Three Can Keep a Secret, page 25
I looked at the thick accordion folder Millicent had left for me. She had asked some questions over the summer that started me thinking. If we were on the same track, she had saved me a great deal of time. I’d dig into that file shortly. But that wasn’t all she’d done.
You will need to go back to the city to sort this out. I have taken the liberty of giving your name to a colleague at a specialty library in Manhattan. Because of the bequest of a large private collection, they will be in need of additional help for several months next spring. The contact information is below. It will not only put you where you need to be, I believe you will enjoy the work. Your ability to keep secrets will serve you well there.
That had raised my eyebrows, but when I saw the name of the library, I could see her point. She had gone above and beyond, and with the future of library operations in limbo, this opportunity could work out well. Millicent had left me with a few moral dilemmas, but I was grateful for this.
There were other things—she had left me a list of books from her personal collection that I was to take for myself, because I might find them useful in the course of my investigation into Dan’s death. The list was esoteric, to say the least. Some of these must have been her father’s. She also instructed me to take whatever mementos I wished from her home or her desk at work, and she mentioned the Olivetti specifically. Done. Then she wrapped it up.
I thank you again for taking on this task. Please know that whatever you decide, I support.
I am glad to have gotten to know you, and I value our friendship, however brief it has been.
I wish you every good thing, Greer.
With much fondness,
Millicent
There was a lot to digest here. Even after a third reading, I wasn’t sure I’d taken it all in.
“Oh, Millicent. What did you do?” I asked. What would I have done? And if I found Danny’s killer—what would I do? I shook my head. That was for another time. I had things to do now.
One thing was clear: I needed to find the documents she referred to. Felicity had determined that the trust wording allowed for some changes in the disposition of assets. If there was a later will, or a codicil, or another legal document signed by a Ravenscroft and duly witnessed, those wishes would be honored. There would be jumping through legal hoops, but that was the gist of it.
I got up and went to the desk in the corner. It was an antique drop front with drawers and cubby holes. There was a wooden file cabinet beneath. I opened it up and went through every inch of it. Nothing. I checked the file cabinet. Nope. I tried the desk again, making sure I pulled out the drawers and felt behind the wooden slats that formed the cubbies. She’d said the study—perhaps she’d meant her father’s office. I gave that a thorough search and came up empty again. I didn’t think there were any other desks in the house, but I checked anyway. There were not. Just in case she’d taken them out of the desk in preparation for bringing them to her lawyer, I went through her bedroom and closet. Still nothing.
Frustrated, I went back downstairs. Maybe she’d tucked them into the other file she’d left me. I sat and opened it up. It was well organized—handwritten notes, printouts of news stories, legal precedents, and financial regulations. A prospectus, IPO information—things related to Danny’s company. There were marginal notes containing cross-references and questions. Following all these different threads was a lot of work, even for a trained researcher. Millicent was good. Then I remembered that Harriet had planned to teach her about the stock market as soon as she was old enough. Looks like she had. Harriet probably could have pulled this off too, though it would have taken longer without the internet. But there were no legal documents, and nothing relating to the Ravenscrofts.
I sighed and sat back. Maybe her desk at work? I’d check whenever I could get back into the manor. Tired and uncertain what to do next, I started flipping through the file again. Millicent had started her notes with “Follow the money!” I smiled. Good advice. Dan had been a finance guy. That was my theory too. I read through a couple newspaper articles. Millicent thought she had found a parallel to another company, one that had gone south in a spectacular way. As I read more, I thought maybe she was onto something. It was an angle I hadn’t considered. A picture began to form. I was missing information, but I had a workable theory. Follow the money, indeed. If I was right, it was a small fortune. Enough for someone to kill for, at least once and maybe twice. That I knew of, anyway. Which meant they wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of me if I showed up asking inconvenient questions. I had known I needed to be careful, but it would take more than that. Self-defense training? Not my thing, but I had no choice. A geyser of rage bubbled up within me, as it had increasingly often in the last few months.
A gust of wind hit the window. I jumped and realized the fire had gone out. It was late afternoon, and I was chilly. There was nothing else I could do here today. I put everything back in the file, including Millicent’s letter. I cleaned up from lunch, made sure some lights were on timers, and double-checked the fire. After a long look at the empty tea tin and box, I picked them up and pushed them deep into the bag of trash. All that was left to do was take it out before I drove off.
I picked up my coat, then put it down. I drifted around the room, restless, irritated that I hadn’t found what I was looking for. After examining the art on the walls and pulling a couple of books off the shelves, I came to the pictures I’d seen on Sunday afternoon. I picked one up. Millicent had said to take what I wanted, and I wanted this—the photo of Millicent and her beautiful boys.
I was turning to put it in my bag when something struck me. I turned back to the remaining photos. Elizabeth Ames at her typewriter, in the office with Horatio, who was standing near his desk. Then there was the one of Millicent with Horatio, the two of them laughing. What had she said? He’d taught her a magic trick—he loved tricks and puzzles of all kinds. And there it was on the desk, visible in both photos. The puzzle box. It was still on the desk—a part of the permanent display. I’d tried to open it once, thinking it held fountain pens or some such, and then realized what it was. But it was barely larger than an envelope, and not more than an inch deep. The papers I was looking for wouldn’t all fit. Somewhere else in the desk? And then I had it.
“‘The Purloined Letter,’” I said. The Poe detective story I’d read last week held the answer. The missing letter was hidden in plain sight, among other letters. On Horatio’s desk was a wooden tray, more of an in-box/out-box set up on two levels. I’d seen it every time I was in there—nothing ever changed. On the top was opened correspondence; on the bottom, sealed envelopes with typed addresses. I’d looked through them once. All of them were business related, addressed locally. I’d thought they were props, but if I remembered correctly, at least one was addressed to “law offices of.” It was possible.
What had Patricia said? “In the desk in the study?” I’d thought the phrasing was odd—why no pronoun? “Her desk” would have made more sense, but at the time I thought Patricia had misspoken. But if she was quoting Millicent exactly, this would make sense.
I’d need permission to go into the manor. It was both a crime scene and still being inspected for safety. I’d start with Jennie, but I wanted to be as sure as I could before I asked for that favor. I found Patricia’s card and called. Once I got her on the phone, I explained what Millicent had written in her letter, and told her about my fruitless search of her home. Then I asked her if she remembered exactly what Millicent had said about the location of the documents.
“I do. She said, ‘the desk in the study.’ I thought it was oddly phrased, but then decided that either she had desks in more than one room or that she was just tired.”
“I think she meant the desk in the study at the manor,” I said.
“Horatio Ravenscroft’s old office? Yes, that would make sense. No one’s allowed in there, are they?”
“Um, no,” I said. “But as a staff member, I check it when we’re closing. But no one touches anything.”
“I think it’s worth a look. I haven’t seen the original trust documents, but I don’t think this one’s going to be easy to untangle.”
“I can get you copies of those. Felicity James has a set. I can ask her to drop them off.”
“That would be helpful. I’ll be here until six, and back at nine tomorrow. Do you need any help getting access to the building? The sooner we have them, if they’re there, the better I’ll feel.”
“No, I think I can get in. I’m calling a friend on the police force now.”
“Good luck. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
I hung up and dialed Jennie. She picked up on the first ring. I could tell by the background noise that she was at the station.
“I need a favor. Two actually,” I added, looking at the folder Millicent had left for me.
“What’s up?” she asked.
I explained what was going on as quickly as I could. “So I need to get into Horatio Ravenscroft’s study. The fire was nowhere near there, and it’s right inside the front door. Can we do that? It’s urgent.”
“Give me a minute,” she said. I heard muffled conversation. Then she came back.
“Sam said the safety inspection is done, though not all the paperwork is signed off. Our people are going in tomorrow. If we limit our visit to that area, I can take you in.”
“I’ll meet you there in ten,” I said. “Park in the old lot. It’s closer to the front door.”
We hung up. I wrapped the three photos in my scarf and put them in my tote, then gathered the rest of my things, set the alarm, rolled the trash to the curb, and left for the manor. Jennie pulled into the lot right behind me. I grabbed my flashlight—we had a little daylight left, but the interior would be dark, and the electricity was off.
I stood next to Jennie on the porch as she removed the crime scene tape and unlocked the door. I never came in this way. I looked over my shoulder. The trees were swaying in the wind. For a moment, I thought I spotted the path to the old cemetery. Then it was gone. Thunder rumbled in the distance. I heard the croak of a raven but couldn’t spot him.
When the door swung open, I was hit with the smell of acrid smoke. I coughed, transported back to Tuesday night.
“Are you ready?” Jennie said.
I nodded. We turned on our flashlights and went in. There was light coming in through the peacock glass above the door, but it was gray and flickering because of the storm. The rest of the main hall, the reading room, and the stairway were dark. Our flashlights barely made a dent. It didn’t matter—we’d lost power so often I could find my way around with no light, and I led the way into the study.
The desk was pushed back, the items on top jumbled. That must have happened when the EMTs were working on Millicent. I shoved the thought aside and searched the piles on the blotter. I spotted the puzzle box and picked it up. Something moved inside when I gave it a shake.
“We’ll need to take this,” I said, handing it to Jennie. “I’m not sure how to open it.” She took it from me and moved closer to the window for better light. I went back to searching the desk. The bottom of the letter tray still held all the sealed envelopes. I pulled them out and sorted through them. Two were addressed to a local law firm, the others to various businesses. I opened the ones to the lawyer. Bingo. Last will and testament of Horatio Ravenscroft, signed and witnessed by Peter and Margaret Emerson. There was a letter as well, also signed by Horatio, stating that Millicent Ames was his natural daughter with Elizabeth Ames and that he was therefore leaving her all his worldly goods and complete discretion over the disposition of the trust and the assets held therein. This matched what was in the will, and there was more legal language in both, but if it held up, it looked like Millicent scooped the lot. Would it hold up, though, if she were already dead before this was probated? Or would the trust take care of that? And what about Millicent’s will? How did all these interact? My head started to throb.
I heard a click. I turned to find Jennie, her flashlight tucked under her chin, sliding open the puzzle box. She looked up.
“I used to have a bunch of these as a kid. My dad would get them for me when he was stationed overseas. Here, I think you’re going to need this too.”
She held out an envelope. It had my name on the front, followed by the usual “Personal and Confidential.” On the back, Tuesday’s date was written across the flap where it sealed. I opened it and found another letter. This one was from Millicent and stated that I was to act as her representative in the disposition of the assets from the family trust. This, too, was signed and witnessed, in this case by Mary Alice Quinn and Cheryl Studebaker.
“Quite a story,” said Jennie, who had walked over and was reading Horatio’s letter. “Makes me kind of glad my family has never had money.”
I blew out a breath. “I’m not sure everything is legal. But then, I’m not sure how trusts work. I think you can do a lot with those that you can’t with a will.” Since my family had never had money either, I had no idea.
Jennie shrugged. “That’s why lawyers make so much money. They make things impossible for the rest of us to understand. But the Ravenscroft family could afford the best. It may be knotty, but I bet it’ll hold up.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. I looked through the papers again, making sure I had everything. I was thrilled to have finally found these, and sad for everyone involved. “I can do this,” I muttered.
“Of course. You’re a clever girl.”
The voice seemed to come from behind me. I spun around. Jennie was in the doorway, looking out.
“Did you say something?” I asked. “Or—hear anything?”
“No, but it’s starting to rain,” she said. “We better go. I promised Sam we’d be quick.”
“Okay,” I said. I tucked the papers under my coat and walked toward the hall. Jennie was a few feet ahead of me. It was when I reached the door that I smelled it, the same smell I’d noticed before in this room. Cherry pipe smoke. I turned and looked back. There was a faint shimmer in the air, and then flitting shadows as the manor ravens rose off the lawn in a flurry of black wings. Then the smell and the shimmer were gone.
I joined Jennie and we walked out, locking up and replacing the crime scene tape. Thunder rumbled, closer this time. There was a flash of lightning, and the rain started coming down harder. I looked up, and spotted ravens in the trees. They looked down at us, silent and watchful. I started for the steps. Jennie reached out and touched my arm.
“What’s the other favor?” she asked.
I paused. The image of Danny, dead on our living room floor, floated through my mind. I turned and faced her.
“I need to learn how to shoot.”
She raised an eyebrow, then studied my face. She only asked one question.
“Tomorrow?”
I felt a flutter in my middle. I was going to do this.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
She nodded, and then we walked down the steps and into the storm.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to all who provided support and encouragement while I was writing this book, chief among them my husband, Mark, who kept our lives running, and my family—always my biggest fans. For their unwavering positive reinforcement and excitement about my writing career, I thank the staff of the Lee County Library System, particularly Angela Ortiz and the Technical Services team, and the members of the Reading Festival Committee. The fictional Eric, proprietor of Raven Hill’s Adventure Wine & Spirits, has a real-life counterpart, and for sharing his extensive knowledge of all things wine related, I thank Eric Tuverson, owner of Adventure Wine•Beer•Spirits in Middletown, Delaware. Any errors on the subject are mine and not his. As always, thanks are due to Julie Gwinn and the Seymour Agency, who make sure the whole process keeps humming along.
Also available by M. E. Hilliard
The Greer Hogan Mysteries
Shadow in the Glass
The Unkindness of Ravens
Author Biography
M. E. Hilliard is currently a full-time librarian who started out in retail merchandising. After twelve years of mergers, consolidations, and moves around the country, she went to graduate school and got a Master of Library Science degree. Originally from the Connecticut shoreline, she has never lost her love of quaint small towns, big cities, and fashion, so she indulges that in her writing. A lifelong lover of mystery fiction, M. E. currently lives and works in Florida.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Macaire Hill
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-63910-236-5
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-63910-237-2
Cover design by Alan Ayers
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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First Edition: February 2023
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M. E. Hilliard, Three Can Keep a Secret
