A Lethal Time (A Samantha Jamison Mystery Volume 4) (2 page)

Chapter 3

Living Large

Always thinking ahead, Clay had our bags shipped via UPS. We finally arrived at Sally’s and made our way up the gravel driveway, which looked about five hundred feet long and was bordered by hand-stacked stone rows that were roughly three feet high, just like those picturesque postcards of New England you always see in the stores.

This was not what I had in mind when picturing a quaint colonial farm. It had to be over seven thousand square feet with an attached, multistoried barn that looked around ten thousand square feet. Crystal had said the barn was over a hundred years old, but never mentioned the actual size.

This white colonial with its black shutters was a pleasant surprise and revealed another side of Crystal of which I was totally unaware. Apparently, contrary to her husband’s side, her side of the family appeared normal and successful. I smiled at how timely it was to have stepped into this. Yes, sir, things were now definitely looking up in the lodging department. So I relaxed at the prospect of a laid-back time.

We pulled into the upper parking area by the front door. I gave a final sigh of relief and began stretching to get everything back in place. A man emerged from the main barn door and headed directly toward us. He had to be the groundskeeper, Dan, because, according to Crystal’s last text to me Sally and Tom had already left for their trip.

I was told Dan’s apartment was tucked away on the second and third floor of the barn. I looked all around. From that perch, he had a sweeping view of the mountain across the way as well as much of the farm’s property.

Clay swung himself off the bike and offered his hand to help me off, and then turned to the groundskeeper. “Hi, you must be Dan. This is Samantha Jamison and I’m Clay Masters. We’re here to housesit for Sally and Tom.”

I’m guessing Dan was in his late fifties, had a receding hairline and medium build. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and was dressed in well-worn jeans, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, and working boots. He extended his hand and gave us a big smile in response.

“Perfect timing. I’m off to visit my sister who’s sick in Connecticut,” he said. “Nothing serious. I’ll be back in a week. I left instructions on the kitchen counter, in addition to the ones left by Sally. Oh, and your luggage arrived, so I put it upstairs in the hallway outside your room. Sally’s instructions are pretty much self-explanatory, but just in case, I’ll walk you through the barn to explain about the three horses and show you where their supplies are kept.”

About an hour later, we stood watching Dan’s pickup truck disappear around the corner after exiting the long drive. We turned back to look at the house and smiled.

“After you, Sam,” said Clay, gesturing toward the door.

“Wow,” was all I was able to come up with. The house was traditionally decorated with a sprinkling of antiques here and there. The fully equipped kitchen with commercial gas stove and large granite island was impressive, as was the attached family room with its river-stone fireplace, sixty-inch satellite TV, French doors overlooking the back fields, and fenced-in pastures, complete with horses grazing in the distance. I looked at Clay and grinned.

“I can do this. It’s a piece of cake!”

Like before, what were the odds I’d regret saying that?

Chapter 4

Planning A Strategy

We wandered around for an hour or so, marveling at the house and what it offered. Then I reluctantly climbed back onto Clay’s Harley to get some groceries. Since we both loved cooking, there was a lot of good-natured bantering going back and forth as to who would cook dinner. A compromise was finally struck when both of us decided we would cook together, an experiment in compatibility.

After returning, we unpacked, prepared Beef Medallions in red wine with salad, and then sat in front of a small fire sipping the leftover wine from dinner, a
Côtes du Rhône.

Clay held up his glass. “Here’s to a trip to remember.”

I joined in. “I hope it’s worth remembering.”

He frowned. “And what was that supposed to mean?”

I shrugged. “When dealing with you, nothing is sacred and nothing is taken for granted.”

Clay gave me a sly grin. “You catch on fast.”

I started to yawn. “So, what’s on our agenda?”

His eyes seared mine. “I know what’s on my agenda.”

I was about to speak when something crashed through the window, flying past my head as I ducked. Clay jumped up, quickly ran over to the door, and swung it open, while switching on the outdoor lights to see where it came from.

I was at his side in a heartbeat. “What was that?”

We watched as a set of taillights, already in the distance, turned right at the end of Sally’s driveway.

Clay nudged me. “Does anyone know you are here?”

I became annoyed in a flash. “Why ask me that?”

“Because you seem to be a magnet for trouble.”

I became defensive. “Well, what about you? I heard you have an enemy or two.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but no one knows I’m here.”

“Well, where do they think you are?”

“Back in Highlands at The Bookworm,” he shot back sarcastically. “You know, where my bookstore is located?”

I turned away from the door. “Hah! Likely story.”

He mumbled something, and then followed me into the house after bolting the door. “A guy has to make a living.”

“Yeah, and if I’m not mistaken, selling books lately hasn’t exactly been lucrative, has it?”

He conceded the point by nodding and quickly chose neutral territory. “Let’s go see what damage was done.”

We headed over to have a look. Clay reached down and picked up a rock. “Hey, there’s a message attached.”

I ripped it out of his hands. “Let me see.”

“Well, what does it say?” he asked impatiently.

“This doesn’t make sense. All it says is, ‘If you value your horses, don’t mess with Robinson’s house.’”

Who was Robinson? Why were Sally’s horses involved?

Chapter 5

No Recourse & The Last Course!

While Clay boarded up the window, I made a quick phone call to Sally. After several minutes, I hung up and rejoined Clay. “It appears this Robinson guy was the owner of the property adjacent to this one. Sally bought it about a month ago with plans to increase her acreage and add an indoor riding arena with more facilities and some pastures.”

“Sounds reasonable,” said Clay. “But why the rock?”

“Evidently some locals were against it, especially after someone spread a false rumor she wanted to put in a landing pad for her husband’s helicopter trips to the city.”

“Does she want us to report the incident?”

“No. She doesn’t want to take that route, yet.”

“Why not? I think the authorities should know.”

“She wants us to check out Robinson’s property first.”

“What for?” he asked. “I thought we were housesitting.”

“She feels the sale of the property to her and Tom has suddenly drawn negative interest, but she can’t believe it’s just that rumor. This rock-throwing incident is something more and might be lingering anger.”

Clay grimaced. “Does this involve any digging?”

I laughed. “Only for unusual info that might be valuable or historical. Robinson’s house is old, built around 1779. Robinson died suddenly in a nursing home and his estate listed it for sale because his relatives had no interest in the property or its contents. Before they changed their minds, Sally scooped it up, not wanting someone else or a motivated builder to take advantage, buy it, and then build a development running alongside the back of hers.”

“Was a builder interested in the property?”

“According to her, yes, a local guy. He was lowballing the relatives, knowing they were extremely eager to dump the property and all its contents for some quick cash.”

“You mean even Robinson’s clothes are still there?”

“According to Sally, like the day he left for the home.”

Clay gave it some thought. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to pay a visit to Robinson’s property to see what’s going on over there in the morning. It might be nothing at all.”

I nodded. “It would ease her concerns. She said Tom’s too busy running his computer business to check it out. It’s just a feeling she has that something isn’t right.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Apparently, flickering lights were spotted twice by a neighbor, which made Sally uncomfortable because from the time when Robinson died, that house has been locked for a quite a while, and boarded up since closing, still is.”

“Maybe it’s an electrical short.”

“Can’t be. Sally has all the electricity shut off.”

“Then that flickering light must be a flashlight. Have the police checked it out?”

“Yes, but only the exterior. Since it was cross-boarded up with the windows locked and still secure, they let it go. And because of those flickering lights, Sally’s uneasy about going there alone.”

“In that case, we’ll get an early start in the morning to find out how someone might be getting inside.”

I got up from the leather couch and headed for the stairs, but Clay quickly snagged me back, giving me an evil grin.

“What?” I asked, startled. “Did I forget something?”

“Yeah, me,” he said, laughing, and then scooped me up into his arms. “We’ve got unfinished business, remember?”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked. “And what might that be?”

“Here’s a little clue,” said tall, lean and handsome, Clay.

Then he offered me one of his oh, so lethal kisses.

I came up for air, breathless.

If I had any socks on, they would have been knocked off!

“That was some clue!” I said, slowly running my fingers through his dark hair with a wicked look in my eye.

“We forgot dessert,” he whispered.

I pointed to the stairs. “Why, that’s my favorite course!”

Oh, I had a real bad sweet tooth.

Chapter 6

Creepy Doesn’t Even Cover It

We slowly began walking the perimeter of Robinson’s house, shoving back tall weeds and ribbon grass. We were wearing jeans, shirts with protective long sleeves, and boots. Sally said that until they could start renovations, the front door would stay boarded up. It was too close to the road and a constant temptation to burglars. Seeing nothing disturbed, or any forced entry, we headed for the back door.

I fiddled with the key Sally said could be found in her nightstand and slid it into the heavy padlock. Already knowing the electricity was off I was hesitant to see what was on the other side of the peeling door and dim interior.

Wary of the clumps of spider webs too close for my comfort, creeping overgrowth, and tangled vines snagging my jeans, I wasn’t overly comfortable with what we were about to do. I sighed at the sight of the perennial gardens now smothered and overgrown with tall, spiky weeds.

“What a mess.”

Clay turned to survey the overgrowth. “How long was Robinson in a nursing home and his house left vacant?”

“Sally said he had Alzheimer’s and was in the home at least a year before he suddenly passed.”

“Didn’t anyone visit or care what was going on here?”

“Apparently not. He was on his own. His relatives in Boston were only interested in what was in it for them. You know, the cash angle, and were waiting for him to die. Rumor has it that, after bickering among themselves about price, they immediately put the house on the market.”

Why did everyone ignore Robinson?

Clay turned back to me. “Did he have a wife?”

“According to Sally, he was an older bachelor, a retired history professor, who in the past used to teach at a college in Vermont, a real loner. His mother lived with him until she passed away about twenty years ago.”

“So why was he such a pariah to the rest of the family that no one was interested in his well-being?”

“Indifference? Maybe something they didn’t like?”

“Or maybe he
was
somebody they didn’t like.”

I thought about that. “Any of it’s possible. Hopefully we’ll get a better impression about him once we’re inside.”

With our plastic gloves already on, Clay said, “Ready?”

“I guess so.” I turned the key and heard the click.

Clay gave the door a shove, which was warped from the dampness flooding the interior. “Ugh,” he said, opening it.

I felt the same way. The air was stagnant and smelled of mildew, rot and
something else
. “Clay, what’s that smell?”

He held a hand up, stopping me. “Don’t go any further.”

It was a foul odor, unlike anything I have ever smelled before. It left me breathless and slightly nauseous. I looked down. There were dead flies everywhere we stepped.

Clay walked further into the musty house and I followed closely at his heels. In seconds, he abruptly whirled around to face me. “Didn’t I politely ask you to stay put?”

I looked up at him defiantly. “You and who else?”

He sighed, then said, “At least stay
behind
me.”

“Okay.” I trailed one step behind him through the living room, hallway, dining room, and then back to the kitchen.
Nothing.
Then we climbed the narrow stairway, while dust motes floated around us. Taking shallow breaths helped the gagging sensation that had unexpectedly gripped me.

The higher we climbed the smell became more intense. At one point, we had to pivot as the steps angled sharply, while watching our footing when the treads narrowed, then ducked our heads just before it opened up to the tiny second floor landing. After a few paces, Clay stopped and listened.
Silence.
Then we cautiously stepped into the first bedroom which appeared to have been deserted ages ago.

An old silver comb and brush set lay on the mahogany dresser on top of yellowed doilies over the dust-laden surface. A few faded dresses hung from a hook on the wall. I stared at the flaking, water-stained, floral wallpaper barely clinging to the walls. Could this have been Robinson’s mother’s room? It was creepy the way it was preserved like a shrine, especially since she had died decades before.

We rounded a corner and Clay stopped short, putting his hand out to stop me. “Hold up, Sam.”

“What?”

“A dead raccoon. I wouldn’t look if I were you.”

“So that’s the smell! I guess it was bound to happen because the old house was unoccupied for so long. Hey, what’s the problem? Why can’t I look?”

“Because it’s a bloody mess!”