Another Grave Matter Read online

  Spyglass Lane Mysteries presents:

  The Volstead Manor Series

  Book Three

  Another Grave Matter

  By

  Anita Higman

  Ebook Copyright 2012 by Anita Higman

  Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my two grown children, Scott and Hillary. You both are my dreams come true. Never forget that you are greatly loved.

  1 – Controlled Chaos

  The moment I saw the smoke above the pines, I already knew. Volstead Manor was on fire. “Max!”

  “I see it.” Max stepped on the gas, taking a sharp turn onto Midnight Falls.

  Fire trucks and noise and a surreal kind of madness filled our cul-de-sac. I rolled down the window and strained for a clearer view of the damage. This house of mine, would it never cease to torment me? Volstead Manor had yet again roused from its dark sleep to strike at me.

  Max parked as I scrambled out of the pickup, tearing my shirt on the door handle. I yanked the material loose and ran toward the fire.

  Max caught up with me, and we moved in as close as we could—about thirty feet from the fire trucks. I stood transfixed on the sight as I held onto Max.

  The fire rose from the back of the house, curling and then exploding into neon sparks—fireworks of the most horrible kind. The violent colors lit my gothic mansion of wood and stone, creating a fierce but dream-like backdrop.

  Amidst the drama of the fire, smoke churned upward as it stained the evening sky. Vapors wafted around us—acrid and unwholesome smells—that would be embedded in my memory forever. Max blanketed his arms around me, but what could shield me from the awful sight?

  Firemen drenched the house with long jets of water, but the blaze seemed to consume the flow as if it were a mere trickle. “All that work on the house. Gone.”

  Max looked at me, giving me a gentle shake. “Thank God, Bailey, that you weren’t inside. You could have been killed so easily.”

  Yes, my dear Max would think of my safety first. “But your leaded glass windows.” My early wedding present. “I can’t stand to watch.”

  “They’ll get the fire under control. And you have insurance. After it’s repaired, Volstead Manor will be finer than ever.” He pulled me close again. “I promise.”

  Magnolia came running to me, her ebony skin damp with tears. She wiped her face with a tea towel. “Oh, honey. I was pulling weeds when I saw the smoke. I called the volunteer fire department. They came right away.”

  I hugged her. “Thank you.”

  We turned back to the blazing spectacle, along with a dozen other neighbors who were now gathering in the street. I desperately wanted to do something, but I knew I’d only be in the way, hindering the work of the firemen. I shook my head. “Thank God there’s no breeze today. Otherwise it might spread to the other houses.”

  Magnolia took my arm. “What do you think started the fire?”

  “I have no idea.” My thoughts raced, going over every possibility. The stove hadn’t been left on. No candles were left burning or curling iron plugged in. And except for a lamp left on in the kitchen, all the other lights had been turned off. Then I shivered, even though the winter day held no chill. The past terrors from the previous months—all the people and their dark deeds that had threatened to destroy my life—poured over me like a black flood. Could it really be true—that there was one last bitter sip from the cup of secrets in Volstead Manor?

  For comfort, I fingered my necklace, the one Granny had given me, and glanced around the crowd. Was someone still out there? Someone who knew about the Penumbra Ruby but didn’t know I had already found it? Already sold it?

  Or does this fire represent some sort of retribution?

  2 – Dark Purposes

  One week later, on the dreary morning of January 12th, I folded up my cell phone and digested the latest news from the county’s new arson investigator, Dawson Beaver. So, he thinks the fire started somewhere in the kitchen. Apparently, whatever contractor had modernized Volstead Manor ages ago had failed to upgrade one small section of the electrical system. Pieces of some very old copper wiring in the kitchen had overheated, causing the materials around it to ignite. Sounded plausible.

  I shoved my long hair away from my face, stepped up onto my porch, and then unlocked the front door. I wanted one more look at the damage, so I gave my monster door a push and strolled inside my house. In spite of the tidy wrap-up Dawson had just given me, doubts hovered just above my relief like biting houseflies. Dawson Beaver barely looked old enough to be the local reigning prom king, let alone a local firebug hunter. He had assured me, of course, that he’d graduated with honors and that he’d been well trained. And yet. Why was my life always so full of “and yets”?

  “Dawson Beaver.” I let the name roll over my tongue. His name echoed through the empty house, adding an evocative ring to it.

  My concerns about Dawson’s findings didn’t spring so much from his lack of credentials as from his lack of concentration, since he’d mentioned a few dozen times that his wedding and Hawaiian honeymoon were a mere three days away. What were the odds that Dawson was totally focused on my little inferno?

  I strolled through the entry hall, looked to the left into my living room and at the gargoyles that were holding up the large mantle over the fireplace. Their beady eyes bored into me as always, and their stares appeared audacious, as though they owned the place. Perhaps they did. I continually threatened to remove them, but in spite of their ugly presence, the little buggers were starting to grow on me. Maybe I needed to get some hobbies.

  I glanced up at the large winding staircase that led to all the bedrooms and then to the right through the empty dining room. The French doors, which led into the library, remained closed. All looked as it should. Except for the lingering odor of smoke, the fire hadn’t touched any of the front rooms. My sparse furnishings, which consisted of folding chairs and tables and a few miscellaneous items, were all that filled the first story. Even though the exterior of Volstead Manor had been refurbished, the inside had only been cleaned. It was as if I’d known not to move forward. Not to restore and decorate the inside because all was not yet safe.

  I ran my hand along the banister of the stairs as a forlorn awareness crept through me. What was it? I’d never been susceptible to depression, but for a moment the impression was acute. The feeling was like an unknown despair. The same kind of mournful alertness I’d once felt while visiting the Great Salt Plains of Oklahoma. It was an expansive bed of dry salt, a bleak landscape drained of color and life, and it had left me with the same strange sensation of desolation.

  Had there always been so many shadows in my house? The early morning light didn’t come to play, but instead weighed heavily on the walls as if they too had their own secrets. I shuddered, and the gloomy sensation passed as quickly as it had come.

  After making my way through the gothic archway, I stood gaping into my kitchen. Each time I saw the room, a sick kind of surprise washed over me. I could barely stand to see it—the charred wooden floors, a blue tarp covering all the holes in the house, and the eerie darkness from the lack of electricity.

  My shoes crunched against the blackened floor as I stepped into the alien landscape. So, all this is from old wiring. Hmm. In spite of my misgivings, Dawson Beaver’s report brought me a measure of relief, since all in all, his scenario was pretty easy to live with. But I’d learned that when it came to Volstead Manor, nothing was ever that easy. Since the day I moved in, dark purposes had been working against me, and at times I’d felt rather defenseless. I hadn’t been all that sure how to react. Except to pray. And to think. Although in the past the thinking part had gotten me into some trouble.

  I ran my hand along the remains of the north wall. Soot gathered on the pads of my fingers from the blistered and scorched boards. I wiped my hand off on a tissue, but gray marks stubbornly remained. So much damage to my poor house. But it could have been worse. Much worse.

  My thoughts sprang back to Dawson. If I were to question his findings, there wasn’t a single soul in the neighborhood who’d want me to talk about the possibility of arson. The peculiar murder we’d had on our street was still fresh on everyone’s minds. All was wrapped up tidily and the villain brought to justice, but there was still that general malaise amongst us all. Of course, Max and the neighbors would believe me if I had reservations about the fire. I’d gained their respect as sort of an amateur sleuth. At least I appeared to be right enough of the time that people took me seriously. But deep down, where neighbors valued their peace, my quest for justice would be as welcome as an ant farm peddler at a church picnic.

  I kicked at a pile of debris in the kitchen, pulled a flashlight from my purse, and then studied the area more closely. A giant tarp, which was fastened down tautly, covered the back wall of the kitchen and some of the second story. I
shined the light by the cabinets and pantry, knowing I’d have to throw out all of my food. What a shame.

  The ghostly quiet settled in around me like a quilt but not the cozy kind. I’d come each day since the fire, and yet each day felt strangely like the first. Because I’d found nothing. Perhaps I’d become a bit obsessed about finding clues beyond Dawson’s report. Maybe it was time to believe his theory and start the cleanup.

  “Bailey?” a voice whispered.

  I whirled around. “Dedra!” My hand slapped my heart. “You scared me half to death.”

  “Sorry. You left the front door open.”

  “I guess I did. But you’ve got to promise you won’t sneak up on me like that again. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Dedra, my best friend, who also happens to be my next-door neighbor, flashed me a tragic expression of deep remorse. All was forgiven, but my heartbeat still felt a bit erratic. I calmed myself enough to turn my attention back to the blue tarp. “Look at this.” I poked at the plastic. “If anybody wanted to get in all they’d have to do is put a slit in this stuff with a knife. Oh, well, it’s a good thing I don’t have anything that’s worth stealing.”

  Dedra came up behind me and draped her arms around me. “You sure spend a lot of time over here. You know what you need? A day at the spa.”

  “A spa.” Strangers pawing all over me? I don’t think so. “For what?”

  Dedra gave her wild curls a shake as she laughed. “Spas are for fun. You know, facials and massages and body scrubs and hair appointments.”

  I touched my hair, which I’d put up in a giant clip. “What’s wrong with my hair?” Perhaps the frayed ends did make my head look a little like a half-plucked chicken, but I didn’t think the act of rummaging around in the house required a hairstylist on retainer.

  “Nothing. Except those auburn locks of yours are starting to show a few stray grays.”

  “Really?” I winced. So, Dedra was my best friend, huh? Maybe I’d have to reassess that. My life had gotten so torn up, I hadn’t even noticed I was turning gray. But did I care?

  “Well, you’ve got the money for spa everything now.”

  I released a chuckle. “Well, that part is true. I am rich now. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, and it would be loads of fun to go shopping for clothes.”

  I looked down at my T-shirt, jeans, and jacket. “Well, I’ve got lots more of the same thing upstairs.”

  Dedra rolled her eyes. “I know.”

  I probably did need to upgrade my appearance a little, but I wasn’t about to start wearing red velvet overalls like Dedra.

  “You’ve got that look.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Like you want to tell me something.” Dedra raised her chin. “And I don’t think it has anything to do with beauty treatments.”

  “Well earlier. . .I was just thinking how hard it is to see Volstead Manor this way. So helpless.” It sounded odd to hear the words out loud. But, of course, my search through the debris wasn’t just about the sorrow—I’d been about my hunt for evidence—a bit of news I wasn’t ready to share with Dedra quite yet.

  “Sure.” Dedra wagged her head as if in deep thought. “I get what you’re saying. Maybe you just need a little time to yourself.” She strolled over to what was left of the kitchen counter and seemed to be mesmerized by something inside one of the cabinets.

  In the midst of Dedra’s distraction, I went back to the north wall, wondering how I could help with the cleanup. But suddenly, a mystery novel came to mind—one I’d read years earlier and one that dealt with the crime of arson. Too Close to the Flame. In the novel, the investigator would always study the area with the most damage—the spot where the fire had burned the hottest—so he could find where the fire had started. Made sense. Funny that Dawson had never mentioned any of this to me.

  While Dedra continued to snoop around on the west wall of the kitchen, I scanned the area I thought would need the most repairs. It appeared to be at the farthest end of the kitchen—the northeast corner. I checked it out, touching the scorched wood at the windowsill. The glass had fallen from the frame and had shattered into pieces on the floor. From the look of the charred remains the northeast corner had indeed sustained the most damage. And that section included the fuse box. What could that mean? Did it overheat? I pushed on the heavy tarp and leaned over the windowsill with my flashlight in hand.

  I shined the light along the outside. The breaker box was in pretty bad condition. The cover was gone, and it dangled by a few wires. I pulled the rusty box toward me to get a better look. I’d never spent much time looking at old glass fuses or new ones, so I barely knew what I was looking at.

  Even in my ineptitude, though, something did catch my attention. I could see a swirling pattern on the metal around each fuse. They appeared cleaner in those particular areas. Like when Granny had put silver polish on her tarnished coffeepot.

  That word “pattern” stuck in my brain. Oh yeah. I remembered reading about an investigator in a mystery entitled When Darkness Falls, who kept talking about a burn pattern. And in his case, the burn pattern had come from something on the surface, such as oil. What if someone had squirted oil around the fuses? Would that have made them overheat? Oh, yeah. I think I’m getting somewhere.

  Dedra coughed right next to me.

  I dropped the flashlight and then laughed. Maybe I was the problem—just way too jumpy.

  “Sorry.” She shook her head and grinned. “I was just wondering if you were ready to go home. Well, over to my house anyway.”

  “Uh-huh.” I picked up the light. No sense in telling Dedra about my find. It was only a guess anyway.

  Dedra snuggled into her sweater. “You know, I miss coming over here and eating your muffins.”

  “Uh-huh.” Oh, brother. I could see myself at ninety-two, still uttering no greater profundity than “uh-huh.” Maybe I could at least say something to be a little friendlier. “And I miss you coming over and bumming all my coffee and muffins.”

  Dedra laughed, but something was missing in her cheery voice. Her usual effervescence had gone as flat as day-old soda.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Dedra didn’t answer me, but instead headed through the gothic arches toward the front of the house. I paused, wondering if she was still taking her medication for her bipolar disorder. Should I ask her? I said nothing as I followed her.

  She turned around in the dark hallway and stared at me. Her left eye suddenly did a glistening thing like the eye shine of a cat, and it looked like a special effect I’d seen in an old Hitchcock movie. I wanted to tell Dedra so she’d have a good chuckle, but the moment passed too quickly.

  Dedra rubbed her arms. “In case you’re going to ask me, I’ve been sporadic about taking my medicine. I feel good now and no longer see the need to take it.”

  Amazed that she knew what I’d been thinking, I cocked my head and looked at her. “Remember, you asked us all to remind you about your medication.”

  “I guess I did.” Dedra waved me off. “But I wish I hadn’t.”

  Something weary and dark passed over her expression. Something I’d never seen before. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about this some more? I really do—”

  “Enough, okay?”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “I’ll stop.”

  When Dedra reached the entry hall, she spun in circles, her long dark curls flaring and her hands making graceful gestures in the air like a ballerina. “Bailey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think a person can worry something into existence?”

  I caught up with her. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m grateful for Adam. That he wants to marry me.” She held up her ring and stared at it. “No man has ever proposed to me before. To know, really know, someone loves you that much. . .to want to share his whole life with you. . .is unspeakable wonder.”

  “Yes.” To be loved by Max felt so astonishing that it was indeed hard to find just the right words to do the emotion justice.

  Dedra shrugged. “He’s so good for me, don’t you think?”