Something Wicked, page 15
Much like choosing a title, trying to figure out where to look to find Eudora’s secret was like deciding what part of the haystack might contain the needle you were hunting for.
I toyed with the necklace Eudora had left me. Glancing at the pendant, I hoped it might have a symbol or hint as to where she had kept her treasure. Honey had told me it helped with manifestation, but I suppose that didn’t extend to finding objects. I briefly considered calling Honey because she’d mentioned one of her skills was in finding missing things, but I think I’d have to know what I was looking for in order for her to find the where. I didn’t believe it was an actual treasure because if Eudora had anything of real material value, she would have made sure to leave it to me outright. So any visions of gold in the floorboards or chests filled with jewels went right out the window. She’d told me as much herself in her final letter.
Yet there was something here worth so much to people in town they were willing to buy the whole house to get it, and that meant it had some kind of value.
Perhaps it wasn’t a thing, but rather information. Maybe Eudora knew something about Dierdre and her mystery partner, and whatever it was, it was worth the risk of a break and enter. Maybe even worth the risk of a murder.
At the bottom shelf, behind neatly stacked atlases and a few hardcover books of poetry, there was a row of leatherbound books without names. Their spines just had neat numbers written in gold ink. Dates.
I pulled out the book labelled 2000, which would have been the last summer I spent regular time out here with Eudora before my parents uprooted us and moved us to Chicago. Opening up the book, I soon realized it was a scrapbook album. There were photos of Eudora drinking wine with friends at a backyard barbecue and shots of Main Street knee deep with snow, Christmas lights strung up on each storefront. There was a photo of the front porch of Lane End House, where Leo, Rich, and myself sat hip to hip, melting popsicles in our hands and wide grins on our faces, our bikes strewn to the side.
We would have been about thirteen or fourteen in the photo, getting too old and too cool to spend summers playing with bikes and building forts in the woods, yet we’d hung onto those friendships and games for a long time. Now, over twenty years later, I had barely recognized Leo and Rich, and what was worse, I didn’t know who they really were or if I could still trust them, no matter how badly I wanted to.
I flipped through the book but didn’t find anything to give me any hints as to what Eudora was hiding. Not sure what approach to take, I stuck with the photo albums, pulling out the first one, which was labeled “1983,” the year she’d opened The Earl’s Study, and the most recent one, from just last year.
As I perused the 1983 volume, I smiled to see photos of Eudora with my father, both sporting short curly hair and unflattering eighties sunglasses, Eudora sporting far too much blush. The town itself looked largely unchanged in the photos, the only difference being some of the signage and a few stores that weren’t still around. The old-school European vibe had been popular around here for a very long time.
I opened to a page that had a photo of Eudora beaming proudly, standing in front of The Earl’s Study with a key in her hand, my father at her side, grinning. The window behind them had only a “For Rent” sign in it, but I could just imagine all the shelves and counters in place. It was amazing to visualize the history of something that now belonged to me.
I turned another page, and something fell into my lap, a thick envelope that looked much newer than the 1983 date on the photo album. In the top corner was a mark from Edwards and Clark, Eudora’s lawyers.
Having dealt with them so recently to finalize Eudora’s estate, the names were familiar, but it was still surprising somehow to see the envelope tucked into the photo album. I carefully slid it open and pulled out a dense sheaf of papers, which again looked much too new to be in a book that was nearly forty years old.
Sure enough, the first thing I noticed in looking at the stack of papers was the date in the top corner—2000—that same final summer I’d spent here. Strange that it would have gotten put into the older book, then, almost like she wanted someone to be forced to go looking for it.
Someone like me, perhaps?
As I read through the documents, I only got more and more confused. Surely, if what I was reading was accurate, the lawyers would have had to disclose it to me when we were reviewing the estate together. I glanced over at the clock on the wall, but it was well after eight now, much too late to ring up their office.
I’d have to call in the morning or go visit when my shift ended.
But one thing was certain: if these papers were legitimate, I had just found exactly what it was everyone wanted so badly.
Chapter Thirty-Three
After laying all the papers out on the floor, I still couldn’t quite grasp what it was I was reading. The letter on top was signed by Eudora and someone named George Bullock, a name that felt like it should mean something, though I couldn’t figure out why.
According to all the papers that followed that signed sheet, George had been the owner and landlord of roughly two blocks of shops on Main Street, including The Earl’s Study, Amy’s bakery—before it had been her bakery, but I recognized the address—the plant shop, Owen’s shoe store, and a dozen other business, as well as any additional spaces on the second floor of those buildings, which were either storage spaces or rental properties but increased the value of each store.
The paperwork seemed to suggest George had sold ownership of those properties to Eudora for what appeared to be the very low sum of $250,000. Even in 2000, that amount was much, much too low for over a dozen shops that comprised so much of the town’s commercial real estate.
In the main cover letter, there appeared to be a caveat to the sale, that George would sell her the properties at the agreed- upon price, but only if she promised to do her part to keep Main Street and the town vital and thriving.
It did not state how she was meant to do that.
I sat cross-legged in front of the letters. Aside from the main cover letter and some legal documents outlining the title transfer, the rest of the papers consisted of the actual deeds for each store.
Having this much real estate, which amounted to control over a big chunk of the town’s retail economy, was certainly the kind of thing people would break into a house for and would be desperate to find.
Perhaps it was even enough to kill for.
Swallowing down the ball of anxiety lodged in my throat, I carefully stacked the papers together again, slid them back into their envelope and clutched it to my chest. I wanted to put it back into the photo album and pretend I hadn’t seen it. But I had so many questions concerning these papers that simply couldn’t be ignored.
If I was now the sole owner of most of the buildings on Main Street, why hadn’t anyone mentioned it to me before? The lawyers must have known about the assets since they’d been the ones to help broker the deal between Eudora and George.
It was an awfully big thing to leave out of her estate assets when we’d reviewed them only a few weeks earlier.
And if she was the landlord for so many businesses, where was all that money? By my count, there were fourteen deeds, including The Earl’s Study, in the pile. That was fourteen stores’ worth of rent, not counting the apartments most had on their second floor. That was an awful lot of monthly income that I certainly hadn’t seen accounted for in Eudora’s funds.
Forget a call—I was going to need to go visit her lawyers in person tomorrow. I had too many questions, and none of them could be answered easily over the phone.
I briefly considered just putting the envelope in my purse so I’d be ready to head out the door tomorrow, but then recalled the conversation between Dierdre and her mystery friend. If they were so motivated to have this that they were thinking about breaking into my house, then I couldn’t trust the papers being out of my sight.
They’d have to spend the night with me until I was able to talk to the lawyers.
I started cleaning up the living room, putting away the albums, and remembered that I’d pulled out the one for the most recent year. Even though I’d found what I was looking for, curiosity nagged at me. I hadn’t seen Eudora in the final year of her life. We’d spoken often, but the opportunities to come visit had been sparse, especially while I dealt with my divorce, so my plans for a trip kept getting put on the backburner, until suddenly she was gone.
I opened the album on my lap, immediately taken aback at the difference between the people in this one and their 2000 and 1983 versions. Eudora was noticeably older. Even though she had died a bold purple streak into her white hair, it was clear that she wasn’t entirely the same person she had been in those earlier albums.
She still smiled brilliantly and was obviously invested in the town, with photos of her at a Fourth of July picnic and a Halloween dance. Every season had pictures of her posing proudly in front of the heavily decorated facade of The Earl’s Study or on the lawn of Lane End House. She had taken the mission of “over-the-top” seasonal decorating to heart. I had a lot to live up to.
I flipped to a random page and stopped breathing.
There, standing in front of The Earl’s Study, grinning from ear to ear like she was posing for a prom photo, was my lovely aunt.
Standing next to her was Ox, the man we’d found dead behind that same store only a few days ago.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Things had now gone from strange to utterly inconceivable in the span of only a few minutes.
In the photo, Ox looked much like he had when I’d seen him alive: stern, unsmiling, and a little stiff. But he stood gamely with Eudora, who seemed—well, she seemed proud. It was hard to understand what I was looking at.
I slid the card out of its plastic sleeve and flipped it over to see if she had written anything on the back. In blue pen, she’d indicated Carl, August 14, 2019. First day out!
First day out?
Thanks to Rich, I knew Eudora sponsored ex-cons at the store, and had already considered that might be Ox’s connection to my aunt, but I was surprised to see how recently they had known each other. If he had worked at the shop only a couple years ago, then Imogen would have known and surely would have said something about it before now. I knew Detective Martin had made the rounds, asking everyone on Main Street if they recognized him.
I stared at the picture, the incredibly different expressions on their two faces, but in spite of Ox’s stiff demeanor, there was a warmth in his eyes, something I hadn’t seen when I’d met him in person, possibly because he’d never made eye contact with me.
This meant he had known Eudora for sure, which made at least one part of Dierdre’s story true, though I wasn’t sure how much else I was willing to believe when it came to her own innocence, especially not after what I’d heard tonight.
There was something I had to do, more important than the lawyer visit. I had to go see Detective Martin.
Another glance at the clock reminded me how late it was and that she probably had a life outside of police work, but I decided rather than calling, I would take a risk and see if she was at the station.
Given what I’d heard in the back lane tonight, what I’d found in the documents, and what I’d discovered about Eudora’s connection to the murder victim, I couldn’t just pretend all these elements weren’t related, and the police needed to know.
I put my jacket back on and slid the envelope and photo into my inner pocket, then grabbed my purse and headed for the door. All the while Bob watched me disapprovingly.
“What? I fed you.”
He gave a creaky little mew, as if to say that wasn’t what he needed, but I didn’t have time to decipher the moods and desires of a chubby orange tabby. I would give him apology cuddles when I got home and even let him share my pillow to make up for my recent inattentiveness. Surely that would get me back in his good graces.
Before I went, I paused and rubbed him behind the ears so he’d know I still cared, then jogged back out to my car.
Raven Creek’s main drag was a ghost town by this point, with the grocery store closed for the night and all the other shops darkened as well. As I drove down Main in the direction of the police station, I was amazed by how empty the streets were. It was like I was the only person alive in a zombie movie.
Driving past my own store, I noticed a light on upstairs, suggesting Rich was home. I thought again about the jacket I’d seen at his back door, and wondered if he really had been the one to chase me the other morning. If so, why? It didn’t make sense. Though nothing about that early-morning encounter made any sense.
And neither did my unusual run-in with Leo tonight.
While finding the paperwork and discovering Ox’s connection to Eudora were a step in the right direction of solving this mystery, I was slowly learning that things in this little town might be a lot weirder than I had ever expected.
Giving a second glance to The Earl’s Study as I passed, I wondered if maybe later this week I could use Rich’s professional skills to help figure out who had been planning to break into my house. Perhaps he’d even been home when they were out there. I decided that in spite of all my uncertainties about him, he might actually be able to help me.
I’d stop in and see him on my way home if I wasn’t at the police station for too long. It was late by normal people hours, but Rich seemed to burn the midnight oil on a regular basis thanks to his job as a PI. I doubted he would mind the visit.
A few minutes later, as I parked in front of the police station, which was still brightly lit in spite of it being almost ten o’clock, I noticed there was an unmarked civilian car in the lot, as well as a marked police cruiser. Taking a deep breath, I stared up at the building and tried to decide how best to explain things to Martin without sounding either crazy or like I’d been sticking my nose into the case on my own.
There might be no helping the latter, since I had definitely been playing detective on my own without her. Like a child who had misbehaved, I was prepared to get a stern lecture about how disappointed she was, and I really wasn’t looking forward to it.
I patted my chest where the envelope was, then headed into the building.
An older police officer with a round belly and thick mustache greeted me at the front desk when I came in.
“Evening, ma’am—everything all right?” I could tell he was hoping this wouldn’t require his intervention. I suspected he might have been on the verge of a nap when I came in. Murder aside, I couldn’t imagine there was a lot of crime that needed attending to most nights in this town.
“I was hoping Detective Martin might still be here. It’s about the murder behind my bookstore.”
“You’re in luck, she’s here late tonight. Let me just see if she’s free.” He got up from the desk and wandered into the back of the station, through a locked door. I waited a few minutes, feeling weirdly exposed. Even though I was inside a police station, I was continually checking over my shoulder, like someone might appear and try to snatch the deeds from me.
Finally, the officer returned, and Detective Martin held open the door, beckoning me to follow her. She looked tired, but it was after nine at this point, so I couldn’t blame her.
“Gene said you wanted to talk to me about the case. Have you learned something new since the last time we talked?” Her tone was measured but had hints of both humor and disappointment in it, like she knew very well I’d been putting my nose where it didn’t belong, in spite of her warnings.
“I think I have.”
She led me to her desk and offered me the well-worn chair sitting next to it, where I could imagine her questioning people involved in other crimes. Just being here made me feel weirdly guilty, which was probably more on me than on her.
Martin waited patiently, not prompting me, simply sitting back in her chair and leveling me with a quiet, discerning stare. I was willing to bet she had made guilty men crack and confess just based on the weight of that stare alone. I wasn’t actually responsible for any crimes, but I was about ready to confess to them anyway.
Dang she was good.
I pulled the envelope out of my inside pocket and placed the photo on her desk first. “I was looking for something in Eudora’s house and came across this photo from a couple years ago.” I slid it, face up, across the desk to her so she could see it better. “That’s my aunt with the victim. Did you know they knew each other?”
“When we questioned Dierdre Miller about her involvement, she implied as much, saying her only encounter with Mr. Bullock was to direct him toward your store and that, aside from that, she wasn’t familiar with him.”
“Sorry, did you just say ‘Mr. Bullock’?”
“Yes, Carl Bullock.”
She had told me his full name on the phone, but I had gotten so stuck on his nickname, Ox, my brain had absolutely forgotten the rest of his real name. Carl Bullock.
“Was he any relation to a George Bullock?”
Martin’s brow furrowed. I could tell she didn’t love being the one forced to answer questions rather than ask them, but she turned to her computer and typed a few things in. Her frown deepened. “Yes, George was his father. Gosh, I remember George—he was a big investor in the town ages ago, but he was a major recluse. He lived in this enormous house outside town, and I don’t think anyone around here ever saw him more than once or twice. I didn’t even know he was married, let alone had a son. He died probably twenty years ago, and the house got torn down maybe ten years ago—no one ever claimed it. I never put those things together.” Her gaze cut back to me. “What made you ask about George?”
I quickly recounted my story about overhearing Dierdre’s plan the prior evening and her previous enthusiastic attempts to buy Eudora’s house for unknown reasons. “Well, I think I found the reason.” I handed Martin the envelope.
She carefully read through all the documents, her brows lifting higher and higher as she let their meaning sink in. “How could we have never known this? I don’t claim to have known your aunt well, but did you have any idea she owned basically half the town?”
