Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1) (8 page)

“If that’s what he believed, Callie, then he was a gosh-darned fool.”

I felt my spine stiffen, heard myself blurt out the words before I had the chance to bite
them back. Now that was
the real Barnstable curse, the not knowing when to zip it. “I never thought of my father as a fool, Ella. Even, and I’ll admit the possibility, if he had been decidedly foolish in his love for my mother. Who among us hasn’t been a fool in love?”

“You misunderstood my meaning, Callie. I never meant to imply that your papa was a fool for loving your mama. What I meant was, he was a fool if he was waiting for her all these years.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I believe your papa was right about one thing. Your mama would never have left you. At least not voluntarily.”

“Meaning?”

“That the dead don’t return, Callie. At least not in the flesh.”

I stared at Ella Cole for the better part of a minute before responding. I didn’t want her to suspect the real reason for my moving in. On the other hand, I had to find out what she knew.

“I always thought she’d just left us. Are you saying my mother is dead?”

Ella nodded, her gold-rimmed glasses sliding down her nose. She pushed them back up impatiently. “Darned things are always doing that. I don’t know how many times I’ve taken them to the optometrist to get them fixed. Something about the type of hinge.”

I dug my nails into my palms and tried not to show my impatience. “You were saying that you believe my mother is dead. Why is that?”

Ella nodded again. “I told the police this, though I’m not sure they ever did anything about it. Anyway, the year before that Valentine’s Day, it would have been 1985, I remember it clearly because that was the year I turned forty, and back then forty meant forty, not like today where you see forty-year-olds and even some fifty-year-olds wearing their teenaged daughter’s clothes, not that I’m judging, though I don’t think it’s becoming for someone that age to wear sweatpants with writing on their butt. Of course, that’s a conversation for another day.”

I nodded again, determined not to interrupt Ella’s flow. If I’d learned anything from my job at the call center it was that everyone had his or her own way of telling a story. Trying to speed that up was like taking an alternate route to avoid a construction zone, only to find yourself ten miles out of your way and stuck behind a traffic accident.

“As I was saying,” Ella said, “I remember because I turned forty the same day your mama turned twenty-five. Saturday, December 14th, 1985. Eddie and Jim—your papa—threw us a party, all folks from the neighborhood, we were a closely-knit bunch back then, and Eddie and Jim were best friends, despite a fifteen-year difference. Your mama and me, we got on well enough, especially since she could feed my sweet tooth with all her baking.” Ella gave a soft laugh. “I like to say I don’t just have a sweet tooth. All my teeth are sweet.”

I gave an obligatory chuckle. It was enough to get Ella to continue.

“It was that night I first suspected your mama was scared of something, though I should have cottoned onto it sooner, what with the photographs.”

I perked up considerably. “What photographs?”

Ella put one finger on the bridge of her glasses and nodded slowly. “She first mentioned it in February of that year, I think, though it might have been before. Time has blurred the edges off a lot of things. Anyway, your mama got it into her head to put together something she called ‘four seasons of a happy family.’ Four photographs of the three of you, all taken in the same place, one during each of the four seasons. As I recall, the first picture was taken right around Easter time.”

Even if I wanted to speak—which I didn’t for fear of Ella going off on a tangent—I didn’t think the words would come out.

“In hindsight,” Ella said, “I might have questioned why she felt the need for such a thing, but at the time, I just felt honored that she asked me.”

I almost blurted out, “Why the public school?” which not only would have clued Ella onto the fact that I’d found the photos, but that I’d figured out where they were taken. I sipped my tea and waited. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long. At this rate, Ella would still be here for breakfast.

“We decided to take the pictures in the schoolyard a couple blocks over. Your mama had planted a maple tree at the schoolyard the year before on Canada Day. It’s still there, if you go and look. She was real big on Canada Day, your mama was, and it had been part of some tree-planting initiative in Marketville. The residents went around planting saplings that had been provided by the town.”

I was wondering why my mother would have asked Ella to take the photographs when she answered my question.

“I liked to dabble in photography, which is why she asked me. Still do, though it’s decidedly easier with digital, especially with the variety of computer software out there now. Mind you, there is a learning curve if you want to do it right, and by that I mean not just snapping madly with your phone and seeing what shakes out. Back then, you took your shot, and it wasn’t until you developed it you knew whether it would turn out okay. I was a pretty good photographer if I do say so myself, and I had a decent camera. So your mama asked me, will I take the four seasons photos, and I said, sure, why not, because it never occurred to me at the time that there was anything odd about the request. Of course, you were too young to argue, and your papa, he would have done anything your mama wanted.”

“So you took the four photos.”

“I did. We took the first one in the spring, and we were all pleased with how well it turned out. I might not have given the whole matter another thought, but sure enough, come summer your mama asked again. By the time autumn came around, I was looking forward to her asking. I’d already planned the shoot in my head, the leaves turning that pretty shade of red-gold the way they do. The last photo, the winter one, was taken on December fourteenth, the morning of our birthdays.” Ella fidgeted with her teacup and took another cookie. “There was something different about your mama that day, something skittish and edgy, though you’d never know it from the photograph I took. At the time I put it down to nerves for that evening’s birthday party. Your mama was never comfortable with a crowd, blamed it on being an only child.”

I could understand that, being an only child myself. I didn’t mind one-on-one, but I much preferred my own company to the company of a group of others. Even so, I didn’t usually get skittish and edgy at the thought of a party. “You said ‘at the time you put it down to nerves.’ Do you mean that later on you thought it might have been something else?”

Ella bit her lower lip, the red lipstick now all but worn off, then gave a tentative nod. “It was when I gave her the last picture, the winter one of the three of you. She said, ‘Now if something happens, Callie will have something to remember our family by.’ That struck me as odd, but when I questioned her, she just laughed and said she was being overly dramatic. I wanted to pry but Eddie was always on me to mind my own business. Maybe if I had pried, your mama would be with us today.”

“So you’re absolutely convinced she’s dead?”

“Oh, it’s nothing I can prove. I do know something had put a scare into her good and proper. As to what, who, or why, I don’t have the answers. I wish I did.”

And I wished I knew why my dad had hidden the photos in a coffin underneath a plastic skeleton.

“I know you think my father was misguided, but he must have believed she’d come back. Why else would he have kept the house all these years?”

“He never talked about it with you?”

“I didn’t even know this house—” I stopped myself, but not in time. Ella caught on quick.

“You didn’t know about this house?”

I silently chastised myself. Before long, the neighborhood would be buzzing with this latest tidbit of information. But it was too late now.

“Not until the reading of my father’s will. I’ll admit to being surprised.”

“So you returned here.” Ella studied me with shrewd eyes. “But why?”

I stayed silent, shrugged, and stared at the floor, hoping that would be the end of it. No such luck.

“Let me guess. Some clause that made you live here for a certain period of time before you inherited the property. Misty Rivers suggested as much, but I thought she was just spouting nonsense. Same as I told her thinking this house was haunted was nonsense.”

“Misty Rivers told you this house was haunted?”

Ella nodded. “You see, Callie honey, she’s convinced that your mama was murdered, and until her killer is caught, she won’t rest.”

I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face. The last thing I needed was Ella telling anyone who would listen that my father had started to believe the same thing. I also wasn’t too impressed with Misty spreading that sort of gossip, making herself sound like some sort of great savior, instead of the money grubbing mercenary I suspected she was. I was about to tell Ella exactly that when her next question caught me off guard.

“What about you, Callie? What do you believe, now that you’re back here, living in this house, and rekindling old memories?”

Maybe it was the way she asked, straightforward and direct. Or maybe it was because at that very moment the furnace groaned, loud and clear. Whatever the reason, I found myself being completely honest with her for the first time since she’d stepped inside the front door.

“I don’t know, Ella. I guess I’m here to figure that out.”

Ella left shortly thereafter. I felt somewhat bad about not fessing up to finding the photos. It wasn’t like I’d have had to tell her about where I found them. Then again, I only had Ella’s word for it that she had taken the pictures, though I wasn’t sure how else she’d have known about them, and I couldn’t think of a reason why she’d lie. I decided to think on it for a while longer. If I couldn’t come up with anything, then I’d take them over to her house next week. I could always tell her I found them in my father’s things. Which wasn’t technically a lie. This house had been one of my father’s things.

There was something else in what Ella said, something that niggled at the edges of my mind, but I was too tired to try to pin it down. I decided to call it a night and fell into a dreamless sleep the minute my head hit the pillow.

I woke up refreshed and raring to go early Monday morning. The first thing I needed to do was phone Leith. I was put through after a brief chat with his receptionist.

“Callie,” Leith said. “I got your report on Friday. It was quite sufficient. There’s no need to call.”

It was good to know Leith didn’t expect a play-by-play of every detail in my life.

“This isn’t about that.”

“Surely you didn’t find any more skeletons?”

“No, thank heavens. I’m calling because I found a bank statement showing a safety deposit box rental. I’m pretty sure the key is on the ring you gave me. I wondered if you knew where the bank was and if you can make arrangements for me to check the contents.”

“Let me look into and get back to you by the end of the day. Anything else?”

“Actually, yes. All of this has made me want to find my grandparents. Maybe it’s just feeling like an orphan. Any suggestions on where I should start? I don’t even know where they live, or what their names are.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to tell you. I know your mother was from Lakeside. It’s a cottage community with a handful of year-round residents, roughly forty-five minutes northeast of Marketville. Your father met her one summer when he was up there camping. Unfortunately, I don’t know any more than that. Your father refused to talk about them. I gather they were less than accepting of him.”

That confirmed what I’d always believed, though it didn’t stop me from wanting to meet them. It was a long shot, but it was possible that my mother had stayed in touch with them without my dad knowing.

“What about my dad’s family?”

“Peter and Sandra Barnstable. They used to live in Toronto, but I know they moved around the time your parents got married. I’m afraid I don’t know where. They didn’t approve of the wedding and your father never forgave them. The man could hold a grudge.”

I sighed audibly, knowing it was the truth.

“You might consider hiring an information broker,” Leith said. “I’ll get my assistant to email you the names of a couple of reputable individuals we’ve used in the past. There are more than a few bandits out there.”

I’d no sooner hung up, wondering how much an information broker would cost, when the sing-songy chime of the doorbell rang through the house. That would be Royce, ready to talk about renovations.

Royce spent the better part of an hour showing me before-and-after plans on his tablet, which included knocking down a wall and adding a large central island that worked not only as a table with seating for eight, but as a room divider. I had to admit the finished product would be perfect: a cook’s kitchen, an open concept layout, and the added bonus of tying in the existing hardwood to slate tile in the entry and kitchen.

“It looks fantastic,” I said, “but how much will it cost?”

“That will depend on the cupboards and finishes you want, but I get a contractor’s discount at all the major building centers. Why don’t we go shopping one day this week and check out your options?” He checked his phone. “I’m good for Wednesday. I could pick you up around two.”

I didn’t want to explore how good the thought of spending time with Royce made me feel. At least not yet. Besides, kitchens sold houses and at the end of the year—or sooner—I planned to get out of Marketville and back to the anonymity of the city.

“Wednesday at two it is.”

After Royce left I pulled out the folder with the printed copies of the tenancy agreements from the past five years, hoping to find a possible key holder. I started with the one submitted by Misty Rivers, since I knew where she was now. Under ‘Employer’ she had written ‘self-employed’ and under method of rental payment, she’d agreed to first and last month’s rent and direct withdrawal from her bank account on the first of each month.

Misty had used two former landlords for her references. Both said she was a good tenant who always paid the rent on time. There were no other details, meaning it was unlikely Misty would have stayed in touch, let alone handed over a key to her new digs.

It was time to check out Jessica Tamarand, the woman who had broken her lease because she believed that the house was haunted.

The agreement listed Jessica Tamarand’s employer as Sun, Moon & Stars. I looked up the website. It advertised ‘a unique store setting supporting local artisans, fair trade, handcrafted and environmentally friendly products to assist in the healing journey.’

Under their services they listed Holistic Healing, Psychic Readings using tarot, tea leaves, and personal objects, Energy Psychology, Chakra Balancing, and something called Belvaspata, which was described as ‘angelic healing modality of effortless and quick change, that awakens you to your true Divinity and Majesty filling your heart with Joy.’ A list of their practitioners gave first names only. The tarot card reader went by Randi.

Could Randi be Jessica Tamarand? Leith told me Jessica had complained about noises in the attic and gotten out of her lease. Ella said she hadn’t stayed long, that she had worked at the new-agey place in the whole foods store on King. I checked the location. It fit.

Leith had believed Jessica was just looking for an early way out without paying the price, but what if some psychic ability actually made her uncomfortable in the house? I’d never been a believer but I was beginning to wonder.

What was it the Sun, Moon & Stars listing had said? I went back to the website and read it again. Psychic Readings, using tarot, tea leaves, and personal objects.

Tarot cards.

I needed to make an appointment with Randi.

The breathy-voiced receptionist at Sun, Moon & Stars informed me that Randi worked Tuesdays and Fridays, that readings lasted about an hour, and that Randi tended to book up quickly. However, she said, there had just been a cancellation. Could I make it tomorrow at eleven? If not, it would be another week. I took the appointment and asked if I could bring something for Randi to look at. I was assured that doing so would only assist Randi, and get me a more accurate reading, “although only God is completely accurate,” the receptionist said, and chuckled softly.