Finding a Killer Page 11

  “I bet your husband was very special.”

  “Oh,” Sarah said and nearly began to cry, “my husband was a poor man from England, and I was a poor American girl from out west who traveled to England to study art.” Sarah closed her eyes. “I met my husband one day while taking a walk near the seashore…I fell in love with him and he fell in love with me.” Sarah kept her eyes closed. “Three days later, we were married and settled down in a little cottage, poor but happy. And then, many years later, my husband surprised me…we were going to sail to America on a beautiful ship called the Titanic and visit my sister who would be waiting in New York for us. Oh, I was so happy…but my happiness quickly turned into sorrow.” Sarah slowly opened her eyes. “As the black icy ocean swallowed the Titanic, it swallowed my husband and…my heart…along with it.”

  “I’m so very sorry,” Mary told Sarah.

  “So am I,” Sarah replied and wiped a tear away. “Dear, I would like to be left alone now. I’m very frightened that two people have been killed and wish to begin packing my luggage to leave.”

  “I understand,” Mary said. She picked up Sheriff Whitfield’s gun and stood up. “Betty and I will be out in the hallway. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah gave a tremulous smile.

  Mary smiled back and left the room. “So sad,” she told Betty as Betty closed the room door.

  “I’ll say,” Betty agreed and wiped tears from her eyes. “What a sad love story…stuff you don’t read about in books.”

  Mary looked toward Albert’s door. “Love seems to make the heart break into a million pieces, doesn’t it?” she said and began thinking about her own husband. “I worry that John…could die any day. If he did…oh, Betty, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t think such horrible thoughts,” Betty begged.

  Before Mary could answer Betty, Mrs. Dalton’s door opened and then closed, opened and then closed. “What in the world?” Mary said.

  “I don’t know,” Betty said in a worried voice, watching the door open and close one last time.

  “Come on,” Mary said in an urgent voice. She ran to Mandy’s room door and tried to open it. “Mrs. Dalton…can you hear me? Mrs. Dalton,” Mary cried out as she struggled to push the door open. “It feels like someone is lying in front of the door. Betty, help me.”

  “Oh dear,” Betty gasped and began pushing against the door.

  Mary bit down on her lip. She set Sheriff Whitfield’s gun on the floor and fought against the door as hard as she could. The door slowly began to ease open, pushing Mandy’s semi-conscious body out of the way just enough for Mary to squeeze through. “Take the sheriff’s gun and keep watch,” Mary told Betty, spotting Mandy’s body. “Mrs. Dalton, can you hear me?” Mary dropped down onto the floor and took Mandy’s left wrist and began checking for a pulse. “Oh, you’re alive!”

  Mandy let out a painful moan. “My son…” she mumbled, “my…own son…betrayed me…”

  “Mrs. Dalton, can you hear me?” Mary begged. “Mrs. Dalton, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to take care of you.”

  “My son…my own son,” Mandy mumbled, “he betrayed me…the gold…one last…war to win…”

  Mary threw her eyes around Mandy’s room and then froze. “Cologne,” she said, smelling the air. “Very faint…but I smell it.”

  “My son…I…taught him…well,” Mandy moaned and then slipped away into a fully unconscious state.

  “Mrs. Dalton?” Mary said and began gently slapping Mandy’s cheeks. “Mrs. Dalton, can you hear me?” When Mandy didn’t answer, Mary carefully checked her neck. “He tried to strangle her,” she whispered, feeling fear grip her heart. “Betty, do you see anyone…anything?”

  “No,” Betty called back in a frightened voice. “Is that creepy old woman…dead?”

  “No, she’s alive…barely,” Mary told Betty and scrambled to her feet. “But…why didn’t he finish killing her? Why would someone who has already killed two people leave a third victim alive?” Mary hurried back out to Betty and closed the room door. “Mrs. Dalton is on the floor…I guess we need to leave her there for now.”

  “Here,” Betty told Mary and handed her back the gun.

  “Thanks,” Mary said. She began sniffing the air.

  “What are you doing?” Betty asked in a confused voice.

  “I smelled a man’s cologne in Mrs. Dalton’s room,” Mary explained. “If I can catch the scent, maybe we can follow it.”

  “But the sheriff told us to stay upstairs,” Betty worried.

  “The sheriff may end up needing our help,” Mary told Betty and continued to sniff the air. “Ah,” she said, “I smell it…” Mary slowly walked toward the stairs. “The smell goes past the stairs…this way.”

  “Oh dear.” Betty reluctantly followed Mary. Mary walked all the way to the end of the hallway and stopped at a large portrait of someone she assumed was Dr. Cappes. Betty immediately checked the portrait. “Fake eyes,” she said in a relieved voice.

  “The smell ends here,” Mary said in a confused voice. “Why would the smell end here…unless…” Mary quickly handed Betty Sheriff Whitfield’s gun again and without waiting a second pulled the large portrait off the wall. “Ah, a dumbwaiter!” she exclaimed. “Hidden behind the portrait.”

  Betty stared at the dumbwaiter in shock. “Oh no….no more hidden passageways,” she whimpered.

  Mary studied the dumbwaiter. “It’s old. Most dumbwaiters today have a motor attached to them. This one is manually operated.” Mary kept her eyes on the dumbwaiter. “All dumbwaiters were manually operated before they began having motors attached to them in the 1920s…not too long ago. I guess old dumbwaiters like this one are still around.”

  “Mary, are you going to crawl into the dumbwaiter?” Betty fretted.

  Mary let her mind think. “I’m guessing this dumbwaiter leads straight down to the kitchen.” Mary reached out and examined the dumbwaiter with her hands. “It’s not very big…but a man could crawl inside.”

  “She’s going to crawl inside the dumbwaiter,” Betty said in a miserable voice.

  “No, no,” Mary assured Betty, “I’m not. I don’t want to leave you alone.” Mary took Sheriff Whitfield’s gun back from Betty. “But that doesn’t mean we stand here with our hands in our pockets. Come on, we need to get down to the kitchen.”

  “But Mary, Sheriff Whitfield ordered us to stay upstairs…and…” Betty looked back down the hallway. “Besides, I don’t think it’s safe to leave Uncle Albert unattended. He might get loose.”

  Mary understood Betty’s concern. But she also knew she needed to track down a killer while the scent of cologne was lingering in the air. “Okay, then,” she said, making a tough choice, “it’s like Sheriff Whitfield said…I think this is where we split up.”

  “No!” Betty gasped. “Mary, you wouldn’t—”

  Mary pushed Sheriff Whitfield’s gun back into Betty’s hands, feeling like the gun was a hot potato, and nodded her head. “I’m afraid so, honey. I have to follow the trail of cologne and, well, you’re right about Uncle Albert.”

  Betty began shaking her head no. “I’ll…come down to the kitchen with you. Uncle Albert will just have to simply…fend for himself.”

  “You don’t mean that, honey,” Mary pointed out. “You have a loving heart and wouldn’t dare leave a wounded animal to fend for itself.”

  Betty made a painful face. “No…but…Mary, something might happen to you…or the killer could come back.”

  “If the killer does return,” Mary said, gently tapping Sheriff Whitfield’s gun, “shoot him.”

  “I don’t know how to shoot a gun,” Betty exclaimed. “Why, I might shoot myself instead.”

  “Honey,” Mary said in a careful voice, “just aim that gun at whatever you want to shoot and pull that trigger as hard as you can.”

  “But—”

  Mary quickly hugged Betty and raced downstairs
before the terrified woman could speak another word. “Please don’t faint if the killer does return,” Mary begged as she hurried down the stairs. “Please don’t faint, honey…please don’t faint.”

  Mary cautiously peeked her head into the spacious kitchen and looked around. The kitchen was empty. “Empty, but I still can smell the cologne,” Mary whispered as she carefully eased into the kitchen. The coffee percolator was still on the stove and the plate of sandwiches was still sitting on the wooden table. Mary quickly hurried over to the sandwiches and counted them.

  “When we left the kitchen earlier there were four sandwiches left…now there’s two. Someone has been in the kitchen.” Mary bit down on her lower lip, looked around again, and then rushed over to the kitchen counter and began searching through the kitchen drawers. She located a wooden rolling pin and placed it into her hands. “Okay,” she whispered, “let’s go have a look in the pantry.”

  Mary approached the closed pantry door on nervous legs, sniffing the air as she went, feeling like she was back in the scary mansion in Maine. “Easy,” she whispered, slowly getting closer to the pantry door, “the smell of cologne is getting stronger and…” Mary suddenly stopped walking. The doorknob attached to the pantry was beginning to turn. “Oh my,” she whispered. She quickly stepped up against the back wall and pressed her body as flat as possible. Seconds later, the pantry door opened. A hard hand pushed the door open just enough for two people to step out. The door barely missed Mary, but gracefully hid her body from sight.

  “Get out,” a deadly voice ordered.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Mary heard Nurse Ellie beg. “I’m an old woman.”

  “An old woman who knows where the gold is hidden.” A man dragged Ellie into the center of the kitchen. “No more playing nice,” he snapped. “Tell me where the gold is or you’re a dead woman.”

  Mary eased her head around the door and spotted the man pushing Ellie down into a chair. “So Ralph O’Malley is Eric Dalton,” she whispered, clearly spotting Mandy Dalton’s features covering the face of her son.

  “You killed my daughter,” Ellie cried. “You killed Dr. Cappes…you’ll kill me.”

  Eric Dalton stared down at Ellie like a monster glaring down at a helpless victim. “I didn’t kill anyone,” he snapped. “I don’t know who is doing the killing.”

  Eric’s words shocked Mary. There she was, hiding behind a door, staring at a man wearing a black suit, assuming she was looking at a killer…but the killer was insisting he was innocent? “Who else could have killed Dr. Cappes and my daughter?” Ellie demanded in a tearful voice.

  Eric lifted an ugly gun into the air and motioned around the kitchen. “I don’t know,” he stated. “If the killer comes near me, I’ll shoot him.”

  Ellie lifted her tear-filled eyes and looked up. “There is no one else,” she said in a confused voice. “Who else could there be? You have to be the killer.”

  Eric lowered the gun in his right hand. “For the last time,” he insisted, “I didn’t kill Dr. Cappes or your daughter. Why would I? My mother and I have spent years tracking down Albert Malone. Years of time, research, and money.” Eric glanced toward the pantry but didn’t spot Mary hiding behind the door. “Dr. Cappes was helping me and so was your daughter. We agreed to work together in order to force Albert Malone into confessing where he hid the gold. The idea was Mother’s. Mother is a very brilliant woman.”

  Ellie continued to stare up at Eric with confused eyes. “Then who…killed Dr. Cappes? Who killed my daughter?”

  “I don’t know,” Eric replied. “What I do know is that I overheard Albert Malone tell that sheriff and those two ladies that he was in love with you. I heard him confess that he told you all about the gold.” Eric bent down and grabbed Ellie’s right wrist. “You know where the gold is. All you have to do is tell me where it’s hidden, and I’ll take Mother and leave.”

  “I…” Ellie began but stopped. The truth was, she was aware of where Albert was keeping the gold. Albert had confessed the location on a rainy night in the Music Room. But Ellie wanted nothing to do with the gold. She knew the gold was cursed. But what could she do? Her husband was forcing her to be part of a deadly plan. If she refused, he threatened to kill her. Yet Ellie refused to allow anger and hate to control her heart. She loved and pitied her husband—pitied his lost heart. If she told him where the gold was hidden, surely, she feared, he would kill her, then would escape with the shipment of cursed gold. No, Ellie chose to keep praying and keep loving; keep believing that somehow…someway…his heart would change.

  “But I was foolish to believe such a thing,” Ellie whispered. “I should have known to let go years ago. I should have run away when I had the chance. I was foolish to stay.”

  “What?” Eric demanded. “What are you mumbling?”

  “Memories,” Ellie said. She looked at Eric in his greedy, dangerous eyes. “A torn heart is full of broken memories.”

  Eric narrowed his eyes. “I don’t care about your memories. All I care about is the gold. Now tell me where the gold is hidden, and I’ll take Mother and leave.”

  “I could lie to you,” Ellie warned Eric.

  “I don’t think you will.” Eric grinned. “I watched Albert Malone hide you in the pantry. I figured he hid you in the old cellar under the pantry floor, and I was right.” Eric stood up. “You care for the old man, don’t you?”

  “I pity him,” Ellie corrected Eric. “Albert is a tortured man, Mr. Dalton. He is a man ravaged by pain and anger and guilt. His heart and mind are at constant war with each other and his fragile spirit is caught in the middle.” Ellie pulled her wrist away from Eric. “Albert believes I am his dead wife. He doesn’t care for the woman I am…only a memory he believes will become real again if I choose to love him.”

  Eric made a sour face. “My heart is breaking,” he said sarcastically. Then he looked back toward the pantry. “If you refuse to tell me where the gold is hidden, I’m going to kill Albert Malone.”

  “The sheriff—”

  “The sheriff is locked in the basement,” Eric explained. “I locked the basement door right after I left Mother’s room.”

  Mary saw a worried expression enter Eric’s eyes. It was as if the man was wondering if locking Sheriff Whitfield in the basement had been such a good idea after all. After all, a killer was on the loose. If you’re not the killer…who is? Mary wondered to herself.

  “If you lie to me about the gold,” Eric quickly threatened Ellie, “I’ll come back and kill Albert Malone and then find you. Is that clear?”

  Ellie looked into Eric’s dark face. “The gold is cursed,” she said in a weak voice. “I should tell you where the gold is because you’ll surely live a life of misery once you find it. But…I can’t.” Ellie lowered her eyes. “The gold must never be found. The gold must remain buried…forever.”

  Eric stomped on the floor. “I want the gold,” he demanded and then pointed his gun at the ceiling. “Tell me where the gold is or Albert Malone dies.”

  “Kill poor Albert if you must,” Ellie told Eric. “The gold…dies with us.”

  Eric’s face turned red with fury. “My patience is running thin,” he growled. “Lady, I’m not getting any younger. I’m forty-four years old. I have never been married. I’ve spent the majority of my adult life working in a bank handling my mother’s affairs. It’s time for me to be rewarded for all of my hard work.” Eric lowered the gun. “I would like to get married, travel the world, see beautiful beaches. But I can’t without the gold.”

  “Why not?” Ellie asked.

  “Why not?” Eric let out a tired laugh. “I’ll tell you why not.” Eric looked around the kitchen. “Mother lost most of her fortune during the stock market crash in 1929. She became a very poor woman who began depending on me.” Eric focused back on Ellie. “Mother created a scheme,” he continued. “She taught me how to steal money from the bank I was working for. How to…manipulate financial books. Over the course of a few years M
other managed to regain her fortune.” Eric paused, looked around again, and then continued. “One day mother entered my office with an old railroad transportation order in her hand.”

  “I’m confused,” Ellie confessed.

  “I was, too,” Eric told Ellie and eased his voice down a little. “Mother explained to me that the railroad transportation order belonged to a man named Albert Malone. She was furious.” Eric looked down at Ellie. “Somehow Mother had found out that Albert Malone had managed to sneak gold into the country through her railroad…before Mother lost the railroad, that is.”

  “How did Mrs. Dalton find out the truth?” Ellie asked.

  “That’s it,” Mary breathed, “keep asking questions.”

  “Your daughter began making inquiries,” Eric explained. “She began sending letters to the railroads asking about Albert Malone, pretending to be his daughter.” Eric searched the kitchen again. “Your daughter pretended to be trying to track down a very important shipment that had been lost. Mother has a naturally curious mind and when she received a letter from your daughter she began digging into the past. After all,” Eric pointed out, “the lost shipment your daughter was searching for could have been of value to her.”

  “Oh, Greta,” Ellie whispered.

  Eric nodded. “Your daughter tossed her letter into the web of a very vicious spider,” he agreed. “Mother may not look like the type of woman who possesses a brilliant mind, but she does. I’ve seen Mother destroy the richest of men with the single stroke of a pen.”

  Ellie lowered her head. “Mrs. Dalton found out that Albert smuggled gold into the country?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Eric replied. “Mother was furious that someone had managed to utilize her railroad to sneak a fortune into the country. In my mother’s eyes, the fortune belonged to her.” Eric stopped talking and looked around the kitchen again. “I didn’t kill anyone. Whoever did the killing is still loose.” Eric focused on Ellie. “Tell me where the gold is, and I’ll take Mother and leave.”