Altered to Death Page 7

  “Bring everything to my house,” I said. If the information we snuck out of the Everton mansion pinpointed who was buried, and who was responsible, I didn’t want those items in the store. My grandmothers or one of my friends could be hurt because of it. I really didn’t like the fact they were in my house since my grandmother lived next door to me, but it offered a slight separation while the store offered none.

  “I can meet you at your house in an hour.” Wyatt got a trash bag from his van, placed the coat in it, and tied it shut. He shoved it into the corner of my trunk. “That’ll keep the smell contained.”

  “Tonight would be better. I’m heading to the historical society to talk with Ruthann Pancake, and you don’t rush Ruthann.”

  I found myself sinking down as I drove past the police station on my way to the Eden Historical Center. There was a State Police car parked out front and a van with a WVU magnet on the side. It was probably the experts called from the college to help the Eden police department with the crime scene.

  It was unlikely Ted would see me, and it wasn’t unusual for me to make a trip there, so there wasn’t a need for clandestine movements. I drove by the police station at least twice a week. Great. My guilty conscience was in overdrive, and I hadn’t even done anything yet.

  Or maybe that was the issue—I hadn’t told Ted about the coat.

  I drove past the station, breathing a sigh of relief as I ventured across the railroad tracks, which now only served the purpose of slowing down cars since a train hadn’t gone across it for fifty years. The railroad, or rather the coal it moved, had supplied a lot of jobs in Eden in the old days. Now those jobs were all gone, and the only thing left was the tracks. A reminder of what once was.

  The roads on this side of Eden were pothole-ridden. Ruthann and the other members of the society were fighting with the town to get them filled. Not many people ventured toward the center because of the horrible road conditions. It was one of the reasons the society purchased the Everton mansion from the city. They hoped a centralized space dedicated to the history of the town would make people interested in learning more about Eden and encourage them to do what they could to preserve our town.

  After a few bumps and swerves around potholes, I arrived at the Historical Center. The large mansion style house had once been the Montgomery family home. Clifford Montgomery had moved his family to help Mr. Everton build his family home and many of the other buildings in Everton. Every original building had been financed by Rudolph Everton. My stomach flipped. If Georgia was correct, then the Everton and Montgomery mansions belonged to her family and not the historical society. Did it tie into the body? Edward’s death? Or was it all separate? And how did Steve’s mystery client fit into the picture? Instead of narrowing down the directions to explore, I was adding in more options.

  I parked in the circular driveway, spending some time jotting down my musings in my note app. Sometimes seeing everything written down helped my mind sort it out. Not this time.

  I walked inside the Historical Center. Like usual, the air was a little chilly as the old mansion wasn’t insulated very well, and the society hadn’t wanted to use any of their funds to add in more. The Montgomery estate had held up better than the Everton mansion. Mainly because the Pancakes had used the Montgomery house as a family home until recently when Ruthann turned over the building to the society after she moved in with her children. The upkeep on the older home was too much for her, cleaning and moneywise, and she wanted it preserved so it didn’t fall into disrepair like the Everton place. Many of the older homes and buildings in Eden were being torn down and new ones built. It broke Ruthann’s heart. It pained her to see so much of Eden’s history being wiped away as if it couldn’t exist alongside the future.

  To the right of the foyer was a library that housed published family histories. It also had a computer where scanned documents and photos had been saved. I was hoping to find older pictures of the Everton property to see if there had been gravestones in the area where the bones had been discovered.

  I began my search by opening the documents folder. I hoped someone had saved a listing of where historic gravestone markers were located. I read each file name. Nothing. Scrap it all. I heaved out a sigh.

  “Can I be of any help?” Ruthann Pancake’s melodious voice drifted toward me. She was a petite woman, small boned, delicate features but with a spirit of steel. She was still the most formidable woman in Eden.

  “I was hoping we had some information about family cemetery plots.”

  “Your detective was over this morning asking me the same question.” Ruthann sat in a wingback chair near the door. “There wasn’t a plot at the Everton mansion as none of the family died in Eden.”

  “Or at least none that we knew about it,” I said.

  She smiled. “That spot had been dug up previously to lay new pipes, so I doubt whoever was found was an Everton.”

  “Maybe Wayne dug deeper. If someone more recently went missing from town, we’d have been talking about it. The only people to have vanished are the Evertons.”

  “There have been many people to have come and gone from Eden. Most of them men running away from their family responsibilities.” Ruthann walked over to a section of the bookcase and beckoned.

  I closed the document folder and went over to her.

  “I’ve been documenting cemetery plots since I was a child.” Ruthann ran her index finger along the sides of the books. She stopped and pulled one out and handed it to me. “It was a hobby of mine. A strange hobby my father had said. Even as a child, I loved history. I loved knowing who came before me and what happened to them.”

  I paged through the book. Ruthann had meticulously documented all the family plots in Eden. She noted the first family buried and the last one. The county had enacted regulations on proper burial procedures and places eighty-six years ago. I guess it was better not to have people buried everywhere around the city.

  “I’m surprised you don’t scrapbook.” I returned the book to its spot on the shelf.

  “I kept journals and pictures that were important to me. My children never seemed interested in our family history so I decided to focus on all history.” She waved her hands around the room. “Finding all this information and making sure it’s available to future generations has been a labor of love and what I’m most proud of.”

  “You collected all these books?” My voice was filled with awe.

  “Yes. I scoured thrift shops, estate sales, library sales, abandoned lockers at the storage unit I own. I even went dumpster diving a time or two.” Ruthann’s eyes brightened at the last one. “I’ll go anywhere if there’s a chance I could find history there. In fact, there are some storage units going up for auction this afternoon, you should come by and make sure none of Eden’s history is going to be taken away to the dump.”

  It would be a good time to peek at unit twenty-five without raising any eyebrows—or Ted’s concern. “People just throw stuff away?”

  “If it isn’t anything they can sell. Most people who come to the auctions are looking for items to resell or to inexpensively furnish their homes. They really don’t care about other people’s memories. I usually try to be there to buy photographs off the auction winners so they don’t end up in the trash. It’s such a shame when I can’t make it there. I’m too old for dumpster diving.”

  “Have you ever explored the Everton house?” I asked. “There’s a treasure trove in the attic.”

  Her eyebrows rose and a smile floated across her lips. “As I teenager, I broke into the house once and looked around. I even pocketed a teaspoon to put into my treasure box. I had just started poking around the attic when I heard my mother yelling for me. She had figured out where I had gone and wasn’t happy with me.”

  “Did you find anything interesting in the attic?” I asked.

  “I found a trunk with the key in the loc
k.” Her eyes twinkled. “How I wished I could’ve brought down the trunk I opened. Books. Samplers. So much history in there. But my mother wouldn’t let me take one item from the trunk. She had me lock it back up and leave everything inside. She said stealing, even history, was wrong. It wasn’t for me to decide what the world should know of the Evertons.”

  “Why didn’t you go back for it later?”

  “I guess I figured it would always be there and available so it wasn’t a high priority. I was a wife. A mother. A college student. There was much on my mind and little time. Learning our town history was no longer a priority. When I finally had time to delve into doing the genealogy of our town, I was a high school history teacher. There were “No Trespassing” signs around the mansion and on the front door. I wouldn’t be setting a good example if I snuck inside. I knew the county was planning on taking possession of the house and decided to wait until I could legally get inside. Once the Society owned the home, I wasn’t young and spry anymore, and the condition of the stairs made it unsafe for me to go into the attic. No one else was that interested in the history. The rumors about the Evertons were enticing and others on the board were afraid the truth would be rather boring. And then there is the fact that sometimes it’s better to leave the past a secret to ponder rather than learning the truth. Truth can sometimes be ugly.”

  “It’s still important to know,” I said.

  Ruthann tipped her head to the side and locked her gaze with mine. “Maybe yes, maybe no. If all the truth does is tarnish memories without changing the circumstances of the present, is it really a necessity to know?”

  It was a good question. One I wasn’t sure how to answer. “Have you heard that someone is claiming to be an Everton heir?”

  Ruthann pursed her lips. “Yes, I have heard about it. It’s all very secretive. Makes me suspicious that it’s not the truth.”

  “I’d agree except Steve is the type of lawyer who’d want proof. I don’t think he’d make this up.”

  “But someone else might be. It’s very easy to alter information to make it read the way you want it to.”

  My eyes widened. “Have you seen the proof?”

  “Someone had come to me a few months ago with what they said was evidence.”

  “Edward Brodart.”

  Ruthann tilted her head, studying me for a long moment. “Well, I shouldn’t be surprised you’re privy to the conversation I had with him. Edward had said he’d get others involved as well. Since you’re friends with his daughter-in-law, and like to dabble in sleuthing, I should’ve known he’d go to you. I’m surprised you waited this long to approach me about it.”

  “Edward didn’t come to me. Georgia asked for my help. I don’t know what was said between the two of you, just that Edward was upset after he spoke with you.”

  “He showed me a diary he had found in an heirloom hope chest belonging to Georgia. It had once belonged to her great grandmother.”

  “Georgia said it proves she’s an Everton.”

  “All it proved to me was that Edward hadn’t changed after all. As a child and teenager, he’d been conniving and manipulative. He changed when he started dating Georgia. He was a different man. Such a shame to discover he had just gotten better at hiding his true self.”

  I was shocked. I remembered Edward as a friendly guy loved by the whole town. He had a smile for everyone, was never in a bad mood, and was the first to help whenever it was needed. “You think he was lying to you?”

  “I know he was. The diary he brought me as proof was one of the books I had seen in the Everton trunk when I was a teenager.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “No. I wanted to confront him on it, but I’m an old lady and didn’t want any trouble. The Brodart men can be rather worrisome. I just told him there was no authentication to prove where he found the diary. He needed something to tie that diary to the trunk.”

  “Georgia wants me to help her find that connection.”

  “As you should, my dear.” Ruthann patted my hand.

  “If what you’re saying is correct, there isn’t any. I’m giving her false hope.”

  “Or rather you’re giving her the truth.”

  Eight

  The truth? I didn’t think Georgia wanted the truth, and I wasn’t so sure I wanted it either. If I proved that Georgia was an Everton, what would it mean for Scrap This? My grandmothers? They spent a lot of money renovating the store. Would Georgia just now be getting the rent for the store fronts or would Hank convince his mom to tear down the shopping complex so the family could use the land for their own ventures?

  This was all so complicated. If it had happened a year ago, I’d be calling Steve for his advice and reassurance that everything would be okay. I could call Ted for reassurance, but he wouldn’t be able to find out all the implications of an impending lawsuit. He wasn’t versed in that aspect of the law and he had enough to deal with in trying to find out if Wayne dug up a murder victim.

  I needed to find the diary stolen from Edward. Images of Edward’s office drifted into my mind. It was a hoarder’s paradise. It was likely misplaced in the mess. How could I get in there to search through the office? There was no way Hank would approve of me looking through his father’s belongings, or would appreciate me suggesting he look for a missing diary. Sierra. I’d talk to her.

  My phone trilled. Since I was at a stoplight, I glanced over at it. Gussie. The light switched to green. The phone went silent. A few moments later, it rang again. Gussie again. Had Wyatt decided to share his theory with his mom? Or had his brother forced him to? There were two people who could sway Wyatt’s decision: Gussie and Wayne. The phone stopped ringing.

  I pulled into the parking lot of a fast food place and dialed Gussie’s number.

  “A cute three-bedroom home just came on the market today. It’s priced to sell. You need to get over here ASAP,” Gussie’s voice bounced around my car. She had one volume. Loud. Very.

  Maybe Gussie Buford could use her real estate agent databases and sources to find out about the ownership of the property where the shopping complex was built. She hadn’t been selling homes for long, Ted and I were her first clients, but she was a fast learner and retained information better than anyone I knew. Then I could focus on locating the diary Edward had or another point of evidence to prove—or disprove—Georgia’s belief of being an Everton.

  “I need your help—”

  “We can talk as you look. You and Ted have three months before the big day. You’re the one who said neither of your houses worked for your needs as a married couple with a preteen daughter.”

  The preteen daughter comment sent a moment of panic through me. Claire, Ted’s daughter, and I were getting along better. It was why it was important to me that she have her own space. I didn’t want her to think she was an afterthought in my life.

  Ted and I had looked at a lot of houses the last few months. It was the one choice Ted and I had delayed. Where were Ted and I going to live after we were married? Whose home would become our home?

  I liked my house. But Ted didn’t know if it was quite right for us, and I wasn’t sure there was space for all our needs. Both Ted and I had two bedroom homes. If we had a child, Claire and the baby would have to share a room. Ted said it wouldn’t bother her, but I felt she should have her own space in our home. With my part-time job working for Bob Roget’s private detective business, I needed a private space to do my work. Having all the information in the dining room area that I had converted into my craft area wasn’t safe for the clients. Everything I worked on was confidential. I could put a smaller desk in the corner and do my work there, but the open area afforded little privacy.

  I’d also have to turn the craft room back into a dining room. I didn’t mind eating in the kitchen. The four-person table was big enough for us, but the large dinners I envisioned having with all my
family wouldn’t happen unless I gave up the craft room to accommodate a large table.

  Tears blurred my vision. I blinked them away, angry at myself for being upset at giving up a space I dedicated to scrapbooking. I had a whole store where I could scrapbook. It was selfish to keep the large area for a hobby.

  Ted’s house had a beautifully decorated room all ready for Claire. It was one less change for her as her mother just got remarried on New Year’s Day, and she had a baby brother after being an only child for almost twelve years. There just didn’t seem to be space for me in his home. The bedrooms were on the small side, and it was decorated in a very manly style with some touches of Claire throughout.

  He wouldn’t mind switching out some of his furniture for mine, or even doing some painting and rearranging, but there wasn’t space in his house either for a craft room or even an area for it. First world problem for sure. I wouldn’t allow this silly house thing to stress me out anymore. We had two houses. Some people had none.

  “Faith, you can’t keep putting this off,” Gussie’s tone had softened. “We’ll find the perfect house for you and your man. I promise.”

  “I’ll need to check with Cheryl first and see if I can come in even later,” I said. Or at this rate not at all if I wanted to go to the auction. My grandmothers weren’t going to be happy with my sleuthing, once again, taking a priority over my job. I’d say they’d be okay with the house hunting, but Cheryl wasn’t so keen about me moving away...even if it was to another house in Eden.

  “I spoke to Cheryl right before you called. She told me she has your shift covered so we can house hunt this afternoon. Time is ticking.” Gussie added a clock sound affect.