Skeletons in the Attic (A Marketville Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

I rang Leith the next day and grilled him about the locks. He admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that they hadn’t been changed in a couple of years. “I’d have to look up the exact date to find out,” he said, “but the tenants were required to hand in their keys when they moved out. It was in their lease agreement.”

I wondered, not for the first time, just what Leith had actually done to earn his property management fees. The house was in disrepair, the locks hadn’t been changed, and who knew what else I was going to find.

“It didn’t occur to you that they might have made a copy and kept it?”

Leith didn’t answer directly. Instead he asked why knowing who might still have a key to the house was important.

I filled him in on my attic adventure. That got his attention.

“A plastic skeleton in a papier-mâché coffin, which is in all likelihood a stage prop. Who would put something like that in an attic?” Leith let out one of his theatrical sighs. “Let me go through the paperwork. I’ll call you right back.”

Right back might have been an exaggeration, but Leith did call a couple of hours later. He was all business.

“In addition to myself and your father, two tenants potentially have a key, the last one being Misty Rivers. My assistant has left for the day. I’ll have her scan and email you both of the rental applications tomorrow. There might be something there you can follow up on.”

“Thank you, I’ll look them over. In the meantime, is there anything you remember, specifically, about the other tenant?”

“Her name is Jessica Tamarand. She’s the woman I told you about. The one who complained about hearing weird noises and got out of her lease early.”

Interesting. “Could anyone else have a key?”

“Royce Ashford, the next-door neighbor at Fourteen Snapdragon Circle. As the contractor your father hired, he might have a copy.”

“I met him earlier today. He didn’t seem like a nutcase.”

“I’m not passing judgment, Callie. I’m just telling you who might have a key. They might also have made a copy and given it to a friend, or in the case of Royce, an employee.”

“You’re starting to make me nervous.”

“And a skeleton in a coffin doesn’t? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’ve arranged for a locksmith to come to the house tomorrow. He’ll replace the locks on the front and back doors with deadbolts.”

Something that should have been done before I moved in, and after every tenant left. “What time can I expect him?”

“Between noon and three p.m. I’d suggest you stay in the house until he’s finished. You don’t want any other unwelcome visitors while you’re out.”

“You’re not making me feel any better.”

“My concern with this entire scheme of your father’s has been exacerbated. I’m sure he didn’t mean to put you in any danger, but I don’t like what’s transpired thus far.”

“What do you suggest? That I hire Misty Rivers after all?”

“I think that might be the safest course of action.”

I couldn’t believe it. Did Leith actually think I’d walk away because of a skeleton in the attic? I vowed to be more selective about what I shared with him in the future. Give him the bare minimum to fulfill the reporting clause. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt me. Or stop me.

“I was being facetious.”

Another theatrical sigh. “I was afraid you’d say that. You’re even more stubborn than your father. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.”

Somehow I managed to get a decent night’s sleep and woke up feeling ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead of me. I wrestled my hair into an oversized clip and pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a Toronto Raptors t-shirt. Then I went around the house, checking every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen and bathroom, and scouring the inside of every closet, upstairs and down. If there had been a spare key to the attic, it was no longer in the house. I’d be glad when the locksmith had come and gone.

While I waited, I decided to assess the amount of renovations required. Even with fifty thousand dollars, it was quickly apparent that I’d need to do at least some of the work myself.

Getting rid of the ugly gold carpet and refinishing the hardwood floor beneath it would be a good first step. I fired up my laptop and checked the local regulations for disposal. I could put it out with my weekly garbage on Friday as long as it was tied into rolls no longer than four feet and no heavier than forty pounds. No problem. I didn’t think I could even lift forty pounds. Which reminded me that I needed to find a local gym.

A check of my father’s toolbox yielded a utility knife, just the thing to cut up carpet into manageable bundles. Pulling the carpet up, however, proved to be a more difficult and far dirtier job than I had anticipated. The thought that I should be wearing rubber gloves crossed my mind—who knew what disgusting things lurked in those wooly loops—but I’d left the only pair I had in the attic and I wasn’t quite ready to go back up there yet. While I didn’t consider myself overly vain, I wasn’t about to head out shopping dressed the way I was. I covered up the sofa and chairs with a set of flannel sheets and push-pulled them down the hallway and into the spare bedroom.

After the first few hard tugs on the carpet things got a bit easier, although no less messy. The underpadding had all but disintegrated through the years, leaving behind scraps of speckled blue foam, which I balled up and put inside a large green garbage bag.

I had just about finished stripping carpet off the living room and dining room floor when I came across my first discovery: a small brown envelope, wedged against the dining room wall. Someone must have lifted the heating vent and slid the envelope along the floor as far as they could.

The envelope had one of those tiny metal clasps to close it up. The lack of a glued seal meant that anyone, before now, could have added to or removed contents. But who would have hidden an envelope under the carpet, and more importantly, why?

I was just about to open it when the doorbell rang, a chirpy sing-songy sound. I glanced at my watch. Eleven a.m. It was too early for the locksmith.

Some instinct told me to hide the envelope before answering. I was putting it inside one of the kitchen cupboards, behind a box of bran flakes, when the doorbell chimed again. Someone was impatient. I went to the front door and looked out the peephole. A plump fifty-something woman with a mass of fluffy bleached blonde hair, jet black eyes, and oversized silver hoop earrings stared back. She wore jeans, a long-sleeved navy blue jersey knit shirt, and a polar fleece vest with an abstract pattern of the moon, stars, and assorted astrological symbols.

Misty Rivers, I presumed.

I opened the door and gave her my best quizzical smile. “Can I help you?”

She smiled back and made a sweeping gesture with both hands, the fingernails a titch too long and painted an inky midnight blue, the tips of each garnished in gold glitter—a French manicure transformed to tacky. The scent of patchouli oil drifted in the air.

“Misty Rivers, at your service.”

“I’ve been expecting you.” I realized, as soon as I said the words, that it was true. I
had
been expecting her, had in fact wanted her to come. As the last tenant of Sixteen Snapdragon Circle, Misty was my number one suspect when it came to putting the skeleton and coffin in the attic. “Come on in.”

Misty swooped in, glanced at the disarray in the living room, and sashayed into the kitchen. “I see you have a tea kettle. I’d love a cup of tea. Milk, one sugar.” She plopped into one of the two chairs at a bistro table that used to furnish my balcony.

Pushy. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any milk. I don’t drink it, and I wasn’t expecting company.” I felt a perverse flush of pleasure, as if not having milk in the house was some sort of minor victory.

“Clear then,” Misty said, apparently determined to stay for a visit.

I grabbed my cocoa butter lip balm from the second drawer—a drawer I suddenly remembered my mother calling the “junk drawer” for obvious reasons. It had been filled with everything from scissors to string. I plugged in the kettle and put out a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“I suppose you want to know why I’m here,” Misty said, reaching for a cookie.

“I can guess. Leith Hampton said you thought this house was haunted. Apparently you convinced my father of the possibility.”

“That’s one way of summing it up.”

I poured the boiling water into my old brown and white teapot and placed it, along with two earthenware mugs, on the table. “I have to tell you, Misty, I don’t believe in such things as ghosts and haunted houses. I believe there is a reasonable explanation for everything.” I stared straight at her. “Including anything unusual that might be in the attic.”

If Misty knew what I was referring to, she didn’t give any sign, not so much of an eye flicker. Instead, she nodded as if she knew what I was going to say all along.

“I could sense you were a non-believer the moment I set eyes on you. But rest assured, a few weeks of living in this house will alter that perspective. When it does, I’ll be here for you.”

“Leith also mentioned you were on retainer,” I said, determined not to be swayed or swindled. “He also mentioned the reward.”

“Naturally I’d want to be compensated for my time, the same as you or anyone else would be,” Misty said, her black eyes flashing. “However, my offer isn’t contingent on money. It’s about finding the truth about your mother and ensuring that no danger befalls you, as it did your father. I warned him to be careful, but of course he wouldn’t listen. Obstinate as a bull. A typical Taurus.”

As a Taurus myself, I didn’t appreciate the commentary, but I chose to ignore it. What I couldn’t ignore was the fact that she knew my father’s astrological sign. Just how close had they become before his death? Instead, I tried to imagine whether a faulty safety harness could have been anything besides an accident. But surely the official investigation would have revealed, if not hinted at, foul play, had it existed? I made a mental note to contact the site supervisor and see what I could find out.

“There’s no reason to believe my father’s death was anything but accidental.”

Misty fluttered her blue fingernails. “If it makes you rest easier believing that, Callie, then by all means, although I will say it’s narrow-minded thinking on your part. If you’re sincere about solving the mystery of your mother’s murder, then you must also accept that your father may have been coming into the truth. That knowledge may have killed him.”

I poured the tea, as much to settle my nerves as to play hostess. What the hell had I got myself into? If Misty was right, I could be in danger. Maybe I needed to invest in an alarm system in addition to new locks.

“It’s only prudent to consider all possibilities, Callie,” Misty said, interrupting my thoughts. “To take necessary precautions should the need arise. As I said before, I’m willing to help you, should you decide to accept my offer in the future.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. I do have a question for you now that you’re here.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you still have a key to the house?”

“A key? No, of course not. I returned the front and back door key when I moved out. Why?”

“I’m having the locks replaced today and it made me wonder who might still have a key. I gather it’s been some time since the locks were changed.”

“Really? I just assumed there were new locks when I moved in. It’s disturbing to think someone else could have had a key while I lived here. You’re wise to install new locks.”

“May I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in the attic?”

“The attic?” Misty frowned, accentuating the already prominent lines in her forehead. “First you ask me if I have a key, which I do not, and now you want to know if I’ve been in the attic, which I have not. I’m beginning to feel as if you’re accusing me of something, and I have to say I don’t appreciate it.”

Misty’s indignation seemed genuine, though I suspected that her line of work required considerable acting skills. Still, putting Misty on her guard was probably not the best way to approach this.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wondered if there were mice up there. One of the movers thought he heard noises. It was probably nothing.”

“Ah, that would be the ghost of your poor, dead mum, trying to get your attention.”

“Since I don’t believe in ghosts, I’m going to have to look for mice. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I really have to get back to work. That carpet won’t strip itself.”

“Of course. I apologize for dropping in before you got properly settled. It’s just that I had a premonition. I wondered if you’d found it yet.”

“Found what?”

“A brown envelope. I couldn’t make out if it was addressed to anyone.” A dark crimson flush spread up Misty’s neck and across her face. “I’m still trying to refine my psychic powers. Sometimes my visions are a little clouded.”

“An envelope?” I shook my head, forcing myself not to look at the cereal cupboard. “No, I haven’t found anything like an envelope.”

“Yes, well, as I said, I’m still trying to refine my powers. It could have been a symbolic message, although usually those come in the form of animals or birds.” Misty stood up, brushed some invisible crumbs off her pants. “I’ll leave you my card. Please call me if you find yourself needing any assistance, any assistance at all. And thank you for the tea and cookies.”