Wednesday
Harrington House
“What time is the new guest arriving?” Elise asked the next morning over a late breakfast at the kitchen island.
“Early afternoon. Mr. Campbell wants the Terrace Room, but I’m not quite ready to rent that room.”
“Why’s that?”
Molly shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just not comfortable putting a guest in there yet. Maybe I’m waiting for the murderer to be captured.” She gave Elise a sheepish glance. “I put the Do Not Disturb sign back on the door.”
“What are you going to do if we fill up this weekend? Surely, you won’t turn away a paying customer.”
“So far, we only have two couples checking in this weekend. That allows for one more reservation before I’m forced to make that decision.” She poured another cup of coffee and held up the carafe. Elise nodded, and Molly refreshed her coffee.
Elise took a sip and set her cup on the counter. “Since you mentioned Aubrey, how far are you in his book?”
“Last night, I got to the part where Pierce Harrison, aka Patrick Harrington, stashes his money in the secret safe in the basement.”
“I’ve never been in your basement. When Kevin went down to do something at his workbench, I peeked down the stairs, but it was creepy, and the stairs were steep, so I didn’t follow him.”
“I don’t blame you. I don’t like it either,” Molly said. “But it’s ridiculous even to consider that a secret room is in my basement with a stash of illegal booze and money.”
“Did you find anything that might show an extra room during your renovations?”
“We didn’t do any work in the basement except for plumbing for the new upstairs bathrooms. It’s only used for storage now, though Kevin has a workbench down there.”
Elise sipped silently, then raised her head and peered at Molly over her cup. “Would Kevin have the architectural plans?”
“He couldn’t find all of them, especially for the renovations done in the 1920s when the summer porch was added.”
Elise tapped her fingers on the counter. “But, if there was an extra room, there might be some indication outside along the foundation.”
“Think so?”
“Have you looked?”
“Not really. I don’t crawl around in the bushes. The landscaper does that.”
Elise rolled her eyes toward the door. Looking back at Molly, she raised her eyebrows. “Well?”
“All right, but I don’t think we’ll find anything.”
They stood in the gravel parking area a few minutes later, staring at the foundation.
Elise gestured toward the addition. “I know they built the house in the early 1900s, but when was the summer porch added?”
“Though we couldn’t find the architectural drawings, we think they added it during the mid-1920s. But there’s no basement under that section.”
Elise crouched. Inside, the porch entrance coincided with the intersection of the dining room and the butler’s pantry. The landscaper had planted dwarf burning bushes below the dining room and the butler’s pantry windows. Elise pushed the emerald-green leaves aside. “What’s this?” She rapped on a metal plate drilled into the wall.
Molly knelt beside her. “I think that originally was a coal chute. A truck would come and dump coal into the coal bin in the basement.”
“That was before the oil furnace?”
“Yes. After they converted to oil, the tank sat about here.” She stood and pointed to the space next to the iron plate. “I remember it was silver and very tall, but I was little, and everything was tall.”
Elise stood. “According to the book, the entrance to the secret room should be about where the old coal bin was.”
“This is crazy. Aubrey wrote fiction, so he probably made all this up. That’s what writers do—they make stuff up.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think Aubrey was that imaginative. Why make it up when he could fictionalize your family’s actual history?”
“You want to go poking around in the basement? Help yourself.”
By the look on her face, Elise appeared to have a snarky retort at the ready, but she stopped and raised her forefinger. “Did you hear that? Someone is coming up the driveway.”
The crunch of tires on the gravel grew louder, and an older red Ford Ranger pickup truck rounded the corner and stopped in front of them. The driver lowered the window.
“Hi, I’m Tommy Campbell. I booked a reservation online. Am I too early to check in?”
“Of course not. I’m Molly Harrington. Just park over there,” she said, directing him to guest parking. “I’ll meet you at the front door.”
“Thanks.” He put the truck in reverse and followed her instructions.
As the two women walked toward the kitchen door, Elise said, “To be continued.”
***
Molly opened the front door to a man in his midtwenties with light-brown hair and crystal-blue eyes. He carried a messenger bag and a duffel and wore brown boots, jeans, a blue striped shirt, and a red University of Cincinnati ball cap. The late morning sun filtered through the beveled glass of the wooden door, creating colorful prisms on the Oriental rug in the foyer.
“Welcome to Harrington House,” Molly said, directing him to the registration desk.
The young man stood in the middle of the foyer and whistled. “This is an excellent example of a Classical Revival Manor home. I love the beveled glass in the front doors. And the oak staircase. Very well preserved.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m an architectural student. I love these old manor homes. Built in the early 1900s, right?” His soft voice had a slight accent. Not quite Southern, yet not fully Midwestern. Local, perhaps, Molly thought.
“My great-grandfather, Patrick Harrington, built it in 1906. He was in the shipping business. He built the house on this hill to keep an eye on his barges going up and down the river.”
Tommy’s face lit up. “It’s amazing that you’ve kept the house in the family. I checked your website and read about all the renovations you’ve done. The house is beautiful.”
Elise joined them and introduced herself. “Since you’re our only guest tonight, I wanted to ask you about breakfast. Are French toast and scrambled eggs okay? If not, I can do pancakes or poached eggs.”
“Sounds wonderful. Either is fine. I’m happy with anything.”
“Let me show you around,” Molly said. “This is the library. Help yourself to any reading material you’d like. This is the parlor and the dining room. Is eight o’clock a good time for breakfast?”
“Yes, of course.”
Tommy followed Molly up the stairs. She stopped at the landing and directed him up to the right side. “I hope you’ll enjoy the River Room.”
He gestured across the hall. “The Terrace Room isn’t available? The weather has been so nice, I’d hoped to work out on the terrace.”
Molly grimaced. “I’m sure you heard what happened. It’s still an ongoing investigation.”
“I understand,” he said, though his gaze lingered on the door across the hall.
Molly left the keys in the lock and pushed the door open. “This room has the best view of the river.” She crossed the open space between the cherry poster bed and the antique dresser and held the curtain back.
Tossing his backpack and duffel bag on the bed, Tommy joined her at the window. “I understand why your grandfather built on this hill. It’s a magnificent view.”
“Yes, it is. Is there anything else I can do for you?
He nodded. “As I said, I’m an architectural student, and for a project I’m working on, could you direct me to some of the other old homes in the area? I’d like to see them and perhaps talk to the owners.”
“Yes, of course. When you’re ready, come find me, and I’ll show you their locations on a local map.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
He stood at the foot of the bed and stared at the painting of a paddle-wheeled riverboat on the wall above the headboard. “Nice painting.”
Molly pulled the keys from the lock and handed them to him. “You’ll be the only one here tonight, but two couples are coming in on Friday for the weekend.”
“I’ll be down shortly.” His quick smile was more like an afterthought as he shut the door, leaving her standing in the hall.
When Tommy found her thirty minutes later, Molly was restocking the refreshment refrigerator in the butler’s pantry.
“Oh, hello,” she said. “If you’d like a soft drink or a glass of wine, just help yourself. This area is open to guests anytime.”
“Thanks.” He walked past her and peeked into the dining room. “Where does this door go?” he asked, indicating a closed paneled door.
“That goes to a summer porch. It’s not heated. We only use it during the warmer months.”
“I love these old butler’s pantries.” He ran his fingers over the wood of the cabinet. “And the craftsmanship of these built-ins is amazing.”
“Yes, it’s all original.”
He stopped at the end of the cabinet and pointed. “What’s this? A closet?”
She walked in front of him and opened the door. “It’s a dumbwaiter. We use it to send supplies up and dirty laundry down.”
“Wow.” He poked his head inside. Pointing to the door next to it, he asked. “And this door?”
“Basement.” This guy is full of questions.
“You must have updated this old house’s electrical and air conditioning, correct?”
“My brother is a contractor. He did most of the work and subcontracted the rest.”
“I would love to talk to your brother about his renovations. My uncle is also a contractor.”
“We’re still doing some work on the barn and the third floor,” Molly said. “I’ll ask Kevin to find you the next time he’s here.”
“Thanks. Do you have that map you mentioned earlier?”
“Yes, of course.” Tom followed her into the kitchen, where she’d laid a map on the island. He leaned over the counter as she identified the locations of the older homes in town and the surrounding countryside.
“You mentioned the Rhodes house? Does it belong to the deceased?”
“It’s his mother’s. It’s a beautiful home, though not as old as this one.” Molly pointed to the location on the map. “Their original home was on the same street a few blocks north. In fact, there are several old homes in that area.”
“Thank you. I’m going to drive by.”
“You might also go to the historical society on Riverside Drive. It’s just past the municipal building next to the park. They have lots of information about the town.”
Tommy nodded his thanks, and she let him out the back door.
***
Molly was restless. After Tommy left, she made a ham sandwich and sat at the kitchen island, reading the morning newspaper. She scanned a short follow-up article on the investigation into Aubrey’s murder. Tony’s quote was brief: “We are following up on all leads.” The article also noted that George Roark, Mr. Rhodes’s literary agent, was rushed to a local hospital from the Harrington House B and B on Sunday and was currently in stable condition. No word on the reason for his emergency admission.
Disgruntled at the thought of bad publicity for the B and B, Molly turned to the obituary section. She found nothing about Aubrey. Perhaps the medical examiner had not released the body; therefore, the family couldn’t schedule a service. She refolded the paper and tossed it aside. Normally, she’d savor a quiet day to herself, but everything that had happened in the last few days had her rattled. The passage in the book about the secret room kept rolling through her mind like a tumbleweed. She scratched her head, stood, and entered the butler’s pantry. Pausing at the basement door with her hand on the doorknob, she debated her next step, finally opened the door, and switched on the light. Halfway down the narrow wooden stairs, her phone buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans.
Molly glanced at the screen before answering the call. “Hello, Vanessa.”
“Thank goodness you answered. Are you busy?” She sounded desperate.
“No. What’s up?”
“I need you to pick Mother up at her hairdresser’s at about two o’clock. I took her to an early lunch and dropped her off at Miss Laverne’s, but I got a call for a second showing on that house over on Bluebell. Can you please help me out?”
“Yes, of course. I can pick her up. I’ll ask Elise to keep an eye on things while I’m out.”
“Thank you, honey. I owe you one.” And she was gone.
Molly glanced at the time on her phone. It was nearly one. Quickly scanning the basement, her eyes rested on Kevin’s workbench. She decided he was more qualified than she to determine if there had ever been a secret room that maybe someone had sealed over in the last ninety to one hundred years. Switching off the light, she turned and jogged up the stairs.
***
Molly turned into the hairdresser’s parking lot at one forty-five. Miss Laverne’s Hair and Nail Salon had been on the same corner on Main Street for over fifty years. Miss Laverne was long dead, but her daughter and granddaughter now ran the salon. Arriving early would allow Molly to hear any news circulating at the salon.
Inside, the salon buzzed with the sound of hair dryers and the low hum of female conversation. Her grandmother was at the counter with Gloria, Miss Laverne’s daughter, paying her bill. “Molly, what are you doing here?” Nana asked.
“Vanessa got a call about a showing and asked me to pick you up.”
“How are you holding up?” Gloria asked. “I can’t believe Aubrey was killed in your mama’s old bedroom.”
“Actually, it was on the terrace,” Molly said.
A seventy-something-year-old woman with her hair in perm rollers walked up to the counter. “The police have been talking to everybody about Aubrey and your fancy party.”
The woman seemed vaguely familiar to Molly, but people looked different with a head full of tightly-wound, spongey, pink rollers.
Gloria counted out Nana’s change. “The news people have been in asking if we know the family. They shot a TV show on Main Street; this shop was in the background. I told Leroy that’d be the only time we’re on the national news.”
“The police have been in and out of the library,” the lady with the perm said. “The bookstore, too. What do you think that’s about?”
Before Molly could answer, Gloria said, “Come on, Miss Louise, it’s time to rinse you out.”
Miss Louise wrinkled her nose at Gloria and headed toward the sinks at the back of the salon, the scent of perm solution in her wake.
“So good to see you, Molly,” Gloria said. “Stop in for a trim. We’ll catch up.”
Nana slipped her purse into the crook of her arm. “I am ready if you are.”
Once they were in the car, Molly turned to her grandmother. “Your hair looks nice.”
Nana patted her curls. “My hair was gettin’ so long, I could almost make a ponytail.”
Molly faced forward and turned on the ignition. “Sounds like there’s been a lot of talk about what happened up at the house.”
“Everybody has an opinion of who did it. From someone holdin’ a grudge to a hired hitman.”
Molly chuckled. “Seriously. A hitman?”
Nana nodded. “I don’t like all that bad talk about your house. I’m worried you’ll lose business.”
Molly turned onto Main Street. “Don’t worry. I just got a new reservation today. A nice young man—an architecture student. Then, there are two couples coming in on Friday. We’ve had a few cancellations, but I think the occupancy will pick back up.”
“I surely do hope so.”
“I’ve been reading Aubrey’s book, and there are a lot of similarities between our family and the book. I know you don’t remember any talk about secret rooms, but what about other strange stories about the house or rumors that Mom or anyone else may have told him?”
Nana stared out the passenger’s side window for so long that Molly wondered if she had fallen asleep.
“Nana. I’m sorry. Did I upset you?”
“No, honey. I was thinking about your mother. When y’all first moved up there, Maggie didn’t like it one bit. I don’t think she ever wanted to move. She did it for your father. She would come a’cryin’ to me, saying she wanted her little house in town. I thought it was living with her mother-in-law that had her all upset. Lorelai could be a real stickler about things.”
“I remember Mom telling stories about Grandma Lorelai. She sounded like a doozy of a mother-in-law.”
“Maggie kept thinking about that incident when she left Kevin with Lorelai. No one knows how an eight-year-old ended up way up in that attic or exactly what happened. It was a miracle he survived. He was one scared little boy.”
“He swears it was Elnora’s ghost that saved him.”
Nana nodded and closed her eyes. After a moment, they popped open. “I think that’s why Maggie was always uneasy up there. The ghost. Have you seen her?”
“The ghost? No, I haven’t seen any ghosts.”
Nana stared at her. “Haven’t you felt her presence?”
Molly knew Nana was superstitious, but it was more the don’t-walk-under-a-ladder or don’t-cross-the-path-of-a-black-cat type of superstition—not ghosts.
“Nana, what do you mean? I’ve never known you to be so…so paranoid.” Was that the right word? Molly wasn’t sure.
“You’d know if you felt her presence.”
Molly stopped at a traffic light and turned to face her grandmother. “What are you talking about?”
Nana sighed. “You know, flickering lights, a door opens by itself, cold spots, and—”
“Cold spots?”
“Yes. Cold spots like you walk through a patch of cold air.”
“Yes, ma’am, I have felt those,” Molly choked. “I feel them all the time. I thought there was a draft that Kevin couldn’t find. Is that her? Oh, my goodness.”
Nana’s eyes narrowed. “Where do you feel these cold spots?”
“The library, the hallway by the kitchen. In my—my bedroom.”
“Mm-hmm. I bet that’s her. She’s there. I bet she’s still watching over y’all, just like she watched over Kevin.” Nana did a little backhanded wave. “Don’t worry about it. She’s always been friendly.”
Molly stopped the car at the assisted-living entrance. Nana leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “Thanks for the ride,” she said cheerily. “Bye-bye, honey.” Nana exited the car, patted her new hairdo, and waved at Molly.
Molly returned the wave, glad that her grandmother was so chipper. Was that because she didn’t have the ghost of her great-aunt hanging out in her bedroom?