Poisoned (The Alex Harris Mystery Series) (28 page)

“Yeah, but how did he make the copies? Does the house have a copy machine?” I asked thinking that a copy machine didn’t fit in with what I imagined the decor to look like.

“Well, no. Not that I know of. But he could have gone into town and made his copies and then put the papers back where he found them.”

“Chantal, write down directions and then I think I’ll stop by the hospital and see if Mr. Kaminski has that key.”

I gave Chantal a pad of paper and watched while she wrote down the directions and explained everything to John. It seemed pretty straightforward except for a narrow road obscured by thick overgrowth.

Armed with the crudely drawn map, John and I went into the reception area where Millie sat behind her desk. John walked over and gave her clown nose a tweak. “Where’s Sam?”

“The elementary school. The kids are having Halloween parties and Sam baked pumpkin cupcakes. She should be back later. Listen, John, tonight’s Halloween. Do you think you might be able to get away and help me give out candy?”

“If I can get away, I may pass out candy at my place for a bit. I thought that my house is too big and scary and they probably wouldn’t come, but then that’s what Halloween’s all about. There aren’t too many kids in the area, little ones, anyway, and then I’ll try to come by. I figure if any kids show up it will probably be early. So maybe I can come by about seven-thirty.”

I could hardly wait for him to move in and then there wouldn’t be any of “your place and my place.” I kissed him good-bye and hoped I would see him later.

It was almost lunch. The three of us sat in my office and ate leftover stew that Millie had made the previous evening.

About one-thirty, a deliveryman arrived with an order of office supplies, and Millie went out to help him.

“Well, I guess I should be going and let you get back to work.” Chantal put on her coat. “Let me know if John finds something. If he does, and it’s all in French, I can translate.”

“Thanks, Chantal, for all your help.”

She left the office and a few minutes later came back.

“Did you forget something?”

“No. Well, yes, I did. I should have told John. Maybe if he calls you can let him know.”

“What is it?”

“Bradley stayed over with his grandmother every Monday evening and sometimes on other nights, too. Especially if Kendra had an acting class or something.”

“And you’re wondering if he could have left the originals in his room at Mrs. Brissart’s?”

“Exactly. We have a copier so he could have made copies and then put the papers back up in his room. It makes perfect sense if the papers are indeed old and fragile. He probably wouldn’t have wanted to handle them very much.”

I was already standing and reaching for my purse. “Do you still have the key?”

“To Mrs. Brissart’s? Yeah. I had two, can’t remember why. I gave Detective Maroni one last night. But Alex, we can’t just go and look in Bradley’s room, can we?” Chantal asked with a smile spreading across her face.

“Why not? Maybe by the time John gets back from Farmington, we’ll have the papers in-hand. Besides, I’ve been dying to check in the computer to see if there were any items of interest about the history. I wanted to ask you about it yesterday, but well, with the police around, and Mr. Kaminski in such a bad state, I didn’t think it the right time. And,” I added as I pulled on my coat, “I don’t think Mrs. Brissart would mind, not if it helps in finding her grandson’s killer. And we can call her when we get to the house and ask if it would make you feel better.”

“Okay. I must admit I am rather curious. And it makes sense if I look because I can translate.”

I liked her logic. I knew I hired her for a good reason.

By the time we reached the old house, the sky had become gray with a layer of clouds. Rain wasn’t in the forecast, but then again weathermen were known to be wrong. I always thought that if they just looked out the window before they announced the weather each morning, they could save a fortune on machines and other weather-finding equipment.

There were no other cars in the driveway and we parked my black Honda close to the front door. Chantal took the key from her purse. The lovely old house seemed foreboding with no one present. Maybe it was just the weather and being Halloween, but I had the creeps.

“First, let’s call Mrs. Brissart. I’ll feel better.” I followed Chantal down the hall to the study. The red eye of the answering machine blinked and Chantal pressed the button for the message.

“It’s Roberta,” Mrs. Brissart’s soft voice filled the room. Chantal lowered the volume on the machine and got a pencil ready. “Ralph, are you there? Where is everyone? Virginia’s sister had a bit of a setback and we’ve been at the hospital most of the time. Should be back to Indian Cove in a few days. Virginia’s sister is doing much better.”

The machine clicked off, and reset itself. Chantal dialed the number in Hartford, and getting no answer, she turned to me. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to go have a look.”

We went back out into the hall and took the staircase up to the second floor. With no one around, the heat had not been turned on and it felt very cold. We left our coats on and were glad we had both worn slacks. I had never been up here and it surprised me to see it was very bright and freshly painted. The walls were white from the baseboard to the middle and then a soft pale pink striped wallpaper finished to the ceiling. The carpet was a deep rose and there was a window at the end of the long hall that ordinarily would have let in a stream of sunlight.

Chantal wasn’t sure which room was Bradley’s, having been upstairs only a few times herself. All the doors stood open. She knew Mrs. Brissart and Mrs. Platz each had rooms on this floor and Mr. Kaminski had a small apartment off the kitchen, which had been converted for him many years before. She peeked into each room with me right behind her satisfying my nosy streak. A room on the left toward the end of the hall looked as if it might be Bradley’s. It was painted in a tan color and the furniture was dark and seemed more masculine.

“What do you think?” asked Chantal.

“Looks like it could be his. All the rest are very feminine.”

We entered the room and began our search.

Chantal and I took off our coats. The lifting of the mattress was the final straw and we felt too hot from our labors. So far, we found nothing of interest. I felt odd going through Bradley’s things though there really wasn’t all that much; a few changes of clothes, and a selection of paperbacks, but it still felt like snooping and of course it was.

We looked under the oriental carpet, in the closet, and under all the drawers because as I told Chantal, this was always where the police found stuff in the movies. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be the choice in real life. Chantal even looked behind the drapes, thinking that maybe Bradley had sewn the papers into the fabric on a particularly boring evening. Nothing.

“I think maybe we’ve made a mistake. Help me get this mattress back up,” Chantal said brushing a piece of her hair out of her eyes. “You know, why would Bradley hide the papers to begin with? I can understand him making copies so he could make notes on them, but why did he feel the need to hide them if in fact he did?”

“You have a point. Maybe he didn’t. They’re probably not even here but
I am an optimist. It does not seem too much use being anything else
.”

“Huh?” Chantal looked at me.

“Oh, nothing.” I didn’t feel like enlightening Chantal to my quirky Churchill-quoting habit so instead I just helped her put the bed back together, placing the chenille bedspread on top. “I can’t imagine he would want to hide something from his grandmother. After all, they probably belong to her in the first place though he could have been hiding them from the likes of May and June.”

“Well, they do come over quite a bit, but they very rarely come up here.”

“Maybe John found something up at the house in Farmington,” I said, hoping his luck turned out better than ours. What was left of the sun disappeared for the day and I walked over to the wall and turned on a switch illuminating a large floor lamp while Chantal turned on the bedside lamp. “Well, I guess that’s it.” I plopped myself onto the freshly made bed.

“Do you think we should check anywhere else?” Chantal asked.

I sat for a moment staring off into space. “I wouldn’t feel right going into Mrs. Brissart’s room. Maybe we should wait until we get in touch with her.” Something caught my eye and I slowly stood up, a smile spreading across my face. “Bingo!”

“Bingo? What are you grinning about, Alex?” Chantal watched as I walked across the room to where the floor lamp stood. I reached underneath the burgundy shade and turned it off using the knob attached to the base.

I reached inside the shade and slowly peeled away a piece of tape. “Well, well, well. What a clever boy.” I went back to the bed where Chantal still sat, and placed an envelope on the spread. “This is like Christmas.” I gently opened the envelope even though it wasn’t old and tipped it allowing three smaller envelopes along with something that looked like a deed of some sort to fall onto the bed.

“The letters! Alex, you did it. What do they say?” Chantal asked even though I hadn’t taken them out of their envelopes. They were very definitely old, and yellowed, and very worn.

“I’m worried about fingerprints. Maybe I shouldn’t open them. I wish I had gloves.”

“Mrs. Platz keeps a box of those disposable ones under the kitchen sink, will that do?”

“Sure,” I said as Chantal headed out the door. “Get two pair.”

A few minutes later Chantal came back with two pair of thin plastic gloves. They looked like the kind I used when I highlighted my hair. We put them on and Chantal gingerly picked up one envelope and removed the paper. She read it carefully, slowly, speaking very softly.

Strasbourg, le 7 Novembre 1837

Cher Lucien,

Quand tu liras ces lignes
...

“Chantal, can you translate?” I asked trying not to sound impatient.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Alex. Yes, let’s see. It’s dated 1837 and it’s from Strasbourg. That’s in France. It’s from...” Chantal scanned the two pages. “Here it is. It’s from someone named Joseph Jaeger. I remember that name from the stuff I typed up, but I don’t really remember the connection. Okay. It says:

Dear Lucien, by now I am sure that you have gone through with your plans. I cannot, in all honesty, say that I agree with the actions that you found necessary to take, but you know that what you have told me shall go no further
.”

Chantal stopped reading for a moment and I asked what was wrong. “Nothing. It’s just that the ink is a bit faded and there’s a tiny hole in the paper. I’m trying to figure out the missing words by the next sentence. She mumbled in French for a few more seconds and then continued.

“
I fear that what has brought you to this conclusion is greed. It is what I have always feared the most for you for I have known you all your life, and have always been aware of your ambitions and needs, which I dare say are great. I never thought you capable of murder and it saddens me. No, I must be honest, it disgusts me to think that it is so. The fact that the blood is not on your hands does not diminish the truth of what you have done.

You have nothing to fear from me, cousin. I will carry your sin to my grave. I wish that I did not know this side of you but I believe deep down it was always there and because I loved you, I turned a blind eye. You felt it necessary to confess to me, for that is what it was, a confession, and though I cannot say I am happy you told me, I understand the need that led you to unburden yourself, if only to me. Perhaps your charity to the widow Thiry will erase some of your sins in the eyes of God. I don’t know, but I can only pray that it will. Sadly, I feel that I must sever all ties with you. To carry your sins is one burden I will endure because we are family, but to condone your actions by continuing our relationship would not serve either one of us well.

I will carry you always in my heart, dear Lucien
.

“It’s signed
Joseph
.”

“What the heck does all this mean?” I stood up and walked around the bed to peer over Chantal’s shoulder. “Obviously someone is dead, but who? What does this all have to do with Bradley?” I asked, getting a sick feeling that instead of solving a crime we may have just opened up a whole new can of worms.

“There’s two more letters,” said Chantal. “Let’s see if they help.” She took one of the letters from an envelope and looked up at me. “This one’s in English and it’s dated December 15, 1836.

Paul, I trust everything is ready and the terms that we agreed upon are still satisfactory. Maudlin fool that I am, I think it best to wait until after Christmas. Let Raymond have one more feast with his family. I do not want to know the details and I see no reason for us to ever meet again. The money will be waiting for you in the agreed location after it is done. Do not let me down! I know too much of your past for you to cross me. It would be very unwise.

Lucien
”

I put my hand to my heart. “Jesus! This Lucien sounds horrible. This sounds more like gangsters in the 1920s than businessmen in the 1800s.”

Chantal put her chin in her hand. “If I remember correctly, Lucien is the first of Mrs. Brissart’s ancestors to come to America.”

“We need a copy of the family history.” I jumped off the bed and headed for the door.

“We still have another letter to read and this other thing.” Chantal held up the deed.

“Bring them downstairs. With any luck, we might just be able to solve this whole thing.”

Back in the study, it took a few minutes for Chantal to open up the system. While we waited I asked, “There’s something I don’t understand. If Lucien wrote this to this Paul person, then why was it with Lucien’s things? Or do we have Paul’s things or maybe even the papers of Joseph?”