place to begin each morning as I did my makeup. I'd placed the raven fetish there. I liked the idea of sharing the beginning of my day with him. His wisdom guiding my plans . . . if you believed in such things.

“So, Mr. Raven, anything you have to offer would be welcome.”

His turquoise eye looked at me from his cocked head, but he gave no answers.

Time for breakfast. I left the room and headed for the kitchen. As soon as I entered the hallway, I caught a whiff of homemade bread, a distinctive aroma and one I loved.

Tommy was perched at the counter with his usual breakfast of fresh fruit adorning his cereal. Helen pulled loaf pans from the oven and put them on cooling racks. Fred wagged his tail, thumping the floor, but didn't move from his place near Tommy.

Helen put her hot pads down. “Good morning, Kelly.”

I pulled out a stool from under the counter. “Hi, Helen.” I looked down at Fred. He wagged again. “Last night was a lot of fun . . . except for what happened to Gertie.”

Helen put assorted jams, honey, and peanut butter on the counter, along with a basket of sliced bread. A plate and silverware followed. “I agree. I hope they find whoever did it.”

I slathered chunky peanut butter on the warm wheat bread and drizzled local honey on top. I savored a bite and followed it with a sip of dark, rich coffee.

Helen turned to Tommy. “Time for you to get to school, young man.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Tommy grabbed his backpack, gave his mom and Fred each a hug, and left.

I got up and put my coffee mug in the sink. “The Sentinels will be here shortly. I'd—”

Tommy burst through the door. His eyes were wide and terrified, his fright palpable. His anguished look ripped at my heart.

His mother was next to him in an instant. “Tommy, what is it?”

“Mi . . . Mi . . . Miss Kelly, your car, smashed glass . . . windows . . .”

Even though my insides froze, I got up, trying to project calm. Tears started down his cheeks.

“Everything will be okay, Tommy.”

What had happened? I hurried outside and over to my Jeep. Everything appeared normal until I went to the passenger side. Fragments of glass covered the ground. Sharp shards of glass still hung in the window frame: a disturbing vision for a young boy to see . . . or for me.

Returning to the driver's side, I opened the door. Glass littered the inside, covering the seat and the dashboard. I looked in back. The boxes were gone. Why would someone want Christmas ornaments and books? I remembered the boxes weren't labeled. Was someone taking a chance there was something valuable inside? A smash-and-grab?

As I walked back to the inn, another thought occurred to me. At the meeting with Hensley and the staff, I hadn't said how many boxes I was taking, just what was in them. There'd been a lot going on at the mansion lately. Did someone think the ones in my vehicle contained the papers I'd mentioned? Was there something important in them?

I entered the kitchen area. Tommy sat on the floor rubbing Fred's ears.

“Tommy, I understand why you're so upset. All the broken glass is scary. I'm sorry you had to find it.”

He continued petting Fred, his red-rimmed eyes looking at the dog.

“The good news is, it can be fixed and nothing important was taken.”

Helen took out a piece of paper and a pen. “Honey, time for school. I'll write you a note about being late.”

Tommy stood, got his school stuff, and took the note from his mom. He turned to me. “I'm sorry about your car, Miss Kelly.”

“Thanks, Tommy. Like I said, everything will be fine.”

He left for school.

Helen frowned as she cleared the table. “It makes me uncomfortable to think someone broke into your vehicle here at the inn.”

“Me too. I'm glad we had the alarm put in your cottage.”

Helen nodded. “It definitely makes me feel safer.”

“I'll go report this to the police, call my insurance company, and get the ball rolling to get it fixed.”

Helen picked up thermoses of coffee. “I've got the room ready for the Silver Sentinels. I already put some muffins in there.”

“Great. They should be here any time.”

Returning to my room, I took care of the phone calls. The thought of someone being on the grounds and doing the damage they did made me shudder. I looked over at the box of legal papers. Hard to imagine there might be something important in those old documents. Still . . . with all that had been happening, I decided to be safe and lock them in the oak cabinet in the B & B's office and lock that room as well.

As I completed the task, happy chattering told me the Sentinels had arrived.

Joining them in the conference room, I saw they had already started sorting clippings and photos. I received a collective greeting and smiles from all around.

Mary bustled in carrying a container and put it on the table. “Hello, everyone. Sorry I'm late.”

“No problem, my dear. We just got started,” the Professor said.

She took out two plastic boxes. Removing the lid from one, she placed it in the center of the table within easy reach of the busy group. A sweet smell wafted up from squares of cake topped with toasted coconut, cinnamon, and brown sugar.

“It's Pennsylvania Dutch coffee crumb cake. Please, everyone, have some.” Mary handed the other container to Gertie. “I made this cake for you and Stevie, a tribute to your heritage and a thank-you for last night.”

Gertie took the offering and placed it on the chair next to her. “That's very sweet of you, Mary.” Gertie smiled at her. “Matches your personality. Stevie and I will enjoy it.”

Mary removed her long-sleeved fleece. Its distinctive optical star pattern with eight points reminded me of a Navajo saddle blanket, as did the cream, red, and black colors.

Gertie held up a black-and-white photo of a young woman dressed in a tailored suit, high-necked white blouse, and an ascot secured with a pin. The nipped-in waist suggested a corset. The bowler she wore had a tightly rolled rim, and she carried a riding crop in her gloved hands.

“Looks like the lady of the mansion,” the Professor said.

Gertie put the photo on the table. “I wonder if this was Brandon's first wife or the second. It'll be fun putting all the photos and articles together.”

“Is like a jigsaw puzzle,” Rudy said. “Ivan and I do each winter.” Every so often a little bit of broken English popped in amid his Russian accent.

I put a key on the table. “I'd like the room locked when you're not here. You can keep this until the project's completed.”

I left them to their discoveries, got my things, and headed for Redwood Heights walking at a brisk pace. The crisp air invigorated me, and I was ready to dive into the inventory. A deputy sheriff's car in front of the mansion brought yesterday's memory of finding Sylvia back full force. The upbeat feeling left.

The front door opened, and a man stepped out. I stopped in my tracks. A tall, dark, handsome man. There was a reason that description got used so much. It said it all. And I knew him. Scott Thompson, a top executive director for Resorts International. I hadn't expected this.

His face brightened with a smile when he saw me. “Kelly, hi! I heard you were helping here.”

My heart raced while my mind pulled hard on the reins. Attracted to him? Yes. Ready to start another relationship? No. He came up and gave me a quick hug.

“Hi, Scott. Good to see you. I'm doing an inventory until Redwood Cove B and B is ready for visitors.” My feelings were always mixed when I was around him.

“It's wonderful to see you again.” His face turned serious. “Though I wish we could meet when there wasn't a tragedy involved.”

“I couldn't agree more. What time did you get in?”

“Michael and I flew in around ten and went to his place.”

Michael Corrigan owned a property a short distance out of town, often used as an employee retreat. It was where he stayed when in the area.

“I'm sorry to hear you were the one who found the body. That must've been disturbing.”

“It was.” I saw a vision of Sylvia's body slumped in the chair. How long would reliving it go on? Forever?

“I don't know what's happening this evening, but I'd love to grab a bite to eat with you if I can.”

“Sure.” I recalled the informal dinner and conversation we'd had the last time we got together. “I'd like that.”
Maybe
.

“I'll give you a call later, and we'll see what's going on.”

“Sounds good.”

He smiled at me again, and his blue eyes gave me more than a casual look. “Good to see you.” He reached out and gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “We'll talk soon.”

He walked to the company's black Mercedes, which Corrigan stored at the small airport where he kept his plane. When he wasn't using it, the Resorts International properties had access to it for guests. I turned and entered the mansion. I felt so torn every time I saw Scott.

I went to the parlor and over to the cabinet. Unlocking it, the first thing I looked for was last night's pin. Gone. I wasn't surprised. Its design was distinctive and the likelihood there were two was about nil.

I took out my list and my camera and began to work my way through the other items. I pulled out another cushion of hatpins—black velvet trimmed with a silver braid. I froze. The centerpiece was a long hatpin with the metal thicker than the others. On top was a large egg-shaped pearl. An image of Sylvia's body once again flashed through my mind. The pearl at the center of the blood was burned into my mind.