Part Two

The next day was a Saturday, and as soon as it was fully light, Trixie headed out to the shack to examine it more closely. She had already made a number of phone calls and had gathered as much information on it as she could – which was not much. She also planned to visit a few of the long-established residents of the area to see what they could tell her. Before that, however, she intended to see what the building itself could tell her.

On reaching it, she circled around and examined it from every side, pushing aside the vegetation to see what was hidden beneath. The shack had been constructed in a manner that she considered strange, with the lower part of one wall being constructed of brick. Different parts of the brickwork were laid in different patterns. The whole thing seemed to have been cobbled together out of whatever came to hand.

After recording the details on a notepad, she moved to the doorway and squatted down. The light she shone across the surface of the floor picked out a number of footprints, scuff marks and small objects. She drew a sketch of what she could see, then went inside to look closer. She added a few more notes before started on the inside of the structure itself.

When she had satisfied herself on those counts, she began an exploration of the surrounding area. In a few minutes, she had found the ruins the boys had explored on their first visit. She then retraced her steps and followed the path all the way to the road, noting the place where it emerged on Goodwin Lane, just as she had imagined. Nodding in satisfaction, she set off to start her next round of interviews.

Her first success came when she called upon Mrs. Vanderpoel.

“I wanted to ask you about something,” she explained, when they were seated comfortably. “I have a feeling that something happened a long time ago that was similar to what’s happened recently and I was wondering if you might know about it. I asked Moms and Dad and they don’t remember anything that helps.”

The elderly lady nodded. “You mean the rumours that have been going around about you lately.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew!” Mrs. Vanderpoel’s kindly face creased into a disapproving frown. “How could I help but know, with Yolanda Adams wailing about her poor son’s reputation? As if he had any reputation to speak of! Him and his four ex-wives and children with each of them and him paying for none of them.”

“I don’t think I know Mrs. Adams,” Trixie answered slowly. “And I’m pretty sure I don’t know her son.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. He’s a good deal older than you… fifty, at least, I would think. Yolanda still lives not too far from here in her late husband’s family’s place on Goodwin Lane.” She reached over and patted Trixie’s arm. “How about if I start the story at the beginning?”

Trixie smiled. “Yes, I think that would help.”

“Let me see… I think it really began on that dreadful night… oh, it must have been over forty years ago… perhaps 1952 or ’53, when Gerald Adams went out in a storm to help a neighbour. I don’t rightly recall what they were trying to do, but the end result was that both of them were killed. Poor Yolanda was left with two young children and no income and, of course, it was very hard in those days to raise children alone. The boy was about eight or ten, I suppose, and the girl a little younger.”

“That’s terrible,” Trixie put in. “What happened next?”

“Well, Yolanda did her best, and those of us around about helped all we could, but it’s so hard to raise a boy without a father.” The old lady sighed. “He was a wild one. Jerry, his name is. It was one scandal after another, really, by the time he got into his late teens, but the one that’s being talked about now was surely the worst.”

Mrs. Vanderpoel hesitated a moment. “Now, to tell this part, I need you to understand the places where it happened. In those days, there was a private road that cut through what’s now the Preserve from Glen Road to Goodwin Lane, right past the old Brouwer place – it was half falling down, even then, and I don’t suppose there’s anything left of it now.”

Trixie narrowed her eyes, thinking. “I think that’s where I was this morning. There’s a ruin, but I didn’t see any evidence of a road.”

“No, it was more a track than a real road and it’s been swallowed up by the woods long ago. Out the back of the old house was a shack.”

“Built out of things salvaged from the house?” Trixie asked. “I haven’t had time to check, yet, but if I’m thinking of the right place, the bricks in what’s left of the house look to have been made in the mid-nineteenth century. The construction of the shack doesn’t look like it should be dated to anything like that old. It looks more like 1940s or ’50s work.”

“You can tell all of that?” Mrs. Vanderpoel asked, impressed. “My!”

Trixie smiled. “I’ve learned one or two useful things in my job.” She paused a moment, then added, “The path I used runs from Glen Road to Sleepyside Hollow. I take it the road must have come out somewhere different.”

The old lady nodded. “Yes, further along Goodwin Lane, right across from the Adams house. From there, it wound past the old house and onto Glen Road in between your driveway and the Manor House drive – on the other side of the road, of course.”

“Okay, I think I can picture all of that,” Trixie decided. “So, what was it that happened?”

“Well! One night, one of the Spencer girls – they lived at Manor House, you know – had a birthday party. They didn’t invite Jerry Adams, of course, but that didn’t stop him from showing up.” The old lady’s lips set into a grim line. “Mr. Spencer threw him out, almost at once, but not before he’d caused some trouble. And, then, it was discovered that the younger girl, Vicky, was missing.”

“What did they do?”

“They searched everywhere looking for the child. It was night-time and rather cool, but not terribly cold. May, I think, or September. She was wearing a party dress and didn’t have anything more than a wrap with her.”

“How old was she?” Trixie wondered.

The elderly lady hesitated. “I’m not certain. Perhaps sixteen? Not much more than that. They searched all night, without finding her.”

“How terrible!”

“It was. Not long after first light, they found her locked in the shack behind the old Brouwer place.”

“Locked in?”

Mrs. Vanderpoel nodded. “Oh, yes. The door was locked and the window was nailed shut. The searchers broke the door down to get her out. She was quite hysterical, poor child, not to mention dirty and cold.”

“And what did she say had happened to her?”

“It took some time to get anything out of her at all, but in the end she told her father that she was on the verandah when he threw Jerry Adams out. She’d had an argument with her young man, you see, and she had gone out there to be alone because she was crying. Jerry saw her, even though she tried to shrink into the shadows. He came up and talked to her and then all of a sudden grabbed her. He put his hand over her mouth so she couldn’t scream and he dragged her away into the woods. Then, he threw her into the shack and locked the door.”

Trixie frowned. “So, why didn’t she call out for help earlier? Did they search that area during the night?”

“Not close to the shack. Someone went along the old road and Vicky heard them, but they couldn’t hear her.” The old lady pursed her lips once more. “Then, of course, Jerry had to have his say on what had happened. He claimed that he had not seen Vicky as he was leaving the house, but that she followed him. He claimed that, at her suggestion, the two of them went to the shack to be alone, that later she went to sleep and he could not wake her, so he closed the door to keep her safe while she slept and went home to get ready for work.”

“Closed, but not locked?” Trixie wondered, frowning. “So, where was the key?”

“I don’t think they ever found it.”

Trixie sighed. “Well, it took place in the same location, but I don’t see what it has to do with the rumours about me.”

“I haven’t told you that part of the story, yet, child,” the old lady chastised, smiling. “As soon as it happened there were rumours everywhere and people were divided between believing the two sides of the story. Both families suffered from it, and many people wouldn’t associate with either side for a long time after. Then, just as it all started to die down, another rumour started, that there had been a baby and it had died and was buried in the woods near the shack.”

“Oh!” Trixie’s eyes widened. “But that’s just like this time.”

Mrs. Vanderpoel nodded. “Oh, yes. That rumour was probably what drove the Spencers to leave town and let Manor House sit abandoned all those years. They tried to stay – they loved the place – but people made it so difficult for them.”

“But how did the rumour start?” Trixie wanted to know.

“No one seemed to know.” The old lady shook her head. “It was a puzzle. As far as I know, nothing was ever found there. The girl was a slim little thing and it’s true that she kept to herself a lot after the party – and no wonder – but she still went to school and I’m quite certain that she really wasn’t pregnant. Women know these things, you know, dear, and we would have noticed.”

“I’m sure you would have,” Trixie answered. “That poor girl! Everyone talking about her and lots of people not believing her. So, what happened to her?”

“Oh, she got past it all right. The Spencers spent less and less time here and more in other places and both of their girls made good marriages and settled elsewhere. One of them lives in Canada, but I’m not certain which one.” Mrs. Vanderpoel’s gaze grew distant. “There’s only one other thing to tell about this story, but I’ve never been certain what to make of it.”

“What’s that?” Trixie’s voice was soft and she watched her friend’s face carefully.

“At the time that the second rumour was going around, some of the oldest people would share looks. None of them would ever explain what they were thinking about.”

Trixie drew in a breath. “You think there was something that had happened there before? Something long enough ago that you don’t know about it?”

The old lady patted her hand again. “It’s only a guess, but yes, child, that’s exactly what I think.”

By the end of the day, Trixie had heard three other versions of the story. She sat down at her dining room table that evening and began to tabulate the differences. One version of the story claimed it took place in the early 1950s; another claimed it coincided with the raising of a Swedish shipwreck; a third put the action in the late 1960s. One person gave different names for the main players in the drama. Another claimed that the younger Spencer girl had really had a baby, but had adopted it out. The man who dated the story by its relation to the shipwreck recovery gave more details about the ship than the rumour.

During the day she had also applied for, and received, information on the land ownership from her father-in-law. From the early 1800s until 1943, the land had passed through the hands of various members of the Brouwer family. The next name on the list was a Richard Adams, then in 1950 it was transferred to Gerald Adams. It was next sold in 1954, presumably after Adams’ death. The next three names meant nothing to Trixie and the last was that of Matthew Wheeler himself.

As she sat frowning over the information she had gathered, Jim poked his head through the doorway.

“You can come in,” she offered.

He entered the room and sat down next to her. “How is it going?”

She held out both hands and weighed imaginary evidence. “Well, on the one hand, I now know what Molinson was talking about. On the other hand, I think there’s something else to be found, that he probably didn’t even suspect.”

Jim nodded, glancing over her notes. “So, you have a plan of action?”

Trixie smiled. “Of course. I’m going to go and look up when this shipwreck was raised. That might give me a firm date to work with. Then, I’m going to check the local newspaper for around that date to see if it gives me any clues. And I’m going to see what I can find out about the Brouwers. They owned land near here for over a hundred years. They must have left some trace, other than the fallen-down house.”

“That should keep you out of mischief for a while,” he joked.

“Oh, I have other plans, too. On Monday, I’m going to talk to someone I know about the building materials used on the shack and see if he can pin things down a little closer. I have a feeling about that shack.”

Jim pretended to groan. “I just knew this was going to mean trouble.”

“I don’t know why you’re worried,” his wife answered, smiling. “This is the kind of mystery where there’s hardly any chance of me getting into danger. There just isn’t anyone who’d go to extreme lengths to stop me finding this out.”

For a moment, he seemed to consider this. “So, there’s no point in trying to distract you?”

She smiled at him and shut her notebook. “Actually, I think I’m finished for tonight. Distract away.”

Jim returned her smile and claimed her lips for a kiss.

May, 1997

Sleepyside

“Tell me again what we’re hoping to achieve today,” Honey asked her brother’s wife, as they shared breakfast at Rose Cottage. “I mean, I know you already went over this the other day, but I don’t think I’m really understanding how it all fits together.”

Trixie finished her mouthful of fried potato and set down her fork. “That’s exactly the thing I want to find out,” she explained. “I have a timeline of events and a location to go with them. I want to see how well the physical evidence fits with the theory that I’m putting together. I’m hoping that Nick will be able to help me figure out what’s possible and what isn’t.”

The man in question put down his coffee cup and leaned forward to join in the discussion. “You’ve got me interested, now. I really want to see what you’ve got here.”

“Just don’t think you can dig up everything in sight,” Matthew Wheeler added, as he entered the room. “I don’t want to disturb any more vegetation than is necessary, since it’s gone so far towards reverting to its natural state.”

Trixie put on a serious expression. “Yes, we know. We agreed, remember?”

“It’s just that I have an idea about what archaeologists are like,” he went on, eyes twinkling. “They seem to be curious about everything – which is why you’ll be a good one when you qualify, Trixie. But I don’t want you to dig up my whole preserve for the sake of assuaging your formidable curiosity.”

“Okay,” she replied meekly. “We’ll try to keep the digging to a minimum.”

“I’m sure you will. I’ll be keeping an eye on proceedings, however, just in case temptation gets too strong.”

“Are we ready?” Nick asked.

Trixie nodded. “Okay, everyone. Let’s go!”

Quite a crowd of their family and friends had turned up to watch Trixie and one of her archaeologist friends investigate the old Brouwer place. As they were all milling around, in preparation for moving to the site, Terry Lynch arrived in the yard at a jog.

“Can I join you?” he asked, while catching his breath. “Is that okay?”

Trixie glanced behind him and saw that he was alone. “Of course you can. But… is it just you? Where are Bobby and Larry?”

The teenager’s expression darkened. “I don’t care.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? I was under the impression that the three of you were inseparable.”

Terry shook his head. “I’m sick of going along with their ideas all the time. I don’t want any more trouble and…”

“They’re headed for nothing else,” Trixie finished for him. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain it to me. I’ve seen that for myself.”

He nodded, looking distressed.

“Let’s move!” she urged, trying to get the last few stragglers out of her house so she could shut the door.

A short time later they arrived at the shack. Trixie began pointing out the things she had already mentioned to Nick. He listened, confirming or rejecting her conclusions and adding observations of his own. Terry stayed close, listening in fascination. Many of the others were poking around the ruins, since most of them had not previously known of their existence.

Neither Trixie nor Nick felt the immediate need to dig anything up around the shack, so they joined the others at the ruin.

“Ah, now this is interesting,” Nick exclaimed, as he squatted next to the foundations. “I’d like to see a little more of this, but from what I can make out, I’d say this puts the building back into the early part of the nineteenth century, or maybe the late eighteenth.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Trixie answered, digging through the pile of notes she had brought. “That would match the documentary evidence best, of course, but it’s important for what I’m hoping to find out, too.”

“You’ve been entirely too secretive about that, if you ask me,” Honey added, coming up to them. “I still don’t get what it is you think is here.”

Trixie glanced around at the remains of the house. “Here? I don’t think there’s much right here. I’m hoping that we’d get some solid dating evidence for the house, but other than that…”

Honey made a frustrated noise. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

For a moment, Trixie did not answer. “Maybe?”

Honey shook her head. “If you want my help on this investigation…”

“I do,” Trixie insisted. “I’ll try harder, okay? Oh! What have you got, Nick?”

“I think this is where the bricks come from,” he answered, from the opposite side of the building. “There are impact marks from some kind of implement that was used in the demolition, and a pile of discards.”

Trixie smiled. “Sounds promising. Do you want to put in a trench over there?”

Nick shook his head. “I think I’ll keep looking for now. I want to see if we can find that road, too. Where do you expect it was?”

She pointed in the opposite direction to the shack, waving her hand from right to left. “It should be over there somewhere.”

“Right. I’ll take a look when I’ve finished here.” He ran a hand through greying blonde hair. “How long do you think it’s been abandoned?”

“The house, or the road?” Trixie asked.

“Both. Either.”

She nodded and checked her notes. “The last reference I could find to the house being occupied was in 1928, but the first reference I found to it being abandoned isn’t until 1961, when it’s described as a ruin. The road, as far as I can make out, fell out of use after 1961… so… thirty-five years, give or take.”

Nick narrowed his eyes, seeming to stare at the place where the road had once been. “Okay. Should be easy enough.”

His words were soon proved true. Almost as soon as he began looking for the road, he found it. He beckoned over both Trixie and Matthew for a short conference. Some of the others, including Terry and Honey, came closer to listen.

“I think the best place for the first trench is along the rear wall of the shack, on the outside,” Nick explained. “I think it probably only needs to be quite small – say, a few feet long. I think that should be enough to show everything we need to know about it. Then, I suggest we try inside the house and see what we can come up with. Do you need to prove anything to do with the road?”

Trixie shook her head. “No, I don’t suppose we’d find anything interesting there. I’m satisfied with your opinion on where it was.”

“Is that agreeable, sir?” he asked, turning to Matthew.

“Yes, I think so. I must admit that I’m interested now, too.”

Trixie smiled at him. “Great. Let’s get to it, then.”

They set to work, measuring, marking out and making diagrams of the area. Then, Nick encouraged Terry to help them with the physical labour. The low vegetation that grew right next to the old building was removed and they began to excavate.

“You still at school?” Nick asked Terry, as they worked side by side.

Terry nodded. “Yeah, for the moment. Only a few more weeks until graduation.”

“What are you planning on doing next?”

“I’ve gotten into a college in Boston,” he answered. “I haven’t really pinned down what I want to do, but I’m interested in history, mostly.”

“Well, that’s a good starting place,” Nick told him. He started telling Terry about various people he knew in related lines of work and the kinds of qualifications needed for different jobs.

Trixie sat back and stared at the pair, who were soon deep in conversation. “Well!” she exclaimed to Honey, as she came up to see what was going on. “That wasn’t what I expected to happen.”

Honey gave her a quizzical look. “You’ve found something significant?”

Her friend shook her head. “So far, it’s just dirt and plants. I meant Terry interrogating Nick on careers. I had no idea he was interested in this kind of thing.”

A scraping sound interrupted their conversation.

“Ah! This is more like it,” Nick noted. “It’s looking very likely, Trix. See this? The upper courses have been removed at some point.”

“Any thoughts on a date?” Trixie asked.

Honey giggled. “You’re married, Trixie.”

Trixie shook her head, laughing. “Not that sort of date.”

Nick politely ignored the exchange. “Not yet. It’s definitely different from the main house, but I can’t really say earlier, later, or merely different just yet.”

“The real question, as far as I see it,” Trixie added, “is why they went in the other direction. If they’d gone this way, they would have had a corner, or maybe two, depending on how they worked it.”

Her colleague shrugged and kept working along the line of brickwork. “Maybe the top courses were removed before the shack went up.”

Honey let out a breath. “What, exactly, is this theory? You still haven’t explained that, Trixie.”

Her friend looked confused. “I haven’t?” She held up a hand to quell Honey’s outraged reply. “Fine. I’ll explain it. First, this shack is constructed in a manner that I would describe as… well, odd, really. Look: the back wall has a part at the bottom that’s made of brick, which extends part-way along the sides. It looks like it’s been made at two different times, from two different kinds of brick, in different sizes and laid in different patterns. The second set of bricks match the ones from the house.”

“The first set is laid in what would be a decorative pattern, rather than a structural one,” Nick added. “The second looks to me like an amateur job and is in keeping with the rest of the building.”

Trixie nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. So, Honey, my theory is that someone constructed this shack on top of the remains of some other structure. They used materials from the ruins – which goes some way towards explaining why they’re in the state they’re in; someone started to demolish the house.”

“I guess I can see that,” Honey answered, frowning. “But what does it tell us?”

“It tells us that someone went to a lot of trouble to put this shack here. He did heavy work to build it. He took what he needed from a house that, at the most, had been standing empty for about thirty years and probably shouldn’t have been falling down by itself. It must have taken strength and determination.” She paused, looking back at the ruin over her shoulder. “The question is: why? What reason could there be to build a shack here?”

“Oh!” Honey cried. “I never really thought about that… I mean, I just kind of took it for granted that these woods had buildings in them, here and there. I never really wondered why they were there.”

“All of the other ones that I know of have some kind of reason for their existence,” Trixie went on, “but this just makes no sense at all. The closest house was a ruin. The land all around, as far as I can tell, was woods. It wasn’t part of a farm. No one lived here.”

“So, why go to all that trouble?” Honey asked, in a soft voice.

“Exactly.” Trixie ran her hand over the rough join in the masonry. “They went to a lot of trouble and for what? That’s what I want to find out – as well as who did it, of course. But I have a theory on that, too.”

“Who?”

“Either Richard Adams, or his son Gerald.”

Honey frowned. “Do I know who they are?”

Trixie shook her head. “They both died long before we were born. They lived on Goodwin Lane, just opposite the end of the private road that ran through here. And Gerald was the father of Jerry, who may or may not have kidnapped Vicky Spencer.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense,” Honey answered. “I’d forgotten the name. So, what do we know about them?”

“Not much. Richard bought this land from the estate of the last of the Brouwer family and when he died, left it to his son Gerald. He only owned it for a few years before he died, too. His widow still lives over that way.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “I tried talking to her, but she just keeps on and on about her son Jerry and how misunderstood he is.”

“Maybe I could try,” Honey offered. “If I keep off the topic of her son…”

Trixie grimaced. “Even the shack itself is a sore point for her. But it’s worth a try. You always were better at that sort of thing than I was.”

“How about if I go now? I’m not doing anything useful here and I’m distracting you from what you’re supposed to be doing.”

Trixie gave a rueful glance at the spot where she was working and compared it to the other end of the trench, where Nick and Terry were busily scraping away the earth. “Good point. Let me know how it goes.”

Fifteen minutes later, Honey found Mrs. Adams’ house and knocked on the front door. It was answered by a harried-looking elderly woman, who began wringing her hands in despair.

“Mrs. Adams?” Honey asked, in her most kindly voice. “My name is Honey Wheeler. My father owns the land across the road, which I understand used to belong to your family. Could I talk to you about it for a few moments, please?”

“No! Please, no,” the woman replied. “Please.”

Honey hesitated a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mrs. Adams. I only wanted to know who built the shack, and when, but if it’s too difficult for you, it doesn’t matter all that much and I’ll just go.”

The nervous movement stopped and the woman stopped to think for a moment. “Who built it?”

“Yes,” Honey confirmed, keeping her voice calm and controlled. “I thought it might have been your family – or perhaps it was earlier, when the Brouwers owned the land.”

“No, not them.” There was contempt in the elderly face. “I didn’t live here when she was still here, but everyone knew that old Miss Brouwer was crazy. She was locked up in an institution for years and years. She died the same year that we got married and the place finally came up for sale. My father-in-law bought it, thinking that we’d expand the farm in that direction. He was semi-retired in those days and my Gerald was running the farm part-time and working in town to make ends meet. Then my father-in-law died suddenly and it was all we could do to keep together what we had.”

“I’m sorry to bring up such difficult memories,” Honey soothed.

“Gerald helped his father build the shed,” Mrs. Adams announced, in a cool, distant voice. “They were going to clear a section of land near there and they wanted somewhere to store their tools and to take shelter from sun or rain while they were out working. They started taking down the haunted house, and they cut down quite a few trees, but that was as far as it went. After his father and grandfather were gone, Jerry used to play there, with his friends.” She looked into Honey’s eyes, her expression haunted. “He never did hurt that girl. I’m sure he didn’t. She led him astray; ruined his life. He never escaped what people said about him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a moment, she hesitated. “There’s something you just said that puzzled me, Mrs. Adams. You called the ruin the haunted house.”

“Everyone said it was haunted,” the old lady agreed, at once, with every sign of relish. “Ever since something terrible happened long ago and then, one by one, all of the family either died or went mad.”

“Something terrible? Do you know what it was?”

Mrs. Adams shook her head. “No one would ever say. I walked past there sometimes, years ago, when you could still see the track that went past the front of the house. Sometimes, it was like there was someone watching. It was a creepy place; it felt like they wanted you to leave.”

“Oh! I don’t think I’d have liked that at all,” Honey answered. “It’s a good thing the house is almost all gone, now.” She smiled and took a step backwards. “Thank you so much for your time today, Mrs. Adams. That’s really all that I needed to know”

She walked back to the shack, thinking about the things she had just heard. As she neared it, however, it became clear that something had happened. The excavation had stopped and everyone was standing around in groups, talking. A few people seemed upset, while Nick and Trixie both looked grim.

“What is it?” she called, when she got near enough. “What’s happened?”

Trixie pointed to the place they had been digging, where part of a human skull was visible. “We’re waiting for the police. It looks like murder.”

Honey stared down at the remains, a hand over her mouth. “Really?”

“I’ve seen that kind of damage in skulls before,” Nick explained. “I’m thinking it’s a bullet hole.”

“So, did you find out anything?” Trixie asked, turning away from the unpleasant sight and taking Honey with her.

Her friend nodded and began a summary of what she had just heard, finishing with, “Do you think this might be the something terrible that happened here?”

Trixie shook her head. “How could it be? No one’s found him until now. They can’t have known he’d been murdered, not for sure.”

“Him?” Honey glanced back in the direction of the shallow grave. “Are you saying you know who it is?”

“Well, I think so. Oh, look! The police are here.”

“You’re going to explain this all to me, Trixie,” Honey told her.

“Yeah, I am. I’ll just have to explain it to the police first, though.”

“We meet again so soon, Mrs. Frayne,” Captain Molinson greeted. “I suppose you knew you were going to find this body?”

Trixie shook her head. “I knew that something bad had happened here, but I wasn’t expecting a full-grown man’s skeleton – if it’s all here, that is. It might just be his head, after all.”

He closed his eyes a moment, apparently to rein in the strong emotions he was feeling. “So, you’re telling me that you already know who this is, what he died of and – I would guess – who killed him.”

She smiled. “It’s just a guess.”

“Fine. Tell me your guess, Trixie, before I lose my temper.”

She pulled out a sheet of paper. “I’ve constructed a timeline of events connected to this house. The relevant events, as I see them, begin in the early 1800s when the Brouwer family acquired this land and built the house which used to stand over there. It passed down from father to son until 1877, when it was inherited by Joseph Brouwer. At that time, he was married to Minnie and they had four children: Betty, Claude, Ethel and Alma. Betty went into domestic service not long after that. In 1889, it was reported in the paper that Claude had left town; he was about 21 years old. Days later, his father Joseph died in a hunting accident. When they read the will, there was nothing left to Claude because it said that his father had already settled his share of the estate on him, but no money was missing and no land had transferred ownership. The will was new – made only a day before Joseph died. Then, in 1890, Ethel died suddenly at the age of 19. Minnie and Alma lived here until Minnie’s death in 1928, after which Alma went into a nursing home and stayed there until her own death in 1942. Betty had died the year before. The land was then sold to Richard Adams, whose grandson eventually was involved in the scandal you wouldn’t tell me about the last time that we met.”

Molinson frowned. “Meaning?”

Trixie looked him in the eye. “I think that’s Claude Brouwer lying in that shallow grave. I think he did something terrible and I think I can guess what it was. I think his share of the estate was one bullet, which you might find lodged in his skull. I also think that Joseph Brouwer’s hunting accident was not really an accident.” She glanced away. “And I think that if you excavate around this grave you might find another one, but only if conditions were right. It’s been over a hundred years and newborn babies’ remains don’t always last that well.”

Continue to part three.