Murder at the Mansion (6 page)

M
y heart beat against the side of my ribs as if trying to escape.

Sylvia was dead.

Or was she?

I had to check her pulse. My body began to tremble. I reached for her wrist. Picking up her limp arm pushed me to the edge, but I kept going, and touched her still-warm flesh. No pulse. Then I reached out to her neck, willing myself to be steady. It took all my mental strength to press against her throat with two fingers. Again, no sign of life.

I felt rooted to the ground, unable to move. I looked around. Her room key was on the gold brocade bedspread. Black leather walking shoes sat neatly beside each other, tucked under the still-made bed. Everything so normal, yet so completely not.

My breathing came in short, shallow gasps. I forced myself to breathe deeply and backed away from the image in the mirror, the body in the chair. I reached the entrance to the room, pulled the D
O
N
OT
D
ISTURB
sign off the doorknob, and stepped outside. I closed the door, slipped the note over the knob, and struggled to lock it with shaking hands.

A cheerful voice said, “Hello, Kelly.”

Startled, I looked over the railing. Lily and her tour group stood below. She nodded and smiled.

I returned the nod, but there was no way a smile was going to make it to my face.

I went to a small alcove at the end of the landing and called 911. I told them what I'd seen and that I thought the woman was dead. I gave them the information they requested and descended the staircase. As I got to the bottom, a young woman from the tour group approached me.

“Hello. My name is Sally Walters. I heard Lily introduce you.”

I struggled to keep my voice calm and ordinary, even though thoughts of the nearby dead body belied any normalcy. “That's correct.”

“My husband and I are enjoying our vacation and would like to extend it a few days. Unfortunately, our place is sold out because of the Whale Frolic. We haven't been able to find lodging anyplace else. Do you have any space available?”

“We aren't open yet, as the inn's being renovated. I expect we'll be open soon.”

Sally dug in her purse and pulled out a card. “We have tonight and tomorrow night booked at our current place. If you're open by the time we have to leave, please call us.”

I took her card. “I'll do that.”

She left to rejoin the group. I walked down the hallway to Hensley's office, feeling like I was moving in slow motion. The numbness contrasted with the turmoil in my mind.

Her door was open, and I looked in. Hensley was on the phone. She put up one finger, which I took to mean she'd be done in a moment. I remained in the doorway. If I positioned myself correctly, I could see Sylvia's room. I'd put the sign out, but one of the workers might knock and go in anyway, thinking she'd forgotten to take it off.

Hensley called out. “I can talk with you now, Kelly.”

I glanced into the room, checked the upstairs landing, and walked quickly to Hensley's desk. Leaning close, I said, “Mrs. Porter . . .” The words stuck in my throat. “Mrs. Porter's dead.”

“What!” Hensley stood.

“I called nine-one-one.” I glanced at the doorway. “Let's talk by the door. I want to keep a watch on her room so no one enters it.”

Hensley followed me. “Tell me what's happened.” Hensley's whisper was more of a hiss.

“She asked me to come and get her for the house tour if she wasn't there. She'd had problems with the alarm clock.” I stopped, my voice thready.

Hensley went to a sideboard, poured a glass of water from a crystal pitcher, walked back, and handed it to me.

I took a sip and cleared my throat. “She's sitting in a chair. There's a red stain on her blouse. I think it's blood.”

Hensley paled. “You mean you don't think her death is due to an accident or natural causes?”

The enormity of what had happened hit me. “No, I don't . . .” I stammered. How could it be?

“Show me.” Hensley strode out of the office.

“Wait!”

She spun around. “Why?”

“I don't think we should go in there. The police wouldn't want us to.”

“I won't touch anything. I want to see for myself what the situation is.”

My stomach churned. I didn't want to go back there. With dragging feet, I followed Hensley to Sylvia's room. Since I'd already opened it, my fingerprints would be on the handle. I didn't want the manager's on it as well, so I unlocked the door for her.

“I don't want to go in,” I said.

“Fine,” Hensley snapped.

In a minute she returned, her face ashen. She looked at me. “What could've happened?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea.” I locked the room.

As we descended the stairs, a siren approached. It halted, and a car door slammed, followed by a knock at the front door.

Hensley opened it. “Hello, Deputy Sheriff Stanton.”

I glimpsed the familiar form of the deputy on the threshold.

He saw me and nodded. “Ms. Jackson.” He turned back to the manager. “Mrs. Hensley, I'm responding to a nine-one-one call. What's happened?”

“One of our guests is dead. I'll show you.” Hensley headed toward Sylvia's room, Stanton behind her, and me following.

When we got to the room, the deputy put on latex gloves, and I handed him the key. Hensley and I waited outside the room, avoiding eye contact.

After a couple of minutes, Deputy Sheriff Stanton returned. “I have some things I need to do here. I'd like to meet you both in the office when I'm finished.”

“Certainly,” replied the manager. “We'll wait for you there.”

We made our way back. She sat behind her desk with an uncharacteristic plop. I sagged into one of the chairs across from her. Images of Sylvia's body kept flashing through my mind. What had caused her death? Had someone killed her? I slammed a mental door on that thought. I didn't want to let it in.

After a moment, Hensley straightened. “There's a lot to be done. I need to call Michael Corrigan. Sylvia had some personal items placed in the safe. I'd like you to get those out, as well as look up her registration information. You'll find it in the file cabinet over there.” She pointed to an antique oak two-drawer file. “I'm sure Deputy Stanton will want them.”

I nodded, relieved to have something to do. Hensley called Corrigan, and I tuned out their conversation, concentrating on the safe's combination. I found one of the red leather pouches guests used to store their valuables with Sylvia's name on it and placed it on Hensley's desk as she continued to fill in our boss on what happened. I located Sylvia's file and put it with the pouch.

Hensley hung up the phone. “Michael and another staff member will be here late tonight.”

While I looked forward to seeing Corrigan again, it certainly wasn't under circumstances like this.

“Have you had lunch?”

Lunch? Was she kidding? Even thinking about food made me queasy.

She answered my look. “It's going to be a long afternoon. Doing it on an empty stomach is foolish.” She picked up the phone and called the kitchen, ordering sandwiches and coffee. “Other officers will be arriving, I'm sure, and will probably benefit from having food available as well.”

Deputy Sheriff Stanton knocked on the frame of the open door then entered. “I'm going to need to ask you both some questions about Mrs. Porter.”

“Of course, Deputy Stanton. Here are the personal items she had in our safe, along with her registration and emergency contact information.” She pushed them across her desk.

“Thank you. I'll look at those later.” His gaze took us both in. “I'm considering this a possible homicide. Please don't give out any information to anyone who isn't one of the investigators.”

Possible homicide. Murder. The words have been spoken. It is real
. My breathing started to speed up again.

“I understand, Deputy Stanton,” Hensley said.

I couldn't believe she didn't even bat an eye at the word
homicide
.

“I'm sure you and the others have a lot to do,” she added. “I've ordered sandwiches and coffee. Please let your people know they're available.”

“Appreciate it,” the deputy said. “I've called San Martin police headquarters for assistance. They're sending two detectives. They'll have questions of their own. Now, who found the body?”

“I did,” I replied.

“Has anyone else been in the room since the body was found?” Deputy Stanton asked.

“I believe I'm the only one,” Hensley said. “Kelly unlocked the door for me but didn't go in again.”

“Who has keys to the room?” Deputy Stanton asked.

Hensley went to the cabinet behind her. “There are three keys for every room. The guest has one, one's on the master board, and a third one on the key ring.” She pulled out the round wire holding the room keys and located the one to Sylvia's room.

I chimed in. “Deputy Stanton, I gave you the one I used. It's the master board key. I saw Sylvia's key on her bed.”

He pulled the metal skeleton key from his pocket. “A duplicate could be made, but it wouldn't be easy, and it'd take time.” He looked at the manager. “How long had Mrs. Porter been here?”

“Two days,” she replied.

“Did she request a specific room before she arrived?”

Hensley pulled Sylvia's file toward her. “Not to my knowledge. I'll check her records and ask the registration staff.”

He turned to me and opened his notepad. “What time did you discover the body?”

“Shortly before one o'clock.”

“When did you last see Mrs. Porter alive?”

“A little before eleven thirty when she left with her tea.”

“Tell me what you saw when you entered the room.”

I told him about going there at Sylvia's request, having to get a key when she didn't respond, and what I saw as I entered the room.

“I thought she'd fallen asleep. I went to wake her, and that's when I noticed what I thought was a brooch on her shoulder.”

“Why would you think that?”

“The room was dim because she'd lowered the shades. I saw what I thought was a dark red flower with a pearl in the center.”

He frowned at me. “Describe the pearl.”

“It was egg-shaped and was in the center of... what I now know is blood.”

He snapped his book closed. “Come with me.” The deputy inclined his head in the direction of the hallway.

No, not again. I didn't want more images of her lifeless body. Once again, I took the long walk to Sylvia's room.

When we got there, Stanton opened the door and gestured me in. My feet felt like they were blocks of lead. Sylvia's body seemed to have slouched more into the chair.

“You said you saw a pearl. Where?”

I looked at the image in the mirror. There was no pearl. I stepped closer and peered at Sylvia's shoulder. There was the red burst of blood but nothing else.

“It was there, a large, egg-shaped pearl . . .” I talked faster. “I'm positive. I saw it. I thought it was a piece of jewelry.”

“Slow down, Ms. Jackson,” Stanton said. “Tell me about what happened after you left the room.”

“I locked the door, called nine-one-one, and went to Mrs. Hensley. We came back because she wanted to see the situation for herself. When she came out, I locked the room again, and as we went downstairs, we heard you arrive. You were the next person in the room.”

“Let's talk with Mrs. Hensley.”

The deputy and I didn't speak as we returned to the office.

Deputy Sheriff Stanton stood in front of the manager's desk. “Mrs. Hensley, I'd like you to describe what you saw on Mrs. Porter's shoulder where the injury is.”

“A bloodstained area appearing to be about five inches in diameter,” she replied. “I have no idea what caused it.”

“You saw nothing resembling a pearl?”

“A pearl?” The manager shook her head. “No. I didn't see anything but blood.”

My head began to spin. The staircase was visible from the hallway leading to the office. There wasn't time for someone to go up it and get in and out of the room in the short time I'd stepped into the office and spoken with Hensley. The manager had gone in by herself. Had she taken the pearl? If so, why? Was it part of what had killed Sylvia? Was Margaret Hensley somehow connected to what had happened?

D
eputy Sheriff Stanton's phone rang. He listened for a moment. “Got it. I'll meet you at the door.”

A white van drove by the window . . . the coroner's van. I shuddered, thinking of the body upstairs.

Stanton said, “I'd like you both to stay here until I get back. I want to find out about Mrs. Porter's interactions with you and others as soon as possible.”

Hensley and I nodded, and the deputy left.

The Heights manager held out a paper. “Kelly, I was going to ask you to do this when I wasn't in the office. However, since you have to stay, this seems like it would be a good time for you to do this.”

I walked over and took the paper. It was another inventory list like the ones I'd gotten earlier.

Hensley pointed to a glass cabinet in the corner of the office. “You'll find the items over there. It's unlocked.”

I was more than happy to have something to take my mind off of what had happened. Opening the cabinet, I took out a silver snuffbox. An engraved silhouette of a horse, a barn, and several trees decorated the top. I found it on the list and took a picture. I shot a quick look at the manager behind her desk.

She was the only one I'd seen enter the room after me—and the pearl was there when I left. If she had taken the pearl, where had she put it? She wore a knee-length straight black skirt with a matching fitted cropped jacket. I didn't see any pockets. Could she have held it against her side underneath her top without my noticing?

Hensley wasn't watching me. The box was similar in size to the pearl, and I pinned it against my body with my arm. My arm took on an awkward, unnatural look. Even as upset as I was, I think I would've noticed the odd angle.

Could she have tucked it into the waistband of her skirt? She'd be taking a real chance on it falling out. I doubted she'd do that. Did she know some secret hiding place in Sylvia's room? Had she taken the pearl and hidden it there? Was there a time when I wasn't looking at her after we left the room?

I took another item from the cabinet and tried to remember if I'd turned my back on her as we walked back to the office. I might've done that as she came out of the room. But where would she have hidden it on the landing? After the first few steps, we'd walked side by side. I'd go back and search at the first opportunity. Deputy Stanton didn't believe it existed so wouldn't be looking for it.

But he would be trying to find a murder weapon. Murder. Hard to believe. And it had happened so close to us. How could a stranger have come in unnoticed? Unless it wasn't a stranger. It could be a guest or staff member.

I swallowed hard and glanced at Hensley again. She was alone when I had come to get her . . . and she had access to the room key. I'd seen her temper and knew she didn't like Sylvia Porter, but murder? It didn't seem likely.

Sylvia had annoyed the staff and probably some of the guests, but that didn't seem a strong enough motive for murder, either. I shook my head and gave up trying to figure it out. I didn't know enough about Sylvia or what had happened before I arrived.

Yesterday's fall. Had that been attempted murder or an accidental trip? If someone had tried to kill her, would the outcome today have been different if we'd believed her? A knot formed in my stomach. Had we unwittingly helped her murderer?

Tina appeared in the doorway, pushing a cart. Clearly she was feeling better. She had a tray of quartered sandwiches, thermoses, cups, and the usual accompaniments.

“Please put those over there.” Hensley pointed to an oak table at the back of the room.

Tina arranged the food and beverages. “Is there anything else you need, Mrs. Hensley?”

“Not right now.”

As Tina went out, the deputy came back in and shut the door behind him. “Kelly, I'd like to talk to you about Mrs. Porter, since you were with her today. Tell me what took place.”

I went over the morning's events.

“Did she seem upset?”

“No, she actually said she'd probably just tripped yesterday. I took it as an apology of sorts.”

“Anything else you can think of?”

“Not really. Sylvia seemed excited about being here. She was an administrative secretary for Preston Insurance Company in Kansas City, and she'd saved a long time for this trip.”

“Thanks. You don't need to stay any longer, but I'll need you to be available when the detectives arrive.”

“Okay.” I turned to Hensley. “I'll work on the parlor inventory.”

“Good idea.”

A knock on the door interrupted us.

“Come in,” Hensley said.

Daniel walked in. “Hello, Deputy Sheriff Stanton, Mrs. Hensley.” He nodded at me.

Stanton nodded and touched the brim of his hat.

Daniel turned toward the desk and said, “Mrs. Hensley, I saw the coroner's van. I wondered if there was anything I could do to help.”

“Thank you, Daniel. Give me a minute. I haven't had time to determine what we need to do next.”

“Daniel,” Deputy Stanton said, “there's been an incident with one of the guests. A Sylvia Porter. Did you have any interaction with her? Or see her with anyone?”

“No. I knew who she was, but what I've been doing hasn't involved the guests. I don't come in the house much. My work's been mostly outside.”

“Thanks. If you remember anything or hear something, let me know.”

“Sure thing.”

Hensley looked at her watch. “Daniel, Lily's tour ended a couple of minutes ago. The visitors parked at the back of the house. I'd like you to go there and be sure no one comes back in to look around. It isn't part of the event, but we've had it happen before.”

“Happy to.”

I picked up my camera and the paperwork. “I'll come with you.”

“What happened?” Daniel asked as we walked down the carpeted hallway.

“Sorry. I wish I could tell you, but I can't. I promise I'll fill you in as soon as I can.”

“I understand.”

“I thought you were working at your inn this afternoon. How did you find out something had happened?”

Daniel looked a little sheepish and gave me a lopsided grin. “You can thank the Silver Sentinels. Rudy was on his way to chess club, and Deputy Stanton's car went flying by, sirens and lights going. It turned down the hill, and he wondered if it was headed to Redwood Heights.”

Daniel paused.

“And then . . .” I prompted.

“He called Gertie, and she called Stevie and . . .”

I laughed. “I get the drift.”

“Then when Mary saw the coroner's van go by, she called Gertie . . .”

“I can see where this story goes, and I can finish it. The phone lines must've been sizzling. I hope they didn't melt.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if they did.”

We reached the back porch. The visitors were beginning to drive away. Two couples chatted with each other. Their laughter floated up to us. I settled in an Adirondack chair, gazed at the towering redwoods, and breathed in their fresh scent.

Daniel leaned on the porch railing. “Are you going to Stevie's birthday party tonight?”

“Yes, unless I have to be here for some reason.”

“Stevie's a great guy. A real salt-of-the earth type.”

“He has one of the softest voices I've ever heard.”

“Matches his personality. Gentle. Quiet. Compassionate. He rescued Jack and Jill. When he got them, they had some serious issues. He had the patience of a saint with them.”

“They're sure a happy pair now.”

A car door slammed. We looked at the lot. A car drove out and the last couple got in their vehicle and left.

Daniel turned to me. “I'll go see if there's anything else I can do.”

“I'm off to inventory the parlor.”

Walking through the kitchen, I decided a cup of coffee would help the afternoon speed along. After pouring some from the pot on the coffee warmer, I took a sip, hoping the taste matched the invigorating aroma. It did. Resorts International served blue ribbon coffee, in my opinion.

I entered the parlor and put my camera and inventory sheets on a table near the display case. A routine task with a murdered woman upstairs. It seemed surreal. The ticking clock on the mantel sounded louder. I hadn't noticed it before. Now it destroyed the silence in the room. I picked up the list and forced myself to concentrate.

These items had been photographed in groups and there were notes made below each picture. I planned to take individual photographs and label each one. A backdrop for the pieces would be nice. In the credenza, I found a stack of starched white linen napkins, removed a couple, and spread them on the table.

I took the small shiny metal key from my pocket and unlocked the cabinet. This one held jewelry, beaded evening purses, and a number of items I couldn't identify. My ex-husband would've known what they were. Ken, a university history professor, would be in seventh heaven telling me about each item and what purpose it served.

I pulled out twelve well-crafted silver spoons with intricate designs. From museum trips with Ken, I knew they were apostle spoons. They were used as christening presents, and the spoon represented the baby's apostle.

I had learned about them on our European honeymoon. Ken's passion for history flowed through his voice as we viewed the different exhibits. And I remembered his passion for me.

I sighed, photographed the spoons, and put them back. I pulled out another piece of silver. It seemed to resemble a fish, with fins on one side and a split tail. I had no idea what it was. Betsy, once my best friend, would have recognized it. While I thought history was interesting, Betsy and Ken lived for it. Now they lived for each other.

My mind drifted back to how it all started. Betsy and I had met at a local stable where I volunteered to exercise horses a couple of times a week. Betsy boarded her mare there, and we became riding buddies. I discovered she taught high school history and invited her over for dinner, thinking Ken might be able to give her some ideas for her classes. She ended up getting a lot more than some lesson plans.

I shook my head.
Get over it. It's time to forget and move on.

I reviewed my list, decided it was the knitting sheath, and checked it off. A note said it held knitting needles and explained how it was used. A needle was put in it, allowing the woman's right hand to be free to handle the yarn. It helped her to work more quickly and efficiently, especially when walking. I remembered from my history classes it was a hard time for many people, and every minute was precious in terms of what it took to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, even knitting while walking.

Retrieving a glittering evening bag, I marveled over the detailed beaded pattern. I ran my fingers over its surface and then opened it. Was it my imagination, or did I detect a scent of lavender?

Next, I pulled out a blue velvet cushion full of hatpins, their jeweled array creating a sparkling bouquet of colors and shapes. I smiled as I remembered seeing a display and reading about how young women had used them to protect themselves against unwanted advances such as in a public carriage when a stranger's hand moved where it shouldn't.

My camera's battery light blinked, indicating it was low. I'd have to finish this tomorrow. I put the things away and locked the case. Maybe there would be a chance for me to check the landing. I headed for the reception area. Bad timing. They were bringing Sylvia's body down. I averted my eyes and walked to the office.

I knocked and heard Hensley say, “Enter.”

The deputy sheriff sat across from her at the desk, an open notepad in front of him.

“Deputy Stanton, I need to recharge my camera battery. Would it be okay for me to go back to my place and work on the boxes from the carriage house?”

Before he could answer, his phone rang. “I see . . . interesting . . . thanks.” He looked at Hensley, then me. “Sylvia Porter's emergency contact information led us to a disconnected phone.”

I wondered what had happened. As an administrative secretary, Sylvia had to be good with details. I found it hard to believe she'd made a mistake.

Stanton continued. “I gave them the name of the company she told you she worked for. They have no record of a Sylvia Porter.”

I knew I had the company name right. Preston was my mother's maiden name, and I'd fleetingly wondered if there was a connection somewhere in the family tree.

“What that means is”—Deputy Stanton leaned back—“we don't have any idea who the dead woman is.”