Melanie Travis 06 - Hush Puppy (22 page)

“And what about the treasure? Ruth didn’t take it with her, after all. What do you suppose happened to it?”

“Good question.” Sam carried our two mugs over to the sink and emptied them. “It certainly makes you wonder. Is that the reason Krebbs was killed? Because someone was hot on the trail of Mabel Howard’s long-lost treasure?”

“But Krebbs didn’t have it,” I pointed out. “He’d have hardly kept working at the school if he did.”

“Maybe there never really was a treasure. It’s quite possible something that could have seemed priceless to a sheltered sixteen-year-old might have turned out to have very little value in the real world.”

“And maybe the murder had nothing to do with the treasure at all.” I stared at the small, leather-bound book, hoping for inspiration. It didn’t come. “This whole thing is giving me a headache.”

“Then stop thinking about it.” Sam walked over and wound his arms around me. “I have a much better idea. Let’s go to bed.”

“All the way to bed, this time?”

He grinned. “I’ll race you.”

He won, but just barely.

Sunday morning, I awoke to the sound of my son’s shrieks.

Any mother of a six-year-old boy can tell you, that’s not necessarily a bad sign. I got one eye open in time to see that the screams in question were supposed to be war whoops, and that Sam and I were in imminent danger of attack by a pair of wild Indians, namely Davey and his cohort in crime, Faith.

The superhero pajamas had been exchanged for a buckskin vest and pants; remnants, I seemed to recall, from an old Halloween costume. Faith sported a long red feather sticking out of her topknot. I was quite certain Aunt Peg would not have approved.

The two of them landed on the bed with enough of a thump to shake the floor beneath us. Luckily, the bed frame held.

“Time to wake up!” cried Davey.

I glanced over at the bedside clock. It was barely seven. On Sunday morning, no less.

Sam rolled over, grabbed Davey, and seated him on his chest. They were both grinning at the arrangement. If I didn’t love Sam, I think I’d have to marry him anyway, just because he looks so damn good first thing in the morning.

It takes me longer to become coherent, and that first cup of coffee never hurts. “Has Faith been out?” I managed.

“Sure. We’ve been up for
hours.
We made you breakfast.”

That got both eyes open. “You did?”

“Yup. I did most of it, but Faith helped.”

I was sure she had. The Poodle was an expert at licking up spills. “What are we having?”

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chocolate milk.”

“Sounds great,” said Sam. Carrying Davey easily, he slid out from beneath the covers, stood up, and headed for the door. “Let’s eat.”

After breakfast, Sam took Davey and Faith and drove to Redding to check on his Poodles. Whenever he’s going to be away for the night, he has a pet-sitter come and stay with them. The arrangement has always worked out well, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying. In his place, I’d have felt the same way, and usually I’d have been happy to ride along.

Today, however, I used the time to drive over to Greenwich and see what I could find out about the Howard family. Perched on a busy corner near downtown, the Greenwich Library is a wondrous place. Renovated and significantly enlarged in the seventies, it’s a haven where I could happily lose myself for hours.

I started my quest at the Information desk. The local newspaper is the
Greenwich Time,
but Miss Abbott, the librarian, looked through the files and informed me that before 1937, the town had had another paper, the
Greenwich Press.
Records for both were stored on microfilm. Since I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, I began by simply browsing through editions from the early to mid thirties. It was slow going, with very little reward.

It quickly became obvious that the Howard family was not the type to make front-page news. I was reminded of the old adage declaring that a proper member of society should appear in the newspaper on only three occasions: at birth, at marriage, and at death. With that in mind, I began to devote most of my scanning to the social pages. There, I finally had some luck.

I found the birth announcement for a daughter, born to Florence Pickwick (née Howard); and an engagement notice for Matthew Putnam Howard, Ruth’s older brother. As I skimmed through the decade, all the Howard siblings eventually made an appearance, except Ruth. There was no mention of her anywhere.

After two hours of reading, my eyes were beginning to grow bleary. I’d reached the conclusion that I was going to have to track Ruth through other means when Miss Abbott appeared beside my chair.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” she said. “I was thinking about your request for information on the Howard family, and it jiggled something in the back of my mind. It just took me a little while to figure out what it was. Maybe this will help.”

The book she handed me was large and heavy; a coffee-table book with thick, glossy pages entitled,
The Great Estates of Early Greenwich.
I set it down on the desk and opened to the table of contents.

“The Howard family home is one of those profiled,” Miss Abbott said, peering over my shoulder. Her finger traced quickly down through the list of chapters. “Not the building that houses the current school. That mansion was actually constructed by the founders for the purpose it now serves. The Howard home in Deer Park, however, was once one of Greenwich’s finest showplaces. Ah, there it is. Page one seventy-eight.”

Together we flipped through the heavy pages. I gasped softly when the picture appeared. Even in black-and-white, the home was gorgeous.

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“You were meant to be. Joshua Howard was a man of some standing in the community, and I’m sure his house was built to reflect his position.”

There were two columns of text opposite the photo, and the story continued over the next several pages. “I’m more interested in the family than the house,” I said. “Especially the youngest daughter, Ruth.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s something here. It’s been a while since I’ve had an occasion to flip through the book, but the histories are pretty detailed.”

According to the text, Joshua Howard had commissioned the plans for his house from a prominent architect of the time, then overseen the construction himself. He and his wife had moved into the mansion a few years into the new century; and all six of his children had been born there.

“The historian who wrote this was more interested in Joshua Howard’s business accomplishments than his family,” I said, skipping on ahead. Toward the end of the piece, I finally found what I was looking for. The last several paragraphs explained why I hadn’t been able to find any mention of Ruth earlier.

“That’s some story,” said Miss Abbott.

“I wonder whatever happened to her baby,” I mused.

“What baby?”

“Ruth Howard got pregnant when she was seventeen. Her lover was paid off and her family sent her away to have the baby and put it up for adoption. That’s why I wanted to look through the records. I was hoping to find out what happened next.”

“Now you know.” The librarian picked up the book. “I’m sorry your story didn’t have a happier ending.”

“Me too.”

Back at home, I found I still had some time to kill before Sam and Davey returned. On a hunch, I pulled out a Greenwich phone book and ran through the listings, looking for the names I’d copied from the newspaper accounts. There were a number of Howards listed, but none with the first names I was looking for.

By now, at least one more generation would have passed, maybe two. It was theoretically possible that everyone listed could have been related to Joshua’s family. It was equally possible that none of them were.

Grumbling, I put the phone book aside and wandered into the kitchen to pour myself a soda. The house around me was still and empty. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been home alone; with no child to distract me, no Poodle to bring me a soggy tennis ball. Most days I could only dream of peace and quiet. Now I had all I could possibly want, and it was driving me crazy.

Too bad my little Cape had been built too recently to come with such amenities as ghosts, I mused, thinking back to the story I’d read in the library. Something about that tale had struck a familiar chord. But what was it? Someone else had been talking about ghosts recently . . .

I was staring out the window into the empty back yard when it came to me. Shawna and Bobbi, the two girls who worked in the kitchen—that was who I’d been trying to remember. Each had mentioned something about Howard Academy being haunted. At the time, I’d thought they were just being dramatic. Now I wondered if they were aware of the old family legends.

Despite what I’d told Russell, I was coming to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions. Cover some bases that hadn’t been covered. Prick a few consciences and see what kind of information turned up.

Especially after what had happened on Friday, I could hardly be blamed for wanting the whole process to move along. Somebody had to get to the bottom of this mess.

 

Monday morning, I dropped Davey off at school early again. He’d enjoyed playing doughnut delivery boy so much that he didn’t mind a bit. Especially after we swung by the bakery for the second time in less than a week.

I’m not going to make a habit of this kind of behavior. I swear.

Faith’s trial period was going so well that that morning I was bold enough to bring in a dog bed for the corner of my classroom. It was big and round; filled with cedar chips and covered with fake sheepskin. Faith loved it, and it smelled divine. It made a fine addition to the room, not to mention a good place to leave her for a few minutes while I went down to the kitchen.

“Uh-oh!”

I heard Shawna’s high-pitched voice as soon as I entered the dining room. She and Bobbi were working together, setting the tables. A handful of silverware clattered to the floor at Shawna’s feet.

“Girl, watch out!” she said to her friend. “Here comes more bad news.”

“I don’t have any bad news,” I said. “What makes you think I would?”

“ ’Cause that’s what you bring around here, don’t I know it?” Shawna nodded vigorously in support of her question. “First time, a man’s dead. Second time, you got that runaway kid with you. She’s another one who’s up to no good. And Lord knows we got plenty of that around here.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down, hoping to look less threatening. Hoping to indicate my intention to stay a while. Bobbi smoothed a tablecloth, snapped her gum, and looked perfectly pleased to watch the show. Shawna bit her lip and looked worried.

“What makes you think Jane is a runaway?” I asked.

“I got eyes, don’t I? That child needs somebody to take care of her.” Shawna stooped down and hurriedly gathered up the cutlery she’d dropped. “Ain’t nobody’s mama lets them go out looking all raggedy like that. Besides, she don’t belong here, that’s for sure. So why’s she hanging around all the time? If you ask me, that’s the trouble with this place. There’s entirely too much of that going on.”

“Nobody asked you,” Bobbi said, casting her friend a warning look.

“Too much of what?”

“People running around where they’re not supposed to be. Some days, it’s enough to give me a heart condition.”

“Shawna doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Bobbi said.

“I do too!”

“Does this have anything to do with Howard Academy being haunted?” I asked.

“Saints preserve us!” Shawna quickly crossed herself.

Bobbi rolled her eyes. “You get her started, it’s your own fault.”

“Don’t tell me I’m going to have ghosts to contend with, too. Don’t you tell me that!”

“Wasn’t that what you were talking about?”

“Not me,” Shawna said firmly. “I’ve never seen a ghost, and I’m not planning to neither. I got enough trouble with the here and now, without looking for somebody from the hereafter to come and take me away.”

“I told you not to get her started,” said Bobbi.

Ignoring her, I concentrated on Shawna. “Then who are you talking about? Who’s been running around where they shouldn’t be?”

Shawna shook her head. “I work in the kitchen, okay? I get my job done. I do what I’m supposed to do.”

“Of course you do. But that doesn’t mean you don’t see things. You and I both know that something strange has been going on around here. I want to find out who’s behind it.”

“I’m outta here,” Bobbi said, striding across the room. “Girl, you can put your own butt in the fire, but you ain’t taking me with you.” The door to the kitchen swung shut behind her.

Shawna glanced at the door as it continued to swing. Then she looked back at me.

“You won’t get in trouble from anything you tell me,” I said. “I promise.”

“Maybe that’s not your promise to give.”

True, but I could probably convince Russell to back me up. “I won’t let you down.”

Slowly, Shawna walked over to where I sat. “I been working here four years,” she said. I patted the chair next to me, but she didn’t sit down. “I like my job, you hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

“My job is just fine with me. But recently . . . things began to change around here. There’s stuff going on that never used to happen.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Shawna’s voice lowered. “People running around where they got no business being. Sneaking like they think nobody can see them. So I ask myself, why would anybody be prowling around like that unless they were up to no good?”

“People like Krebbs?” I asked.

“He’s one. First three and a half years I work here, I barely even saw the man.” Her teeth flashed in a smile. “Mrs. Plimpton, she runs this place like a drill sergeant. She tells Krebbs not to be coming around bothering us in the kitchen, and he don’t dare. Not until recently, anyway.”

“What did Krebbs want in the kitchen?”