Clause & Effect Page 5

  “Huh,” she said. “That’s not something you see every day.”

  Her matter-of-fact words snapped me out of my trance. I backed away, slowly at first and then more rapidly. As I retreated, I stumbled over some of the rubble. If Charlie hadn’t grabbed my arm, I’d have gone sprawling. He kept hold of me until he and I and Shirley were safely back up the stairs and heading into the vestibule. Only then did he release me, leaving behind a ghostly handprint that unnerved me nearly as much as what we’d just discovered.

  Shirley headed straight into her office. “I’ll call the cops.”

  That sounded like an excellent idea to me. I was more than willing to let the police take charge.

  What I’d found under that wallboard was going to give me nightmares, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from turning around and walking back to the brass railing. I braced my hands on the cool metal, dimly aware that it felt gritty beneath my palms. The scene below looked like something out of a disaster movie . . . right down to the human remains that had fallen out of the wall when it collapsed.

  Chapter 6

  It didn’t take long for the police to arrive. The EMTs showed up a short time later and hustled Charlie off to the hospital. Even though he’d seemed fine at first, they thought there was a good chance he’d suffered a concussion.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Shirley said, and I had to agree.

  Detective Hazlett, he of the six-foot frame, muscular build, and piercing dark brown eyes, ordered us to stay put in Shirley’s office. “Someone will be in to talk to you shortly,” he promised.

  When he had shut us in and gone to take his first look at the body, I sank into Shirley’s visitor’s chair and closed my eyes. “This is not how I’d expected to spend my day.”

  “Curious,” Shirley said.

  I opened my eyes into the merest slits. She had circled her desk but was still on her feet. The faint clicking of her keyboard sounded extraordinarily loud now that Charlie was no longer breaking the sound barrier at the back of the building. Police personnel were on the premises, but whatever they were doing, they were being quiet about it. Taking photographs of the scene, I supposed, and waiting for a medical examiner to declare the victim dead. Since most of my knowledge of police procedure is gleaned from cop shows and mystery novels, I was only guessing.

  “Huh,” Shirley said as she used her mouse to scroll down a web page.

  “What—” I had to stop and clear my throat. “What are you looking for?”

  After a moment, she turned the monitor around so I could see the screen. The headline read 400-YEAR-OLD MUMMIFIED CAT FOUND IN WALLS OF COTTAGE. A photograph showed the owner holding up his grisly discovery.

  “That’s a cat?” True, it resembled one, eerily complete right down to its long thin tail. At the same time, there was something “off” about it, and I don’t just mean the fact that it was dead.

  Although she was clearly a cat lover herself, witness the photographs on her shelf, Shirley studied the creature with more detachment than I could manage. “I guess it’s real, although it looks pretty big for a housecat. The article says that people used to wall up cats to ward off witches. Sort of a protection spell for the house.” She read on. “Huh! According to the report, this wasn’t the first time this mummy was found. The people who owned the cottage before the guy in the picture put it back inside the wall. He’s planning to do the same thing.” She cracked a small smile. “His wife isn’t happy about the idea. For some reason she thinks living so close to feline remains will give her nightmares.”

  I shuddered. “That thing looks like it’s made out of papier-mâché.”

  “Oh, it’s a mummified cat, all right. If conditions are just right, the same thing can happen to any body that’s been walled up for a while.”

  Can? Try had. What we’d just discovered had been dead for a very long time but it still retained its human form.

  I rose and went to stand beside Shirley as she clicked back to the list of results in her search string. The next article she brought up bore the title SKELETON FOUND IN CHIMNEY 27 YEARS AFTER MAN DISAPPEARED. Heads close together, we skimmed the text. Police had used DNA to identify the victim. Although no one had any idea how he’d gotten into the chimney, there was apparently no suspicion of foul play.

  “Hmm,” Shirley said. “Strange.” She had a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Did what we saw look like a skeleton to you?”

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my subconscious made a mockery of them. A screen shot of what I’d uncovered was as vivid in my mind as if it had been live and in color. Worse, the picture refused to be dislodged. Feeling a bit sick to my stomach, I shot Shirley a baleful glare. “Thank you so much for that indelible image.”

  She shrugged. “The cops are going to ask us what we observed. Besides, it’s good therapy to talk about things that disturb you.”

  “Read that somewhere, did you?” Just at the moment, I resented both of the librarians in my life—Shirley for making me dwell on those human remains, and Darlene for getting me into this mess in the first place.

  “I did,” Shirley agreed, “and despite the fact that the last few minutes don’t amount to much in the way of in-depth research, I’ve reached a couple of conclusions. I want to know if your observations match mine. What did you see?”

  “A dead body fell out of the wall.”

  I considered the image frozen in my mind’s eye. That thing had once been a person. Although the ghoulish remains bore little resemblance to a living man or woman, I had glimpsed a skull. I’d also seen a hand and arm. The latter two body parts had not been skeletal. They’d had a leathery look . . . similar in appearance to the limbs of the mummified cat.

  Bile rose in my throat. I forced it back and I took deep breaths. Shirley was right. What we’d seen had not been anything so simple as a skeleton. Bones would have scattered hither and yon when the wall came down. I frowned. Something had kept the body more or less in one piece. When I concentrated on the picture in my head, more details rose to the surface.

  “It was wrapped in clear, heavy-duty plastic,” I whispered.

  “Plastic fastened with duct tape.” Shirley’s gaze sharpened as she met my eyes. “You’re looking a bit peaked. I’ll make coffee.”

  A few minutes later, I was back in the visitor’s chair and holding a bright yellow ceramic mug in both hands. I’d hoped the warmth would chase away the coldness that had seeped into every muscle in my body. It didn’t, but the infusion of caffeine seemed to stimulate my brain.

  “We just found a murder victim,” I said.

  “Yes.” Shirley drained her mug and refilled it.

  I shook my head when she held up the pot. My nerves were jangled enough. I couldn’t seem to control a twitch in my left foot. Truth be told, I felt shaky all over.

  “There must have been an old chimney behind that wall,” Shirley mused. “There were bricks in the debris.”

  “That makes sense. This building dates back to the time when people used fireplaces for heat.”

  “It was a solid wall by the time I started working here.”

  I grimaced and took another sip of my coffee. At some point before that, the victim had been stuffed up the chimney. Then the fireplace had been closed off and covered with wallboard. Mystery writers joke about coming up with “a great place to hide the body,” but I wasn’t finding anything amusing in this real-life situation.

  “I’ve had my job here for nearly twenty-three years,” Shirley said. “I moved to Lenape Hollow with my husband when he took a position teaching at the local community college.” She reached behind the framed cat photos to bring out one of herself standing next to a tall, gray-haired, distinguished-looking gentleman in a lab coat. “Chemistry. Are you married?”

  “I’m a widow.”

  Strangely, given the situation, I found myself telling her all about James, and from there I segued into the story of ho
w I’d returned to my old hometown on a whim, and why I’d then been obliged to start a new career at the age of sixty-eight to pay for the repairs necessary to make my new/old home livable.

  “More than you wanted to know, right?” What I’d intended as a self-deprecating laugh came out sounding hollow.

  “Less. You haven’t yet told me about your cat.”

  “How do you know I have one?”

  She made a snorting noise, and I felt my cheeks warm. As usual, even though I’d put on clean clothes just before heading for the historical society, they’d magically acquired a full complement of cat hairs.

  “She’s a calico,” I said.

  We were exchanging cat stories to pass the time, and to take our minds off what was going on in the other room, when Detective Hazlett finally returned. He brought renewed tension into Shirley’s office with him.

  “Ladies. Sorry to keep you waiting. I just have a few questions and then you can go.”

  If his deep, pleasant voice was geared to soothe the frazzled females, it fell short of its goal.

  “Go?” Shirley stood, flattening her hands on the surface of her desk. There was a mulish expression on her face. “Go where? This building and its contents are my responsibility.”

  “I promise you that we’ll lock up when we leave, but right now your building is my crime scene.”

  “How long before I can get back in? I have work to do.” She didn’t sound even remotely mollified by his assurances.

  “We’ll finish up here as quickly as possible, but the whole process will go much faster if you’ll just sit back down and let me take your initial statement.”

  Shirley dropped into her chair and folded her arms across her thin chest. “Go ahead.”

  True to his word, the detective finished with us in a matter of minutes. Neither Shirley nor I knew anything about the remains—not how they’d come to be in the chimney or to whom they belonged.

  That last point intrigued me. “Do you have any idea who the victim is?”

  Detective Hazlett closed the small spiral-bound notebook in which he’d been recording our answers. “That will take some digging. That wall has been in place for decades.”

  “A quarter of a century by my reckoning,” Shirley said. “The last time any work was done on that part of the building was twenty-five years ago, just before the bicentennial.”

  “Someone took sprucing up to a whole new level,” I said, not quite under my breath.

  Hazlett gestured for us to precede him into the vestibule. It was only when I saw Shirley gathering up her tote bag and a sweater that I remembered I’d left my laptop in Archives.

  “I hate to trouble you, Detective, but I need to go back upstairs for my things.” I sent him my sweetest little-old-lady smile. “If I can’t retrieve my laptop until later in the week, I’ll have a hard time getting any work done.”

  To my relief, he agreed to escort me to Archives. I have backups of all my files, but if he’d refused, I’d have had to borrow a computer, or use one of the ones available to patrons of the Lenape Hollow Memorial Library. Doable, but a royal pain.

  Shirley slipped back into her office and returned with the third copy of the Gazetteer and Business Directory of Sullivan County, N.Y. “You may need this when you do the rewrite. You’d better take the pageant manuscript home with you too, since it’s clear no one has any idea when we’ll be allowed back inside the building.” She thrust the book into my hands, winked to let me know that I’d heard her correctly, and left before I could thank her for bending the rules.

  Detective Hazlett took my arm. “This way.”

  He sped up as he escorted me past the activity around the body and the fallen wall. He needn’t have worried. I had no desire for another look.

  While I packed up my laptop and the book and hesitated over taking the script, Hazlett strolled around the room, giving a cursory once-over to the cabinets and shelves. He was unaware of my quandary. If I took the binder with me, it might be viewed as my tacit agreement to do more than just edit the text. With less than two weeks until the start of rehearsals, rewriting the whole thing would be a daunting, time-consuming task, but what was the alternative? The pageant was scheduled to be a big part of the quasquibicentennial. Somebody had to do it.

  “Ready to go?” Hazlett asked.

  “I guess so.” Resigned to my fate, I added the manuscript to my laptop case. Only after I’d done so did I notice the morose expression on his face. “You don’t look all that anxious to get back downstairs yourself.”

  My observation prompted a rueful chuckle. “This is what you call a no-win situation, Ms. Lincoln. The public is going to want answers and I don’t have any.” He ran a hand through his short, thick, rust-colored hair, leaving a few stubbly bits standing on end. “After all this time, we may never be able to identify the remains, and if we don’t, then figuring out who hid them behind that wall will be next to impossible.”

  Chapter 7

  By the time I walked home, word that something extraordinary had happened at the historical society was already out. Tom O’Day was waiting for me on my front porch. Instead of letting myself into the house, I joined him in the little conversation area I’d created with wicker furniture. When the weather is fine, I sometimes work in this space, using the coffee table as a desk.

  Wearily I sank down onto a soft seat cushion. “I was hoping to come home and collapse. It’s been a wretched morning.”

  “So it’s true then? You found a body?”

  “Close enough. Human remains fell out of a wall when it collapsed.”

  He gave a snort of laughter before he realized I wasn’t kidding. “Seriously?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He removed his glasses and concentrated on cleaning them with a pristine white handkerchief he’d pulled out of the pocket of his dress slacks. I assumed from his attire that he’d been at O’Day Antiques when he heard what happened. I wasn’t certain why news of the discovery should have provoked a rush to question me. Then again, maybe he’d just come home for lunch. I’d lost track of the time, but the empty feeling in my stomach told me it was past noon.

  “Will this affect the pageant?” Tom asked.

  Suddenly his interest made sense. I’d forgotten that he was one of the village trustees. A little concern for my well-being might have been nice, but instead of Sorry you had to endure such an ordeal, he’d gone straight to what was really important to him.

  “Honestly, Tom, I don’t know what effect this will have in the long run, but I’ve brought the script home with me to work on.” I smiled sweetly at him. “If you’d like to volunteer to give me a hand with it, I wouldn’t say no.”

  He waved off my suggestion, literally holding both hands in front of him, palms out, and moving them side to side. “Sorry, Mikki. I would if I could, but between the shop, and my civic responsibilities, and keeping up with our two teenagers, I don’t have time for anything else.”

  Ah, yes, I thought—the old “my job is more important than yours” ploy. Why did I have the feeling that I was going to hear that “too busy” excuse from just about everyone I approached for help with the manuscript?

  All at once I was too tired to care if the project succeeded or not. I leaned my head against the curved portion of the back of my chair and closed my eyes. They popped open again at the sound of Tom getting to his feet.

  He’s taller than I am even when we’re both standing. Just then, he seemed to tower over me. He wasn’t looming. I wouldn’t have put up with that. But between his height and the breadth of his shoulders, the sight of him was rather daunting.

  “The board of trustees needs to know if you’re still willing to produce the pageant.”

  It took a moment for the question to register, but when it did, I sat bolt upright. “Whoa! Produce? Who said anything about producing? I agreed to edit a manuscript. Full stop.”

  “Which puts you in the best position to assist in casting, supervise the colle
ction of props, and acquire costumes.”

  I felt my jaw sag in astonishment. “Are you out of your mind?”

  When I shot to my feet, he backed up, inching closer to the porch steps, but he was far from being in full retreat. “You’re a very organized person. Exactly what we need to rein in expenses and handle the details the director won’t have time for.”

  “The director will have to find himself another flunky. I have more than enough on my plate trying to doctor the script.”

  I closed my mouth with a snap, realizing that I’d just made a verbal commitment to go with the one implicit in bringing the binder home with me. It looked as if I was going to do that rewrite, after all. Irritated as much at myself as with Tom, and feeling more than a bit overwhelmed by the task ahead of me, I brushed rudely past my next-door neighbor and unlocked my front door. I had my hand on the knob, about to bolt inside, when I thought of something else that needed saying. I turned my head to glare at him over my shoulder. My tone of voice was decidedly frosty.

  “If you expect this pageant to go from page to reality in under a month, then you’d better start recruiting more people to work on it. A whole lot of people. You can start by finding a good costume rental company.”

  Without giving him time to respond, I let myself in and closed the door firmly behind me. For good measure I locked it, knowing full well that the click of the dead bolt would be audible on the other side. Then, before I could forget again and with only seconds to spare, I punched my code into the security system keypad to stop it from deciding I was an intruder.

  “Way to get along with the neighbors, Mik,” I muttered to myself as I listened to the thump of Tom’s footfalls going down the porch steps.

  The familiar feel of feline fur rubbing against my ankles had its usual soothing effect. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. Once I’d reset the alarm system and abandoned my keys and laptop case on the hall table, Calpurnia did her best to trip me as I headed for the kitchen, winding herself between my ankles at every step.