This Old Homicide (7 page)

The children were actually two naked boys dancing on the backs of two dolphins. The dolphins cavorted in the waves with a school of fish swimming beneath them. A bird perched on a puppy’s lifted paw, and other birds flitted over its head. A throng of overgrown cherubim frolicked above them all.

Water spewed from every conceivable orifice.

I tried to catch my breath. That thing would scare away any bird that came near it.

“My goodness,” I managed, “that’s quite a birdbath.”

“I know.” She smiled at the catalog. “There’s space at the base of the fountain and I plan to add a plaque, dedicating it to Jesse.”

Now I felt like an idiot. “That’s very thoughtful, Mrs. Higgins. I’ll be happy to install it as soon as it arrives.”

“Thank you, dear. It’s being delivered to Sloane’s sometime next week. I was hoping you’d run out and pick it up for me.”

“Of course.” Sloane’s Stones was a brick and masonry yard out by the highway. They had an enormous inventory and I did a lot of work with them. “Just let me know when it arrives.”

“I will, dear. You’re a good girl.” She turned and continued watering her roses, indicating that I’d been dismissed.

Chuckling, I crossed the street to my house.

“You look like you just heard a good joke.”

I glanced in the direction of the voice and saw my neighbor and tenant, Mac Sullivan, smiling as he held open the gate leading to my backyard. “Hi, Mac.”

The man had a beautiful smile and I took a moment to enjoy it. There was no getting around it: Mac Sullivan was drop-dead gorgeous. With dark hair and blue eyes, he had a dangerous look about him that was utterly masculine and sexy. He was also a bestselling mystery author whose hero, ex-SEAL Jake Slater, had become a worldwide household name in the tradition of James Bond. I still wasn’t sure why Mac had chosen Lighthouse Cove to call home, but the women in town were eternally grateful he had.

Heck, the men liked him, too. He was a great guy and a wonderful writer.

“I was just talking to Mrs. Higgins,” I explained.

“Ah, no wonder you’re smiling. She’s a pip, isn’t she?”

“The word suits her, whatever it means.”

He laughed, and there went that tingling sensation again. Was there anything more appealing than a man with a great laugh? Not in my book.

“Did you get any writing done today?” I winced. “Sorry. I imagine writers hate that question. And it’s none of my business. But I hope you had a good day.”

“I had a great day. And I don’t mind you asking about my writing. It went well.” He grinned. “I killed two people.”

I headed for the steps leading up to my kitchen door. “Sounds delightful.”

“It was,” he said, and leaned against the stair railing. “And to celebrate, I was hoping you’d join me for dinner.”

For a few brief seconds I reflected on the fact that after years of avoiding the dating scene, I found myself interested in two attractive men at the same time. I didn’t know what would happen in the future, but for the moment I was determined to enjoy myself. “I’d love to. Give me ten minutes?”

“I’ll meet you right here.”

*   *   *

We ate dinner at Rosie’s Crab Pot, which, despite its name, was a lovely restaurant with an old-world clubroom atmosphere and an excellent wine list. From our quiet corner booth, we gazed out at the ocean and shared a dozen oysters and a bottle of Chardonnay. I ordered salmon and Mac had sea bass. We talked about Jesse and I told Mac how I found him among the chaos inside his house.

“I’d like to get into his house and see it for myself,” Mac said before taking his first bite of fish. He nodded his approval. “You have a key to the place, right?”

“Well, yes.” I bit into my salmon. It was perfectly prepared, not overcooked, with a light butter and lemon sauce. “But you know, it’s probably still a crime scene.”

“I’ll talk to Eric.”

“Good idea,” I said, relieved that he wasn’t going to put me in a precarious position with Eric. Now that I had finally won the police chief’s trust and we were friends, I didn’t want to go back to the days when he had looked at me with suspicion.

Mac gazed at me as he sipped his wine. “Would you let me into the house without my talking to the police?”

I thought for a minute. “I guess I might, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it.”

He nodded and took a bite of baby potato. “One of the many things I like about you is that you believe in following the rules.”

Nonplussed, I said, “I’m a simple small-town girl. I don’t generally break the rules.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re anything but simple. And not everyone in a small town follows the rules. What I meant was that you instinctively and regularly choose to do the right thing.”

“Oh.” Why did it feel as if I’d just been insulted? Maybe I was projecting. I knew myself well enough to accept that I’d always been a little afraid to walk on the wild side. Still. “You should know that I’ve skirted the law on occasion.”

“I’m shocked.” His smile widened. “What’d you do? Wear white shoes after Labor Day?”

I scowled at him. “Maybe.”

“You’re a bold and dangerous woman.”

“And don’t you forget it,” I muttered, and stabbed at my green beans.

He laughed. “I remember a high school rule that nice girls never wear black and red on Fridays. I’ll bet you break that rule constantly.”

Ignoring him, I sipped my wine. “I’ve been mocked by better men than you.”

“Really?”

I glanced over, caught his infectious grin, and gave up any pretense of annoyance. “No, you’re about the best.”

His eyes widened—with pleasure?—and he leaned over and kissed me. My mind went blank for a moment. The man was an amazing kisser.

“You are a dangerous woman, Shannon Hammer.”

I blinked at the seriousness of his words. “Thank you, I think.”

“You’re welcome.” He sat back and picked up his fork. “And because you care, I do intend to follow the rules in this case. I’ll talk to Eric tomorrow and get his okay for you and me to go inside Jesse’s house.”

I ate my last bite of salmon and green beans before nodding at him. “Good.”

“Eric won’t be happy,” he said, dredging his final piece of sea bass through the sauce.

“Why not? He likes you.”

His smile was vague. “I talked to the mayor today and got his approval to hang out and follow the cops wherever they go around town.”

“Why do you need the mayor’s approval?”

“Because I’m starting a new mystery series set in a small town and I want complete access to everything the police do.”

“Oh.” I grabbed my wineglass and took a long drink. A mystery series in a small town? Written by MacKintyre Sullivan? This was big news. I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start. “The police don’t generally like having civilians tagging along with them, do they?”

“Not one little bit.” He popped that last piece of fish into his mouth. “Should be fun. I’ll keep you posted.”

On the walk home from dinner, I asked Mac if he’d heard any of the various noises the neighbors had described hearing over the last few weeks.

“Loud engine noises?” he said. “Pounding? No. I haven’t heard much of anything, but then, my schedule is all screwed up lately. For some reason, I’ve been falling asleep early and waking up at the crack of dawn to write all day.”

“I thought you wrote at night.”

“I usually do,” he said, scratching his head. “I can’t explain why it all switched. I’ve got this new series in my head and it seems to want to be written in the light of day.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Weird.”

“That, too.”

He grabbed my hand and held on to it as we walked the rest of the way home in companionable silence. At my kitchen steps, he said, “Thanks for coming out with me.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It was fun.”

He touched his forehead to mine. “Maybe one of these nights you’ll invite me in.”

“Maybe I will.”

“There’s no rule against it.”

I laughed. “Shows what you know.”

He pressed his lips lightly against my cheek. “My small-town girl has rules I’ve yet to discover.”

“Maybe one or two.”

“Sounds fair.” With a half smile, he added, “Good night, Irish.”

“Good night, Mac.”

*   *   *

The following day, Emily became an official homeowner and I drove over to meet her at the Rawley Mansion to do our first inspection of the interior. I’d taken lots of notes based on our many conversations and now I wanted to get a good, close look to figure out what it would take to bring the house into the new millennium. My foreman Wade Chambers joined us.

“The walls look solid,” he said, knocking his knuckles against them as he walked into the foyer. “Good proportions in this entryway. Well-lighted landing. Nice.”

“You can see why Emily fell in love with it,” I said to Wade, marveling at the stunning lacework of the wrought-iron staircase. The ironwork was topped by a wooden handrail that I could imagine shining after being burnished to a high gloss. The newel post at the foot of the stairs with its lovingly carved appliqués required only a coat of varnish to shine again.

An intricate vine-and-leaf motif added interest to the otherwise simple cornice. In the middle of the ceiling was an elaborate fleur-de-lis medallion, or ceiling rose, as the Victorians called the round plaster moldings that often served as a base for a chandelier.

The archway leading to the living room was embellished on either side by stylish plaster corbels, adding formality to the space.

“It’s a beautiful home,” Wade said.

“I think so,” Emily said dreamily, “or it will be, with a few improvements.”

He took a closer look at the corbels, reached up, and scratched the surface of each one. “This one here is disintegrating. We’ll use the other one to make a mold.”

“Will that be difficult?” Emily asked, a frown line marring her forehead.

Wade grinned. “No.”

As I took a step inside the living room, Wade grabbed my arm. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” I asked.

“Didn’t you hear it?” He whipped around in every direction, looking for something. “It sounded like a sick cat.”

“What’re you talking about?” I started to laugh but noticed Emily staring up at the living room chandelier, which was swaying slightly.

“Did we just have an earthquake?” I wondered.

“I felt something,” she said.

I studied her face. “You do realize there’s supposed to be a ghost living here, right?”

“You’re not the first one to mention it.” She wore a worried expression as she glanced around.

I gulped. I never would’ve believed it if I hadn’t seen the crying woman all those years ago. But my memory had faded enough that I was willing to believe that she had been an elaborate trick. Now, seeing Wade’s reaction to some strange noise no one else heard, I didn’t know what to think. “It couldn’t hurt to say nice things about her house. Maybe she’ll leave us alone.”

“I love her house—I mean,
my
house.” She raised her chin defiantly. “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

“So you believe in ghosts?” Wade asked.

“I’m Scottish. We practically invented the concept.”

Wade still looked a little flipped out, but since I hadn’t heard a thing, I moved on to the formal dining room.

Wade followed but stopped inside the doorway. “Wow, look at that fireplace. It’s stunning.” He crossed the room to study the arched marble mantelpiece, the ironwork of the screen, and the hearth with its intricate jade and marble tile pattern. The firebox space was almost big enough for Wade to stand inside. “This feels like the heart of the house.”

Emily beamed. “That’s exactly what I thought.” She wandered over to the far wall and pressed her hand against it. “It’s warm. It practically vibrates with life.”

“And look at this built-in breakfront,” I said, gazing at the wall opposite where Emily stood.

Wade turned and approached the cabinet that filled the wall to our left. “That’s a beauty. All that scrollwork.” He opened a few of the glass-paned cabinets to examine their inner workings. “This hardware looks like new. And the mirrored backings are in good shape.”

Emily joined us. “Don’t you love it?” She glided her hand along the smooth center surface, which was big enough to serve as a buffet space for a good-sized party. Glass-fronted cupboards on each side of the open space would hold an entire service for twenty or more, as well as stemware and various display pieces. The wood-paneled cabinets below would store other items. “I can picture my mother’s bone china displayed here.”

Given Emily’s skill in the kitchen, no wonder she considered the dining room one of the most important rooms in the house. I could see why she’d been so attracted to this property. She would be entertaining guests in grand style in this room.

Wade wandered to the far wall and checked the surface for weaknesses in the plaster. He looked over his shoulder at me. “This wall really is warm.”

“I told you,” Emily said, pressing her cheek against the surface.

I walked over and touched it. It was warm and I could feel a mild vibration. I wasn’t prepared to explain that, so I just grabbed Emily’s arm. “Let’s go check out the kitchen.”

“All righty.”

I glanced at Wade. “And since I’ve got you here, we should inspect the basement.” I led the way to the kitchen. I presumed the door to the basement would be located somewhere in here, too.

Inside the swinging door, I stopped to admire the room. It was a sprawling space, big enough to fit two modern kitchens inside it. But it would have to be completely rebuilt. I glanced under the old sink to check the subfloor and backboard beneath and behind the pipes. On my hands and knees, I reached in to knock on the wooden wall. It felt solid, but I would take another look while the plumbing was being redone. This was a prime area for water damage and termite infestation.

Off the kitchen was another good-sized room with polished wooden counters on three sides, under which a cabinetmaker had built large cubbyholes that pulled open.

“It’s a winter pantry,” Emily said, her voice giddy with excitement.

“For storing root vegetables and such?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m going to use it for.”

“Clever,” Wade murmured as he studied the cabinetry for damage and jotted down notes.

We finally found the door to the basement in the butler’s pantry on the other side of the kitchen. Wade confirmed that the stairs leading down were solid. The two of us checked the beams and posts while Emily wandered the cavernous space. There were a few joists where termites had done their worst. Replacing the center horizontal beam was already at the top of my list of priorities, and Wade concurred. Shoring up a couple of load-bearing posts would be critical as well.

Otherwise the house appeared to be structurally sound. Wade did a quickie survey of the bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs and we reevaluated my three-to-four-month target to get Emily moved in. We might be able to get more done in that time frame than I had first estimated.

Emily was delighted and that was important to me. Whether the ghost of Mrs. Rawley would be equally delighted was a different question altogether.

*   *   *

Jane heard from Chief Jensen the next day. The coroner had given a preliminary time of death, and according to his estimate, Jesse died sometime during the night before I found his body. Jane and I were both relieved to hear it, glad to know that his body hadn’t been lying there on the couch in the den for longer than a few hours. Unfortunately there was still no word on cause of death.

Even though Jesse’s house was still considered a crime scene, and even though the coroner’s final autopsy results had not yet been announced, Jesse’s body would be released to Bittermans’ mortuary tomorrow, Friday, and his funeral was scheduled for the following Monday.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night, knowing that Jesse’s body would be laid out in some casket at the Bittermans’ funeral home all weekend. But I read for a while and finally dozed off, hoping I wouldn’t toss and turn all night long.

I couldn’t say what woke me up, but all of a sudden I was sitting up in bed and wondering what was happening. Had I heard a loud noise? Had I dreamed of something? I checked the clock and it read one a.m.

I glanced over at the doggie bed against the wall, where Robbie slept peacefully. Tiger was sound asleep at the foot of the bed, so all was right with their world.

I punched my pillow to get comfortable again, hoping I could fall back to sleep immediately. But all of a sudden a light flashed outside. It was startling and I wondered if that was what had woken me before. It must’ve been a car’s headlights turning down the side street half a block away, so I decided to let it go. I gave the pillow one last scrunch and was prepared to lay my head down when the light flashed again.

“That’s closer than the side street,” I muttered. Flipping the covers back, I climbed out of bed and walked to the front window. My movements woke up Robbie, who grabbed his favorite toy, a floppy skunk, and trotted over to join me. As long as he had something in his mouth, I could trust him not to bark.

Was Mac just getting home from somewhere? I rarely saw his lights go on or off, because my bedroom was at the front of the house facing the street and he lived in the back apartment over the garage. But the light could’ve come from his car driving up.

I slipped into my bathrobe and continued looking up and down the street. Except for a streetlamp at the end of the block, the area was dark. I almost went back to bed, but another ray of light suddenly swept the front of Mrs. Higgins’s house. So it had to be coming from my side of the street. Was Mac using a flashlight to find his way around?

The light flashed again and I leaned closer to the glass to get a look at where it was coming from. That was when I realized someone was inside Jesse’s place with a flashlight.

With Robbie watching my every move, I threw on jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. I was on my way out of the room when Robbie began to whimper. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I said, lifting him up and giving him a hug. “Go back to bed.”

I set him down in his bed and petted his back a few times until I felt him settling. “Good boy,” I whispered, and closed the door to keep him and Tiger safe in the room. I tiptoed down the hall to avoid waking Jane, who had spent the night. Then I ran down the stairs to the kitchen to get Jesse’s key. Seconds later I was out the kitchen door, skulking over to the gate so as not to make any noise. I had to press down on the gate to keep it from squeaking when I pulled it open.

“Maybe Jane’s in there,” I muttered, although I couldn’t imagine why she would go over to Jesse’s house alone at this hour of the night. I could understand if she’d stopped to wake me and drag me along, but she hadn’t.

I snuck up Jesse’s walkway and saw another beam of light flash across the draped window. And that was when I stopped walking. My sensible inner voice was starting to shriek at me.
Who are you? One of those dumb heroines in a trashy horror movie? The one who goes running into the swamp and ends up being eaten by monster crocodiles?

No, that wasn’t me.

I should’ve called the police rather than confront whoever was inside. And there was definitely someone inside Jesse’s house. I could see the flashlight beam moving around. Was it Jane, after all? Or was it the same person who had trashed Jesse’s house before? What was he, or she, looking for? Was it the same person who killed Jesse?

It had to be the same person.

Time to go home and call the police, I thought. But before I could do anything, I heard a noise behind me. I whirled around and saw a dark figure approaching.

I screamed.

“Shush!”

I recognized the voice and clapped my hands over my mouth, officially embarrassed. I sounded like such a girl. I mean, I am a girl, but I was only now realizing how vulnerable I was.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Mac,” I whispered. I wanted to faint with relief, but that would be stupid. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I asked you first,” he whispered. “Never mind. I was following you.”

“I saw a light,” I said.

“Yeah, me, too. And then I saw you sneaking around and knew I’d better find out what the hell you were up to.”

Mac pulled me off the walkway into the shadows under a sycamore tree. “So, what’s the story?”

“We don’t have time to talk,” I whispered impatiently. “Whoever’s in there could be the same person who killed Jesse.”

“
Killed
Jesse?” he repeated. “Has the coroner determined cause of death, then?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t die of natural causes. If you’d seen his house, you’d think so, too. The place is a mess.” I turned toward the house. “We have to find out who’s in there.”

“Okay,” he said, easily pulling me back. “I’ll go check things out and you wait here.”

“No way,” I said, affronted. “You’re a writer. You know what’ll happen if we split up.”