Pale shades of coral splashed with a touch of blue dotted the horizon like ribbons in the wind, following the sun as it made its grand departure. It was Addison’s favorite time of day. She could sit and stare at the vivid array of colors for hours. But not tonight. Something else grabbed her attention. When she turned down the road for home, a man sat on her front porch, his legs crossed, arms folded. He looked much too old to be Luke; even from a distance Addison could see that. As she drove closer, she could see his broad, greyish-colored beard and the funny-looking hat on top of his head. It was brown and in the style of something Frank Sinatra used to wear on his album covers.
She exited the car and he stood, offering his hand to her when she drew near. “It’s Miss Lockhart, right?”
They shook hands.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Name’s Houston.”
He said it like it should mean something to her. It didn’t. She offered a cautious smile. “Why are you here?”
“Heard you were looking for me.”
“From…?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “From what I was told, I thought you were expecting me.”
A light inside Addison’s head sparked on. Detective Houston. “I’m glad you’re here.”
They went inside. Addison offered him a glass of water, which he accepted, hastily drinking it down in a few swallows like he’d been parched for days.
“I have some questions about a case you worked on many years ago,” Addison said.
He nodded. “Since I’m here, I’ll take a stab at it and say it’s the Rafferty case. What’s got you so interested?”
“I’m sure you’ll remember this house was the last place she was seen.”
He stammered a barely audible, “I do.”
“Can you tell me who else was here the night she disappeared?” Addison asked. “I assume you interviewed everyone.”
He fiddled with his beard. “I did. Can’t remember all the names, though. Not off the top of my head.”
“Don’t you have any records or paperwork from that night?”
He placed a hand on the arm of the sofa. “Mind if I sit?” After he sat down, he continued. “I’m retired. And I’ll be honest, I’ve thought of Miss Rafferty many times over the years. It was good to step away from it all, clear my mind. My life is simple now. I want to keep it that way.”
Any hope Addison had of the detective helping her turned to disappointment. He was old, he was tired, and he didn’t seem to care. “It doesn’t bother you that the case was never solved?”
“Never said that. I just don’t think of it much anymore. Can’t solve them all.”
His lack of compassion startled her, making her wonder if too many years in that line of work changed a person. “Your files—the ones you would have kept with the names of those you’d interviewed that night. They’d be at the station, right?”
He shrugged. “S’pose so.”
“I can give them a call. Then you don’t need to concern yourself with it.”
He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll get them. But first, I’d like to know what all of this is about.”
Addison sat across from him, her mind filled with a handful of scenarios, which she weighed one by one. He was a detective. He’d know if she was hiding something. A direct approach was needed. “Do you think it’s possible that Roxanne was murdered?” Addison looked him square in the eyes, gauging his reaction.
He shifted on his seat, a startled look covering his face that he tried to hide. It was pointless; she’d seen it already. “Miss Lockhart, I need to know who you are and why you’re asking these questions if you want this conversation to continue any further.”
“All right,” she replied, tucking her feet beneath her legs. “I inherited Grayson Manor recently.”
“From?”
“My mother.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t follow. I have no idea what became of this place once my investigation was over. Who was your mother?”
“Maybe this will help. I’m the granddaughter of Norman and Marjorie Grayson.”
He jerked his head back. The connection had been made. “It still doesn’t explain to me why the sudden interest in Miss Rafferty.”
“I have reason to believe Roxanne Rafferty was murdered.”
The man sat, silently digesting her words. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just stared at her, the discomfort spreading throughout the room like a thick blanket. Not knowing what else to do, she kept going. “I know it sounds crazy, but I—”
He held a hand out as if to shush her. “I see.”
He sees? He sees what exactly?
He tugged on his beard. This time, she kept quiet. If he had something to say, she’d wait to hear it. One minute passed. Then two. He looked at her. She looked back, refusing to break the silence. Another minute went by before it paid off.
“There hasn’t been any new information for years. And here you are broadcasting your opinion like you were there. Forgive me, but you weren’t. You know nothing about it.”
His arrogance clung to the air like a hefty puff of cigar smoke. “Do you think someone killed her or don’t you?”
“Maybe. Possibly. Hell, I don’t know. I had several suspicions back then, none I could prove.”
“Did you have any suspects?”
“There were a few people we looked at more than others.”
“Who?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Even after all this time? Why does it matter now? I believe she may have been murdered—here in this house.”
He shook his head. “Impossible. My partner and I searched every room. We didn’t find anything to prove Miss Rafferty was harmed here.”
“Then you didn’t look hard enough.”
“What are you saying?”
“I need to show you something.” She stood. “I found evidence in one of the rooms in this house. Two rooms, actually.”
“What do you mean two rooms?”
“One I believe she was murdered in, the other contained a dress that appears to have dried blood on it. I’d like to know how it can be tested to see if I’m right.”
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind, but followed her up the stairs anyway. “It’s in here.” Addison pushed the door open, flicked the light switch, and stepped back, allowing him to view the discoloration of the wood on the opposite side of the room.
“Their daughter’s room?”
Addison gasped. It couldn’t be true. Her mother’s room? “What do you mean?”
“This was their daughter’s room. Nothing could have happened here. The child was asleep in this room on the night of the party.”
A sudden uneasiness spread through Addison’s body. Her legs twitched, buckling beneath her. She reached out a hand, grappling for the wall next to her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I…I don’t think so. The stain on the floor there. I thought someone had cleaned something up, and then covered it with carpet when the wood faded.”
“This carpeting was here the first time I questioned Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, and it didn’t appear to be new at the time. I would have noticed.”
“I don’t understand. Why was the room boarded up?”
“Boarded up?”
Addison pointed to the strips of wood, some still covering the door. “When I arrived, the door to this room was locked. I couldn’t get in. Boards had been nailed over the glass. Whoever went to the trouble didn’t want anyone in here—ever.”
He reached behind her, picking up one of the boards. He inspected both sides, then let it fall to the floor again. “I can’t say. It wasn’t boarded up when I was here. There have been vandals over the years. Maybe that’s why this room was locked up.”
“But there wasn’t anything in it,” Addison said. “Why this room and none of the others? Who would take the time to lock it up? My grandfather hasn’t been seen since the murder, and my grandmother is dead.”
The man shuddered. “What do you mean, dead?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I haven’t spoken to her since my investigation. How?”
Addison shook her head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t a part of her life.”
“What—why?”
“I’d rather not go into it.”
He offered a look of understanding. “Did you say there was something else—a dress?”
Addison walked across the hall toward her room, the weight of her feet felt like giant bags filled with sand. Would he find fault with the dress too? Everything was unraveling. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. She removed the dress box from beneath her bed and lifted the lid, extending it out to him.
“Aren’t you going to take it out?” he asked.
She couldn’t. Not without touching it. “You can,” she said, placing the box into his hands.
He reached a hand inside the box and lifted the dress. It unraveled, revealing the stained blemishes across the front. “You believe these spots are blood?”
Addison nodded. “I’m not the expert, but it looks like blood to me.”
He reached into the briefcase-like bag he’d been carrying, pulled out a pair of glasses, and put them on. “Hard to tell. It could be anything. Where did you find this?”
“In an old chest in one of the storage rooms.”
The man inspected both sides of the dress, pressing his face as close as he could without touching it. “I don’t think this is blood.”
“What then?”
“Wine, maybe. Hard to say for sure.”
“Can it be tested?” Addison asked.
“Let me talk to a few people and see what I can do. Would you like me to take the dress with me now?”
She considered it. If she dared touch the dress again, it had to remain with her. She had more questions now than ever.
“I’d like to keep it. If they are willing to test it for blood, I’ll take it in myself.”
He slanted his head toward the side and lifted his brow like he couldn’t understand her attachment to a piece of clothing that didn’t even belong to her. “Well, here you go then,” he said, holding it out.
Addison jerked back.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“My…umm…hands are dirty. I don’t want to get anything else on it. Could you put it back for me?” It wasn’t the perfect response, but it was the only thing she could think of to say.
He eyed her suspiciously and then did what she asked. When the lid was closed, she took it from him, sliding it back underneath the bed.
“Knock, knock,” Luke yelled from downstairs. “Addison, you here?”
“Excuse me a minute,” she said.
“A friend?” the man asked.
“He’s…” Luke had become a friend, someone she trusted. The thought of their growing relationship caused her to smile without even being aware of it.
The man cleared his throat. “You were saying?”
“He’s restoring the house for me.”
She walked to the top of the stairs and called down. “Luke, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Introductions were made, followed by the former detective saying he had to be going. Addison and Luke followed him outside where he promised to be in touch again over the next couple of days.
After he’d gone, Luke turned. “Is he the actual person who worked the case? How did you find him so fast?”
But Addison wasn’t listening. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the house.
“What is it?” Luke asked.
Something wasn’t right.