Gun in the Gardenias Read online

  “I really need to put a bench here,” she murmured. She wanted it on her property so she could sit here and not see anybody else while enjoying the view. The water made lovely little musical sounds as it drifted down toward the lake. It had risen somewhat, but it was still a long way from being anything more than a lovely babbling brook. Okay, so bigger than that but … At low water, the creek bed was wide, at least thirty feet across or maybe even twice that. She was really not good with distances. Still, the little bridge did quite well for that distance. She imagined that, at various times, the water probably rose up to the height of the little foot bridge, which just reminded her of that rotten slat of wood. She’d have to add it to her list of things to do—maintain that little bridge for her own peace of mind.

  As she sat here, slowly waking up and enjoying the morning, she mentally worked on her to-do list. She should have brought a piece of paper and a pen with her. So instead, she pulled out her phone, opened a note, and started typing. She wanted to read those newspaper articles she had already scanned in last night, but she should probably ask Nan what they were all about first. She needed to rename the scans of the last of the Solomon files she had already done too, and that would be a couple hours of work.

  She wasn’t looking forward to that job. It wasn’t hard by any means, but it would be tedious. And she also wanted to find a temporary place to keep the paper research files that was a little better than where they currently resided. At least until Mack came by to move them permanently into the attic. It had kept her awake last night because it was still obvious what they were. If she shoved them into the back of the front closet though, she thought they might just stack all on top of each other in the very back corner. The front hall closet was seriously deep. That would work for now.

  More than that, she wanted to spend some time going over the box of notes and letters among the hope chest items she’d found in that cubbyhole above the closet. She knew that whoever wrote all those was long gone, but maybe some family members still cared. Or maybe they were long gone too. Nan didn’t seem to know anything about it, and the house had been built in the 1940s. Doreen would have to check into whoever had built the house originally and those who had lived here before Nan. Could be they knew something about the hope chest boxes. Obviously, the house hadn’t been built with those boxes sitting there, so somebody had put them up in the attic. She kept adding notes to her list, then added grocery shopping items on her to-do list as well.

  She had left Millicent’s so quickly yesterday that she hadn’t really thought about doing the shopping afterward. She wanted to make a trip to Wendy’s too, but was the consignment shop open today? She wasn’t sure when Wendy opened the store on weekends – if at all. However, the things already packed in her car were to be donated. So Doreen should take the load to that thrift store first in Rutland, then return home and reload her car and go to Wendy’s. She wondered if the thrift shop was open. Pondering that, she headed back to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee.

  It would be good to drop off all that stuff, empty her car, then go to a grocery store. Afterward, she could decide if she wanted to buy some furniture for the house or if she wanted to live with it empty for a while. That really appealed to her. And she also hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy her workshop garage. Plus, she hadn’t moved her car inside the garage either. All those things, she planned on doing today.

  With her second cup of coffee, she grabbed the bin of newspaper clippings and headed back to the creek. There, she sat on a big rock and slowly went through the articles. They spanned several decades. She frowned. Just then her phone rang. “Good morning, Nan,” she said cheerfully.

  “Wow, don’t you sound happy,” Nan said. “I gather you slept well.”

  “I did, indeed. And I got a lot more work done too.”

  “Great,” Nan said. “What about the house? Is it all done now?”

  “Not quite yet. I have those six boxes I have to find a place for because I don’t know who they really belong to. Then I’ll go through the one that’s full of letters. Oh, and I found a stack full of newspaper clippings. I wanted to ask you about those.”

  “Newspaper clippings?” Nan asked thoughtfully. “Why would they be there?”

  Doreen sighed. “I was hoping you’d tell me. There’s a thick stack of them, Nan. Like four or maybe even six inches high. They’re from like twenty-five years ago.”

  “I don’t remember that at all,” Nan said. “And that’s one of the things I wanted to mention. I think a walk up your way might be a perfect way to get my morning exercise.”

  “Oh, that would be lovely,” Doreen said. “Would you like to come for tea?”

  “I just want to get out of here,” Nan said. “I’ve been feeling a bit stifled since I woke up.”

  “I’m on the creek with a cup of coffee and the newspaper clippings. The clippings are one of the few things I didn’t get rid of yesterday. Do you want me to meet you halfway and then walk back with you?”

  “Oh, no, no,” Nan said. “I’m perfectly capable of walking that distance. Just stay where you are. I’m already outside Rosemoor and at the creek. You should see me in a few minutes.”

  Mugs caught sight of Nan first. He barked several times and then bolted toward her. Doreen hopped to her feet and headed down the path toward her grandmother. She gave her a good morning hug, and the three of them wandered back slowly. Thaddeus still sat on the rock at the water’s edge, and Goliath was stretched out on the path beside the plastic bin of clippings. Nan stopped to give both critters a loving. Thaddeus took advantage and hopped up onto her shoulder.

  Nan sighed happily as she looked at the creek. “I should have taken out the rear fence years ago,” she said. “This is really lovely. You do need a place to sit though.”

  “I know,” Doreen said. “I was just thinking I should put a bench here so I can sit down and enjoy the view.”

  “Absolutely,” Nan said. Then her gaze landed on the bin of clippings. She shook her head. “Is this what you were talking about?”

  Doreen handed it over to her. “Yes. Do you recognize any of these?”

  Nan sat down on a rock and sorted through a couple of the articles on top. “You know what? I vaguely remember something about this, but I don’t think I was collecting the articles.”

  “Meaning?” Doreen asked curiously.

  “I think it was somebody staying with me. She was looking into something. Now if only I could remember what it was.”

  “I looked through it briefly,” Doreen said. “But it doesn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason.”

  “No, and that’s quite true,” Nan said with a frown as she flipped through more clippings. “It’s a little confusing, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I’m not sure there’s even a thread of continuity through all this. Maybe she was just interested in murder stories?”

  “It’s possible,” Nan said. “But I really don’t know. It makes no sense at all.” She shook her head, placed the bin down, but then frowned as she looked at it again. She picked it back up and went to the very bottom of the stack where a clipping had a note tucked underneath. She pulled it out. “Bob Small: Serial Killer at Large,” she read out loud. She lifted her gaze to Doreen. “Oh my.”

  Doreen was at her side. “What on earth?”

  Nan handed her the scrap of paper and showed her where it had been tucked in. “I think you’ll need to spend some time and go through this,” Nan said. “Look at that. Another mystery and probably another cold case.”

  “If he’s a serial killer,” Doreen said, frowning, “it could be a lot of cold cases.”

  Nan beamed up at her. “I really love that you’re here. You make things so much more exciting.”

  “Maybe, but all we could hope for now is that this guy is behind bars and already doing time for these cases.”

  “It’s possible,” Nan said, tapping the articles. “They’re all older.”

  “I know,” Doreen sai
d. “I wonder who Bob Small is.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Nan said. “I’m sure you noted some of these articles are from Vancouver. You know what? I’m pretty sure lots of serial killers were down there. If you think about it, it’s the biggest of all the cities in British Columbia.”

  “I’ll have to look into it,” Doreen said.

  “Yes, but I’m not sure when you’ll have time between Steve and the gun and those boxes from a hope chest,” Nan said. Then she looked up at her. “Any chance I can see them?”

  “Of course,” Doreen said. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll put on the teakettle.”

  Nan handed Doreen something she’d had in her pocket. “And this is for us to have with our tea.”

  Doreen chuckled. “Chocolate chip muffins, both wrapped together into a single packet. Did you steal them from breakfast this morning?”

  “Can’t be stealing if I already paid for it,” Nan said cheerfully.

  Doreen shrugged. She wasn’t sure about the legality of such a thing, but she was happy to have a chocolate chip muffin anyway. Although she didn’t understand how things like muffins, which used to be healthy and full of things like bran and raisins and molasses, became chocolate chip versions, which, to her, were more cupcakes. But it was one more mystery in the world of the kitchen as far as she was concerned.

  Calling the animals to them, they headed back into the house.

  Chapter 18

  Sunday Late Morning …

  Once inside and seated at the kitchen table with the back door wide open for a breeze and the teakettle on, Doreen started with the bowl of goodies she’d collected from Nan’s coats—including the earrings and the opal.

  Nan smiled at the sight of them. “They are just as lovely today as they were when I was given them,” she said with a tiny smile. “And, maybe down the road, you could have that opal set into a pendant for yourself.”

  “Maybe,” Doreen said doubtfully. But she really didn’t know what to do with it for now.

  “Now what about those boxes?” Nan asked, once again showing that monetary things no longer mattered to her. She was much more interested in the mystery boxes.

  Shifting the bowl of pocket contents off to the side, Doreen unloaded the box of love letters. Nan cried out in joy. “Oh my, nobody does this anymore, do they? It looks like herbs or maybe dried flowers are tucked in between some of the letters too.”

  Doreen smiled. “From a romantic period that’s now a bygone era.”

  “Oh, a lot of romantic things still remain in this world,” Nan said with a big smile. “But this is lovely to see.”

  A pile of paperwork was on the bottom. Doreen pulled that out and stacked them, then laid it all on the table. “That’s what’s in this last box,” Doreen told Nan.

  “And what about the other boxes?” Nan asked. “Before we start into this, maybe I could see some of the other things.”

  Doreen led Nan to the living room, where the remaining five hope chest boxes were, as Nan stopped to gaze around. “Oh my.”

  “Right?” Doreen said with a chuckle. “And the upstairs is almost as barren as this first floor. I imagine it looks a little different than when you lived here.”

  Nan’s mouth was still open when they walked into the dining room and all the way around to the laundry, kitchen, and back through into the living room again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like this.”

  “Only when you moved in probably.”

  “No,” Nan said. “The people before us had been renting. I think they moved out and left a bunch of furniture behind. We had a heck of a mess getting rid of that so we could get our stuff in.”

  “We?” Doreen asked delicately.

  Nan sent her a saucy look. “Well, it’s my house, but I haven’t always lived here alone, you know.”

  Doreen rolled her eyes. “Do you know anything about the history of the house before you bought it?”

  “There was something sad about it,” Nan said, pondering. “But I don’t remember the details.”

  “I’m wondering if the sad about it part is this person with the hope chest. Although it’s from much earlier.”

  Doreen opened one of the boxes and unwrapped one of the tea sets.

  Nan sat down beside her and held out a hand. Then she cradled the delicate china and whispered, “It’s beautiful.”

  “I know. I’ll have to unpack everything and take photos of it. I’ve never seen a pattern like that.”

  “Neither have I,” Nan said. “It’s quite unique.”

  Doreen carefully opened something from every one of the boxes, and Nan shook her head.

  “This is definitely from a long time ago,” Nan said. “I wonder if it’s a granddaughter or a great-granddaughter that hung onto it. Maybe thinking she could use some of it for herself.”

  “Or it was a family member that didn’t quite know what to do with it and shoved it all up in the closet so they didn’t have to be bothered,” Doreen said.

  “Where did you find it all?”

  When Nan got up to her feet, Doreen walked to the closet where the birdseed had been sitting all that time and pointed to the in the ceiling up above.

  Nan stared at it, nonplussed. “I don’t think I ever saw that hatch before.”

  “All six boxes came out of there,” Doreen said. “But nothing else was there. I had Mack take a look.”

  “Mack again, huh?” Nan asked in a cheeky voice.

  “Yes, he’s been very helpful,” Doreen said firmly. Just then the teakettle whistled. “Let me go make the tea.” Privately she thought it was such perfect timing. The last thing she wanted was to get into a discussion about Mack with Nan. It was liable to lead to more than Doreen wanted to discuss.

  Tea made, they returned to the kitchen table and sat there. Nan undid one of the bundled letters and read through them all. “These are early on,” she said. “Undying confessions of love and plans for the future.” She tied them again and went to the next set. “These are similar,” she announced. “More thoughts of missing each other, some love declarations, and plans to get married.”

  “And the last ones?” Doreen asked as she brought the teapot over and settled two cups on the table.

  Nan picked them up and said, “Oh, dear.”

  “Did he ditch her?” Doreen asked sarcastically.

  “No. He got very ill. And his last letter said his time was done, and he wanted her to move on.”

  Doreen sat down at the kitchen table with a hard thump. “Oh, crap. That’s very sad.”

  “They had some time to visit together,” Nan said, “but he traveled a lot.”

  “And, of course, my mind immediately wonders if he was traveling or if he had another family or if he used that as an excuse to get out of something untenable.”

  “Oh my,” Nan said. “You really have to change that attitude. Life is so full of good things. You can’t be bitter for too long. It’ll stain the rest of your view of the world.”

  “I’m not really bitter,” Doreen said, “but I’m starting to understand more about evil human nature through these cold cases. Plus, everybody lies. That seems to be the bottom line—everybody has secrets, and everybody lies if it’s convenient. Or maybe they finally tell their secrets when compelled to release them from their soul.”

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Nan said as she rebundled the love letters. Then she pointed to another stack of papers and asked, “What have you found there?”

  “Well,” Doreen said, “it tells me about a group of people. A family tree too and a birth certificate from way back and a marriage certificate and sheets from a Bible from the looks of it.”

  “That was quite common. They often kept a record of the births and deaths in a Bible. Marriages too. Of course, there weren’t divorces back then.”

  “I know,” Doreen said. She flicked through some of the papers, but they were faded and old. “It’ll be hard to read some of these.” When she got a little farther down, she
stopped and said, “A death certificate.” She pulled it out and nodded. “He did pass away. According to the marriage certificate, they were married.”

  “How sad,” Nan said.

  “Ah,” Doreen said, tapping the papers. “There’s also a birth certificate and a handwritten note about the birth of her daughter, Veronica. The date of the letter is 1901.” Doreen paused, then said, “So she did have a surviving family.”

  “And chances are that woman is no longer alive either,” Nan said, “because that’s well over a hundred years ago.”

  “Exactly. Is there no mention in the letters that you read about a daughter?”

  Nan shook her head. “But she may have found herself pregnant at the end of their correspondence by letters too. There was one visit where he had to leave again. During that time he was gone, he got sick.”

  “So, we take the date of that letter and add nine months,” Doreen said. “We’d be looking for grandchildren or great-grandchildren now. I’ll have to go to the library and see if I can find any records.” She went through the rest of the papers and shook her head. “Some of this looks like it’s been hand-copied, and some of it is just faded, but at least we have a date to work from. And I need her last name.”

  “The death certificate?” Nan asked.

  Doreen went to the death certificate and nodded. “Phillips. Tom Phillips.”

  “So now you’re looking for Veronica Phillips.”

  “Do you know who you bought the house from?”

  Nan shook her head. “You should still have a bunch of those documents though.”

  Afraid that she’d missed something, she lifted her head, studied Nan, and then nodded. “You mean, all those folders I found.”

  “Yes. There will be formal documents in some of them.”

  “Good,” Doreen said. “I can take a look at that then. I should probably organize those too. I just put them on the bookshelf in the front closet. I was so busy spring-cleaning everything else and thought I was done, but I’m not, am I?” She frowned, twisting in her seat to look toward the printer. There were still four bundles of folders and paperwork too. “I’ll have to go through those myself.”