Blackvine Manor Mystery Read online

  The phone is ringing before Alexis has even planned what to say. “Good afternoon, Belmont Academy.”

  “Hi, ah, yes. I’m calling to inquire about a former student, many years ago. Do I need to talk to records?”

  The voice is swift. “Perhaps I can help you. The student’s name?”

  Alexis hesitates but takes her chance. “Collin Fenton.”

  There is a long pause on the other end. “Belmont Academy has no affiliation with Mr. Fenton past his childhood schooling and we have no statements to make to the press.”

  The line is so practiced that Alexis gapes for a moment before trying, “One more inquiry, please? Delia Charles?”

  She hears a heavy sigh and quick typing before, “No student of that name here.”

  “No, wait, I’m sorry. Delia Maxwell.”

  More typing and another pause. “Yes, though I am not at liberty to say anything more.”

  “Thanks so much for your time!” Alexis hangs up the phone before charging out the door to find Maxwell.

  Chapter Twelve

  ALEXIS LEANS HER SHOULDER AGAINST the “superintendent” sign, ready to gloat. Maxwell is half slumped over the desk, head propped up with one hand as the other idly thumbs through a stack of papers. The office is sparse, straight out of the 1950s, with the large wooden desk and a metal filing cabinet. Two straight-backed chairs flank a small table against the left wall and one lonely lamp stands sentinel in the corner. Just as she is realizing nothing decorates the cream-colored, paint-peeling walls, Maxwell notices her standing there.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he says, hoping to avoid any incendiary topics.

  “Do you like being a landlord?”

  He glances around the office himself and gives a small smile. “I’m supposed to be studying law like my father or joining the force like my grandfather. This isn’t a job, it’s an additional source of income.”

  Alexis pushes off the door and decides to try out one of the straight-backed chairs. “So you’re hiding out here.”

  Maxwell tips back in his desk chair and puts his feet up on the desk. “I like it here. I feel like one of those private investigators from an old movie. All I need is a hat rack with a fedora.”

  “I could see you as a private investigator.”

  He smiles at her wolfishly. “And are you the damsel in distress or the femme fatale?”

  Alexis can barely resist his game but instead steers the conversation back towards her original purpose. “Seems like private investigator is somewhere in between being a lawyer and a police officer. Why not go for it?”

  Putting his feet back on the floor, he sighs. “I don’t know; I’m just not inspired.”

  Taking her opening, Alexis tells him, “You know, I chose a career in advertising because I thought it was all about inspiration. Now I’ve realized the most inspired I’ve ever felt is when I started using my mother’s book on clairvoyance. I’m starting to wonder if we all have callings we just can’t avoid.”

  Maxwell is looking at the spread of papers in front of him again. “You’re being called to a carnival side show?”

  Alexis balls up a fist but refuses to move. “How about we make a little bet on my side show skills?”

  He relaxes, realizing he hasn’t driven her out the door again. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  “If I can prove a connection between Delia and Fenton based solely on what I sensed in the courtyard, then you have to perform a séance with me.”

  He tries to soften her determination by smiling. “You mean us together holding hands by candlelight? I’m in. What could you have ‘sensed’ that no one else did?”

  “When I concentrated on Collin Fenton I saw the image of a pin. Delia laughed when she saw it. The pin was a coat of arms that, after a little research, turned out to be from Belmont Academy.”

  Maxwell tents his hands before asking, “What’s Belmont Academy?”

  Alexis stands up and approaches the desk. “A prestigious boarding school that has been around since 1898. When I called them they admitted to Collin Fenton being an alumni. They also had records of one Delia Maxwell. They were old friends from school.”

  He takes a minute to gather all the papers back into the file folder before wondering aloud, “Why didn’t the police ever make that connection?”

  Alexis frowns. “Maybe they did and that’s why they’ve pinned your grandmother’s murder on Fenton.”

  “No, there’s nothing about Belmont Academy in the police file.”

  She sits on the corner of the desk, reaching out a hand to look at the folder, “And how do you know that?”

  Maxwell confesses, “I was at Otto’s this morning to feed his horrible dog. When I was looking around I realized he had old files from work in his study. This one happened to be of interest so I borrowed it.”

  She looks at the label. “You stole the file on Fenton from the police chief?”

  “I borrowed it from the retired police chief who stole it from work.” Maxwell makes a clear distinction.

  Alexis gets up and heads for the door. “Well bring that with.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place, I’ve got candles and you lost the bet.”

  Maxwell is sitting on the red sofa, peering suspiciously at Alexis over the candles. She’s sitting opposite him on the floor with her mother’s book in her lap.

  “I don’t think these things work with non-believers in the room,” he tells her.

  “Just try to concentrate, please. I’m going to read from this chapter; it’s just a way to clear our heads and open our minds.”

  “That’s what I mean, if I’m close-minded, which I am, you are wasting your time.”

  Alexis scowls at him. “Just think about Delia and listen to what I’m reading.”

  Maxwell humors her and watches the lopsided candle in the center as he conjures up the image of his grandmother in his head. She is smiling in the sunlight out back of the building by the alley. Against the warm, red brick of the building are strawberries and she’s helping him pick the best ones to eat.

  The memory shifts and he is with Delia in the courtyard, except she’s moving fast and he sees her from a distance. She runs up to a man, laughing as she kisses him on the cheek. Maxwell shifts, uncomfortably, as he realizes it is night. He’s confused why he’d be in the courtyard at night. Delia is pulling a folded message out from under the bench.

  Maxwell rebels against the memory that isn’t his and he sees a light in a window about the courtyard. A lovely face appears and he calls out.

  “What did you see? Are you okay?” Alexis is beside him on the couch, holding his hand.

  “Nothing; just some weird memories. And I remembered someone who used to live here, this really nice woman.” He rubs absently at his heart.

  Alexis peers up into his eyes. “Did you see Delia in the courtyard? She and Fenton left messages for each other there.”

  He shakes off her hands. “I didn’t see anything. They were just memories.”

  Maxwell stands up and heads for the door, calling over his shoulder. “I’ll leave the Fenton file for you to look at tonight. That’s a better prize than a failed séance.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ALEXIS IS LYING ON HER red sofa, letting the candles burn out on their own as she reads a chapter from her mother’s book. She is just reading the section on how visions can be differentiated from memories when there is a soft knock on the door.

  “Come in,” she calls out, hoping it was a real knock from a real person.

  The door swings open slowly and Alexis is about to panic when Maxwell steps forward. He smiles as she quickly swallows her momentary fear.

  “I was just heading out for dinner and thought you might like some?”

  She settles back on the couch and narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t get it. You all but call me crazy every time we’re together and yet here you are asking me out for dinner?”

  He laughs. “Well
, it’s not a date or anything. I don’t date crazy people.”

  “How about clairvoyants?”

  Maxwell scuffs a hand over his mouth to cover a frown. “You’re not sure that’s what you are otherwise you wouldn’t be reading that book all the time. Why not be skeptical together?”

  “You’re skeptical; I’m honest. And, honestly, I’m not very hungry.”

  He sits down on the arm of the sofa and gazes down at her. Just as she can feel her cheeks warming, he says, “To be honest, I have a lot of memories here. People are always complaining about the building: the lights flicker, there are noises, faucets run and turn off on their own. And people tell me they see things, especially the ghost of a woman.”

  Maxwell slides down next to her. “Not just a woman, Delia. My grandmother. I loved her very much. She took care of me while my parents worked and I spent a lot of my childhood here. Until it all disappeared.”

  He pauses and scrubs at his frown again. “So I have trouble hearing what people ‘experience’ here because everywhere I look are memories.”

  Alexis reaches for his hand. “I’m not trying to tarnish your memories.”

  He slaps his thighs and gets up. “And I want to believe you. That’s why I’m letting you see Delia’s apartment.”

  She scrambles to her feet. “Really? Isn’t it rented out?”

  Maxwell crooks his arm and she takes it. “No. The Maxwells built these apartments so their daughter would have a solid form of income. They never thought much of Otto and his blue-collar work. So they also built her a penthouse apartment. Everyone just assumes the top floor is an attic.”

  He unlocks the wide door in the stairwell; the door Alexis assumed was a maintenance closet. Behind it is a curving staircase lit by pale stained glass windows.

  “Unless you’re scared and want to wait until morning?” Maxwell jeers at her.

  Alexis grabs the flashlight out of his hand and heads up the stairs. At the top is a long gallery-style room with three archways leading to the rest of the apartment. The middle arch is the largest, welcoming guests into an expansive living room crowned with a glass cupola. French doors connect the living room to the dining room, the first archway that overlooks the staircase. Alexis heads to the left, through another set of French doors, into a more intimate parlor. The penthouse is empty and echoing but a sense of comfortable elegance still permeates and she is speechless.

  “There are two bedrooms, a nursery, bathroom, and a kitchen all along the back,” Maxwell tells her.

  His footsteps are still echoing when he turns and realizes she is not following him. Alexis is drifting in a trance towards the built-in window seat in the parlor. The bay window there overlooks the courtyard and road and her face is lit by the faint glow of the streetlights.

  “Alexis?”

  “She loved it here. This is where she always sat.”

  Maxwell scoffs. “Of course it was, who wouldn’t want to sit there?”

  She doesn’t answer as she reaches the window seat. Instead of sitting down she runs a hand along the carved edge of the wood. There’s a metallic click and she opens a small panel. Maxwell shines the light on her hand as it slips inside the secret compartment and comes out with a delicate white envelope.

  “What are you doing?” he demands and comes over to snatch the envelope from her hand.

  “What? Wait, this opens?” Alexis rubs the back of her head as she tries to remember the last few minutes.

  “Please,” he growls, “spare me the act. How did you know these were in there?”

  Maxwell starts thumbing through the old photographs. As he studies the worn and obviously cherished photographs he notices his smiling grandparents. Otto is smiling, always smiling when Delia is near him. And his grandmother is radiant; the same soft, glowing smile of his memories. He thumbs through the stack until he sees a group snapshot.

  Otto is manning the grill, waving at Delia. She is smiling to him from a checkered blanket near the fountain. A 4th of July picnic they hosted for the residents of Blackvine Manor. Maxwell stares at himself, an eight-year-old boy playing with a patriotic pinwheel. Sitting on the bench behind him is the same woman he suddenly remembered during Alexis’ failed séance.

  “My mother,” Alexis says softly, peeking over his arm at the photograph.

  “Who?”

  She points to the woman he is starting to remember. “My mother. Amelia Tennon. She must have lived here when your grandmother was murdered.”

  Maxwell throws down the photographs as if electrified. “What do you think you’re doing? Why are you doing this to me?”

  “What?” Alexis stumbles back.

  “You set up this whole charade just to jog my memory. Just to get me to remember your mother. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re going on and on about figuring out what happened to Delia. Be honest, now, Alexis; you’re doing all this just to find your mother.”

  The words choke her but she finally whispers, “Yes, but—”

  He leaves her standing alone in the dark and she sees him through the bay window driving away as if chased by a demon.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE NEXT MORNING ALEXIS IS awakened by the sound of hammering. Rolling over in preparation to be indignant, she realizes it is already 9 a.m. Quietly agreeing with her father’s voice in her head, she decides to spend the day thinking about the future. Her severance package runs out in two weeks and Maxwell already thinks she’s a con artist. She’d hate for him to turn out to be right.

  Sleep is now impossible so she gets up and goes to the window. “No. Oh no!”

  She watches Maxwell finish pounding a “For Sale” sign into the lawn of Blackvine Manor Apartments before flinging the sledgehammer in his trunk and slamming it shut. He then leans on the trunk with his back to the building and waits.

  He’s still waiting, refusing to set foot inside, when Alexis finishes getting dressed. She’s about to charge outside and confront him when she sees a town car slide up to the curb behind Maxwell’s car. A man gets out and shakes his hand before they both proceed towards the front door.

  Her worst fears are confirmed when she opens her door a crack and hears them coming up the stairwell. “Most of the apartments are currently rented, a new roof was put on three years ago, and the neighborhood is very desirable. I’ll show you the penthouse apartment first. It really is the crown of Blackvine Manor.”

  Alexis panics and steps out into the hallway, pretending to be on her way somewhere. “Oh, good morning.”

  Maxwell clenches his jaw but manages, “Mr. Wells, this is Alexis Cole, our newest resident. She hasn’t let the foolish ghost stories scare her off. Those kind of rumors and make believe aren’t really a factor in real life here.”

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Cole,” the man says awkwardly.

  “Mr. Wells is thinking of buying the building.” Maxwell slides a hand out and, using his forearm, gently pushes her aside so Mr. Wells can pass.

  The potential buyer looks like he wants to say something else to Alexis but pops his mouth closed and continues down the hallway. She watches, frozen, until they open the wide door and climb upstairs to the penthouse. In seconds she is ripping off her shoes and running down the hallway to hear what they are saying.

  “Was that the Miss Cole from the news stories?”

  “Yes.”

  “She doesn’t look like addiction is a problem in her life, does she? Maybe she can actually see what other people can’t?” Mr. Wells wonders aloud.

  Maxwell ignores his train of thought completely. “Here is the penthouse. As you can see, it is spectacular when the sun hits the cupola. Actually it is light and sunny up here all day.”

  Alexis peeks her head just over the stair rail, far enough to confirm what was hinted at last night. The penthouse glows with comfortable elegance. Even empty it is warm and inviting.

  The potential buyer sniffles slightly. “My sister would have loved it.”

  “Would have?
” Maxwell pauses after opening the French doors to the dining room.

  Mr. Wells continues, almost to himself, though loud enough that Alexis can hear, “She loved plants, and reading, and was always writing letters. Anywhere she lived was always sunny and bright.”

  Maxwell clears his throat quietly then coughs outright when Mr. Wells turns to him and makes a wildly generous offer to buy the building. “You have a deal. I’m so glad you love the place so much. I’m sure your sister will love it.”

  “Oh, my dearly departed sister won’t be seeing it. I plan to raze the building and develop a shopping center.” He turns on his heel and heads towards the stairs.

  Alexis makes it down to the second floor just in time, rushing to George’s door. He opens it, looking blurry-eyed and confused.

  “He’s selling the place. There’s already an offer.” Alexis pushes into George’s apartment and perches on a chair covered in extension cords.

  “What place?”

  “Blackvine Manor! Maxwell is selling it. And if he does I’m never going to find out what happened to my mother.”

  George pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Nothing much will change; the new owner can’t kick us out. He might change the hallway carpet or something.”

  “I just heard the new owner say he’s going to raze the building and develop a shopping center! George, what are we going to do?”

  “Check the zoning? I don’t think he can do that here.” George puts both hands on top of his wild, black hair. “Or convince the world this place is really haunted.”

  He warms to the idea. “If we capture real evidence maybe it will scare the buyer away or convince him this place is worth more than a strip mall. I’ll make us a website and ghost-hunters from all over will want to check it out. They’ll pay for tours.”

  Alexis jumps up. “Okay. You get all your equipment ready for tonight.”