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TRACI TAPPED THE FLASHLIGHT app on her phone and approached the north side of Hazelton House. She weaved through the roses and tall grasses until she reached the servants’ entrance, slipped a nail file along the knob and flipped up the latch. She worked her way up the narrow stairs to the attic. She lifted the flashlight and scanned all the boxes and stacks of old newspapers. Where to start?
She had seen the names of Miss Rowena’s ancestors with Kay McGee’s help. What she had said was true. All of them had lived in this house before her. Traci did not believe in ghosts and had no fear that she was being watched by any evil spirits. However, she was concerned about Randall following her. He had a way of turning up in places she least expected. Sometimes it bothered her. Sometimes it didn’t. His interest in her was unsettling sometimes, she craved it.
“This is not about him,” she said and shook her head, “Focus.”
She decided to look in the least obvious places first. Nothing under the bed except a pair of old slippers and a rodent carcass, probably left behind by one of the cats. She lifted the mattress and heard paper rustling. She ran her hand underneath and felt a large envelope stuffed inside a slit in the bottom of the mattress. She pulled it out, opened it carefully and poured out the contents on top of the bed. She hovered the light over each item.
There was another copy of Earl Garrett’s photo, plus a few more newspaper clippings, and another very old photograph of Hazelton House. Traci lowered the light over every corner of it. There were people lined up along the path through the field of what was clearly a road leading directly to the house. There were men on horses and a carriage with people walking along the road. She recognized the pole that the growers used to post the schedule. Traci could make out the landmarks surrounding the property and Mount PierPoint in the background. She had no doubt this entire photo collection was of Hazelton House. She looked on the back of each to find a date or any inscription. Nothing. She picked up one of the newspapers from a corner of the room and found more photographs. There was another framed photo of a log house with a group of military officers standing on a wrap-around porch, a style similar to Hazelton House.
Traci walked over to the wall and tapped on it. She ran her fingers up the dusty wallpaper feeling for any clues left behind. She took out her nail file and pushed up one of the ceiling panels. She shined the flashlight into it but couldn’t see anything. She pushed her finger through it and slid a panel back to make it big enough to shove the light inside and get a better look. She had enough experience with these old houses that she knew there must be a reason they added a drop ceiling. She found it.
“Wow,” she said and caught her breath. She heard someone coming up the stairs behind her. She gathered all the photos back into the envelope and stuffed it under her shirt.
Randall Wells leaped into the room and grabbed Traci by the shoulders. He leaned against her body, covered her mouth and placed his lips against her ear.
“Quiet,” he whispered. Then, he pulled her down on the floor behind an armoire in the corner. His hand still clamped over her mouth. Traci was shaking so much his hand slipped across the sweat on her face.
“Be still,” he said tightening his grip.
They waited, pressed against each other in the dark. Finally, Traci heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She huddled closer to Randall, her heart beating against his forearm. They listened as someone entered the attic and walked toward the bed. They heard the mattress being pulled away from the ancient creaking bedsprings, and then tossed violently to the floor. The sound of sheets and pillows being wrestled around and thrown across the room. Another person entered and joined the intruder near the bed. The footsteps were lighter. A woman, Traci thought, from the slap-slap sound of sandals hitting their heels.
“It’s not here,” the man said, “She must have stashed it someplace else.”
“Where would she put it?” the woman said.
“I don’t know,” he said, his footsteps coming closer to them. “That woman was so superstitious. She might’ve buried it out there under the chicken coop for all I know.”
“We have to find it,” the woman said, “or it’s all been for nothing.”
“You went too far,” the man said, “I never agreed to ...”
“It happened,” she said, “no point in crying over it. She’s dead. And it’s a blessing in disguise. Something you never had the nerve to do. So there, I took care of it for you.”
“That’s not what I wanted for Rowena,” the man said, “You know that.”
“Shut up,” she said. “Let’s find what we came for and get out of here.”
“There’s a safe in the parlor downstairs. Let’s check that,” he said.
Traci felt Randall’s hand slowly loosen against her face and she took a stifled breath. His chest felt like granite against her body long after the couple exited the room. Finally, he looked deeply into her eyes, so close she could almost feel their lashes touch.
“I told you to stay away from here,” his breath warm against her cheek. She blinked her eyes to push back the panic. Nausea and the familiar surge of nervous energy rolled through her body.
”Four things ... four things ...” she whispered and drew in a breath. “The floor ...” Another breath. “The floor ... the ...”
Randall drew his thumb across her eyelids, tracing the tears, and his fingertips gently caressed her face and neck in the dim light. They were both shallow breathing in the stifling heat of the attic. He placed his hands around her waist and helped her stand up. His hands gripped tightly upon her shoulders as he stood still waiting patiently until she focused and came back to him.
“I’m going downstairs,” he whispered. “Don’t come out of this spot until I call for you. You understand?”
Traci took a long deep breath and nodded. He pointed to the wardrobe, and she lowered herself behind it. Randall looked out each attic window, then tip-toed down the stairs. She waited for what seemed like hours to hear his voice again. Suddenly, there was a faint sound of footsteps. She held her breath and tightened her grip on the nail file. It was Randall. He held out his hand, “Come on.” he said pulling her to her feet.
“I was ...” Traci said still quivering.
“Feeding cats?” Randall said shaking his head. “And let me guess, you found your way up here by mistake.”
She placed her hand on her stomach and inhaled. “Did you catch them?”
“No,” he said touching her arm, “But I got a glimpse of their car. I called it in. We’ll see what comes of it.” He noticed she was still trembling. He took her hand again and squeezed it. “In the meantime,” he said and motioned toward the stairs. “I’ll help you find your way home.”
Randall waited in the dim moonlight at the bottom of the front steps as Traci unlocked her door and stepped inside.
“Goodnight,” he said, looking over her head and through the open door.
“Goodnight, Randall.”
She closed the door and locked it. She watched the penlight beam around the shrubs and bathe the sides of her house. He held the light poised down her driveway for a few extra minutes, then swirled it a few times through the trees near her upstairs bedroom windows. Finally, he returned to his squad car and drove away.
Traci walked into her kitchen and took down a glass and the bottle of Blue Jule. She opened the fridge to get some ice. There was a half dozen small brown hens’ eggs in the door. Milo had been there. He had found the key that she left for him under the crawlspace out back. She dropped a couple ice cubes into the glass, added lemon slices and topped it with the sparkling water. Her thoughts were swirling around, trying to understand what she heard. She pulled out the envelope and dropped it on the counter. She wasn’t sure what would happen with her relationship with Randall. Or what she was going to do with the contents of that envelope. It must be something important enough for Miss Rowena to be killed, that was clear.
The other thing that was clear, it was Earl Garrett’s voice in the attic. Of that, she had no doubt.