Dark Places: From the Ashes

Part Three

A couple of days later, Trixie drove upriver with a plan in mind. She had decided to do the investigation in Rhinebeck early in the day, allowing time for a stop in Poughkeepsie, if the information she found was favourable. Further research had revealed some Frayne graves that she wanted to see, as well as the existence of a library which sounded promising.

On reaching the area, she drove around for a little while, getting an idea of the landscape. While the most densely populated part of Rhinebeck stood some distance from the river, the town boundaries extended to the water. She found several grand mansions there, but more modest homes in other areas and lonely stretches of road that were overhung by trees on both sides.

From there, she went to the cemetery. Getting out of the car, she walked through the iron gates and past some mausoleums, set into the side of the slope. The lawns were well-trimmed and the graves maintained. After a certain number of wrong turns, Trixie found the graves she sought. Her eyes widened as she took in the scale of the first Frayne grave she found, a full sarcophagus covered with a domed roof, its elegant arches decorated with lion heads. Closer examination showed her that this grave was too old to belong to the people she sought.

Next, she found some rather grand-looking gravestones, rich in carving and imagery. None of them matched the names she had found, though it was possible that they were related, as one of them bore the name Winthrop.

Nearby, however, an ornately carved obelisk also bore the name Frayne. Walking up to it, she brushed her fingers across the letters on the front panel.

Sacred to the Memory of
Pearl Vera,
Beloved wife of Henry Frayne
Born May 7, 1890
Died October 12, 1940

Also,
Henry Winthrop Frayne
Husband, Father
1884 – 1967
R.I.P.

The face to the left held another inscription:

In loving memory of our son
Arthur Stanley Frayne
Born August 18, 1921
Killed December 7, 1941
at Pearl Harbour

In memory of our beloved daughter
Myra Grace King
Born June 20, 1923
Died January 4, 1950

On the side opposite the one Trixie thought of as the front, she found a more succinct list.

Our children

Edgar
Born and died February 1, 1915

Millie
Died 1921, aged 2 years

Passing around to the fourth side, she saw a less weathered set of memorials.

In memory of

James Winthrop Frayne
1917 – 1999
and his wife Nell
1915 – 1986

and
George Henry Frayne
1927 – 2001

Trixie ran her fingers over the last entry, which did not match exactly the one above it. That it existed at all caused her to doubt some of her conclusions.

“Who had this done?” she wondered aloud. “It’s got to be the right family, but this makes no sense!”

She was considering walking around to see if there were any other graves of interest nearby when something at the base of the monument caught her eye. Getting down on hands and knees, she brushed off a few particles of dirt to read what was inscribed on the base, almost at ground level.

Ashgrove

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she muttered, frowning.

For the next several minutes, she searched around the other Frayne graves, finding nothing until she returned to the grandest one. Among the leaves that were carved along the outer edge of the arches between the lion heads, she found the same word.

“Leaves.” She stared at the carving. “Ashgrove. A grove of ash trees? A connection?”

Some of the other Frayne graves had leaves carved on them, but it was not clear whether that was supposed to mean something, or if it was just coincidence. She wandered back to the car, thinking deeply.

Her next stop was going to be the local library, but she debated with herself on whether that was the best idea. Part of her wanted to head straight to Poughkeepsie and get the probate records for George Frayne, while another part was sure there was more to find here.

At length she decided to check out the library. She found a parking spot and went inside. Heading straight for the local history holdings, she soon located a book that gave information on the town’s history and made mention of the Frayne family, who had settled in the area in the late 1700s. Trixie let out an exclamation of enlightenment when she read that their estate was called Ashgrove. During the next hour and a half, however, she discovered precious little else. It seemed that the Frayne family fell out of prominence somewhere around the time that Jim’s grandfather was born. Nothing that Trixie could find dated to any later than 1930.

She was about to give up in disgust when she noticed a shelf of high school yearbooks. She ran her fingers along the spines, looking for a likely year, then suddenly remembered that Win Frayne had gone to boarding school with Matthew Wheeler. Resolving to check that angle later, she moved back a couple of decades and sought out one for George Frayne.

When she at last found it, the result was disappointing. It seemed that George was unpopular, and not particularly talented in any way. He had made little impression on his classmates and featured little in the publication. The small, black and white photo with his name beneath bore a passing resemblance to Jim, but no more. He seemed ordinary and uninteresting.

Through trial and error, she found the two older brothers as well. James Winthrop was nothing like the way she remembered him. The brother Arthur had the light of mischief in his eyes and an impish smile. Neither of them seemed to have made much impact in their years and there was no trace of their sister.

“Dead ends at every turn,” she muttered, as she placed the books on the trolley for reshelving.

She left the library and headed for a local history museum, not thinking that it would be of any help but unwilling to leave a stone unturned. No sooner had she entered but she struck up a conversation with a man working there, who asked her if she had a particular area of interest.

“I’ve been looking for a friend’s family, who used to live here,” she explained. “The surname is Frayne, and I’ve found out today that their house was called Ashgrove.”

“Ah.” The man nodded slowly. “I know the place.”

“You do?”

“Used to be a lovely old house, not all that long ago. It’s not the original one on the site, of course. Mid-Victorian, I would say. A decade or so ago, it was still a show-piece – one of those grand, old houses that people once built to show off how wealthy they were.” A twinkle came into his eyes. “These days, you’d say it was the very image of a haunted house.”

“Oh! Then it’s still standing? Do you know who owns it?”

He shook his head. “Not a clue. I don’t think anyone’s lived there in years. I understand that the last of the Fraynes died, oh, maybe ten years ago.”

“George Frayne?” Trixie made a quick calculation. “I think he died eight years ago; I’ve just been to the cemetery to see his grave. His brother lived next to my own family home and he died ten years ago.”

“I didn’t know any of them personally.” He spread his hands. “It’s just one of the stories that you hear. The rise and fall of a family.”

“So, where is the house?”

He found a piece of paper and a pen and drew her a rough map. From what Trixie could make out, the house was quite close to the river.

“One other thing,” she asked. “Do you know of any scandals, or terrible happenings associated with George Frayne?”

“With George Frayne? No… no, I don’t think that I do.”

“With any of the other Fraynes?” she persisted.

He shook his head. “I believe there was a string of tragedies, but that’s hardly unusual. Many families have those. The only scandal I know of was when one of the Frayne daughters shocked the whole town with a brazen display of ankles, or something of that sort, but I don’t suppose that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for.”

Thanking him, Trixie took the time to look at the exhibits, but she could hardly wait to go and take a look at the house. She left the museum and returned to the car. Glancing at her watch, she realised that it would probably be too late to visit the county courthouse that day. That task would have to be undertaken by Jim, as they had planned in the first place.

She found the house without much difficulty on a winding road well outside of town, where the houses were few and far between. It rose above masses of overgrown bushes at the top of a rise overlooking the river. True to the description she had been given, it was a mansion on a far grander scale than Ten Acres had been. Four stories at its highest point and built of brick, the top of its square tower was edged with iron lace and every possible surface seemed to be embellished in some way. The upper windows had domed tops, the lower ones were large and rectangular. From all around the roof, dormer windows peeked. At one side, she could see the edge of what was perhaps a porch, beyond which part of the building seemed to project on a different angle.

But the windows and doors had not been painted in years, and the grounds were overgrown. Long grass obscured the edges of the wide front stairs. Untidy shrubs and the odd scraggly sapling brushed against the lower windows and some kind of climber waved from the top of one of the chimneys. The entire left hand side was invisible from the road, due to the tall, prickly bushes that had taken over what had once been lawn. In spite of this, Trixie pushed on the gate and it scraped open with a groan. She picked her way across the yard, taking care to make enough noise to frighten off any snakes. The front stairs seemed to have escaped the ravages of time, save a weed or two growing in a crack, but the porch was littered with leaves and papers. She knocked hard on the door and waited. Nothing happened.

Near the front door was a tall, narrow window, uncurtained. Trixie ran lightly down the stairs, crossed to it, climbed onto the edge of a massive and ugly concrete planter that stood there, and pushed aside the branches of a half-dead bush to peer in. From there, she could see the outline of a table, with some kind of sculpture standing on it, and part of a grand staircase.

She stepped back and looked up at the windows above. One of them had a torn curtain. Another had a cracked pane.

“There’s no one lives there,” a voice called to her, making her jump in fright. “Old George, he died, and now there’s no one left.”

Turning, she saw a man leaning on the gate. His thick, greying hair was dishevelled and his jeans and checked shirt faded. Trixie was irresistibly reminded of a scarecrow.

“Did you know him?” she asked, walking back in that direction.

“Course I knowed him. We was friends. He hardly had no friends at all. I doesn’t, neither, now that he’s goned.”

Trixie hesitated, unsure of how to answer that or of the wisdom of approaching him. There was something child-like about the man, but she knew that was no guarantee of harmlessness.

“George is dead,” the man repeated. “He hit his head and he died. And now his old house is gonna fall down. You shouldn’t go in there. It’ll fall down on your head and you’ll died, too.”

“I’ll be sure to be careful. Thank you for warning me.”

She had tried to make the words sound like the end of the conversation, but the man seemed settled in to talk. The subtlety was lost on him.

“I live over there,” he told her, waving off to his right. “I lives with me Ma. She says I’s gotten hit on the head too many times and that’s why I don’t think good. She says I would’ve be better off if I died like George.”

“Oh.” She glanced around, looking for another way out, but none presented itself. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“S’okay. I like not being dead. Not like George.” He shifted so that he further blocked the way out. “I saw him get dead. He fell out of the window and fell on his head and there was blood. And Eric screamed and screamed.”

“Who is Eric?” she could not resist asking.

“George’s other friend.” The man seemed to think she should know that. “Eric was George friend and I was George friend and George didn’t have no other friends.”

“And is Eric your friend now?” Trixie wondered.

“No! Eric is a bad man and he doesn’t like Stephen. Stephen is a good boy. Ma says so. Ma says Stephen shoulda be dead. Eric shoulda be dead. George was my friend and George is dead.”

Trixie had taken a step or two back in alarm at the beginning of the outburst, but by the final few words the man had slumped against the gate.

“Are you Stephen?” she asked, gently.

“How you know my name?” he asked, once more belligerent.

“Stephen!” another voice called, in chastising tones. “What are you doing out here?”

The man shrunk down. “Nothing!”

A diminutive lady of advanced years approached from the direction the man had earlier pointed.

“You get home right this minute, young man,” she scolded. Turning to Trixie, she added, “I’m so sorry. He won’t hurt a fly, really, but he does alarm people so. I hope you weren’t too put out.”

“I’m fine,” Trixie answered, taking the opportunity to leave the overgrown yard while the man ran like a child down the road. “I’m sorry, too. I think I upset him by asking about the man who used to live here. I had no idea of what had happened.”

The lines on the woman’s face shifted into an expression of regret. “The accident upset him very much, I’m afraid. It’s not your fault at all.”

Trixie thanked her. “If you don’t mind my asking, could you tell me who might have had George Frayne’s name engraved on the family memorial in the cemetery? I was there earlier today and… well, I didn’t think there was any of the family left here.”

“There isn’t,” the woman answered. “George was the last of his line and had no family of any kind, anywhere. The engraving was done by his partner, Eric.”

Trixie froze for a moment as the pieces dropped into place. “Did he live here, too?”

The woman nodded. “But he won’t set foot in the place since that dreadful day. I suppose he must own the house, now, but I haven’t seen him at all since the funeral.” She glanced in the direction of her home. “George was so kind to my Stephen; he had endless patience for him. He was very good to me, too. I do miss him very much.”

Before Trixie could ask anything else, she continued, “If you’ll excuse me, I really must go and see what that boy is up to.”

“Of course,” Trixie answered, and watched her hurry away.

Once the woman was out of sight, Trixie turned back to the house and contemplated it for a moment. She very much wanted to see more of it, but she could not help but wonder who else she might run into. At length, she turned away. She was certain that she would return, but for now she had a lot to think about. She also wanted to know for sure who owned the place now. It would not help her to get on the wrong side of Eric, whoever he might be. She went back to her car thinking out strategies to find out more.

A few days later, after spending most of the intervening time on her regular work and with no free time for investigations, Trixie received a call from Jim.

“What was the name that you mentioned in connection to my grandfather?” he asked.

For a moment, her mind was blank, then the answer came to her. “Eric. Why?”

“I’ve got the records from the County Court,” he answered, sounding weary. “My grandfather left everything to someone called Eric Armand Mills. That’s pretty much all that they tell me.”

She felt a pang of disappointment at this confirmation of the real state of things, as well as the lack of further clues. “Can I see the papers sometime?”

“Sure,” he replied, and they agreed on a time to meet a couple of days later.

After the call ended, Trixie set about looking for information on Eric Mills, but without more to go on it was near-impossible. She frowned at his name and wondered what to do next. Matters connected to the house Ashgrove seemed to be at a dead end for now. That left the situation with Jonesy as the main thread of the investigation to follow.

“How do you fit in to all this?” she wondered, aloud. “If I could just get that, I know I could figure this out.”

She picked up the phone again and placed a call to Dan, arranging to meet with him later that evening. He first suggested that they meet in public somewhere and get a drink or two, but Trixie wanted more privacy to discuss the case, so he elected to come to her. He arrived a little later than arranged, looking distracted.

“What’s up?” she asked, letting him in.

He shrugged in a dismissive manner. “What did you want to discuss?”

“You were right.”

“Yeah, that happens a lot,” he quipped.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Jim’s grandfather did die eight years ago. And I think I know what it was that Jonesy thought would shock Jim – that his grandfather was gay. Jim was completely un-shocked.”

She went on to relate to him all she had learned during her trip to Rhinebeck and her subsequent discussions with Jim. Once this was done, they began to discuss her findings, and what they could possibly mean.

“I still think the old man was no loss,” Dan noted, with a dismissive shake of the head. “He must have known that Jim was in trouble and he did nothing.”

“And if he didn’t know?” Trixie argued. “You’re going to assume that he was no good just because Jim ran into some trouble and he didn’t know that help was needed? Do you regard Regan in the same light?”

Dan’s expression became cold and closed. “Regan could have found us if he’d tried.”

For several long moments, Trixie eyed him warily then brought the conversation back to its intended topic.

“I just don’t see why Jonesy would think that Jim would be so devastated by this news.” She paused, frowning. “Did he not know him well enough to know, or what?”

“What if he knew?” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

She turned to face him. “What did you say?”

Louder this time, he repeated, “What if he knew, but he had another reason for keeping Jim away?”

“It would make more sense that way.” She picked up the keys to the house at Maple Grove and weighed them in her hand. “Maybe there’s a connection that we’re not seeing here. Maybe the sequence doesn’t start with Frank Marshall, but with Jonesy. But if that’s right, it would mean that we’re looking at this the wrong way.”

She saw the anger rise in Dan’s eyes.

“What it means is that I’ve been played for a fool,” he snapped. “That conniving little bastard made me think the information had just slipped out.”

Jumping to his feet, he stalked to the door without another word.

“Hey! Where are you going?” she demanded as he wrenched it open.

He did not turn around, or even pause. “To get to the bottom of this. I’ll be in touch.”

Trixie let out a growl of frustration, but did nothing to stop him as the door slammed.

Curiosity over the house Ashgrove haunted Trixie, sometimes entering her dreams and other times distracting her waking thoughts. She imagined all kinds of hidden secrets within its walls, to the point where she had to tell herself to stop being so silly. Still, the urge to return remained and the next Saturday she took the drive. She reached the house in the middle of the afternoon.

Once she was standing in front of it, she realised that she had no plan in mind. Should she start exploring the grounds? Or was it better to further scope out the area first?

As she tried to make up her mind, she noticed someone get out of a parked car and approach her. He was watching her intently, but his steps were slow and measured. He was neatly dressed and respectable-looking and she judged him to be in his fifties.

“Would you happen to be a friend of a James Winthrop Frayne?” the man asked, looking unsure.

For a moment, she wondered how to answer him, but in the end she took a chance. “Yes, but how did you know?”

“My name is Aiden King and I understand that someone’s been looking for me on his behalf. Would that happen to be you?”

Trixie’s mouth dropped open. “How…?”

Aiden smiled. “I think you and I have been approaching the same problem from different directions. I tried to contact my Uncle George a couple of months ago and found out that he’d died several years ago. So, then I tried to find Win… only to find he’d been gone even longer. I tried Uncle James after that – same story – but then I remembered that Win had a son, and I found that he was named as my uncle’s heir. And when I visited Maple Grove, I heard from Mrs. Overton that a lovely young lady with blonde curls was trying to find out about what had happened to me for him. And you’re looking at Uncle George’s house, and you meet the description, so I thought it was worth a shot.”

She nodded, remembering that Mrs. Overton was the obliging neighbour, and introduced herself. “I’d given up hope of ever finding out what happened to you. Almost all I had was your name.”

“I’ve lived all over the place.” He shrugged. “If I hadn’t gotten it into my head to get in touch with my birth mother’s family, I doubt you ever would have.”

“Your birth mother?” She stopped, realising her own rudeness. “Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, not at all.” He gestured towards the house. “Let’s find somewhere to sit down. It’s kind of a long story and I doubt you’ll find out any of it any other way.”

Dan’s warnings to be wary of Aiden King flicked through her mind as she followed him through the grounds to the rear of the house. Her instinct told her that she was safe enough, however, and she pushed the dire prognostications away.

“Here. This is where I was thinking of. It was cleaner and tidier when Uncle George was alive, but the view is still beautiful.”

He waved her to a seat on the weathered outdoor setting, still set out on the wide, covered patio. To one side, a single-storey wing of the house extended. In front of them, the Hudson River sparkled in the sunshine.

“Where to start?” Aiden murmured, while looking only at the view. “My birth mother’s maiden name was Frayne. She died a very short time after I was born and my father pretty much took off and left me behind. His sister took me in and, while I knew all along that she was my aunt and not my mother, I knew nothing about my birth family until my mid-twenties, when Uncle George got in touch with us.”

“So you didn’t grow up knowing Win Frayne, then?”

He shook his head. “I never even heard the name Frayne, growing up. I had no idea that Win existed. Not until Uncle George asked me to befriend him.” He sighed. “I was nine years older than Win, so that was no easy task.”

“Did you know why he asked you to do that?”

Aiden’s eyes narrowed, though he still did not look at her. “How much about Uncle George have you found out? Do you know why his wife divorced him?”

“I’ve guessed that it was because she found out he was gay.” She looked at him sharply. “Is that right?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Probably. As far as I can tell. I never met her, you know. She’d just died at the time he came looking for me, and that was the reason he gave for why he wanted me to get to know Win. His ex-wife, he said, had forbidden him contact, but now she wasn’t around to object any longer.”

“And did you get to know Win?”

He nodded, slowly. “It turned out, when I got to Maple Grove, that his grandparents had died recently, too – the mother’s parents, I mean; the Frayne grandparents were long gone, by then. Win wasn’t close to his mother, but he had been close to her parents, and he’d been left all alone. He was more than happy to have some kind of reconciliation with his father – at first. I never knew what it was that they fell out over, but I don’t think it was to do with his father’s sexuality.” He shook his head. “From what I’ve seen, the Fraynes were never a close family.”

Trixie’s brows drew together as she thought. “So George tries to reconcile with Win, but fails somehow. Where did that leave you?”

“I stayed on good terms with both of them. Win got married not long after we met and bought his own place. He rented out the house in Maple Grove to me. I met and married my first wife there. Then, when Val and I split up, we both left town.” He gave a wry grin, still directing it into the middle distance. “I kind of fell out of touch with Win about that time. He was so happy with Katie and I couldn’t stand to watch. I tried to send him a letter a few years later, but it came back.”

“They sold up and moved to Rochester when Win got sick,” she confirmed. “In fact, they sold the house in Maple Grove first, which is where I started. Do you happen to know the man they sold it to? He was, apparently, a family friend. His name was Norman Wayne Jones, sometimes known as Jonesy.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember anyone by that name.”

“I just can’t understand how they ever met,” she muttered. “If I could just figure that out, I think this whole thing would unravel.”

At last, the man beside her turned to face her and she noticed for the first time that his eyes were green, like Jim’s. “I don’t understand. What does the man Jones have to do with this house?”

Trixie blinked. “Nothing, so far as I know. Though, I’d imagine he’d like to get his greedy hands on it, if he could.”

“Then you don’t know.” He frowned. “And here I thought you were leading up to the fact that your friend is the most likely heir for this house.”

She shook her head. “I’ve seen the will. George left everything to his partner Eric.”

“But it was processed as a small estate, which meant there was no real estate involved.” He leaned towards her, his face serious and his voice low. “The title of this house was transferred into a living trust about ten years before George died. It would have been done so that probate could be avoided, saving money and time for the legatees. I think that Eric Mills is the successor trustee – that’s the person who takes over responsibility when the person dies – but I haven’t been able to prove it. The last time I spoke to my uncle, he was intending to leave me a small legacy and his nearest blood relative – his grandson – a large one. I don’t think he changed his mind, but I can’t seem to find out what has happened to Eric Mills and why he hasn’t contacted me if there really is something for me in the trust.”

“I’ll get Jim to get his lawyer onto it,” she promised. “If anyone knows how to sort this out, it will be him.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” He sighed and turned back towards the river. “I’d like you to give him my contact details, too. I know what it’s like to look for family information and come up blank because everyone’s dead. I might know a thing or two that might help him.”

“Thanks. I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon.”

Aiden nodded, a slight smile on his face. “I’m glad we talked. I didn’t realise how much of a burden this has been to me until I shared it.” Without letting her answer, he continued. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. I hope to hear from your friend soon.”

Trixie replied in kind and stood as he walked away in the direction they had arrived. As soon as he was out of sight, she placed a call to Jim, ignoring the three missed calls and four texts already on her phone. He picked up on the second ring and she launched into the conversation at once.

“You’ll never guess who I just met! Aiden King just came up and introduced himself to me.”

“Where are you, Trixie?”

“At your grandfather’s house.” As she walked up and down the terrace, she ran a hand over the frame of one of the windows, which had warped. “Anyway, he just told me that the house was part of a living trust and that he thinks you should have been the heir and I promised I’d get you to get Mr. Rainsford onto it, because there’s something really fishy about the whole thing and I’m sure he’ll know what to do.”

“I’m sure he will, but I doubt that I’ll get anything out of it. The money was probably exhausted long ago.” His tone was dismissive. “Are you alone there, Trixie? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine. You’ll call Mr. Rainsford, won’t you? I’m sure there’s something in this, even if it’s just information. And you’d better show him those papers, if you haven’t already. He’ll understand all the legalese about small estates and probate and whatever.”

“Yes, I’ll call. But are you sure you’re safe?”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “It’s broad daylight. What could happen to me?”

He hesitated. “Dan just called and told me something. I was about to call and make sure you knew.”

“I think I missed some calls while I was talking to Aiden,” she admitted. “I had my phone on silent. Is it important?”

“He’s been talking to the guy who knew Jonesy in jail. Apparently, Frank Marshall is the one who introduced Jonesy to my parents.”

“How did they ever know each other?” she wondered.

“That’s not important right now. The point is that Frank Marshall gave me the tip about the property in Maple Grove as a favour to Jonesy, and now it seems that Jonesy has probably found out about my grandfather’s house.”

She frowned. “Wait! This makes no sense! Why does it matter that he knows? And why would that make me not be safe here? Isn’t it one of Jonesy’s parole conditions that he stays away from all of us?”

“He’s not on parole any more.” The tension in Jim’s voice made it sound lower than normal. “Now, would you please do me a favour and get yourself somewhere safe? I’m starting to think there’s more to this than either of us realise.”

“You and me, both.” She turned her steps towards the front of the house. “I think we’d better meet sometime soon and go over all we’ve got, but you’d better make that call to Mr. Rainsford first. You will remember to do that, won’t you?”

“Yes, Trixie.” He sounded both exasperated and amused. “Just stay safe.”

“Fine, fine. I’m nearly back to the car now. And there’s no one in sight. I’m perfectly safe here.” She rounded the front corner of the mansion and stopped dead. “On the other hand…”

“What?”

She eased back a few steps. “You wouldn’t happen to know what sort of car Jonesy has, would you?”

“How would I know that, Trixie?” He didn’t seem to expect an answer. “What do you see?”

“A dark blue sedan, about ten years old, parked right behind my car. It wasn’t here when I arrived, and it’s nothing like Aiden King’s – I saw his earlier.” She peered at the car. “I think there’s someone sitting inside.”

“Call the police,” he directed. “Don’t take a chance on this, Trixie.”

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’ve technically been trespassing all this time.”

“What does that matter?”

A movement caught her attention. “He’s reversing. Oh, he’s turning around now. I’m too far away to see the licence plate, and I can’t even really tell the make, let alone the model. I’ll talk to you later, Jim. I’ve got to go.”

“Not to follow him,” Jim urged.

Trixie stopped. “No. You’re right. He’s gone now, whoever he was, and I’d be better off getting home. If it really was Jonesy, I’m sure I’ll see him again soon enough.”

“Not what I wanted to hear,” Jim told her, with a groan.

“But it’s the truth. I’ll talk to you soon, after you’ve had a chance to call Mr. Rainsford. You’re going to call him right away, right?”

“If you’ll just get in your car and drive away from there? Sure.”

She laughed and got inside. “I’m here now. And I’ve locked myself in. And the engine started first time, just like usual. Will you believe I’m really safe now, and go and make that call? You don’t want to keep talking to me while I drive, do you, because that’s known to be dangerous.”

“Far be it from me to put you in danger, Trixie. I’ll talk to you soon.”

More than a week passed between Trixie’s visit to the house and her meeting with Jim. By the time it arrived, she was itching with impatience to find out what was going on. She was mildly surprised to find Dan already there when she entered Jim’s place, but that was a minor matter compared to the rest of the investigation.

“Tell me everything, right now,” she demanded of Jim, “starting with why it’s taken you so long to see me!”

Dan shrugged. “I thought it would do you good to learn some patience.”

“Not you.” Trixie turned her back on him. “What’s going on, Jim? Have you seen Mr. Rainsford?”

“I have. And I’ve never seen him so angry.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really? What’s happened?”

“Aiden King was correct on most points. My grandfather did have a living trust. He did make Eric Mills the successor trustee. He didn’t exactly leave the house to me, but to my father, with the proviso that it come to me if Dad predeceased him; and he left a quantity of shares to Aiden. It’s also true that Eric Mills has disappeared. But that’s not the surprising part.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. The surprising part is that all the assets are still there, untouched. Though, no property tax has been paid in eight years, so there’s quite a hefty bill pending.”

“But what made Mr. Rainsford angry?”

“The fact that someone in a position of power, and with considerable legal and technical knowledge, must have covered this up.” He pulled a page from the pile of papers on the table and handed it to her. “It’s a lot of money caught up in this, and someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make it effectively disappear.”

Her breath caught to see some of the figures. “Why would anyone do something like this? If he’d stolen the assets, I could understand, at least.”

Jim shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

She turned to Dan. “Tell me about Jonesy. I never did hear that story straight from you.”

Dan settled on the arm of the sofa. “So, I tracked down the guy who’d tried to get me to keep Jim away from the house in Maple Grove, and asked him what he meant by it. He told me that he owed Jonesy money and that Jonesy had offered to wipe the slate clean, so to speak, if he’d just keep Jim – and everyone associated with him – from investigating that house.”

“Why?” she wanted to know.

“He didn’t ask, at first.” Dan shrugged. “This guy’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. After a while, he found out that Jonesy had started some scheme to do with the house and that it had gone wrong when Jim bought the place. Jonesy wanted Jim to just get you to investigate the place and find out why it was so valuable. Then Jonesy would step in while Jim considered the matter carefully and make the money on it that he thought he deserved.”

“But that house isn’t especially valuable,” Trixie objected. “It’s just an ordinary house.”

“Jonesy knows that now, but at the time that was happening, he didn’t. It wasn’t until you found the Frayne house that he discovered the mistake, which put the pressure back on Frank Marshall.”

“How does he fit into this?”

Jim took up the story. “It seems that before he had the truck farm, Jonesy worked as a sales representative for a company that supplied to the Marshall company. Frank Marshall was young and, I’d guess, a bit wild. Somehow, he contracted a debt to Jonesy that he couldn’t pay. When he couldn’t come up with the money, he tried to pay with other things – in the form of information on my Dad and an introduction.”

“But what sort of information could Frank Marshall have possibly had?” Trixie creased her brow, trying to sort this out. “From what Mr. Wheeler says, he wasn’t a close friend to your father, so how could he have known anything at all?”

“Considering that the information he supplied turned out to be wrong… maybe he just overheard something.” Dan glanced from one to the other. “But did your father even know about that house while he was at school?”

Jim shrugged. “It doesn’t seem so.”

Trixie wriggled with impatience. “But what does that have to do with what’s happening now? The information must have passed from Frank Marshall to Jonesy years and years ago.”

“Yes, but it didn’t pay the debt. Jonesy lost money on the sale of the house. He must have really needed the money.” Jim crossed to the table and pulled out another paper. “Frank Marshall is a respectable businessman these days. He must be anxious to keep it that way. Would a known association with Jonesy help that cause?”

She shook her head. “Okay, so that explains a lot of things, but how can Jonesy possibly think he can get his hands on the Frayne house, when Jim doesn’t even own it?”

“I don’t think he’s intending to take the whole house,” Jim put in. “I suspect that the idea in his mind at this stage is revenge.”

She shivered. “And probably keeping you from gaining from the situation, too, I’d guess. If he can’t have it, then you can’t, either.”

Jim nodded. “It’s possible.”

She met his gaze. “So what do we do about it?”

“The legalities are going to take some time, I would guess.” He looked away. “There will be a full investigation, and probably criminal charges against the accomplice.”

“I haven’t even heard who that is,” she complained. “It’s all so hush-hush.”

He turned serious. “I don’t think they’re sure, yet. But it’s someone inside the County Court, that’s for certain. When the news breaks, it’s going to be a big scandal and people who didn’t actually do anything wrong will lose their positions.”

“That hardly seems fair!”

“No one ever said life was fair,” Jim countered. “And doing nothing can make you just as culpable.”

“I guess so.” She frowned. “I had no idea things were going to go this way. It’s kind of frustrating.”

He gave her a hint of a smile. “Just keep looking for things relevant to my end of the story. Leave all the boring legalities to the police.”

She grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

Continue to part 4.