Death by Haunting Read online

  “ ‘Betrayal is the only truth that sticks.’ Arthur Miller.”

  “ ‘Dealing with backstabbers, there was only one thing I learned. They’re only powerful when you got your back turned.’ ”

  “Who said that?”

  “Eminem.”

  “M&M? Isn’t that awfully clever for a piece of candy?”

  “I think it’s part of the Mars candy mission statement.” And after taking yet another swig of Pappy’s, I promptly passed out.

  6

  I awoke to find myself nicely tucked into June’s massive bed. “Jumping Jehosaphat!” I moaned. “I feel like last year’s rat poop.”

  Stumbling out of bed I called for June, but no one answered. I smelled her perfume lingering in the room, so she had to have been here recently.

  Was it already dark outside? I looked for a clock by the bed. It was after eight. Mercifully I hadn’t planned anything for that night, but there was a dog waiting that surely had to pee-pee.

  After tinkling, washing my face and using the last of June’s mouthwash, I took the elevator downstairs.

  The house was dark except for an occasional hallway light scattering the gloom here and there, and it was eerily quiet.

  I called out, but no one answered.

  In the kitchen I found a glass of water and a note tucked under a bottle of aspirin.

  It was written in June’s shaky handwriting,

  Don’t take too many, Dearie. Remember Addison DeWitt. I still love you, even if no one else does. June

  PS. Leftovers in fridge. Better than what you have at home, I bet.

  Hmmm. Looking in the fridge, I found several microwave containers with my name on them. Rather than take them home, I popped them in the microwave and nuked them. I also poured myself some iced tea.

  The microwave beeped. Taking out one container, I popped in another. After taking some aspirin and downing a full glass of tea, I opened the first container. Eggplant Parmesan with garlic bread. Lovely and yummy. Ate that up quick.

  Now for the second container. I slowly opened the seal.

  Osso bucco!! Jackpot!!!

  I groaned as I savored the first few bites. What’s this? My head was no longer pounding. I actually felt like a human being again. Time to go home. I would share the leftover bounty with my friend, Baby.

  Picking up the food container, I went into the hallway. “Bye!” I called. “And thanks.”

  No one answered.

  “Anyone here?” I cried.

  The silence was deafening.

  That’s when a little idea took shape in my head. Usually when those little ideas creep into my Wiener schnitzel, Matt is standing in front of me . . . saying no. But Matt was not here. Matt was in Los Angeles with a hot nurse giving him sponge baths while I was struggling in the Kentucky winter which wouldn’t break for nuttin’.

  Putting the food container on a hallway table, I crept down the main hallway and knocked on the library door. Hearing no response, I slowly peeked around the door and found the library empty.

  Now, isn’t this special!

  Turning on the lights, I made straight for Jean Louis’ painting collection, turning each one over and studying the painting. It was a vast collection and there didn’t seem to be a theme. Each one was unique. They were paintings of different sizes, different eras, countries and painting styles. I flipped each painting over, checking the canvas and stretchers in the back before inhaling their scent. Some of them were loose in their frames, making it easy to pop them out. Several of them had new canvas sewn onto the old canvas, which indicated to me that the original canvas had been cut too small for the current stretcher. That was not a good sign.

  “Can I help you?”

  Almost dropping the painting I was holding, I swung around to see Jean Louis standing behind me holding my food container.

  “I didn’t think anyone else was at home and it would be the perfect time for me to see your collection.”

  “Simply enjoying the paintings or studying for an insurance appraisal?”

  “I was an art history professor.”

  “When one can’t paint, she teaches,” he muttered with contempt under his breath. Jean Louis handed my food container over as he took back the painting, placing it with the others. “I prefer to be present when others are viewing my treasurers. Surely you can understand my apprehension.”

  “I’m sorry if I intruded. Have you been in the house all along? I called out several times.”

  “I have a key,” he confided, holding up one of the house keys, “and the security code. I came to work on Lady Elsmere’s portrait while she’s out at a dinner party. I get more work done if I am left uninterrupted. Why are you in the house?”

  I shrugged. “I got smashed and passed out.”

  “Charming.”

  “Well, thank you for the food. I’ll be off now.”

  “You left the hot container on one of her Ladyship’s antique tables. I’m afraid it has left a severe mark on the varnish.”

  “Great. Another triumph for the day.” I waved goodbye with the container. “Thank you again. I’ll let myself out. No need to bother locking up after me. I have my own key too.”

  I backed out of the library, never taking my eyes off Jean Louis. I didn’t trust him, but I didn’t know why. It was just a feeling.

  Hurrying, I rushed to the kitchen and found the mayonnaise in the fridge. Snatching paper towels, I hurried into the hallway and rubbed some mayonnaise on the damaged table and then put a paper towel over it. “Oh, I hope this works or this is a cheap reproduction,” I mumbled to myself.

  I gave the table one last look before returning to the kitchen and putting everything back, but not before I lifted a bowl of fresh salad . . . and then some homemade ranch dressing . . . and then another of Bess’ chocolate pies. The plate had only a few pie slices left. The meringue was starting to weep.

  Satisfied that the fridge held no more treasures for me, I hastily wrote a note for Bess about the table and then left by the back door. In my defense, I didn’t have anything to eat at home and was starving.

  Bess would forgive me.

  To be positive, I would stay away from the Big House for a couple of days. I surely had worn out my welcome for the time being.

  7

  The next day I was up early executing the list of errands that Eunice had scheduled for me. I was determined to return by early afternoon to help her write checks for the bills we owned. Hopefully, she would tell me that we had a tidy little profit for the month.

  But as I headed into town, I thought I would look in on Mavis. I pulled into her driveway just behind her big-assed Cadillac. I wondered if she were going to sell it, as I doubted she could see over the dashboard. It was really Terry’s car.

  Mavis met me at the door. “Come in. Come in. Get out of this weather.” She sniffed the air. “You breathe that, Josiah? Spring’s right around the corner. The earth smells likes it’s turning.”

  I inhaled deeply. The air did smell different. “I just stopped by for a moment to see how you were doing.”

  “I’m doing fine. Still in shock I guess, but not defeated. I’ll be with my Terrence when my time comes.” Mavis gave me a knowing wink.

  “I’m not going to sit down. Just staying for a few minutes. I’m on my way into town. Do you need anything?”

  Mavis thought for a moment. “No. The pantry and freezer are full. I could never leave home and still have a different meal for a month.” She gave a faint laugh.

  “Mavis, have you thought of anything else about Terry’s behavior at the party?” I asked abruptly.

  Mavis looked at me in surprise. “Funny you should mention that. I was going through some of Terry’s clothes and found a little notebook in one of his coat pockets.” She reached down and pushed aside her crossword books until she found a little black notebook. “At first I though he had jotted down some names of horses he wanted to bet on.” She handed it to me. “Now I’m not so sure. Can�
�t think of what it refers to.”

  “Can I hold onto this for awhile?”

  Mavis gave a puzzled look. “I guess, but I want it back, hear.”

  “I understand. One more thing. Has Mama visited you again?”

  “Haven’t seen her since Terry died, but I’ll show you where she stood, if you’d like.”

  “Very much so.” I followed Mavis into the bedroom.

  Mavis pointed to a nondescript corner of the room. “She favored that spot.”

  I went over to the corner and moved the fake ficus tree out of the way. I felt the walls and stamped on the floor. Everything seemed as it should. Peeking between the venetian blinds, I peered out the window. Just a normal looking back yard but with lots of places to hide. “Do you shut the blinds at night?”

  “Nobody lives behind us. Just cattle behind the tree line.”

  “Does that mean no?”

  “I guess so.”

  “No as in you don’t close the blinds, or you leave them shut?”

  “We always left the blinds open. Sometimes the window as well. We have a dog. He lets us know when somebody is around.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “My daughter has him. Right before Terry died, our baby started feeling kind of puny, gasping for breath, vomiting. We took him right to the vet. The funny thing was that his nails took on a bluish color. I thought it best if he was checked out.”

  “Blue nails did you say?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yes, thank the Lord. He is staying with my daughter until things settle down. I don’t feel up to taking care of a dog just yet. But I do want him back.”

  “I see you have a cat,” I said, referring to the fat orange tabby lying on the bed.

  He opened his golden eyes, giving us a baleful stare for interrupting his nap.

  “Did the cat get sick like the dog?”

  “No, just the dog, thank goodness.”

  “Mavis, what was the official cause of death for Terry?”

  “Heart attack.”

  “Do you think seeing your mother brought it on?”

  Mavis shook her head. “No, he was acting funny before she arrived. I just think his time was up and she came for him.”

  “How many times did you actually see her?”

  “Three nights. In a row. We’d wake up and see her for a few minutes and then she’d fade away.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “No.”

  “Did you say anything to her?”

  “I asked why she was in our bedroom the first night. On the second night I asked where she had hid her fudge recipe.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Nothing. Made me mad. I’ve been looking for that recipe since she passed away.”

  “Did she make eye contact?”

  “No. The way she was turned in the corner made it look like she was staring at this painting.”

  I studied the painting on the wall. “It’s Landscape with Obelisk by Govaert Flinck, isn’t it?” I inquired.

  “Of course, this is a reproduction. You understand the significance of it, don’t you?”

  “It’s famous, but I don’t remember why.”

  “The original was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. It’s one of the most famous art thefts in the world.”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s right. It’s never been recovered. If I remember correctly, twelve other works were stolen as well. Is there a specific reason that you have a copy of it?”

  “Then you don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “We used to live in Boston and Terry was a guard at the Gardner Museum. Terry was there the night the museum was robbed.”

  8

  You could have bowled me over with a feather. Eunice’s errands were going to have to wait.

  “That’s astounding. Might I have something to drink, please? If you’ve got time, I’d like to hear all about it,” I babbled.

  “I thought you were in a hurry.”

  “I’ll tell Eunice I had car trouble . . . or something to that effect. You must tell me about Terry. I had no idea.”

  “He didn’t like to talk about it,” said Mavis, going into the kitchen. “I have Coke or water. I can make coffee if you like.”

  “Coke would be fine.” I had to wait patiently as Mavis pulled one of her good glasses from the cupboard, put ice in it and then opened the Coke, slowly pouring it into the glass, taking her time to let the fizzle die down before pouring more Coke. Satisfied, she handed the glass to me and we went to sit in the living room.

  I politely took a sip while waiting for Mavis to spill the beans.

  She took a long breath and began a story that had seldom slipped through her lips. “We lived in Boston.”

  I nodded in concurrence.

  “Terry was a guard at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. He liked working there. The staff was nice and Terry had a fondness for the art. One of his favorite paintings was the Landscape with Obelisk.

  “One day, his supervisor asked him if he would work the night shift as one of the night guards had called in sick. Terry said he would, as we needed the extra money. That was March 18, 1990.”

  “What happened?” I asked breathlessly.

  “He came home at his usual time, took a two-hour nap and then went back for the night shift. Everything was normal until two Boston cops showed up saying they were responding to a call. Terry was making his rounds so the guard at the front desk thought that maybe Terry had made the call and let the cops through the security door.

  “But once the policemen got inside, all hell broke loose. They pulled out their guns and ordered the front door guard away from the desk where the panic button was, saying they had a warrant for his arrest. They handcuffed him and then made him summon Terry.

  “Once Terry came up front, they overpowered him and handcuffed him too. Then the thieves took them both down to the basement where they duct-taped their hands and feet to pipes.

  “They weren’t found until the next morning. It was a miracle that they weren’t killed, but Terry felt terribly guilty about the robbery. Of course, the police thought Terry and the other guard helped to execute the theft and gave Terry an awful time about it.

  “We had to hire a lawyer. Finally the FBI concluded that he and the other guard had nothing to do with it, but we had already spent much of our savings on legal fees. Terry was so disgusted that we left Boston for good and decided to move where my people still lived. We came back to my mother’s place until we could get back on our feet.”

  “How many paintings were stolen?”

  “It was a collector’s theft. Only specific items were taken from two floors. Five drawings by Degas, a finial for a pole support for a Napoleonic flag, a Chinese vase, a self-portrait of Rembrandt and several other paintings.”

  “I can see why it is thought that a collector commissioned the robbery. The articles are so specific. Wood to porcelain, etchings to paintings. There doesn’t seem to be a theme.”

  “And more expensive paintings were left behind.”

  “Some of the stolen items were not as well known,” I said.

  “Yes, Govaert Flinck is not an artist that most people would have known, unlike a Rembrandt or Degas. A regular person would recognize those names even if they had never had an art class in their lives, but only a real art hound would be familiar with a Flinck, but there was also a Manet and a Vermeer stolen as well. Both oils on canvas.”

  “That’s quite a story,” I uttered.

  “Terry wanted it kept quiet, so we never spoke of it. He didn’t want people thinking he had something to do with the robbery, even though he had been cleared. But you know how people talk.”

  “Thank you for telling me. I will be discreet,” I promised.

  “I would appreciate that. I don’t want Terry’s name tarnished. It’s just awful that he had to die without the robbery being solv
ed.”

  “I’ll go through his book and I’ll let you know if I discover anything.”

  “Don’t forget I want that notebook back, Josiah.”

  “I won’t and thank you kindly for the Coke. I best be on my way. Miss Eunice is gonna skin me alive.”

  Mavis gave me a wan smile and muttered while opening the door, “I hope winter breaks soon. I can’t wait to see the redbuds bloom.” She looked wistfully at the cloudy sky, waved and then shut the front door.

  9

  Winter had finally broken. It was going to be in the mid-sixties for the next several days. Time to work with my bees.

  I got Tyrone, one of Charles’ grandsons, to help me. We suited up and finally got the smoker to work. Getting that smoker to smoke was the hardest thing about beekeeping for me. The smoke calmed the bees enough to let us work in relative peace.

  I smoked the front entrance to the hive and then Tyrone lifted the outer cover so I could smoke the top of the hive. We gave the bees a minute and then Tyrone lifted the outer cover off the hive, putting it aside.

  I smoked the hole of the inner cover and then Tyrone pried it off with a hive tool and put it on the ground. Again, I smoked down into the frames of the hive so the bees would flee deeper into the hive. Handing Tyrone the smoker, I pried out a frame from the top hive body.

  “The Queen’s already laying,” remarked Tyrone as we studied the capped brood pattern. It was large and oval. Perfect.

  I put it back and pulled out another one. This one had a good brood pattern too, along with pollen in the upper cells. The maple trees must already be blooming. They were among the first trees to come to life in Kentucky.

  “There’s the Queen!” cried Tyrone excitedly, pointing to one of the bees.

  I looked closely at her. It was rare to see a Queen. Usually they hid. She was gliding along looking for an empty cell to lay an egg in, oblivious to the fact that she was out in the open away from the dark safety of her hive. House bees corralled her as if to protect her from the sunlight. She looked healthy. A good Queen could lay 2000 eggs a day during the high season. I put the frame back carefully. The last thing I wanted to do was disturb the Queen.