"The waitress!"
"The waitress's daughter. The poor little girl is mentally handicapped and suffering from a few other health issues."
"Does she look like Steven Senior?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Mostly she looks like her mom, but there might be a resemblance. You'd have to do a blood test to be sure, but it was pretty clear to me from the conversation that Senior is headed in that direction."
Gilley thought about that for a bit before saying, "So, this would be an heir he could control, someone who would never challenge him. Someone he could lock away in some institution if he wanted to …"
Gilley's voice trailed off, and I paused with the fork halfway to my mouth as I realized Steven Senior could— and probably would—do just that. "Awww, man," I said as I set the fork down. "I hadn't thought of that. You're right. He's got enough money that he could probably get custody of her from her mother. Then he could lock her away for the rest of her life and not worry about her growing up and becoming a pain in the ass."
"Which leaves one little sticking point left," Gilley said.
"Steven Junior."
"Bingo."
I sighed and pushed my plate away. "Which still begs the question of why is this neck of the woods so important to Senior? It's undeveloped forest. What's the attraction?"
"Not sure, M.J.," Gilley said. "But I plan to find out."
"You ready?" we heard from the hallway.
I looked up, and Gilley swiveled in his seat to see Steven standing there. "Where're we off to?" I asked.
"Back to the lodge. I want you to try to make contact with my grandfather again. I need to prove that my father killed him so I can keep him from hurting Annalise and Shanah."
Just then Helen rushed in from the kitchen holding the phone. "Steven!" she said, her voice sharp. "It's your house sitter. He says there's been a break-in at your house!"
Steven took the phone, and Gilley and I listened as he talked for a few minutes in short, clipped sentences like, "When?" and, "Where were you at the time?" and finally, "What was taken?" He ended the call shortly after that, and we looked at him expectantly. "Someone broke into my home last night and made a mess of my bathroom."
"What would they want in your bathroom?" I asked.
"Probably drugs. The thief may have known I'm a doctor."
"How come you're just hearing about it?" I asked, wondering why the intern staying at his house hadn't called him earlier.
"My house sitter worked the midnight shift last night, and when he got home he called my cell phone." I cocked my head sideways, wondering where he was going with this. Steven added, "The one I left in the pool."
I looked at Gilley, who was also struggling to follow along. "Why would you go swimming with your cell phone?"
"It's a long story," I said quickly. "Come on, Steven; we need to get a move on." And I got up, giving Doc a kiss on the top of his head. "Call me if you come up with something, Gil," I said as Steven and I headed to the door.
"Gotcha," he said with a grin. "Good luck, you two."
* * * *
As we headed out to the Aston I saw that elusive gray sedan cruise slowly by the B and B. I tried to glance in the window to see who was behind the wheel, but the windows were tinted and I couldn't get a good look. "What?" I heard Steven ask.
I glanced back at Steven. "Nothing," I said with a shrug, but inside I didn't like the ugly feeling I got when I thought about that car.
Steven and I drove back to the Manse in stony silence. His dark mood of earlier hadn't changed, and I was pretty sure hearing that his house had been broken into for a second time wasn't helping to lighten his frame of mind. Rather than try to talk to him, I allowed him to simmer for a bit.
We arrived at the lodge and Steven coasted his car into a slot near the front door. Once he'd put the car into park he turned to me and offered, "I'm sorry I've been irritated. I'm worried about how things are unwrapping."
"Do you want to call the Cambridge police and follow up with them?" I asked.
"Not right now. I don't think I can keep my temper from going kaboom."
I smiled a little as I opened the car door. "Got it, but just remember I'm one of the good guys, okay?"
"I am noting this," he said, following me up the front stairs to the door. We got inside and listened for any noise that might indicate that Andrew or Maureen was afoot. We heard nothing, and Steven looked to me for the next move.
I nodded and closed my eyes, centering my energy, and then opened that conduit in my brain that could hear what others couldn't. Andrew? I called out in my mind. Maureen? I waited a few heartbeats, then opened my eyes and motioned to Steven. I had felt the smallest of tugs from the third floor.
Steven and I climbed the staircase in silence, pausing every few steps to listen. As we mounted the second-floor landing we both heard a thump from overhead. "What was that?" Steven whispered.
"I think it's Maureen," I said, and continued to climb. "Come on; she might be willing to talk to me."
We made our way to the third floor and quietly walked down the hallway, ears straining for the slightest sound that might indicate a ghost was afoot. As we approached the bedroom where we'd seen Maureen we heard a much louder thump, followed by a dragging noise. Steven jumped and grabbed my shoulder. "I think there's someone in there," he whispered in my ear.
I nodded and whispered back, "It's Maureen. Come on. She won't hurt you."
We moved slowly into the doorway of the bedroom and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, but the hair on my arms was standing on end. "It's cold in here," Steven said as he rubbed his arms.
He was right; the temperature felt frigid. We moved farther into the room, waiting and watching. Nothing happened. Finally, I decided to call out to Maureen to try to provoke a reaction. "Maureen?" I said. "We need to talk to you. Please let us know if you're here."
Immediately after I said that there was a crack behind us, and Steven and I jumped as we turned around. I pointed to the nightstand, where the framed picture of Maureen was now facedown. "Thank you, Maureen," I said. "I know you can hear me, and I need your help. Andrew is in trouble. He's stuck and he can't move forward until we understand what happened to him. Can you help us? Can you guide us to help Andrew?"
There was a moment when nothing happened, and then, without warning, a huge chest of drawers on the opposite wall rattled and moved forward several inches. Steven again gripped my arm. "Goddamn!" he hissed. "I don't like when she does that."
I smiled and patted his hand. "She's trying to show us something," I said as I watched the bureau. I decided to reach out again to her. "Thank you, Maureen. I see you're over by the bureau now. But we still need your help with Andrew. I think you know what happened to him. I can hear you if you're willing to talk. Please try to communicate with me."
Without warning I felt a shriek in my mind so loud I dropped to my knees. "Unnh!" I said, holding my head in my hands.
"M.J.?" Steven said, his voice alarmed. "What's happened?"
With effort I got to my feet. "She screamed," I said.
"She did?" he asked me, like he'd missed something.
"Yes, in my head. She screamed. I keep getting this wave of anger with her. She's definitely very upset about something."
"Well, this is ridiculous," he groused. "I mean, we can't keep going around chasing the geese with this woman. Maybe she is intending to lead us in the wrong direction? Remember the last time? She said follow the damn bees, and look at what happened …"
Suddenly the giant bureau seemed to jiggle; then we both jumped as it came crashing toward us. "Holy Mother of God!" Steven yelled as he pulled me out of the way. "She's trying to kill us!"
Again I heard a loud shriek in my head, which caused me to wince, but then there was a word that followed that I was able to catch. Letters … it said.
My eye went to the bureau, and cautiously I moved over to it. "What are you doing?" Steven asked. "M.J., keep away from there and
let's get out of here! This was a bad idea."
I held up a finger to my lips and gave him a pointed look. I didn't want him to upset Maureen any more than she already was. He gave me a scowl in reply, and I felt another tug toward the bottom of the bureau. I walked carefully around the side over near the wall, and that was when I saw a small pack of letters taped to the underbelly of the bureau.
I looked up at Steven and shot him a smile. "She's not trying to kill us after all," I said to him as I reached down and tugged the letters free. "She's trying to show us something."
Steven gave me a puzzled look and came over to inspect the bundle. "What are these?" he asked.
I sifted through them, trying to determine that myself. There were about twenty letters, old and worn and written in a lovely fluid style. Though they were in envelopes, nothing but the word Andrew was on the front. I opened the first one and began to read.
My darling, Andrew,
Thank you for a lovely evening last night. I had such a wonderful time. I never would have guessed you knew so much about the stars. How special it was to walk in the moonlight, holding your hand and feeling like the luckiest woman alive. . ..
"They're love letters," I said as I flipped through the pages.
"To my grandfather," Steven said as I opened one and began to read. "And they're signed by Maureen."
"Really?" I asked. "This one is signed M. Did she spell it out in yours?"
"No, but it's clear to me who M is."
"I don't know," I said as I felt Maureen come into my energy and give a shake of her head. "I don't think Maureen agrees with you."
"Who else could it be? I mean, we already know they had an affair."
"Mirabelle?" I asked.
"Ewwww," Steven said. "I can't imagine my grandfather bonking a mother and daughter."
"Bonking?"
"Yes, you know. Like what we almost did the other night."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "The term is boinking, and if that's what you're calling what nearly happened with us the other night, then don't ever plan on it actually happening."
"Hey," he said, sweeping my hair behind my ear. "That was rude of me. I would not bonk you."
"Boink," I said adamantly.
Steven grinned at me. "Come, let's take these letters downstairs and read them. I can't find a date. Can you?"
"No," I answered, shuffling through the envelopes I had. "There's no postmark, so these weren't mailed. Whoever wrote them must have given them to Andrew directly, which means she would have been local."
"Let's go to the kitchen to read them. I want to get out of this room before more furniture attacks us."
Steven and I headed back downstairs to the kitchen, and we each pulled up a bar stool. While I read through a stack, Steven made some tea for both of us, then joined me at the counter, and we read in silence until we'd made it through our pile of letters.
"What do you think?" he asked me as I put down the last letter.
"This chick really loved your grandfather," I said.
"Kind of… how you say … consumed with him?"
"Obsessed."
"Yes. She seems to be obsessed with him."
"Yep. And completely jealous of your grandmother. She keeps referring to her as the Evil Queen. So, at least we know these were written while your grandmother was still alive."
Steven nodded. "Which would put it about nineteen eighty-eight or earlier."
"And Maureen died in the seventies."
"See?" Steven said to me. "So it could have been Maureen."
"Yes," I conceded. "But my gut says it's not."
"Another mystery to solve then."
I shuffled all the letters together into one pile on the counter. "None of this makes any sense. Why were these letters hidden in Maureen's bedroom if Maureen didn't write them? Who was this mystery woman, and what the hell does it have to do with your grandfather's death?"
Steven rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe none of it's connected," he said. "Maybe Maureen is upset that someone else had an affair with my grandfather, and that's the reason for her anger."
I nodded as I thought about that. "Still," I said, "I think there's more to this story than we realize."
"Where do we go from here?" Steven asked.
I hopped off the bar stool. "There's a lead or two left that we haven't tracked down yet. Come on; we need to go back into town."
Chapter 13
We arrived in town a little while later, and I told Steven where I wanted to go. Pulling up alongside a spiffy-looking Victorian, we got out and checked the nameplate on the front entrance: CURT BANCROFT, REALTOR.
As we were about to head inside, I felt a small tug to my right and happened to turn my head. Just down the street from where we'd parked sat a shiny silver Rolls-Royce. I tapped Steven on the shoulder and pointed to his father's car. "The guy always seems to have the same interests we do," I said.
I watched as Steven's brow darkened. "Come," he said. "It's time to find out what that bastard is up to."
When we opened the door we heard the sound of a doorbell, announcing our presence. A woman about my age, with long red hair and glasses, looked up as we entered. "Good afternoon," she said warmly. "Did you have an appointment with Mr. Bancroft?"
"No," I said quickly, taking the lead. "But we were interested in purchasing some land, and we heard you guys were the best Realtor in town."
The woman giggled. "That might have a little something to do with the fact that we're the only Realtor in town. Mr. Bancroft is busy with another client at the moment; then he has a luncheon appointment. Can I pencil you in for one o'clock this afternoon?"
Steven opened his mouth, but I gave him a small slap on the back and said, "That would be great. Pencil us in; the last name is Holliday. We'll go get some lunch ourselves and be back then." With that I turned and walked out, hoping Steven would follow.
He did, but not before grabbing my arm on the front steps and asking, "Hey, what was that about?"
"It's called playing it smart," I said. "If you go in there with guns blazing and half-cocked, your father isn't going to tell you anything. He's obviously doing business with people in real estate, so let's poke around a bit before we start pointing fingers and alerting the media that your dad is a rat bastard, okay?"
Steven surprised me by breaking into a grin. "You are cute when serious, you know?"
I rolled my eyes and headed down the steps. Looking back I said, "Come on. Let's get some lunch and come up with a good story so that we don't make Bancroft clam up like Roger did."
* * * *
An hour and a half later we were seated comfortably in Curt Bancroft's office, waiting for him to get back from his lunch date. Steven's knee bounced up and down, and he cracked his knuckles enough times for me to want to get up and swat him, so I tried to distract myself by taking in the decor of Bancroft's office.
The room was a honey yellow with rich white molding. There were two watercolors mounted on the wall: one of a sailboat and the other of a harbor. Bancroft's desk was neatly organized, no files or pads of paper for me to snoop around in while we waited.
Finally, ten minutes late and full of apologies, Bancroft breezed into the room, his tie askew and a lipstick smudge on his collar. "So sorry I'm late," he said trying to catch his breath.
"No problem," Steven said easily. "We have all day."
Bancroft moved around to his side of the desk and sat down. He was about an inch or two taller than Steven. His face had probably once been handsome, but had grown soft like his belly with middle age and too many carbs. His hair was brown and looked freshly mussed, and he must have caught me staring at it, because he was quick to try to smooth it out. "Windy out there," he said quickly.
"Really?" I said with a smirk. "I hadn't even noticed a breeze today."
"Just started up, then," Bancroft said as he scooted his chair forward. "Now, what can I do for you folks?"
"We're from Boston," I began. "And we w
ere up this way about a month ago, visiting my parents, who live in New York, when we got lost and ended up in Uphamshire. Well, I fell in love with it immediately, and I've been just nonstop about how smitten I am with this neck of the woods. I've been going on and on about it to Peter here," I said, pausing to squeeze Steven's arm. On cue, he flashed a smile at Bancroft. "And even though both our jobs would keep us in Boston, someday I'd like to retire someplace between there and my family."
"You'd like to see about buying a little land, then?" Bancroft said.
Clapping my hands enthusiastically, I said, "Yes!"
Bancroft leaned in over his desk, resting on his elbows and placing his hands together in a steeple. "You definitely came at the right time," he said. "I have the inside scoop that Uphamshire's real estate is about to shoot through the roof."
"You don't say?" I asked, suddenly intrigued. "Big business moving in?"
Bancroft smiled knowingly. "Better. There's a highway set to connect the Mass. Pike with Route Eighty-five through to New York. That means we'll be on the fast track, and land around here will be worth a mint!"
"Really?" Steven said. "When is this highway being finished?"
"Within the next three years," Bancroft said. Then he motioned for us to come closer. When we leaned in, he said in a low, excited tone, "And I met with a gentleman earlier who informs me that a major pharmaceutical company is looking at property just north of here to build a huge facility!"
"A pharmaceutical company?" I asked.
"Yes. You know how Massachusetts laws are so friendly toward all that stem-cell research stuff? Well, apparently, New York isn't nearly as open to the idea, and a major player in that market is looking to relocate without having to uproot all of their employees. This new highway would bring them here without too much fuss."
"And you said that this facility will be just north of here?" Steven asked.
"Yes. There's a large chunk of land that would be a prime location," Bancroft said, pointing north. "It's mostly undeveloped forest up that way. Perfect to build on, especially since the highway will run so close by it."
I watched Steven's face begin to darken. He was getting angry, and I needed to distract him—pronto. I gave a pointed glance at my watch and cried, "Oh, my goodness! Honey, I completely forgot to tell Mom we weren't going to make it for lunch! She's probably got the food laid out for us and is wondering where we are."