Chapter 20
Professor Goldblum grinned at me. “You see, the medical schools needed fresh cadavers for their students and they paid handsomely for fresh corpses.”
“You’re making this up.”
“Fascinating, isn’t it? It was a bit of a moral dilemma, because the young doctors needed the bodies to learn. But no one wanted their friends or relatives to end up in a medical school being dissected! Embalming and refrigeration weren’t what they are today, so freshness was crucial. It must have been an interesting time. Apparently, grave robbers followed funeral processions to know where the bodies were being buried so they could dig them up while they were fresh. Of course, eventually families had to stop processing for that reason.”
“Here? In Washington?”
“Yes, indeed! Wealthy families hired guards to watch the graves so their loved ones wouldn’t be stolen. Cemeteries hired guards, too, but in at least one case that I heard of, the guards were also grave robbers! Many families chose to bury their loved ones quietly in their own private plots so grave robbers wouldn’t know about it. But I digress. I do that all too often when a subject fascinates me.”
I smiled at him. He was a font of knowledge on many subjects yet he kept on learning.
“O’Malley, believing he would be rid of the curse, paid grave robbers to dig up Bosworth. There were all sorts of superstitions at the time and O’Malley thought he would be rid of the curse if the body snatchers removed him from his proper grave and took the body elsewhere. From what I understand, the belief was that Bosworth’s ghost would be confused and unable to find his way back to continue the curse on O’Malley.”
I sat back in my chair. “How strange that people would think something so silly.”
Goldblum’s eyes widened in fascination. “That’s the least of it. There was a very serious fear of vampires in New England that led to outrageous behavior as well.”
“Poor Mrs. Bosworth. What happened to her?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll find out.”
I smiled at the inquisitive little man. “Let me know?”
“Absolutely. Are any of those cookies left?” he asked as we returned to the coffee urn.
Just then Veronica joined us. “Bob went home.”
“Did you learn anything from Balthus?” I asked.
“It was boring. He knows nothing. He moved out two weeks ago and hasn’t been back.”
“I guess that brings an end to the foot-in-the-rug drama.” If we knew who killed Manny and if Cyril would be released from the hospital, we’d almost be back to normal. The story about O’Malley and the duel based on nothing made me think of Roxie.
“Veronica, is Finley having an affair with anyone?”
She shot me a sad look. Whispering, she said, “Probably. I don’t know for sure, but women flock to him. He’s quite the flirt. It’s like he always knows what to say to flatter women. Poor Roxie. She deserves better.”
“I thought you liked Finley,” I whispered.
Veronica stopped whispering. “I like a lot of people. It doesn’t mean I admire every facet of their personalities.”
Professor Goldblum applauded her. “Wise words, Veronica. All people have flaws.”
“Thank you, Professor.” Veronica looked immensely pleased with herself.
“You do realize that forgiving attitude is the reason she ends up with crummy boyfriends,” I said to Professor Goldblum.
“It’s also what makes people like her.” Goldblum poured himself a cup of coffee and wandered into the parlor.
He was right. And it made me feel crabby and judgmental. Why was I suspicious of people when Veronica accepted them the way they were? In high school I had attributed her popularity to a dozen different things. It never occurred to me that people were drawn to her because she had a forgiving nature. Nevertheless, that lack of discretion sometimes led her down the wrong path with questionable people.
After the craziness of the last two days, closing time couldn’t come soon enough. I looked forward to changing into my jammies, settling in with Peaches and Frodo, and sketching. It was just after nine o’clock when Veronica and I locked up and left.
Frodo snapped at leaves that tumbled along the sidewalk. I made it a point to walk on the side of the street opposite Coralue’s house. Still, I couldn’t help myself and paused briefly to stare at it. The police had left. Under the glow of streetlights, I could see the crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze. But it appeared that Coralue wasn’t home. None of the Halloween lights glowed. I didn’t even see any lights on inside of the house. It was like a vast empty hole on the street. Had Coralue done that on purpose? Out of respect for the dead?
We walked on and I almost didn’t recognize the Maxwell mansion. Jacquie had been hard at work. Pumpkins spilled from the landing at the front door all the way out to the street. A witch with a long nose hunched over a cauldron. She wore a glamorous witch hat that sparkled. A fine mist arose from her black vessel and wafted through the air. Next to the witch, the green eyes of a faux black cat gleamed in the night, watching all who dared enter.
In the mist, a lady ghost glowed in a diaphanous gown. I could only imagine that Jacquie had somehow arranged lights inside her long dress. I knew she was a prop, but she truly looked how I imagined a ghost would appear. Not that I believed in them, of course.
From inside a second-floor window, three fake skulls peered out on a diagonal, each one a little higher than the previous one. Faux flames from dark candles on the windowsill illuminated them.
A thick black garland surrounded the front door and orange lights twinkled on it.
It was a masterpiece that rivaled Coralue’s decorations.
Mr. DuBois opened the front door. “What do you think?”
“It’s very impressive. Did you help Jacquie?”
“It was a team effort. I fear Ms. Rattenhorst was a bit put off by the ghost, but I thought it quite authentic.”
“Maybe she did, too.”
Mr. Dubois chortled. “In that case, I would call it a job well done. Would you care to come in and join the séance?”
I walked to the front stoop, where he was standing. I was exhausted. But I trudged into the mansion with Frodo. Maybe it would be interesting.
Mr. DuBois rushed me to the kitchen, where Jacquie and Hilda sat at the table.
While putting on the kettle he said, “Hilda was correct. Right down to the foot sticking out of the rug.”
Hilda was sitting right there, so I didn’t point out that she had the location wrong.
Hilda blurted in a monotone, “The second murder.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jacquie. “Has someone else been killed?”
“You don’t remember? At the bookstore reading I was overcome by an evil presence. Manny was the first victim.”