Mysteries of Holt House - A Mystery (3 page)

“There’s a lady bug on your sleeve,”
Sharon said, pointing at my arm.

“See? Lady bugs are good luck. It must be
a sign.”

“Sign my foot,” she said. “Lady bugs are
just crawly little bugs.”

“You know, Sharon, I think it must be fate
that we came out here today and found that portrait. I mean, fate must have led
us here.”

“Oh, brother,” she said under her breath.

“I heard that.”

Glancing over my shoulder in the direction
of the house, I had the strangest feeling I was being watched, too, but I
didn’t see anyone looking our way, and I didn’t see the drapes move. Sharon
didn’t seem to notice and I didn’t dwell on it or call it to her attention. I
didn’t want to spook her or confirm what she’d felt earlier.

We loaded our purchases into the car and
drove back to town. On the way home I asked Sharon if she wanted to come to my
place for dinner.

“Sure, but I want to drop my things off at
home first. I’ll drive over after I put everything away.”

I dropped her off at her place and
returned to my apartment.

Sharon showed up about an hour later. I’d
just put a casserole in the oven, so we sat down on the couch and discussed my
idea while we waited.

“It has some merit,” Sharon said
grudgingly, “although not much in my opinion. I hope you really are going to
give this more thought.”

“Sharon, I don’t want to go back to work
at the law firm. This way I’d have a continuing income and I’d have plenty to
keep me busy just keeping the place running and the guests happy.”

“I don’t know about this, Kelly,” she
said, hesitantly.

“You know, if it turns out to be a
thriving venture, maybe you could quit your job and come work with me. I can’t
do it all alone.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No. I mean it. We could have a lot of fun
running our own business. I figure you could be sort of a partner.”

The timer on the oven buzzed so I excused
myself while I took the casserole out of the oven.

“
There’s one drawback
,” I yelled
from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” Sharon walked in and began
setting the table while I prepared a salad.

“This project is going to take a huge
chunk out of the money I’ve got left. There will be enough for things I’ll
probably want to do to the house, and then maybe enough to keep me going for
six months or so. So it’s got to work or I’m back to square one, only I’ll be
the owner of a very large, very quiet home.”

“You’ve got to be out of your mind!”
Sharon paused, looking first thoughtful and then resigned. “Oh, well, they say
you’ve got to spend money to make money.”

“Yeah. If I fail, I just go back to a regular
job.”

The idea of going back to work made my
stomach churn and my heart pound.

Chapter Three

Over the next few days I spent every spare
moment working out the details. It looked good, at least on paper. I knew I
could afford the house, although I’d have to be careful, but I had plans to
make. I’d have to hire help, I knew I’d want to make some additions and minor
changes to the house, and this was the most important part, I had to find
people who wanted to live out in the country. I called and made an appointment
to see the house and asked Sharon to go with me.

On Wednesday, Sharon left work a few hours
early and drove to my apartment. While I waited for her, I got out the portrait
of Mrs. Holt and leaned it against the wall. The painting was the one item I’d
brought home with me. I was studying it when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I called.

“Admiring yourself?” Sharon sat down on
the couch next to me.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? I just can’t
believe we look so much alike. I’d like to find out more about her if I can.”

“Well, unless you find someone who knew
her, you’re going to have a problem. It appears she and her husband were very
reclusive.”

“I know. I wonder if that housekeeper is
still around. There must be someone who knows what her name is and what became
of her.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

We turned and looked at the portrait. Mrs.
Holt had been painted in subdued lighting. She was wearing a dark blue velvet
dress, which accentuated her deep blue eyes. The dress had a sloping neckline,
was slightly off the shoulders, and she wore a diamond necklace with matching
earrings. Her dark blonde hair was long and hung in soft curls around her face
and shoulders. It had been fluffed just enough around her face so the earrings
could be seen. The sleeves of the dress were long and billowy, and her delicate
hands rested in her lap with a blood-red rose gently clasped in her fingers.
She wore little or no make-up, and appeared to have a flawless complexion. She
looked like she was probably around thirty-five or so when the portrait was
painted.

She had a very relaxed half-smile on her
face, and her eyes sparkled while she appeared to gaze at someone. I couldn’t
see any hint of insanity, but then the stories I’d heard were merely rumors and
legends, and I was only looking at a painting.

I leaned forward and read the signature on
the painting. It simply said “Holt”. It must have been either a self-portrait
or her husband had been an artist. I couldn’t quite believe that it had been a
self-portrait.

I stood, ready to take another trip to
Holt House. “We’d better get going. I don’t want to miss my appointment to see
the house.”

We drove out to Holt House but the agent
hadn’t arrived yet, so we strolled around the house and tried to peek in the
windows. The drapes were still drawn so we couldn’t see anything.

While we waited for the agent to arrive,
we took a walk out to the garden. It was lovely, and obviously a lot of care
had gone into it. There was a simple maze of walkways, each one leading to a large
central area. I had a feeling there must have been plans to build something in
the center, but it had never been done.

We took one path which led us past ground
cover, and close by were masses of lavender flowers with a bluish-green
foliage. This path ran around the outer edges of the garden.

We followed a path leading to and from the
bare center of the maze. On one side of the path we saw stately looking rose
bushes, all blooming with blood-red flowers. I couldn’t help but wonder if the
rose in Mrs. Holt’s portrait came from one of these bushes. Everywhere we
looked we were awestruck by the profusion of color. I glanced up at the
mountain range and sighed.

An idea began to take shape in my mind
while we sat on a garden bench, waiting for the agent, an idea about what to do
with the vacant center of the garden. I’d have to mull it over before I made a
decision.

About ten minutes passed before I heard a
car coming. We walked out to the front of the house to meet the agent.

“Good afternoon, ladies. I’m Jasper
Morris. Call me Jasper. Which one of you is Miss Sanders?” He pried his bulky
frame out of his car.

“I am,” I replied, trying not to stare,
“and you can call me Kelly. This is my friend, Sharon.” I pointed in Sharon’s
general direction.

Jasper had trouble walking because he
carried so much extra weight. He was about five feet eight inches and had to
weigh at least three hundred fifty pounds. He was having trouble breathing as
we strolled toward the house.

I found myself forgetting about his weight
while we chatted. He was a pleasant man with an engaging personality. The three
of us talked while we gazed around the grounds. He thought we should start on
the outside and work our way into the house.

“You’ll like the garden,” he said.

“I love it,” I said. “We had a chance to
look around while we were waiting for you. By the way, who’s been doing the
gardening?”

“I really can’t tell you,” he replied.
“That’s one of the many mysteries about this place. Someone has been keeping
the house and grounds up for the past several years, but no one has any idea
who it is. No one has come forward and made a claim on the estate, and the
monetary portion of the estate ran out about a year ago. The taxes being in
arrears, the property has to be sold.”

“Interesting,” I said thoughtfully.

“I think it’s kind of strange myself,”
Sharon said. “Why would anyone go to all that trouble and work and not get
something in return? It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

“I’ll tell you what I think is
interesting,” Jasper said, looking at me, “your resemblance to Mrs. Holt. Add
that to the fact that you want the house, and you’ve
really
got
interesting.”

“Kind of weird, isn’t it,” I said,
laughing.

I proceeded to tell him what my plans were
for the house, probably going into more detail than he wanted to hear.

“It does have possibilities.”  His
words were encouraging, but his expression said volumes about how naïve he
thought I might be.

“I honestly think it can work.” I was
becoming more determined by the moment.

“Well, come on and I’ll show you the
inside of the house. My men arranged the furniture for you, so you can get a
good idea of how it will look if you buy the house. You realize, of course,
that the house will be auctioned off just like the contents were, don’t you?”

“Yes, I understand that. Have many other
people shown an interest?”

“Actually, you’re the only one who’s shown
any interest at all so far,” he replied with a sheepish grin. “This place is so
far out of town, and it’s too big for most people’s needs.”

“Good!”

“Well, that ought to keep the price down
anyway.” Sharon grinned.

“Come on, ladies,” Jasper said, chuckling.
“Here’s a little something you probably don’t know.” He unlocked the front
door. “Most of the furniture you purchased is as original as the house. When
the Holts bought the place, the furniture came with it. Mrs. Holt had the
furniture restored because it was so perfect. She liked the way everything
worked together.”

“I can understand,” I said, looking
around, “but how do you know how she felt?”

“It’s in her books,” he explained, as if I
knew what he was talking about.

“Books?”

“Oh, yes. She kept records of all of the
household transactions. Just about everything that took place around this house
is recorded, along with some of her comments.”

“Good. Do the books come with the house?”

“Probably, but I’ll have to check and let
you know for sure. I wouldn’t think the historical groups or anyone else will
want them.”

“I heard the Holts were killed in an auto
accident on their way to town.” Sharon was fishing for information – I could
hear it in her voice. “I heard, among other things, that Mrs. Holt fell down
the stairs or something and hurt herself. Supposedly her husband was driving
her into town to the hospital when she went berserk and grabbed the steering
wheel, forcing the car off the road.

“They hit a tree by the side of the road,”
she continued, “and by the time someone finally came along and found them, she
was already dead and he was dying. It’s said he told the passerby what
happened, and then he died, too.”

“Where did you hear that?” I asked.

“I’ve been asking questions around town,”
Sharon replied.

“I guess you have.”

“Well, you heard right,” Jasper said.

Chapter Four

June 16, 1989 was a warm day. Amelia
and George Holt finished eating their lunch and moved to the living room to
relax. They’d worked in the garden all morning. It was the housekeeper’s day
off.

“George, do you think they’ll find him?
It’s been almost a month since he disappeared.” Amelia sounded nervous.

“I know, dear, but there’s just no
telling. I only hope he doesn’t decide to come back here.”

“He’s already here.” A strong voice
came from the entryway.

Amelia’s heart began to pound as she
turned to see who was speaking, hoping she was hearing things, but knowing it
was him.

“It’s all over for you two, you know.”
His voice sounded far too calm for someone on the run.

George stood up, and as he did so the
man took a step forward. George saw a flash of silver as the man turned the
knife he held in his hand. Grabbing Amelia’s arm, George pulled her up,
dragging her behind him as he left the house through the patio door. He knew
this man didn’t make idle threats, and he had a scar on his face to prove it.

They started toward the front of the
house, but Amelia fell.

“I can’t get up. It’s my ankle.” Panic
resonated in her words.

George lifted her and rushed to the
car. The laughter he heard as he’d run out the door still rang in his ears.

“Got to get you in the car,” he said,
pulling open the door and shoving Amelia in. “We’ll get help.”