Blackvine Manor Mystery Read online

  “Where are you going?”

  “To learn everything about ghost hunting, we’re going to prove this place is haunted tonight.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “THIS IS CRAZY,” ALEXIS SAYS, feeling tight-throated. “It’s a long shot even if we capture anything. Maxwell wants this place sold and advertising real ghosts is not going to save it.”

  She and George have been sitting on the bench in the courtyard for nearly four hours with nothing to show but boredom and worry.

  “We could try putting it on the national registry of historic places?” George wonders.

  “What history? A woman whose own family let her disappear without a fuss and has kept quiet even after she was found?” Alexis sweeps both hands over her hair and slumps further down on the bench.

  “What?” she whispers back at George who is suddenly slumping down next to her.

  “The camera is picking something up.”

  “What about the thermal?”

  George smiles. “Hey, listen to you. You really did your ghost-hunting homework.”

  Alexis checks that her digital recorder is working in case there is any Electronic Voice Phenomenon, “Yes, I need real, legitimate, concrete evidence. Then we can use it to save this place.”

  “You said ‘I’,” George whispers.

  She scowls at him. “Yes, alright, I’ll admit it. And I want to prove I’m not crazy.”

  George turns a handheld camera on her, “So, tell me what you are sensing and hopefully all this equipment can back it up.”

  Alexis takes a few breaths, worrying she is too anxious to be open to any communication. “Wait, do you see that?”

  “What?” George keeps the camera steady on her.

  “A mist. It’s Fenton. Delia is waiting for him on the bench. He’s tearing up a note. Angry, very angry.”

  She doesn’t see the thermal camera picking up two figures near the fountain as she continues. “She’s helping him but he’s still angry, threatening to do something.”

  “Can you see anyone else?” George tries to ask casually despite the obvious third figure appearing on the thermal camera.

  Alexis whimpers, “My mother. She’s looking out the window. He sees her! Oh, God.”

  She shakes her head, fumbling with the digital recorder in her hand. “Please be there.”

  She hits play on the recorder and they hear Alexis speaking. In the static between her observations an angry voice breaks through.

  “No witnesses!”

  Maxwell refuses to open the door all the way. “What are you doing here?”

  “You buzzed me up,” Alexis points out, standing in the hallway of Maxwell’s condominium. “The least you can do is hear what I have to say.”

  “I know what you and George are trying to do, and I don’t care what shadows and bad audio you managed to capture.”

  Alexis bites her lip but says evenly, “It’s about what I found in the files you gave me to review. Unless you want me to return them to your grandfather myself.”

  “Fine. Tell me.” He leaves the door open and strolls down the long hallway to his kitchen.

  Alexis notes the stylishly updated loft, its towering ceilings and exposed brick the hallmarks of an expensively repurposed warehouse. A warehouse specializing in the packaging and distribution of war rations for soldiers, she notes, and then wonders how she knows that for certain.

  The kitchen is a wide L-shape, open to the living room around a substantial granite-topped island. Maxwell leans on the far counter, keeping the island between himself and Alexis.

  She slaps the file down on the black granite and tells him, “They could never prove that Fenton was the jewel thief because he never sold any of it.”

  “I saw enough of the file to know he was sent to jail.”

  “They finally caught him trespassing. He had jewelry on him that he claimed to have found. Between those things and a judge who was from the social circle targeted by Fenton’s thefts, he was imprisoned.”

  Maxwell crosses his arms. “I know this little fairy tale, it’s local legend. Debonair burglar sentenced by crooked judge before he can become Robin Hood.”

  Alexis opens the file and sifts through it. “He even got letters while in prison. Love letters like this one.”

  She points to an evidence photograph and Maxwell pushes off the kitchen counter to come look at it. He shrugs and stands in front of her, his arms still crossed.

  “Does the handwriting look familiar?”

  “Just get to the point, Ms. Cole.”

  Alexis balls up her fist and taps it on the police file. “Delia and Fenton went to school together. I proved that. Delia wrote coded letters to Fenton; the evidence is right here. So, it is not a crazy theory to think she helped him hide his stash of jewelry. And from that theory it is not a far leap to think she hid it at Blackvine Manor.”

  Maxwell uncrosses his arms, putting his hands down heavily on the black granite. “I’m still selling it. And what does any of this have to do with finding your mother? That’s what you’re really after.”

  She steps back. “You really think I planted those photographs? Why wouldn’t I just ask you if you remembered Amelia Tennon?”

  “Exactly,” he says, unmoved.

  Alexis turns and strides towards the door. Maxwell catches up to her easily and puts a hand on the door over her head before she can open it.

  “What, no more ghost stories? What is your game, Ms. Cole?”

  This close up she can see his pain and doubt, and feel the heat of their attraction. She shoves at his chest in frustration.

  “This isn’t a game. I may be hearing and seeing things you don’t believe in. You may not believe in me, Maxwell, but I will find the evidence I need with or without your help.”

  She yanks open the door and steps into the hallway.

  “The least you can see is that Delia’s death and my mother’s disappearance happened at the same time and the same location. The same time and place that a notorious thief made his last appearances in public.”

  Maxwell lets his shoulders fall. “Fine, at least tell me your theory.”

  “Delia was helping Fenton hide his stash; my mother witnessed their meeting. She made the mistake of telling Otto. Either Otto killed Delia out of jealousy or Fenton killed Delia to keep his secret. And my mother ran.”

  “Alright, now how are you going to prove that?”

  “Gotta run,” Alexis tells him, “your grandfather is expecting me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “COME ON IN,” OTTO CHARLES yells before he reaches the door.

  Alexis steps inside and immediately turns to lock the door behind her. “Sorry, I think we might get interrupted soon.”

  She backs against the door, fumbling to unlock it when a German Shepherd comes around the corner, lowering its head and locking eyes with her.

  “He likes you,” Otto chuckles before calling off his dog. “Come on, Johnny.”

  Otto waves a hand for her to follow and shuffles back to his armchair in the living room. “Let me guess, my grandson. Not much of a talker but the ladies tell me he’s handsome.”

  She joins him in the living room, sitting on the edge of the worn leather sofa.

  “And you’re quite lovely,” he whistles. “The drugs haven’t done a number on you. Rehab must really be working, huh?”

  Alexis pauses and swallows her angry retort. Otto’s eyes are twinkling without malice. She can’t reconcile her suspicions with his clear blue gaze and quiet charm. He reminds her of Maxwell, except he is sharper, chiseled by the sense of purpose that has driven his well-known career.

  “I can’t wait for fake rehab to redeem me from problems I never had.”

  Otto glances at his watch, pops open a pill bottle on the tray next to him, and knocks back two pills with the rest of the bottled beer he is drinking. “Look, sweetheart, I can understand you wanting to clear your name and all but you’ve come to the wrong place. I’m ol
d, addled, and not about to open up the can of worms you’re pawing at.”

  Alexis stands up and pulls the delicate envelope from her purse. “I just need you to look at a few pictures.”

  He pulls back his hand as she approaches. “Is that a rose imprint?”

  She notices the stamped mark on the flap of the envelope for the first time. A rose wrapped, thorns and all, around the capital letter ‘D’.

  “Where did you get those?” Otto folds his hands on his lap, refusing to take the envelope.

  “At Blackvine Manor.”

  “Where?”

  “The compartment in the window seat of the penthouse apartment. You used to live there so I thought there was a good chance these are yours. Even an alleged drug addict could figure that out.”

  Otto scowls slightly and reaches for the photographs. “How exactly did you get in there?”

  “I know the guy with the keys, remember?”

  There is a pounding knock on the door and Maxwell calls out, “Otto, I know you’re both in there. Open up.”

  Johnny barks wildly until Otto drops a hand and snaps. The German Shepherd growls once in defiance before settling back onto his bed, eyes riveted on the door.

  “Let him bruise his knuckles,” Otto tells her as he gently pulls out of the photographs.

  Alexis sits back on the couch, ignoring Maxwell’s continued pounding, and gives Otto a moment to look at the photographs. She can tell he is biting the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to react—until he reaches the fourth photograph and tears suddenly spring to his eyes. She knows it’s a close up of Delia, a scandalized smile on her mouth as he has pulled her onto his lap and is grinning at the camera.

  “I notice you don’t have any pictures of her anywhere,” Alexis realizes. “I’m sorry, this must be hard for you.”

  “Hard? A week after I reported her missing we packed up every piece of her. Every indication of her was gone and I still expected her to walk through the door. I still heard her footsteps on the stairs.”

  “So that is Delia?”

  Otto flips to the next photograph. “Yes. Look, here’s her handwriting.”

  She stands up and looks at the photograph he’s handed her. The handwriting matches the letter Fenton received while in jail. “Who are the other people here?”

  “The Maxwells; at least her mother and brothers. Her father never liked me much. Haven’t seem them since. Their namesake doesn’t even know that side of the family.”

  Alexis looks at the photograph closer. “So that’s her brother?”

  Otto looks up. “Yes, why?”

  “He’s trying to buy the building and demolish it.”

  Otto nods. “Must be William. Tell him I say ‘hi.’ Now it’s about time you answer one of my questions.”

  Alexis narrows her eyes. “Okay.”

  “Why do you look so much like the woman in this picture?” Otto holds up the 4th of July photograph and points to her mother.

  “Why ask that? Is it because she saw what happened to Delia?” Maxwell appears from the back door, the spare key still in his hand. Johnny is on his feet, growling fiendishly, but settles down with one glance from his owner.

  Otto laughs. “Always so dramatic, Maxwell. I don’t know who that woman is, except she looks a lot like this lovely here.”

  “Liar.” Maxwell comes to stand next to his grandfather’s chair. “Her name is Amelia Tennon. It took me a while to remember, seeing as lots of memories got buried, but I remember her now.”

  He takes the photograph from his grandfather and holds it up. “She helped Delia take care of me though it was more than that. They were friends. After Delia disappeared, I just figured she moved on.”

  “People move on,” Otto shrugs, tossing the photographs on the tray next to him.

  “Not like this.” Maxwell snaps up the photographs and hands them back to Alexis. “If you’ve taught me anything it’s that there is always evidence, always something left behind.”

  Otto laughs again, now a dry, sad sound. “Not this time, kid. Delia’s gone and apparently so is this Amelia.”

  “What about Collin Fenton?” Alexis speaks up.

  “He died in prison, but you two already knew that. I could have you arrested for stealing.”

  Maxwell throws the police file down onto the coffee table. “Well, we still have you and you can tell us your story.”

  “You’ll never believe it. I can’t prove a word of it,” Otto says, leaning back in his armchair and closing his eyes.

  Alexis sits back down. “Try me.”

  Part III

  Prologue

  ALEXIS SMILES TO HERSELF, SNEAKING up the stairs of Blackvine Manor Apartments like a giddy teenager out past curfew. A quick glance at her watch reveals it’s past 3 a.m. and she shakes her head. Her strange interview with Otto Charles turned into dinner with Maxwell; dinner went long and then they walked. They walked until they found an all-night diner that served real malted milkshakes and time completely disappeared in their comfortable high-backed booth.

  Her happy review of the evening ends as abruptly as her footsteps when she sees her neighbor, Doug, backing out of his apartment. His hand is over his mouth but it doesn’t cover up his look of horror. Alexis quietly joins him and all he can do is point inside his still dark apartment.

  His carry-on suitcase is still in the doorway and just beyond it is chaos. Drawers are open, clothing strewn everywhere, papers scattered, and everything else is upended.

  “You’ve been robbed.” Alexis turns to grab her phone and call the police.

  “That is not a robber,” Doug whispers hoarsely.

  She squints at where he is pointing, freezing when she sees the shadow move. No one is there, no noise is made, but the shadow of a man moves through the wreckage. It bends to look through drawers and reaches up into open cupboards.

  Her neighbor starts pushing her back down the hallway and Alexis doesn’t want to go until an eruption of voices comes from the stairwell. Two police officers clatter down the hardwood staircase from the penthouse apartment and try to comfort another distraught neighbor.

  “There is no one there, ma’am. There’s no sign anyone has been up there tonight.”

  Mrs. DuBois reaches for Alexis’ hand to steady herself. “But it was such a horrible argument. He was yelling horrible things at her.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there is no one there and there is nothing else we can do.”

  “Is everything alright?” The second officer notices the look on Doug’s face.

  He looks helplessly at Alexis who tells the officer, “Late nights can be a little rough.”

  The police officers tip their hats and head down the stairs to their waiting squad car.

  Doug helps Mrs. DuBois onto the antique settee on the stairwell landing. She is shaken but there is no other reason to disbelieve her story. It sounds very familiar to Alexis. Hearing an argument was the first encounter she had with the ghosts of Blackvine Manor and the first experience she had of her extrasensory abilities.

  “Mrs. DuBois, I think maybe Doug should sleep on your couch tonight. Would that make you comfortable?” Alexis glances at Doug who gives her a relieved nod.

  Mrs. DuBois doesn’t let go of Alexis’ hand. “A wonderful idea; thank you. I was coming to find you, dear. I don’t want to upset you but I think you should know. I heard a name; the man was yelling a name.”

  “Was it Delia?”

  “No, dear, he was yelling about your mother, Amelia.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  MAXWELL LEANS BACK FURTHER IN his desk chair. “Two more residents just gave their notice. I think that supports my plan to sell this place.”

  Alexis shifts uncomfortably in one of the straight-backed chairs that furnish his small superintendent’s office. She sips at the tall coffee he brought her and thinks aloud.

  “The anniversary of Delia’s death is coming up. Maybe that’s why the activity around here is getting
stronger.”

  “You mean worse. Whatever is happening around here is getting worse and I’m out.”

  “Then why are you here at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday?” Alexis teases him.

  Maxwell smiles. “Someone needed to bring you coffee.”

  “Besides”—his smile fades—“I thought you might be following up on this and I want to go with you.”

  He produces the envelope Otto gave them yesterday. Maxwell has his suspicions about his hard grandfather but he trusts the evidence the retired police chief passed along to them. If Alexis wants to find her mother, then he wants to help her follow real leads instead of unraveling ghost stories.

  Alexis snaps the envelope out of his hand and slides out the police report. “Amelia was arrested for trespassing at the Lakeview Cemetery. Did you notice the date?”

  Maxwell comes around to lean on the corner of his desk. “Same date as today, just about 50 years ago.”

  “One week before Delia’s murder. Don’t you think it’s a sign?”

  He sneers. “A sign we should check out Lakeview.”

  His sneer is still firmly in place when they get out of his car at Lakeview Cemetery. “How about we start by finding the lake?”

  Alexis nods, looking around nervously. “What if I can’t sense anything here? What if my abilities only work at Blackvine Manor?”

  Maxwell heads into the undulating rows of headstones. “Don’t you think that would be a good thing? Maybe once you have real leads on your mother, your imagination won’t have to fill in the blanks.”

  “My imagination? That’s how you explain me finding the connection between Fenton and Delia?”

  He leans on a moss-covered pedestal holding a weeping angel. “It’s much more likely that you brainstormed possible connections and got lucky instead of seeing a ‘vision’ of a man you don’t know wearing a school insignia pin you don’t recognize.”

  Alexis scowls at him. “And that’s what you believe even though I told you how it happened.”