Part Five

Once their meeting finished, Trixie was left with a large amount of nervous energy and nowhere to expend it. After a certain amount of aimless wandering, she went and got changed and presented herself at the stables.

“Back again?” Regan greeted, as if their earlier exchange had not happened.

Trixie nodded and meekly asked permission to ride.

At once Regan nodded. “You can take Susie out. You remember where everything is.”

She smiled and thanked him, then set to work. Out on the trail a short time later, she relished the feeling of the wind in her hair and the steady rhythm of the horse’s movements beneath her. Her mind began to clear of the conflicting thoughts and emotions.

As she turned towards home, a gap between the trees allowed her to see down into the hollow where she had spent her childhood. She paused there for a moment, reflecting on the connection she had to that house and to all of this area.

Susie pawed at the ground and Trixie let her move on. Somewhere at the back of her mind, a thought was trying to get her attention. With an effort, she kept her mind on what she was doing until they were safely back in the stables, but once she began to groom the mare she allowed it to wander.

“And what is it you think you’re doing?” asked Regan a short time later, with the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

She started with guilt. Susie was standing patiently, apparently oblivious to Trixie’s leisurely grooming.

“I was thinking,” she admitted, now working with more energy. “There was a man, and he was legally bound to do something, but I get the idea that he didn’t want to do it. So, he somehow convinced someone in a position of authority to cover it up, but then he disappears completely. But he didn’t steal anything. He didn’t even take what was rightfully his. Why would someone do that?”

Regan shrugged. “Maybe where he was going, he didn’t need money.”

“You mean, he killed himself? Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too. Only where is the body? It’s been about eight years and you’d think it would have been discovered by now.”

He thought for a moment. “People don’t often cover up their own bodies after they’re dead. I guess he must still be alive somewhere and he had some other motivation. Or the accomplice covered it up.”

“They might have,” she admitted, frowning. “I don’t know how they’ll ever find him if that’s the case. He’s probably been cremated under another name.” She shook her head. “But that’s not the thing I was trying to figure out. I was thinking about how no matter where I live, I still belong at Crabapple Farm. But if you don’t have a place like that to go back to… well, where do you turn when everything goes wrong?”

His expression clouded. Without a word, he began to clean the tack. Trixie cursed herself inwardly for her insensitivity.

“Home doesn’t have to be a place,” he told her, at last. “Sometimes, home is a person.”

“The man I’m talking about, the person who’d probably fill that role was dead.”

“Well, I can’t help you with that one.” He stopped what he was doing and stalked off towards his office. “But when Dan finishes his path to destruction and it applies to me, give me a call and I’ll tell you how it feels.”

“Regan! Come back!” She looked in frustration from the horse to the office and back again. “You know I can’t just leave her like this.”

Muttering under her breath at his lack of response, she finished grooming Susie and put her back in her stall. She approached the office slowly, unsure of what to expect.

“Have you cleaned that tack?” Regan snapped, while throwing balled up paper into the waste paper basket.

“No. I thought it was more important to see if you’re okay.”

He snorted and continued his rough clean-up. Two of the three balls he threw missed their target.

Trixie bent to pick them up, saying, “I didn’t think things with Dan were so bad.”

Regan caught her wrist and took the papers from her. “Don’t try that line with me. I know you were with him that night. And I know that he was the one who set the fire.”

She almost forgot to breathe. “Jonesy told the police it was Jim.”

“The man always was a fool,” he muttered.

“Regan? Are you here?” Jim’s voice called, from just outside the door.

“Here.”

Jim poked his head into the office. “Oh. I was going to ask if you’d seen Trixie, but I see that you have.”

One look at his face and Trixie knew he’d heard the accusations and believed them to be true. She gave Regan a long look, but he avoided her gaze. Giving up on trying to get through to him, she turned back to Jim.

“Dad wanted me to let you know that he’s just heard from George Rainsford again,” he told her. “They’ve traced Eric Mills’ home town and found his sister still living there. She says she hasn’t seen or heard from him in twenty years.”

“There goes that avenue of investigation,” she murmured, suddenly remembering the line of thought which had started this whole mess. “It really starts to narrow things down.”

“Does it?” he wondered, looking sceptical. “And here I thought he had the whole world to disappear into.”

She held her hands, palms upwards, and pretended to weigh the evidence. “Well, maybe. If he disappeared into the world somewhere, I guess the police will have to find him. But if he chose to end it all… well, that narrows things down a lot. I think we’re going to find him right there in Rhinebeck. I’m just not sure, yet, where he could be.”

“How many places could a body lie for eight years with no one noticing?” Jim asked.

“Not many.” She started ticking them off on her fingers. “Maybe somewhere in the house or its grounds that’s been undisturbed.”

Jim shook his head. “The police went over everything carefully after the incident with Jonesy.”

“The basement? Did they check for hidden spaces?”

“I think so. I understand that they spent a long time at it. And George Rainsford’s people went through the place once the police were satisfied. That’s how I got the letter.”

“Then, maybe, the grounds.”

Once more, he shook his head. “The piece of land isn’t that big. It’s been searched. And there’s no other structures besides the house.”

“Nothing like an old septic tank?”

“I sure wouldn’t want to die in a septic tank,” Regan put in.

Trixie grimaced, as the three contemplated the idea. “No, neither would I.”

“Well, I can’t think of any other places, outside of the grounds of Ashgrove.” Jim shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anywhere nearby that he could go undiscovered. It’s not like they have a lot of dense woods, or isolated places.”

A thought occurred to Trixie. “I wonder whether George was buried or cremated.”

“Cremated,” Jim answered. “Eric Mills collected the ashes, but we don’t know what he did with them. There’s no record of them having been interred at the cemetery and they don’t appear to be in the house.”

“I think I have an idea,” Trixie told him. “Come up there with me tomorrow? I need to take a look at a couple of things.”

“Sure,” Jim answered, and they set a time.

“That’s all well and good,” Regan griped, “but have you cleaned that tack?”

Trixie gave a guilty start. “No, I haven’t. I’ll get onto that right now.”

Regan nodded and turned away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jim promised as he left.

Trixie smiled and watched him leave. Then she turned to Regan. “We’re all trying to help Dan, you know. We’re not going to let him self-destruct if we can help it.”

Regan nodded, but gave no other answer. Trixie let out a sigh, then set to her work.

The following day in Rhinebeck, Jim and Trixie started with a visit to the house. Since the last time Trixie had seen it in daylight, a lot of people had evidently been through. Many of the weeds were trampled down and a few of them had been torn out. Outside on the street, a scorched place showed where Jonesy’s car had been destroyed, but the wreck had been taken away.

“Nice-looking house,” Jim noted. “A bit fancy for my taste.”

They walked together up to the front porch, then skirted around to the right. As they rounded one of the wings, Jim began to look alarmed.

“It’s bigger than it looks from the street. I’d have thought this was supposed to be a show-place and look bigger than it is.”

“I think the idea was to look fancy from the street and huge from the river,” Trixie replied, gesturing for him to step around the next corner. “This is where I had that conversation with Aiden King. I think, if you were down there looking up, you’d think it was enormous.”

“I think it’s enormous from where I’m standing right now.” He smiled. “But we didn’t really come to look at the house, did we? What were you wanting to see?”

“Are you really finished here? We have time to stay a little longer.”

He glanced up at the building. “It doesn’t really mean anything to me. At least, I don’t feel like it does, yet.”

“Well, let’s walk around the other way on the way out,” she suggested.

They got back in the car a few minutes later and Trixie, who was driving, took them to the town cemetery.

“Do I want to know why we’re here?” Jim asked, only half-joking. “You’re not thinking of doing any grave-robbing, are you?”

Trixie’s eyes widened. “No! I just… well, I need to take another look. Let’s go this way. The family memorial is over here.”

Using Trixie’s memory of her last visit, they soon located the plot. She stood back and watched as Jim examined the obelisk.

“Was this what you wanted to look at?” he asked, at last.

She shook her head. “There are other family graves nearby – though, I can’t tell you how they’re all related – but the one I wanted to see was that one.”

Jim’s eyes followed the line of her pointing finger and his eyebrows rose. “That big one? Why?”

Trixie began to walk in that direction. “Well, because it’s big. I know it’s from your family somewhere, but I’d guess a couple more generations back, because it’s got ‘Ashgrove’ carved in among all those leaves on the edge.”

“So it does.” Jim’s gaze travelled along one of the arches that held up the dome and then down to the sarcophagus. “I never did see the attraction in this sort of display of wealth. What does it matter when you’re dead?”

Trixie shrugged. “Search me.”

“So, what is it about this grave that interested you?”

“I don’t exactly know,” she answered, slowly. “I think I must have noticed something without noticing that I’d noticed, if you know what I mean.”

A smile teased his lips. “I’d never have lasted all this time knowing Honey if I didn’t.”

She returned the smile and then turned her attention to the grave. She walked around it twice, at different distances, staring intently, before fixing on the thing that had caught her attention. With a low exclamation, she dropped onto the ground.

“Here: look at this.”

Jim crouched next to her and ran his fingers across the place she indicated. “Silicone sealant? I don’t think they had that in… when was this from? 1887?”

The small blob of sealant appeared to have been squeezed out from within, filling a small, triangular chip that had broken from the stone. No one had smoothed out the silicone after application. Trixie poked it with her finger.

“This is where he is. I just know it. But how are we going to prove it?”

He got to his feet and reached down to pull her up. “I don’t know, but I think it’s another job for Mr. Rainsford.”

“Of course,” she answered. “Let’s call him right now.”

“Let’s go and get ourselves a drink,” Jim corrected, “and call him tomorrow. It’s Sunday. He won’t be in his office and I’m not calling him at home for something like this.”

“But, Jim,” she whined, then gave it up. “Okay. Let’s get a drink. But I’m calling him myself, first thing tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he answered, smiling, and they walked away from the grave.

It seemed to Trixie that time dragged to a crawl as she waited to hear whether she was right. George Rainsford had taken her seriously from the first few words and had promised to follow up on the matter immediately. From there, however, it appeared that numerous requirements had to be met before the grave could be opened. Even when that happened, they had to wait for the experts to evaluate what was found inside the sarcophagus. Each time the phone rang, she snatched it up, only to be disappointed.

“Have you heard anything, yet?” Trixie demanded of Jim one day when he called, for what felt like the hundredth time.

He laughed. “Amazing as it may seem, the answer this time is actually ‘yes’.”

“And?”

“The analysis is back. There were two sets of human remains: one consistent with the original occupant who died at age 83 in 1887, and one who could very well be Eric Mills. He hasn’t been positively identified, yet.” Before she could comment, he added, “They also located my grandfather’s ashes, still in their original container, and some other thing that the police haven’t released details on, but that Mr. Rainsford thinks is probably evidence of some kind that’s connected with the hiding of the living trust.”

“Yes!” Trixie cried. “I just knew it. Are they going to arrest the accomplice, yet? Do we get to know who it was?”

“From what I understand, you’ll have to wait for that one to make the news,” he replied.

She switched on the television and turned to a news channel, pushing down a surge of annoyance that the story wasn’t breaking right at that instant. While she continued to talk to Jim, she also began searching the internet for references, to no avail. He noticed her distraction and they ended the call.

By the next day, when the news finally broke, she was itching with impatience, but the result was curiously disappointing. The name of the accomplice – Aaron Peter Strickland, aged 48 – meant nothing to her, as she had never heard of him before. Just as Jim had predicted, however, the scandal was threatening to engulf all those around the man. One high-ranking official had already tendered his resignation.

For the next couple of weeks, Trixie kept looking for further news in the media, but was not interested in what she heard and saw. The scandal had become a political one and the result, to her mind, was uniformly dull. At her end of the investigation, there was nothing left to do and the only questions she really wanted answered were whether she was right about the body and why Eric Mills had done what he had done.

Part of that information came to her at last in the form of a phone call.

“Trixie. I’m glad I’ve caught you,” Matthew greeted. “This is still unofficial, and I’m not really supposed to know, let alone be telling you, but I have it on good authority that your deductions with regard to that grave were right on the money.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s really Eric Mills?”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt, according to my source.” He paused a moment. “You should be proud of your achievement on this one, Trixie. You’ve done really well.”

“Thanks.” She shut her eyes, thinking of the night that Jonesy had tried to burn down the house. “There were a few things I’d do differently, given the chance, but I’m happy with the result overall.”

“We can all only do the best as we know it at the time,” he reminded her, in a low voice. “Oh, and one thing: I didn’t tell you this, but your telling them where to find the body had an unexpected result. It seems that Eric Mills was holding something over the person who helped him with the cover-up, and that the evidence was with the body. I’d guess they never thought that anyone would think to look for a body in a cemetery. The police were very happy to find it, though. It will help their case considerably.”

“That’s… great, I guess,” she answered. “I’m glad that it’s all working out.”

“Thanks to you, Trixie.” He chuckled. “I never know what you’re going to turn up next.”

She smiled. “Neither do I, Mr. Wheeler, but that’s the way I like it.”

The scandal faded out of the news, replaced by other tales of corruption and disaster. On one occasion, it briefly emerged again, when the police traced the purchase of the incendiary to Frank Marshall, only to disappear altogether. Mr. Wheeler’s business contacts allowed him to find out that Marshall’s business was likely to trade through the difficulty without much long-term impact. Every so often, Jim received a progress report from George Rainsford and he would call to pass the information on to Trixie.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” he told her on one of these occasions. “A few weeks, at most, Mr. Rainsford thinks.”

“That’s great, Jim. It feels like it’s taken forever for them to sort this out. Am I glad I’m not a lawyer!”

“And yet you have the patience and tenacity to keep at a mystery until it’s solved.” Before she could comment, he went on. “And speaking of mysteries, George Rainsford told me that your last question has been answered, after a fashion.”

“Eric Mills’ motive?” She sat up straighter. “What do you mean, ‘after a fashion’?”

“Well, it depends on whether you’ll accept indirect evidence.”

She dropped onto the sofa and tucked her feet underneath herself. “Since he’s dead – and he didn’t bother to write out a full confession – I don’t see what other kind there might be.”

“I guess not.” He paused a moment. “This is in confidence, you understand? Mr. Rainsford told me that they’ve come across a copy of the trust documents with some, shall we say, annotations.”

Her eyebrows rose. “What sort of annotations?”

“I didn’t hear the exact wording; I think Mr. Rainsford was editing for my ears. The implication, however, is that the writer thought that my father was ungrateful and undeserving, had abandoned my grandfather in his hour of need and that there are ties that are stronger than blood.”

Trixie considered her relationship to the other Bob-Whites and had to agree with the last part. “And Eric Mills wrote all that?”

“Probably. It’s not signed, of course. The writing, apparently, looks right for it to have been Eric. I think it makes sense, too, in a way.”

“It’s what he would want to believe, I’d guess,” she agreed. “Not George’s fault, but the unknown son’s. It’s always easier to blame the stranger, but in this case I think the blame lay on both sides.”

“Yes, I think so, too.” He sighed. “I’ll be glad when this is all over. I’m getting to really dislike Eric Mills.”

Trixie laughed. “Who’s blaming the stranger now?”

On the day that Jim finally received the keys to the house, he invited the other Bob-Whites to go with him on his first visit. Dan declined the invitation without giving a reason and Brian’s study commitments overwhelmed everything else, but the rest accepted with relish. They chatted companionably through the drive there, but fell into an easy silence as they neared their destination. Jim parked his car outside the grounds and they all got out.

None of them spoke as they walked across the overgrown yard. Honey and Diana slowed down to choose the easiest path, while Mart stood near the gate and gazed up at the house. Trixie fell back to allow Jim to approach the door first. As the door swung open, he looked back to where she was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Coming?”

Trixie looked up at the house, then nodded. They entered the house and when the other three had caught up, Jim closed the front door.

“Oh, will you just look at this!” Di cried, gesturing to the staircase. “Can’t you imagine ladies in long gowns walking down there?”

“Yes!” Honey answered, with equal enthusiasm. “We should hold a costume party here. How many bedrooms are there? We could make it a house party, but then invite some others, too.”

The pair began to ascend, talking all the way.

“It seems you’re about to host a large gathering,” Mart observed to Jim. “Do you think they’ll wait for you to agree before they send out the invitations?”

Jim chuckled. “Probably not. I just hope they invite me; it sounds like fun.”

Mart nodded. “Well, I promised Brian I’d take some photos for him to see, since he couldn’t be here in person. I might start over that way.”

He wandered off in another direction, leaving Jim and Trixie alone in the entrance hall.

“You know, it’s nice to actually see inside,” Jim noted, as they wandered through the same archway that she and Dan had gone through in the dark. At Trixie’s guilty start, he added, “I know you’ve already seen it – Dan told me what happened and I accept that it was the best course of action available at the time.”

“I’m sorry, Jim. You should have seen it first.”

He stopped in front of a painting that hung on the wall and stared unseeing at the abstract shapes. “I don’t mind. I’m just glad you got away from him – from Jonesy – before something worse happened. I don’t think I could have been so calm and clear-thinking.”

She gave a nervous giggle. “I didn’t feel all that calm at the time. In fact, I pretty nearly lost it when I saw the glow of his cigarette coming toward me.”

Jim turned away from the jumble of red and yellow triangles on the canvas and looked at her. His face was somewhat expressionless, with just a hint of distress in the crease between his eyebrows and the set of his eyes.

“I don’t blame you for that, either. He still haunts my dreams, sometimes.”

A moment later, the mood was lost as Jim remarked, “Let’s go upstairs and take a look at the tower. I think it probably has a nice view.”

Trixie nodded and followed him up the stairs. In daylight, the years of neglect and the marks of the occasional intruder were evident but the creepy atmosphere had disappeared. Instead, the mansion seemed dormant, waiting for its rightful occupant to return.

The sound of the piano floated through the house as they explored, presumably as Honey tried it out. Jim opened a door and found, at last, the way up. The music faded once they had passed through.

As they ascended the tower stairs, the sense of abandonment increased. Dust lay thick on every surface, though a part of each stair tread showed the passage of recent feet. The sound of their friends was muffled into nothingness and little noise came to them from outside. The scene that greeted them at the top of the stairs was a poignant reminder that the occupant would never return. A comfortable chair was set in such a place as to best appreciate the views and a book lay open, but face down, on the small table beside it.

Jim walked over to the chair and looked down at it. “This is where he was sitting, just before he died. And that’s the window he fell from.”

Trixie went to the one indicated, which was between the chair and the head of the stairs, and looked down. “It’s a sheer drop, all the way to the ground.”

He nodded. “It was ruled an accident. They think he got up from the chair, felt dizzy, put out his hand to catch himself on that window, but it was open…”

“… and over he went,” Trixie finished for him. “Ouch.”

“More than just ‘ouch.’” He turned to the opposite window and opened it, letting in a refreshing breeze. “But it is beautiful up here. And the way it’s furnished… comfortable, not formal like the rest of the house… I wonder if it might have been his favourite spot.”

“Hence the still life.” She screwed up her nose. “There’s even a dirty coffee cup here. From the brown mark, it must have still been a quarter-full that day – and someone just left it here.”

Jim sighed. “It reminds me of my great-uncle and the summerhouse.”

Trixie shuddered. “Grief does strange things to people. I hope I never do things like that.”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft and a moment later he turned away to close the window again. “Let’s look somewhere else.”

They descended from the tower and wandered through the rest of the house, peeking into bedrooms here and a music room there. Honey had abandoned her pursuit of music and the cover was on the instrument. As they passed from room to room, Trixie saw all of the detail that had been lost to her the last time she was there: the grand marble fireplaces, most with vivid, angular, abstract paintings hanging above them; the richness of the furnishings and the ravages of time upon them; the personal touches here and there among a largely impersonal style of decoration.

Most places showed signs of having been ransacked at some point in the past. The scattered belongings were covered in dust, some of them ruined. In one room, a group of silver-framed photographs ranged across the mantelpiece, presumably depicting the Frayne family, but with little to identify the individuals. After another half hour, Jim called it quits.

“This is just too depressing. Let’s go and get coffees. Do you know anywhere nearby, Trixie?”

Trixie nodded. “Yeah, I know a place.”

She waited near the front door as Jim gathered the other three from their various locations and they stepped out into the fresh air.

“It’s a beautiful house, Jim.” Honey reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’m so glad it finally came to you. I’m sure, if you lived here, you’d be very happy.”

Mart snorted. “You’re just aiming to get him to move a bit closer to home – and to host all of your parties here.”

Honey smiled and exchanged a glance with Di. “You know, Mart, I could suggest to Jim that he rebuilds at Ten Acres. That would be closer to me still.”

“Maybe you could argue somewhere other than the doorway,” Trixie suggested. “I think Jim’s waiting for you to get out of the way.”

“I’m in no hurry.” Jim held up his hands as the others hastened outside.

“I thought you offered us coffee somewhere,” Honey answered. “We’ll meet you at the car.”

Jim turned to lock the door, as Honey, Mart and Diana picked their way across the yard, debating the house’s merits all the way. Once sure it was secure, he took a step back and looked around. Beside the door was a sign with the name of the house.

“Ashgrove,” Jim murmured, running his fingers across the dusty name plate. “You know, I think the name of the house comes from the meaning of the name Frayne. It’s supposedly something to do with ash trees.”

“It’s a good theory,” Trixie answered, carefully. “Now that you’ve seen inside, are you going to keep the place?”

He looked around. “I don’t know. It holds a lot of history for my family… but, as far as I can make out, I’m the only living descendent who actually bears the name Frayne. I hardly qualify as a family, all on my own.”

Trixie stepped back and looked up at the imposing facade. “You don’t know what the future holds. There might be plenty of Fraynes again, sometime down the track.”

A faint smile flickered on his lips. “Maybe. But if there never are, that’s still all right.”

The End

Author’s notes: A big thank you to Mary N. for editing. Your help and encouragement are very much appreciated!

Maple Grove is a place name that is used several times in New York. This one does not refer to any one in particular of them, but rather is a fictional location. I figured that they had room for one more. Rhinebeck is a real place. It is also the location of a well-known ruin, which is reputed to have belonged to the original Joneses that you’re supposed to keep up with.

Yes, I know that I have left some unanswered questions, especially to do with Dan. I intend that there will be a kind of spin-off universe to this one, which will address exactly why Dan has taken this path.

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