A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) (15 page)

I hastened to reassure her. “It’s too early to assess possible interest in the property, since we can’t list it until this mystery is resolved, but I’m certain that it’s way too early to give up hope.” I paused in my turn,
then
cleared my throat. Should I tell
Ada
my idea and risk raising her hopes falsely? “Actually, I’ve had an idea about the house. It’s just a concept, and I haven’t had time to think to think it through, but I would like to discuss it with you and your sister sometime. I know Strut …
er
, Charlene has had the full tour of the property, but I would appreciate having an opportunity to see the upper floors, as well. It would be helpful if more than one of us were familiar with the entire layout of the house.”

“I’m sure we would be very glad to see you whenever your schedule would permit. In fact,” she rushed on, “if you’re feeling a bit
peckish
, we’d be pleased to offer you tea this very afternoon. Nothing
elaborate
, but I do make a tasty cucumber sandwich, and
Lavinia
baked a batch of ginger snaps just this morning.”

My stomach growled hungrily. I thought of the chaos awaiting me at home. Who knew when I would get dinner tonight? “I could come right now, if you like. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Oh, my pleasure entirely,” she assured me. “Do come right over.
Lavinia
will be so pleased to see you, as of course I will.”

Half an hour later, replete with three cups of excellent Earl Grey tea and cucumber sandwiches, which were far tastier than I had anticipated, I followed
Ada
up a wide staircase across the main hall from the
Henstocks
’ kitchen. “It’s good of you to give me the grand tour,” I offered as we climbed the curving steps at a decorous pace.
Lavinia
lingered in the kitchen to wash up.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure,”
Ada
assured me a bit breathlessly. She was well past eighty years of age, after all. “I don’t often get the chance to show people around these days. Not that there’s much to show any more,” she concluded wistfully, glancing about her. Though tidy and obviously well dusted, the second story, when we reached it, had a sad, neglected air like a once-proud beauty when the bloom of youth had departed.

A second hallway, even wider and grander than the one on the first floor, spoke volumes about the wealth and status of the structure’s original designer. Clearly, the Judge had had a taste for the finer things in life and the bank balance to procure them. Turning right off the landing, we made a complete circuit of the second story, opening doors into a series of bedroom-and-bathroom suites that must have constituted the height of elegance back in the day. Each suite offered some architectural detail—a marble-tiled fireplace, crown molding, or leaded windows framing a cozy
windowseat
—and boasted the wide-planked flooring and once dazzling Oriental carpets I had admired on the first floor. Throughout our round,
Ada
’s
hands trailed lovingly over this piece or that of what I was certain had to be valuable antique furniture, now piled
willy
nilly
under dust covers.

“How charming!
So inviting,” I murmured as we moved from room to room, ending with the master bedroom suite.
Ada
confided that the massive four-poster that had once taken pride of place had been removed a few years ago.
In its place stood two twin beds.

“We share this room now,”
Ada
answered my unasked question. “Of course, we could each have a room of our own, but at our age, we prefer the company, frankly.” I smiled to myself, wondering if Armando and I would ever reach an age at which we preferred to share sleeping quarters instead of having our own space. Thinking of Armando made me remember my promise to him that morning to prepare a home-cooked dinner for us that evening. Guiltily, I looked at my watch.

“Who used all of these lovely rooms?” I asked as we paused at the foot of yet another beautiful staircase leading to the third and top floor.

Ada
smiled dreamily. “Guests,” she replied, “lots and lots of guests. Nearly every weekend and all summer long the house was fairly bursting at the seams with houseguests. Mama was so beautiful and lively, and she adored fine music. And dancing! Oh, my, she loved to dance, and the Judge indulged her.” Remembering her glamorous, young mother,
Ada
’s
eyes sparkled in her seamed face, and I could see the vestiges of the animated beauty
Ada
herself was reputed to have been in her own youth. “Let me show you something,” she whispered. She held a cautionary finger to her withered lips, then pointed downstairs to where
Lavinia
lingered. “I haven’t brought anyone up here in years.
Lavinia
finds it too upsetting.”

Ada
led the way to the third story, keeping to the outer edge of each stair to minimize the creaking. I did the same. At the top, we faced double doors of such
ornateness
, such beautiful craftsmanship, that I couldn’t help but gasp, earning a disapproving shush from
Ada
. “Sorry,” I whispered apologetically, “but even the hinges are works of art.”

Ada’s
eyes shone at the compliment. “There’s more, much more, but you must be as quiet as a mouse, or Sister will be up in arms.” So saying,
Ada
produced a huge key from her apron pocket and used it to unlock the doors before us. She slipped the key back into her pocket and eased open the doors. She stepped into the room beyond, and I followed, heart thumping with excitement.

Despite the sunlight streaming through a half-dozen arched and recessed windows, it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the relative gloom. Slowly, I understood that we were in the fabled ballroom, which ran the entire width and length of the third story. The sheer beauty of the room’s graceful proportions took my breath away. I stood silently gazing around me, jaw agape.

Ada
laughed softly. “It’s quite something, isn’t it? Oh, the parties Mama and the Judge held here, often until the wee hours of the morning. Sister and I were supposed to be asleep, but our bedrooms were just downstairs. We couldn’t help but hear the music and the laughter, and, well, children will be children.” She leaned closer and confided, “Sometimes, we would take our pillows and sit on the floor near one of the air shafts in
Lavinia’s
room. We could hear everything quite clearly, you know.” She gestured to the ironwork grill of a nearby opening to what must have been the same airshaft.

I smiled, imagining the two little girls in their braids and nightgowns, giggling in the dark at the sounds of the mysterious goings-on in the ballroom upstairs as their parents socialized with their privileged friends against the backdrop of live dance music.

A noise from downstairs startled us back to the present.
Ada
collected herself and shooed me back to the landing. She relocked the ballroom securely before we hastened down the stairs as quietly as we could manage it. Once safely back on the second floor, we grinned at each other in sheer pleasure.

“Thank you so much for sharing that with me,
Ada
. Tell me, why is the ballroom kept locked? It seems quite empty of valuables.”

Ada
shrugged. “Papa locked it after Mama passed, and I guess Sister and I have simply continued to honor his wish. After Mama’s death, the joy just went out of this house,”
Ada
explained sadly. “Papa loved her so. We were very young, of course, but we knew that. He never got over it, and I don’t recall there being a single party of any kind here after that.”

“Not even when you graduated from high school?”

Ada
shook her head. “No, the Judge kept to himself, for the most part, and we soon stopped inviting our friends here. One by one, we just shut up the rooms, and after Papa died, well …” her voice trailed off sadly.

Impulsively, I blurted out the idea that had been taking shape in my mind over the last couple of days. “
Ada
, have you and
Lavinia
ever considered reopening those rooms? Filling them up with guests and throwing parties again?”

Ada
stared at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. “Having houseguests and throwing parties? My dear, even if we were so inclined, which it is difficult to imagine, in our present circumstances, we can barely afford essential repairs, let alone entertain a houseful of guests.” She
tsked
to herself, obviously aghast at the thought of such frivolity.

“No, no, I haven’t made myself clear.” I collected my thoughts and began again. “What I meant to say was
,
have you ever considered opening the house up to
paying
guests, opening a bed and breakfast? Old Wethersfield attracts thousands and thousands of tourists every year, and with all of the other historical attractions and restaurants in this area, I’m sure people would stand in line to spend the night in an authentic French Second Empire house. And that ballroom! Just imagine a wedding reception with a small orchestra in the corner and round tables scattered around the perimeter with fresh flowers and people dancing …” I stopped to assess the effect of my impetuous words on my companion.

Ada
stood stock still, her eyes searching my face.
She’s probably wondering whether to call her sister for help, since I’ve obviously lost my mind,
I thought, holding my breath. Then a slow smile curved across
Ada
’s
mouth and moved upward into her eyes. They glittered with an emotion I could not at first identify. Then I could. It was hope. “Do you think?” was all she could say at last.

“I do think,” I replied confidently. “All it would take is someone who knows what they’re doing and lots and lots of money.”

As suddenly as it had appeared, the light faded from
Ada
’s
eyes. “But who would want to invest in a house where a body had been walled up in the basement?”

“You’d be surprised,” I said wryly. My experiences of the last few years in the real estate business had opened my eyes to the public’s thirst for gore. “In some buyers’ eyes, a body or two in a house’s history only adds a dash of drama, a little panache.”

“Even if we never solve the mystery of how the body got there?”

“Especially if we don’t,” I reassured her sturdily. “People will happily supply their own
explanations,
however removed they may be from the facts.” I’d had some experience in that area, as well. “Solving the mystery is only important in terms of closing the police file so that we can put the property on the market. For all I know, that might not even be required.” I made a mental note to ask John or Rick about the legalities of the situation.

Ada
apparently knew enough about human nature to recognize that what I said was true. She brightened immediately. “A bed and breakfast,” she repeated softly to herself. “How Mama would enjoy knowing that.” She grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the stairs. “Let’s go tell
Lavinia
your idea right now. It could be just the thing to perk her up. She hasn’t been at all herself lately.”

* * *

However much I had tried to prepare myself for the invasion, the full impact of Armando’s arrival in my territory still hit me like a kick to the solar plexus. I stood motionless in the kitchen and viewed the chaos of the center hallway, too shocked to speak or move. A dozen or more cartons blocked the doors to every below-counter cabinet, the oven, and the dishwasher. More were stacked slapdash against the front hall closet door, draped in a pile of coats and jackets. Instinctively, I set down my briefcase and went to hang them up the clothes before I realized that I couldn’t possibly get the closet door open.

I went through the outerwear absently, recognizing most of the pieces from the years that Armando and I had been seeing each other. It was odd to see them stacked in my front hall awaiting a new closet. There were six windbreakers in varying weights and colors.
Two raincoats, one long and black, and one brown and belted.
Two winter-weight dress coats.
Four sleeveless down vests, two with the
TelCom
logo on the left chest. The carton atop the stack contained piles of scarves, a dozen pairs of gloves, and assorted ear muffs and headbands.