Murder at the Mansion (5 page)

Gertie and Mary approached and commandeered my other ear.

“We've seen two spyhops so far,” Mary said.

“And there was a breach a few minutes ago,” Gertie added.

I increased the volume of my voice to be heard over the sound of the ocean. “I'm really enjoying watching them. I've never seen anything like it.”

I spied a member from our group heading back to the vehicles. “I've got to get back to work.”

“We'll see you at the party tonight,” Gertie said.

“I'm looking forward to it.”

A tall, blond woman from our group turned and headed back toward the vehicles, and I followed. The guides had most of the boxes unpacked. I reached for the last one and unloaded chocolate and raspberry croissants.

The rest of the tour group arrived and helped themselves to the pastries.

Sylvia came over to me. “Kelly, as much as I'm enjoying myself, I'd like to go back to the Heights.” Her shoulders drooped. “The bruises from my fall are starting to hurt more.”

“Of course. I'll talk to the guides.”

Another member of the party, Jerry Gershwin, joined us. Sylvia had told me in the car he was a celebrity chef.

“I'd like to go back as well,” he said. “My to-do list is a little too long for me to be gone for a whole day.”

“I'll go arrange it.”

Sylvia straightened up, eyes sparkling. She'd be going back with a star.

I walked up to Ben. “Two people would like to go back now. How can we make that happen?”

“No problem. We have enough room in the other vehicles for the remaining guests. I'll drive you. Let me know when they're ready.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I walked back to Sylvia and Jerry. Sylvia was chatting up Jerry as if they were old acquaintances. There was even some eyelash fluttering going on. She was going to have a lot of stories to tell when she went back to work.

“Ben will take us to Redwood Heights when you want to leave.”

They finished their coffees and pastries and told me they were ready to go. I let Claude know what was happening and found Ben, who said he'd be with us in a few minutes.

As we waited, a slight frown creased Jerry's forehead as he tried to smooth out his khaki shirt's fold lines. He wore stiff, unfaded denims, and his hiking boots were out-of-the box clean. Had he left on the price tags like I sometimes did by accident?

Ben arrived. I got in the back and sat in the center of the seat, while Sylvia and Jerry settled in the middle row, each next to a window. Sylvia twittered away happily as she flitted like a bird from one favorite morsel to another, gushing over a number of Jerry's recipes. He stroked his goatee and smiled at her, soaking it up. A good pairing. He reached over and gave Sylvia a little pat on her knee. I thought she was going to swoon. Luckily she had her seat belt tightly fastened, but I was prepared to unbuckle mine and grab her from over the back of the seat if necessary.

I spied the mansion and sighed with relief. A silent, solitary day of inventorying sounded divine after the chatter-filled morning.

“It's been a pleasure,” Jerry said. “Please excuse me, but I have work to do.”

Why would he buy new clothes, come to a posh place like this, and then work? What was that about?

Sylvia and I entered the mansion.

She paused as we reached the lobby. “I'd like some tea to take up to my room.”

I walked with her to the parlor.

A woman in a green velvet Victorian gown stood at the tea service. She looked up as we entered. “Hello. I'm Lily Wilson. I work here at the inn leading tours and helping with a variety of tasks.”

“Nice to meet you. I'm Kelly Jackson, manager of Redwood Cove B and B.”

Lily turned to Sylvia. “Good morning, Mrs. Porter. May I make you tea or pour you coffee?”

“Tea would be wonderful. Something with lemon.” Sylvia pulled out her camera and said to me, “Here's another photo I took yesterday.”

She held up the camera, and I saw a handsome man with dark hair and another gentleman in the background.

“Robert Johnson, one of the richest men in the country.” She grinned. “And staying here, the same as little old me.”

Lily put the tea down next to her, the citrus smell filling the room, and looked at the picture. “You take wonderful photographs, Mrs. Porter.”

“Thank you.” Sylvia turned to me. “I want to rest a bit and maybe take a nap. I'd appreciate it if you'd come and get me if I'm not down for the house tour at one. I can't figure out the alarm in the room, and my travel clock isn't always reliable.”

“I'd be happy to,” I replied.

Sylvia left and Lily approached me. “You're welcome to join the tour,” she said. “It's for our guests as well as the general public. I have twelve people signed up, which is normally the limit of participants. However, it's not uncommon for me to add one more to accommodate families and groups of friends.”

“Thanks. I'll see how the day goes.”

I went and let Hensley know I was back. She asked me to meet in the library at twelve thirty to introduce the live-in staff. There were others who came in for the day, but she wanted me to know the main employees. I headed for the storage shed. The termite and bedbug crew drove into the yard. Stevie waved and two beagle heads popped into view. Daniel pulled in behind the motor home in his faded blue van.

“Hi!” I greeted them.

“Hi,” Stevie replied as he opened the door and got out. The dogs did a beagle bugle hello, their barks hitting some high notes.

Daniel joined us. “Stevie's finished your place and is ready to do his work here. He'll be staying—”

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence.

Margaret Hensley burst out of the mansion. “Get that thing out of here now.” Her teeth were clenched and her face almost purple.

“But . . . but . . .” Stevie sputtered, rooted to the ground.

“You heard me, now!” She raised her hand and shoved her index finger at his face.

Daniel stepped in front of Stevie, blocking Hensley's gesture. His dark eyes looked down at her. “Michael Corrigan wants Steven here. He has permission to work on site until his job is completed.”

“On site? That abomination parked here? With giant termites and bedbugs on the side?”

“But . . . but . . .” Stevie tried to intervene. His eyes blinked rapidly behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

“We'll see about that,” she hissed and stormed away.

The woman had a serious temper. What would happen if she really lost it?

S
tevie's face was bright red. “Daniel, you know I'd never leave the sides of the motor home showing. I'm always careful about that. I wouldn't . . .”

“I know and Michael Corrigan knows that as well,” Daniel said. “And better yet, Margaret Hensley will know as soon as she speaks with Michael.”

The color in Stevie's face began to return to normal.

“Why don't you go park the RV and get set up? Besides, your kids are waiting for you.” Daniel pointed to the beagles crammed onto the dashboard of the vehicle, watching them.

“Okay.” Stevie moved toward the motor home. “I'll cover the sides first thing, like I always do.” He walked away, head hanging down.

Daniel turned to me with a sigh. “I'll be so glad when Josh, the manager for Redwood Heights, returns. He's been on a medical leave of absence.”

“She seems so out of character for the type of person Michael hires.”

“They go way back. I don't know the particulars. What I do know is, she relates well with the clientele who frequent this place, but not the personnel. Good help is hard to find in a small community like ours, and a number of the employees have come to me to complain. The only reason they're staying on is they love Josh and know he'll be back.”

“I'm glad they're coming to you and not just quitting.”

“Me too.”

“Is there something you can offer them? You know, hazardous duty benefits?”

Daniel laughed. “Not a bad idea. I'll think about it. What are you up to?”

“I'm going to the carriage house to start the inventory.”

“I'll see you later. If you need help with anything, let me know.”

“Shall do.”

We waved good-bye, and I walked up the path next to the mansion, following directions for what I'd been told was the quickest way to reach my destination. I rounded a corner and stopped to gaze at the massive white building in front of me. At one time, its oversize doors had allowed grand carriages to pass through. I walked up to it.

A faded coat of arms decorated the front above the doors. On the shield, the silhouettes of two rearing horses faced each other. Crossed rifles were at the top of the crest and tall redwood trees filled in the back of the crest. The words on the banner had faded with time.

Ornate wrought-iron handles graced the doors. I tugged on them, but the doors didn't budge. They were probably bolted from the inside. I spotted a normal-size door off to one side and walked over to it. Even that humble door had a knob that was a work of art.

The skeleton key fit perfectly. I opened the door, flipped the light switch I found next to it, and surveyed the cavernous room. Boxes were piled high to my right and along one wall. Large oak barrels were lined up in stacks at the back of the room. High windows on two sides of the room added some light, but it was dim at best. The brochure I'd read said there'd been a cave turned into a wine cellar. It later became part of the current structure.

I approached the cartons and ran an experimental finger along the top of one. The dust was so thick you could write a legible message in it. I looked around. The only thing not covered in a blanket of dust was the bright red fire extinguisher next to the door. The fire code kept that current.

I took the lid off of one of the boxes and sneezed. And sneezed again and again. Mom used to tease me I sneezed like a truck driver; though I don't know how many of those people she'd heard. Years of motionless dirt sprang to life and dust motes spiraled upward in shafts of sunlight, creating a ballet of particles.

I examined the contents of four boxes. Two contained Christmas ornaments and books. A third one had legal documents dated about fifty years ago and a fourth had old, yellowing newspaper clippings and photos. One photo showed dappled Percherons hitched to a carriage with the same coat of arms I'd seen outside. They towered over the man holding their bridles.

Inventorying these would be challenging, as well as dirty. I looked around. There wasn't any table for me to spread things out on. It'd be much easier back at Redwood Cove B & B, where I could set up a work area in the garage. I decided I'd ask Hensley if I could take them there.

I stepped outside and locked the door. The fresh smell of the redwoods washed away the dust lingering in my lungs. I glanced at my watch. It was time to meet the staff members Hensley had assembled. I was glad they were staying on in spite of the temperamental manager.

I entered the library, where three people waited. One of them was Lily, and she gave me a welcoming wave. She'd added a rakish hat with a large feather to her ensemble.

A moment later, Hensley entered. “Hello, everyone. I want you to meet Kelly Jackson. She's the new manager of Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. She's been assigned to inventory some items here at the mansion, while renovations are completed.” The manager turned to Lily. “This is Lily Wilson.”

“We met this morning,” I said and smiled at the woman in Victorian garb.

“Lily does many things here at Redwood Heights, as well as being our historian. If you have any questions about the mansion's past, she's the one to talk to.”

I looked at Tina Smith, who was one of the group. “Thank you for the brochure. I enjoyed learning about Redwood Heights.” I turned to Hensley and said, “Tina and I met yesterday afternoon as I was getting ready to leave.”

Hensley nodded and introduced the last person in the room, a pale, thin young woman with short blond hair. “This is Cindy Watson. She and Tina help with housekeeping and preparing food for the guests. They are attending a raw cooking food school.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. “I've heard of raw cooking schools, but I don't know much about them.”

“Tina and I'd be happy to share what we know. Let's meet for coffee sometime.”

“I'd like that,” I replied. “It's nice meeting all of you. I look forward to getting to know you.”

“Welcome,” Lily said.

The others nodded in agreement.

“Thanks.” I turned to Hensley. “I opened four boxes in the carriage house. They contained books, Christmas ornaments, newspaper clippings, photos, and what appear to be some old legal documents. I think it'd be a lot easier to inventory them at my place. Is that okay with you?”

“That's fine,” Hensley said.

“I need to excuse myself,” Lily said. “The tour will be gathering shortly.”

“I'll go with you to see if Mrs. Porter's there. As you know, she wants to go on it and was worried about her alarm not working,” I said.

“That's an exquisite dress,” I commented as Lily and I walked to the lobby area.

“It's a replica of a traveling dress Mrs. Brandon wore in a photograph.” Lily stroked the forest green velvet sleeves ending in fine black lace. “A friend of mine made it, paying close attention to detail.”

“The beading at the bodice must have taken hours.”

“I'm sure it did. I really treasure it. I helped my friend Gladys when she was ill, and this was a thank-you gift.”

We entered the registration area. Eight people were already assembled and three more arrived as we walked in. Lily moved to the front of the group of eleven people. I'd been told the maximum size was twelve. Sylvia hadn't joined them yet.

“Welcome, everyone. My name is Lily Wilson, and I'll be leading the tour today. If you have questions, please don't hesitate to ask them. There's a sign-in sheet on the check-in counter.”

Several people headed in that direction.

Lily looked at her watch. “We'll be starting at one o'clock, which is in five minutes.” She turned in my direction and said, “I'd like to introduce the manager of one of Resorts International properties, Kelly Jackson. She's in charge of Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast.”

The members of the group smiled an acknowledgment.

A short man in a denim shirt and khaki pants raised his hand.

Lily smiled at him and asked, “Is there something you'd like to know?”

He pointed to the entrance to the parlor. “What is that shield above the doorway?”

“Redwood Heights was built by Reginald Brandon. That's the family coat of arms,” Lily said. “There is an official Brandon crest on file. However, Mr. Brandon wanted to design his own to reflect life in the West. On his shield he chose to put the silhouettes of two rearing stallions, symbols of strength. Rifles instead of swords crossed over the top of them—the weapons of that era. Tall redwood trees filled in the area behind them and were the source of his wealth. You can see his motto for loyalty and honor on the banner.”

I enjoyed her explanation. It added another dimension to an object that had just been an interesting piece.

A tall woman with a long brown braid down her back pointed to a picture. “Is this Mr. and Mrs. Brandon?”

“Yes, that picture is of the Brandons,” Lily replied. “The woman in the picture is the second Mrs. Brandon. As with many wealthy families and historic estates, there are questionable stories in their past. Redwood Heights is no different.”

“How so?” asked the woman.

“We don't have any pictures of the first Mrs. Brandon. She was the belle of glittering New York high society who found herself in remote Redwood Cove. She disappeared not long after arriving. Some say she ran off with a lover. Rumors cropped up that she took a sizeable amount of Brandon's money, changed her name, and left to enjoy San Francisco's growing attractions.”

The cadence of Lily's voice took the story beyond a runaway wife. Her tilted head and arched eyebrow led you down a path of mystery and intrigue. The visitors moved a little closer.

Lily leaned toward them and whispered, “Some say she never left at all.” Her words lingered in the dead silence.

Everyone was still—frozen in that past time. Goose bumps popped up on my arms. Someone coughed, and the spell was broken.

“After a time, Brandon married again. They had no children and, alas, the house went to a distant cousin.”

I'd been mesmerized by the tale. Snapping out of it, I looked around. Sylvia still wasn't there.

“The tour will meet in the parlor. Restrooms are down the hallway to your right,” Lily instructed the group.

I walked up the carpeted stairs to the second floor, running my hand over the smooth oak railing. It had taken hundreds of polishings to develop the fine patina and rich glow.

Sylvia's room was the first door at the top of the staircase. I knocked quietly. When there was no response, I knocked harder.
She must really be a sound sleeper
. I tried the door, but it was locked.

I rushed downstairs, retrieved her room key, and glanced at my watch. If Sylvia hurried, she'd still have time to make the start of the tour. Arriving back at her door, I knocked again.

“Mrs. Porter, it's Kelly. The tour is starting in a couple of minutes.” I got no response, so I unlocked the door and peeked in. Sylvia was sitting in front of her dressing table, her back to me.

I opened the door a little farther. “Mrs. Porter?” I stepped inside the room. In the filtered light from the curtained windows, Sylvia's image reflected in the mirror. Her eyes were closed, and her head rested on her shoulder. She must have dozed off before making it into bed for a nap.

My attention was drawn to a brooch on the left side of Sylvia's blouse as I approached her. I hadn't noticed it before. It was a lovely piece—a large egg-shaped pearl surrounded by a burst of red.

I touched Sylvia's shoulder. No response.

“Mrs. Porter?” I gently shook her.

Sylvia's head rolled forward and hung down. Her dangling hair covered the side of her face.

I gasped, and my heart began to pound. I looked more closely at her. The burst of red wasn't part of a pin—it was blood.