Murder at the Mansion (14 page)

H
ensley's nostrils flared, and she began to stand. Tina hunched down a little as if to avoid the daggers the manager's eyes threw at her. Hensley opened her mouth.

Before she could speak, Corrigan said, “I'll get in touch with her supervisor and see if Mrs. Madison reported anything.” He went on without a pause, preventing Hensley from responding. “Now I want to talk about the Whale Frolic.”

The manager snapped her mouth shut and sat down. The teeth grinding that I could see even at a distance foretold of expensive dental bills.

“Andy and Phil will be available to answer questions about the wine and cheese,” Corrigan continued. “Kelly and Daniel, I'd like you to wear the fleece vests monogrammed with the names of your sites and have brochures available. It's an opportunity for you to promote Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast and Ridley House. Lily will be in period dress and answer questions about the history of Redwood Heights.”

While Corrigan discussed each person's role in the event, my mind slipped away to thoughts of Sylvia's death. Hensley clearly didn't like having the quality of her work questioned, but it was hard to visualize the designer-clad manager stabbing Sylvia. Disagree vehemently with a report, yes. But murder? No.

Then again, what did murderers look like? How did they act? Like Deputy Stanton said, “If criminals looked like crooks, my job would be a piece of cake.” I let it go and tuned back in to the meeting.

“Tina and Cindy are preparing raw food appetizers,” Corrigan said.

Cindy nodded. “We're excited to show people what can be created from raw ingredients.”

Corrigan continued, “The crowds tend to come in groups. While Andy and Phil will be in charge of pouring the wine, we'll all pitch in if necessary.”

“Where will the event be set up?” I asked.

“We're putting it on the side porch. That's close to the kitchen, and that room has limited access to the main house. We don't want anyone to wander into the building,” Corrigan replied.

My phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my pocket and glanced at the screen. There was a text from Stevie asking me to call him right away. I wondered what was up.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Corrigan asked.

No one did.

“Okay, then,” Corrigan said. “Scott and I are going to stay here and meet with Margaret. I know you all have plenty to do. I'll see you tomorrow.”

I stood and Hensley gave lists to Tina, Cindy, and Lily. Anxious to call Stevie, I hurried out, punching in his number.

He answered right away. “Kelly, I found something strange. You need to see it. I'm at the back of the mansion.”

“Okay. I'm on my way.”

When I got there, I found Stevie down on his belly peering into a small hole in the side of the building with his flashlight. The two beagles were on either side of him, pushing their heads against his, eager to see what he was looking at. A massive leather tool belt rested on the ground beside him.

“Hi, Stevie,” I said. “What did you find?”

“Come look.” He gestured at the opening with his flashlight. “There's dry rot here, so I poked some of it out with my screwdriver.”

I got down beside him.

“Sorry. You'll have to lie down on your stomach to see it.”

“No problem. These are my going-to-get-dirty clothes. There's no way to stay even remotely clean working in the carriage house.”

He handed me his flashlight, and I lay down on the grass. Peering into the opening, I saw the beam traveled to another wall a few inches away. Splintered wood sat along the bottom.

“I went inside the building to inspect the damage on the other side of the wall. I should've found dry rot in the pantry. It wasn't there.”

I sat up, and Jack and Jill took advantage of the opportunity to rub up against me. Their warm bodies pressed into my leg, and I petted each in turn.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I'm not sure, other than the wall on the inside isn't the one you see in the light from the flashlight.”

We both stood.

“How can that be?” I asked. “Is there a double wall here for some reason?”

“I don't know. I called you as soon as I found it.”

“Do you have a tape measure?”

Stevie picked up his belt and handed me a metal measuring tape.

“That's quite a piece of equipment you have for carrying around the tools of your trade,” I said as he put it on.

“Thanks. I bought the leather and designed it after a carpenter's belt. A friend of mine sewed it together. Makes it much easier working with the dogs than lugging around a toolbox.”

The number of items he carried around his waist was impressive. Rolled-up leashes, a bag labeled TREATS, and a flashlight in a loop attached to the belt next to his screwdriver. There were other bags and tools as well.

“Let's measure the distance from the back of the house to the beginning of the pantry so we can get an idea of how wide the area is between the inside and outside walls.”

He pulled the leashes off his belt. “I need to tie up Jack and Jill.” He took treats out of the pouch and fed them to the dogs as he clipped on the leads.

We walked together to a sturdy bush, and he secured the dogs.

On the way back to the mansion, I asked, “Did you do the macramé in your RV?”

“Yes. I like doing things with my hands. Mom and Dad were self-reliant, and growing up, I helped with whatever needed to be done. I helped Dad build a garage. Mom made most of our clothes, and she could swing a pretty mean hammer.”

I laughed, imagining Gertie pounding away.

“She grew all of our vegetables. She still has a great garden, and she's been thinking about getting some chickens.”

“None of that surprises me about your mom. She's an incredible lady.”

We'd reached the house. Measuring proved to be one of those things easier said than done. The laundry room occupied the back of the house. Stevie stood next to the washing machine, and I squeezed myself into a narrow space between open metal shelves and the wall. We got the measurements, and Stevie jotted them into a notepad he pulled from his belt. Next came the kitchen. Hoisting myself onto a counter, I held the tape flush with a window. Stevie went to the other side, and we held it over the stove.

After Stevie measured the doorways to both rooms, we repeated the process in the pantry after I moved a few cereal boxes.

Stevie began writing. “Give me a sec, and I'll tell you what the difference is.”

I looked around the pantry, where Sylvia had been taking pictures. Everything appeared clean and organized to the nth degree. Stevie had moved containers away from the baseboards, and I saw no signs of damage. Considering how severe the wood rot I'd seen outside was, I would've expected something to show.

“Wow!” Stevie exclaimed. “Kelly, the difference is three feet!”

“That's a lot. Let's measure the rest of the rooms on this side and see what we get.”

A walk-in linen closet, followed by a housekeeping office, yielded the same measurements as the pantry. I noted guest rooms were above the rooms we were measuring, including Sylvia's. We went into the front parlor. The multitude of windows framed the towering redwoods and flowering bushes filled with red and yellow blossoms. This measurement was the same as the one in the washroom and kitchen.

I went to the corner that connected with the back wall of the mansion. A guest computer station had been put together in that space with a cherry bookcase beside it.

Stevie walked up next to me. “I wonder what's behind that portion of wall.”

“Let's go back to the washroom. Maybe we can find something there.”

As we walked down the hallway, a thought hit me. “I think I know what we'll find,” I said to Stevie.

When we got to the laundry room, I tapped along the wall, starting from the back. A little more than three feet in, the sound changed.

“I hear a difference,” Stevie said.

“So do I.”

A large corkboard with a calendar pinned to it concealed the upper portion of the area I'd tested. I removed it and handed it to Stevie.

Wood paneling covered this section. I examined the area where a doorknob should be and saw two very thin horizontal lines about four inches long, and a vertical line connecting them. I put my fingers around the edge of the paneling at that spot and pulled.

It opened, revealing a metal latch. I started to reach for it, then remembered about fingerprints. There
was
a murder investigation going on. The metal shelves held cleaning supplies and a box of general purpose latex gloves, as I had hoped. I slipped a pair on and pulled the latch. The panel swung open, revealing a gaping black hole.

“You found a door. Cool!” Stevie exclaimed.

I turned to Stevie. “This place is built like an old European mansion. The upper society wanted to be taken care of by their servants but didn't want to see them. Many places had servants' passageways. I think that's what we're seeing here.”

My history buff ex had dragged me through a number of them on our honeymoon. He loved them; I hated the dark, musty places.

“Kelly, this must be how the jewel thief got in. I can't wait to tell the police. This will clear me.”

I hated to disillusion him, but I remembered the conversation I'd heard about the officers suspecting me. “Maybe. Then again they might think you knew about it all along.”

“But I didn't.” He looked shocked at the thought.

“I know. But they're police. They need to consider all possibilities.” His crestfallen look tugged at my heart. “It's a huge step in the investigation. Hopefully, it'll help them find the thief sooner.”

He nodded, the happy smile no longer there. “I'll take the dogs to the motor home and go tell them.”

“They're working in the interview room.”

I turned and stared into the pitch-black passageway. It could explain a lot of things: how the jewel thefts occurred, the quick disappearance of Sylvia's attacker on the stairs . . . and how the hatpin vanished.

But it didn't provide an answer as to who was responsible.

P
ulling my flashlight out of my fanny pack, I surveyed the floor for footprints. There were none on the almost dust-free wooden surface. Dirt pockets along the sides told me someone had wiped the floors clean, missing a few areas. They wouldn't worry about footprints that close to the wall. I took off my shoes and put them beside the door, not wanting to leave tracks if that became a problem farther down the passageway. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside.

I aimed the beam along the bottom of the outside wall and found the rotted wood that had instigated the search. I pulled out my phone and took a picture. It would need to be attended to at some point.

My light caught the bottom of a set of stairs on my right. These, too, had been wiped clean. I went up the steep incline and found doors on either side of the landing at the top. Looking at the one on my left, I found a dead bolt. Sliding it back, I pulled on the handle, and the door opened to a guest room.

I walked in, closed the door, and turned to see what it looked like from that side. There was another wood-paneled wall decorated with paintings of bucolic scenes and a fireplace to the right of it. That was the door.

As I'd done earlier, I examined the area where I'd expect to find a doorknob and found nothing. Then I slid my hand down the edge of the panel. There was a groove with enough room for my fingers to fit. I pulled, and the door opened.

There should be an inside bolt to assure privacy for the occupant of the room. Not finding anything at the top or the bottom of the panel, I turned to the fireplace. Under the mantel shelf, I found a metal rod that slid out to block the door. Simple and effective.

The paneling was a few feet wide. Where it stopped, wallpaper started. There didn't need to be a seam in the wood for the door. There was a natural change from wood to plastered wall. A clever design.

Looking at the room on the other side of the landing, I discovered the same pattern. Descending the stairs, I continued down the hallway, my light illuminating very little of the pitch black. The heavy, thick air made it difficult to breathe.

The servants' ghosts walked with me down the coal black passageway—me with my flashlight, them with a flickering candle threatening to go out and leave them in total darkness. Water sloshed in the buckets they carried to fill the lady's washbasin. A bundle of wood thudded against the wall on its way to heat the lord's room.

I shuddered as the walls pushed in on me. Stopping, I took a few deep breaths and shoved the eerie thoughts away, willing myself to concentrate. I was in a California mansion, not a medieval castle. There might be something here to clear me and the others from being suspects. I walked on, found another staircase, but kept going to where I knew there'd be a third one. This was where Sylvia's room would be.

I decided to go to the end of the hallway, leaving Sylvia's room for last. The door there was the same as the others, only I knew it wouldn't open because of the bookcase and computer station beyond. Having no reason to procrastinate further, except for feelings of dread, I ascended the staircase.

I went to the room on my right first, dreading entering Sylvia's room again. Same story in guest room number five. Time for Sylvia's. I unlatched the door and entered. The covers on her bed were still turned back, waiting for her to take a nap. Now she was in a sleep from which she'd never awaken.

Shuddering, my gaze went to the chair where I'd found her. The image of her body filled my mind. Why hadn't she screamed? Or had she and no one heard her? There'd been no sign of a struggle. Why hadn't she fought? She said she'd wanted to take a nap. She'd readied the bed. Why was she sitting in the chair? Why did the murderer come back to remove the pin? Why not take it after stabbing Sylvia?

I turned away. Her personal belongings had been removed. There was no crime scene tape because it barred the outside of the room. Time to go. Hopefully the discovery of the hidden entrance would give the police new information.

Closing the door to her room, I headed back down the stairs. I hated going down the servants' path, the dirt and the darkness, and how it brought to mind what their lives had been like—the extreme class system they'd been part of.

Keeping my flashlight aimed at the floor, I glanced up and could see the light of the doorway at the end of the passageway. I quickened my pace, anxious to get out of the darkness. Suddenly, the light disappeared. Solid black ahead.

I froze, my heart pounding so loudly I thought it would echo off the walls. I was scared to bring the light up and see who or what was there. The murderer must have used this passageway. Had he or she come back?

A light flashed on, the beam shone directly in my eyes. I winced and turned my head, blinded by the brightness.

“Ms. Jackson, what are you doing in here?” Deputy Sheriff Stanton demanded.

My knees almost buckled with relief. Then I thought about his question. What
was
I doing in here?

“I . . . I . . . it seemed to be the right thing to do. I checked for footprints, but the floor was wiped clean. I . . . I . . . wore gloves.”

“Let's go outside.” In the washroom he frowned at me and shook his head. “Ms. Jackson, if you find anything in the future that's of interest, don't proceed to investigate on your own. Wait for us.”

A fair request. “Okay.”

The frown remained. “Did you find anything I should know about?”

“Nothing unusual. The rooms are locked with dead bolts on the outside. There's a way to secure them from inside the room if you know the metal rod is there.”

He gave me a skeptical look, turned away, and entered the servants' passageway. Relieved to be out of the stifling hallway, I put my shoes on and stepped into the kitchen. The brightly lit room was a pleasure after all the darkness. Tina was preparing food. Colorful appetizers filled several trays.

“These look really good. Are they all made with raw vegetables?”

She smiled at me. “Absolutely.”

“I think of raw food as carrot sticks and sliced cucumbers.”

She laughed. “You're not alone.”

I pointed to mushrooms filled with what looked like cheese. “This looks like dairy.”

“I know. People are really surprised when they learn you can make a cheeselike product from nuts, like almonds and cashews.”

“You definitely could've fooled me. What's in this recipe?”

“Portobello mushrooms stuffed with almond ‘cheese' and walnut pesto. It'll be garnished with chopped Italian parsley.”

Tina transferred quarter-size, almost transparent chips into a bowl. “These are made from zucchini. The school let us use their dehydrator.” Tina covered the container with plastic wrap. “So, what's going on in the washroom?”

“What I think is good news for you and Stevie. We discovered a hidden servants' passageway providing access to the rooms where the jewelry was taken. The police have new information to focus their investigation on that doesn't involve the two of you.”

“Oh, thank you for telling me. This is great! That's my second piece of good news today.” Her face flushed, and she began taking dishes to the sink. She chattered on like a bird twittering at a feeder full of fresh seed. “My first was Jerry Gershwin, the celebrity chef, has signed up to attend the raw cooking school with us. He's going . . .”

She stopped and stared at me, clasping her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “I wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Kelly, promise me you won't say anything.”

“No problem. But why aren't you supposed to mention it?”

“His nickname is the Meat King. That's what he cooks on his television program. Ranchers love him and are his biggest sponsors. He's afraid he'll lose them if they know he's at a raw cooking school.”

“I can understand that.”

“And his ratings could go down if viewers found out and it seemed like he was turning away from meat.”

That all made sense to me.

“He'd asked Cindy and me about the class we were taking. When I got sick, I knew I was going to miss a session. I checked with the school, and they said it was okay for him to take my place. His cell phone number was in his registration information. I left him a message and when he got back from the tour, he called and said he'd enjoy taking the class. Cindy was at the school getting supplies. I texted her, and she was really excited to know she'd have a chance to meet him.”

She put the last tray away and wiped her hands on a green kitchen towel. “I want to go tell Cindy the good news. See you later.” She hurried out to find her friend.

I walked down the hallway, thinking about what I'd learned. Cindy had said she'd met him the morning of the murder and the time they spent together gave them alibis. He had corroborated what she told the police. According to what Tina texted Cindy, she hadn't met Jerry yet. Cindy and Jerry had lied. It meant their alibis just went out the window. They could've killed Sylvia.