Tuesday Evening
Harrington House
Molly yawned as she made the rounds through the house, checking the door locks and ensuring the porch light was on and the living room lights were off. In the kitchen, she put water on for tea and stood at the back door while she waited. The porch light cast an eerie spotlight on the stoop. Across the yard, Elise’s cottage was dark, and there was no sign of Kevin’s truck. This was the first night he had not stopped by in a few days, and she wondered where this relationship might go.
Not my business. But she hoped neither of them would get hurt when it ended because, knowing her brother, it would end. His longest relationship had lasted only six months, and unless Elise was… She smiled and shook her head. Well, that’s a thought for another day.
Molly waited and watched but saw no flickering lights on the hill, and nothing triggered the motion sensors at the barn. Why had that person trespassed? What were they looking for, poking around her barn? Did it have to do with Metzner and his desire for her land? Or was it related to Aubrey’s murder? Could she or Elise be in danger? Could there be something, maybe a clue, in the book? The piercing whistle of the tea kettle brought her back to the present.
Molly carried her tea to her bedroom and set it on the nightstand. She wondered if what Aubrey had written in his book could have some bearing on the unusual goings-on. As she washed her face, she thought that perhaps someone was following the potential clues written in the novel. Molly stopped, shook her head, and chided herself for letting her imagination run away with her. She pulled on a pair of warm pajama pants. Her room seemed excessively chilly regardless of the temperature she had set on the thermostat. She wondered if it had to do with the location of her bedroom. The wind came down the hill and whipped around the corner of the house so hard she could hear the windows rattle.
She pulled a long-sleeved T-shirt from the dresser drawer and paused at Danny’s photo. She ran her fingers across his face—her nightly ritual—a bittersweet mixture of love, loss, and grief. Tony Shannon popped into her mind, and she wondered why he kept slipping into her thoughts. The case, of course. Sighing, she slipped the shirt over her head, rearranged the pillows, and slid under the comforter. After positioning herself just right and taking a sip of tea, she opened Aubrey’s book and went to the chapter where the secret room was first mentioned. She read.
Volatile
Chapter 10
Pierce Harrison sneaked down the cellar stairs. Thank goodness this house full of women and children was finally quiet. His wife, teenage daughters, young son, cook, and nosy housekeeper were asleep. He held the oil lamp high, ensuring he didn’t miss a narrow step into the dark basement. He had built the house with all the best materials and had recently added the latest 1925 appliances. Among them was a new coal furnace that sent heat through pipes from the basement. It even had a special self-stoker, so he didn’t have to come down and stoke the fire on cold winter nights. Once his feet hit the concrete floor, he quickly crossed the room and set the lamp on a table. A large wooden bay of shelves stood against the wall next to the furnace room and coal bin. He felt along the upper edge between the wall and the shelf until he sensed the spring. The shelves released, and he swung them open to reveal the secret space behind them. He retrieved the lamp and set it on the ledge.
Harrison turned the safe’s combination, removed a stack of cash from his inside jacket pocket, and added it to the stacks already inside the safe. Removing a small black leather-bound notebook, he flipped to the desired page and documented his deposit. He smiled, closed the door, and gave the safe’s dial a spin. He patted the concrete wall. The best idea he’d had was encasing the safe in the wall.
Using his barges to transport moonshine distilled in the Kentucky hills up and down the Ohio River was profitable for him. Bootlegging was a lucrative addition to his shipping business if he didn’t get caught. Surely Prohibition wouldn’t last forever, and as his Kentucky partner said, “Git while the gittin’s good.”
Harrison realized he’d have to watch that Johnson boy who came around every week with his father to deliver Harrison’s cut and arrange the upcoming product pickup and delivery. Billy Ray had waited in the parlor while the men discussed business privately in the office. Eleanor was in the parlor with him when they’d finished, all giggly and unchaperoned.
“He’s got a lot of nerve thinking he’s good enough for my daughter.” Just last week, he’d thought he’d seen him hanging around outside, and his daughter’s light was on much later than her bedtime. As much as he hated it, he realized Eleanor was a young woman, and Billy Ray Johnson definitely was not a boy.
Harrison picked up the Irish crystal glass that held a place of honor beside the safe. He admired the sparkle in the dim lamplight. His wife thought someone had stolen the glass at their last dinner party. Someone had—him! He chuckled as he poured a shot of Bushmills, his favorite Irish whiskey. Feeling quite satisfied with himself, he took a sip. He closed his eyes and savored the sensations. He’d bought three cases before the Volstead Act ushered Prohibition into law over five years prior. Raising the nearly empty bottle, he counted the few on the shelf and mentally calculated how long his remaining eight bottles might last. He sighed and drained his glass. His supply wouldn’t last long enough, especially since he had two daughters to deal with, though Elizabeth was much less spirited than Eleanor.
After returning the lamp to the table, he closed the room, pushing the shelving until he heard the latch click into place. He stood back and admired his work. No one would ever find his hiding place. What a stroke of brilliance, he thought, adding this room during the construction of the summer porch. His wife was happy but clueless. He was happy but cautious. He picked up his lamp and went to his bedroom, wondering what to do about Eleanor and Billy Ray Johnson.
Molly looked up from the book. Aubrey had a great imagination—no denying that. But it was fiction—there was no secret room in her basement. But there were many similarities, starting with their names—Harrington and Harrison; the daughters’ names, Elnora and Eleanor; and the fathers’ names, Patrick Harrington and Pierce Harrison. Both made their money in shipping.
“Aubrey, you could have been more original with the names,” she muttered.
The basement was dark and damp, and she didn’t like going down there, but there was no secret safe filled with money.
I wish. What could we do with a boatload of money?!
The furnace room was long gone. She vaguely remembered her grandmother telling her an oil furnace had replaced the original coal furnace before her time. After her grandfather died, her parents had moved into the big house with her grandmother on the condition they would invest in a new heating and air conditioning system. During the most recent renovations, Kevin had added two more units to boost the current system and fully air condition the third floor, although it was still under construction. Molly didn’t know if the original plans existed, but Kevin would know. She’d ask him in the morning. Glancing at the clock and realizing she’d better get some sleep, she set the book on the nightstand and reached for the lamp. Before her fingers touched it, the light flickered and went off. It felt like a chilly finger had touched her bare skin in the darkness before the light flickered back on.
She shivered. “That was weird. Silly old house.” She turned off the light and scooted under the covers, pulling the comforter to her chin.
***
While Molly read, Elnora had hovered over her shoulder, following along. She realized Pierce Harrison in the book was supposed to be her father, Patrick Harrington, and the house in the book was her house, but the way events happened in the book were not the same. To her knowledge, the house had no secret rooms, although her father had had a safe disguised as a wooden side table in his office, the room Molly now called the library. Elnora also knew about the secret compartments in her mother’s desk, but they were for keeping documents, letters, writing instruments, and such.
She’d had a little burst of anger when Molly closed the book. She’d wanted to know more. What happened to Eleanor and Billy Ray Johnson? Was that supposed to be her and her lost love? Why did the author name him Billy Ray? It was nothing like his name. Were the circumstances in the book similar to hers? Would Eleanor come to the same end as she? Elnora had so many questions as she stood at the foot of Molly’s bed and hoped they could read more the next day.