7 Never Haunt a Historian Page 18

  Leigh caught her breath. “Of course,” she forced out, the wheels in her brain turning madly. “We never thought about that.”

  Dora shook her head. “Well, I don’t know why not. Mr. Pratt was quite fascinated—wanted to hear all about how Bert built the shed. How he tore down the cabin. Whether we found anything unusual in it.”

  “And did you?”

  Dora sniffed. “If you’d call it unusual for a crazy man in his eighties to live in a falling-down shack with rotten timbers and no plumbing, then yes—the whole thing was unusual.”

  Leigh swallowed. “Theodore lived there? I mean… after the new house was built?”

  “I’ll tell you what I told Mr. Pratt,” Dora answered. “When we bought the land, the old cabin was a nasty, dirty wreck that reeked to high heaven. Reeked of what, I won’t tell you, but I suppose you can guess. Mr. Trout—the nephew—he was very apologetic. Said as far as he could tell, his grandfather and his uncle hadn’t gotten along too well at the end, and his grandfather had taken to spending time at the cabin. There had been a bed in there, and clothes and even some foodstuffs. His uncle never bothered to clean out the place after the old man died—just left it all to go to pot. For thirty years! Mess just sat there until Mr. Trout took over. He paid somebody to empty out the trash, but the cabin was too far gone to be of any use. So Bert and a couple of his buddies took mallets to the walls, and that was that. Foundation was solid enough, though, so Bert laid new floorboards and put up a nice, sturdy tool shed for himself. He’d be pleased to know it’s still standing!”

  “Mrs. Klinger,” Allison said politely, “could I ask you a question?”

  Dora smiled. “Of course, dear.”

  Allison rose, pulled a paper from her back pocket, and began to unfold it. Leigh opened her mouth to speak, but Allison, seeming to anticipate her concern, held the paper out for her mother to see. It was not the map, but a drawing of the area Allison had made herself, with the current landmarks in their appropriate places.

  I’m not stupid, Mom! The girl’s eyes said defensively.

  Leigh cleared her throat.

  Allison walked to the side of Dora’s chair and held out the map. Dora reached for a pair of glasses on the table beside her and put them on. She studied the map a moment, then smiled. “Oh, yes. This looks familiar! That’s my Bert’s shed,” she said proudly, pointing with a crooked finger. “Right there.”

  “I was hoping you could show me where Theodore Carr is buried,” Allison continued. “We looked for the tombstone you mentioned, but it definitely isn’t there anymore.”

  Dora nodded. “Mr. Pratt wasn’t aware of the grave, either. I suppose the marker must have been gone a while now.”

  Leigh’s ears perked. “Archie didn’t know that Theodore was buried on the property? You’re sure? You told him that when he visited?”

  Dora looked up from the map, lowered her glasses, and studied Leigh. “He seemed surprised to me, yes. Though I still don’t understand such a fuss over one old grave. Why, people used to be buried on their own land all the time. Not everyone was a churchgoer, you know.”

  Allison was becoming antsy. “Now, exactly where on here… could you point to it, please, Mrs. Klinger?”

  Dora put her glasses back on and bowed her head. “Yes, well, it was a long time ago, you know, honey. But if the creek runs like this, down past the shed…” her finger trailed over the paper, trembling slightly as it went. “I’d say right here,” she announced, tapping the paper with a fingernail. “The stone didn’t stick up. It was flat.”

  “And what way did the writing face?” Allison pressed. “I mean, which way would you say the body is lying?”

  Leigh cringed. Dora shot Allison a look of puzzlement. “Oh, my, child. I don’t remember exactly. I suppose if you were walking toward the grave from the farmhouse, you’d read the stone head on.” Her thin lips hitched up into a sideways smile. “Weren’t planning on digging him up, were you?”

  Allison’s eyes flickered toward her mother. “Oh, no… I mean, I don’t think so.”

  Saints preserve us.

  Dora chuckled. “Oh, my. Such a delight, you are. Maybe Adith can bring you to one of our phasma victus parties sometime. You might find you have The Sight!”

  “She doesn’t,” Leigh said quickly.

  “Phasma victus?” Allison asked.

  Dora laughed again. “We made it up. A couple of us here at the home. It’s supposed to be Latin for ‘living ghosts.’ You know, like a seance, but with a festive touch. Your friend Adith seems very excited to join us.”

  No doubt, Leigh thought.

  “But I told her the dog can’t come,” Dora added sternly.

  Leigh rose. “Thank you so much for answering more of our questions.” She gestured for Allison to join her. “But I’m afraid we have to be leaving now—my son will be getting home from school soon. But I’ll tell Adith that any time she needs a ride over here, I’ll be happy to bring her.”

  Dora smiled. “That would be lovely. Thank you. And bring your daughter, too!”

  Over my dead body.

  “Thank you for the invitation!” Leigh called, hustling Allison toward the door. After a few more exchanged pleasantries, they exited and made their way toward the van. Allison uttered not a word, but buckled her seatbelt, pulled the map she had showed Dora back out of her pocket, extracted a copy of Archie’s map from a zippered compartment in her backpack, and commenced studying them side by side.

  Her head was still buried in the task when Leigh pulled the van into their own garage. “Allison,” she asked nervously, “what are you thinking?”

  The girl’s small, delicate chin lifted. She took off her glasses and gave her head a shake, tousling her dark brown hair like a mop. “Mom,” she said with frustration. “I’m about to give up. No matter which way I look at it, this map makes no sense!”

  Leigh worked hard to restrain a smile. Allison didn’t need to know, but it was the best news she’d heard all day.

  ***

  Leigh sat down in the chair next to Lester’s bed and stared him straight in the eyes. “I just got back from a chat with Dora Klinger,” she said evenly. “I know that Archie did the same and that afterwards he felt like he’d made a breakthrough. I know he rented the excavator to dig something up, and I know he thought it would be best all around if the two of you told absolutely no one what you were up to until you found whatever it is you’re looking for. But someone else has been watching, Lester, and I know in my gut that that someone is responsible for Archie’s being missing and most likely for knocking you out. Whatever you’re looking for, it’s not important enough to risk Archie’s life or anyone else’s. All this secrecy nonsense has to stop. Now.”

  Lester looked back at her out of eyes that were bloodshot, puffy, red-rimmed, and miserable. After an excruciatingly long silence, he exhaled with a sigh. “I get what you’re saying,” he said hoarsely. “But I don’t know how to help Arch, Leigh. I swear I don’t.”

  “You can talk to the police.”

  Lester’s head hung. “There’s nothing I can tell them. I don’t know for sure that anyone hit me. I didn’t see anybody. Arch never saw anybody either; he didn’t have a clue who was sniffing around. He knew people were trespassing… but he could never catch anybody. It always seemed to happen when he was away. After he disappeared, I thought maybe…”

  “Maybe what?” Leigh pressed.

  “I thought maybe there’d be a ransom note or something. You know, to trade Arch for—. Well, for what he was looking for. I tried to—” his voice broke up.

  Leigh took in a sharp breath. You tried to find it yourself, the night you got knocked out. And now you feel like a failure.

  Leigh had no desire to make him feel any worse. “But no ransom note ever came?”

  Lester started to shake his head, then winced and answered instead. “No, nothing. I swear, Leigh, I don’t know what happened to Arch! He didn’t say a word to me. He wasn’t af
raid of anybody. I mean, he was always afraid that other people were trying to—. Well, trying to get what he wanted. But he never thought of what he was doing as dangerous! And now, just when he finally started to get close, suddenly he’s… gone.”

  Leigh had never seen Lester look more pathetic. She was certain that he was sincere.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said with sudden defensiveness. “You’re thinking Arch found it and took off to cut me out. But that’s not true.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “I never wanted any part of it!” Lester interrupted earnestly. “It was his. All of it. I just wanted to help him out. And no matter what he thought of me, he would never have gone off and left his dog like that.” Lester’s eyes welled with moisture. His voice quavered. “He loves that stupid mutt.”

  Leigh released a long, slow breath. In all the various scenarios she’d come up with, Lester’s honestly, truly, not being able to help the police was a possibility she hadn’t considered. “But if you can tell them exactly what Archie was looking for,” she said with inspiration, “surely it would help. They could focus on suspects who would value the same thing!”

  Lester’s eyes swam with angst. Leigh could see the indecision. “Too many people already know,” he said finally, intently. “If I tell more, it will only make things worse. Put more people in danger.”

  His eyes leveled a reluctant accusation. He doesn’t trust me, either, Leigh thought. Fine.

  “Look, Lester,” she argued. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care. And I agree that the fewer people who know the nitty-gritty, the better. But the police need to know. They do this all the time—they keep certain facts about the case secret, so that when they run across people who know them, it’s an instant red flag. They’ll find out who else knows about it, who else wants it. And that’s the way they’ll find Archie.”

  Lester’s resolve began to waver. “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  A knock and a clicking noise sounded behind her, and Leigh swung around. Knowing that Emma had gone back to the house for a few hours, she was hoping to see the detectives from General Investigations. She was not expecting to see Maura.

  “Hello, Koslow. And Mr. Brown,” the policewoman said formally, extending a hand. “I was hoping to have a word with you. Maura Polanski, Allegheny County PD, homicide division.”

  Leigh was confused. Maura might harass her fellow investigators behind the scenes, but she would never officially interview their witnesses. That would be overstepping in a major way. “Are the detectives coming?” Leigh asked.

  “This is my case now, Koslow,” Maura said evenly, her face revealing nothing. Her gaze shifted to Lester. “Your friend, Mr. Archie Pratt?”

  Lester’s lower lip quivered. “Yeah?”

  “We found him.”

  Chapter 18

  Lester’s face went completely white. “Found him?”

  “He’s alive,” Maura announced. “But he isn’t well. For the past six days he’s been in a community hospital in rural Ohio, slipping in and out of a coma.”

  “But he’s… he’s alive… he…” Lester stammered. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “His condition is listed as fair,” Maura answered. “That’s all I can tell you on the medical side.”

  “What happened?” Leigh begged.

  Maura cleared her throat. “He was found Tuesday night, lying in a field by the side of a two-lane road. Unconscious. The local police said he appeared to have been beaten up and dumped from a passing car. The owner of the property didn’t recognize him and there were no witnesses as to how he might have gotten there, despite the story being on local news.”

  The small room fell silent. Leigh suspected that Lester, like her, didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or horrified.

  “Is he awake now?” Leigh asked finally. “Does he understand where he is, what’s happening?”

  Maura nodded. “As of yesterday, I think so. Apparently he can’t speak because of a broken and rewired jaw, but he’s following what they’re saying. They’ve set him up with a tablet of some sort so that he can communicate, but so far he hasn’t been able to control his hands well enough to do much except hit yes or no.”

  “Are they sure it’s Arch?” Lester asked.

  Maura nodded again. “The local police made a presumptive ID from the photos, but they’re telling me the patient himself confirmed it. Picked out his name from a list.”

  “I want to see him,” Lester blurted. “Will they let me?”

  Maura’s mouth twisted thoughtfully. “It’s family only at the moment. His nearest relative has been notified. But I suspect that once he gets stable enough to communicate better, the hospital will let him decide for himself who he wants to see.”

  Lester’s shoulders slumped. “He’s not got any family he’s close to anymore; they won’t come. But he’s hurt bad. He shouldn’t be up there all alone.”

  Maura nodded sympathetically. “I’ll be driving out to see him myself first thing tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Leigh’s concerned gaze caught her friend’s tired eyes. Maura was expecting the test results from her obstetrician within hours; she had sworn she would have “the talk” with her husband today. Yet here she was, working full speed and making plans for early tomorrow.

  “Nothing personal, Koslow,” Maura said stiffly. “But I need to talk to Mr. Brown alone now.”

  Leigh acquiesced. She bade farewell to Lester and walked to the door with the detective following. As soon as Leigh was outside, she turned around. “Maura, under the circumstances, couldn’t you—”

  “I’m fine,” Maura returned gruffly. “I need to work.”

  Leigh decided to leave the issue alone. Maybe distraction was good medicine. “They do expect Archie to survive… don’t they?” she asked quietly. “Why is the case yours now?”

  Maura’s voice sobered. “As far as we can tell, Koslow, a man was forcefully abducted from his home, taken across state lines, beaten till he was unconscious, and abandoned in a field. We have more than one charge for that, but the worst of them belongs in my department.”

  Leigh tensed.

  “Attempted homicide.”

  ***

  Leigh parked her van in the Brown’s driveway, but did not get out immediately. The sky had become overcast, just as the weatherman had promised, and the wind was picking up. Leigh thought uneasily of the mother dog and pups as she watched amorphous blobs of dark clouds scoot across the sky.

  She wasn’t even sure why she had come here. She felt a need to warn people—the whole neighborhood, if need be, that they could all be in danger. But figuring out what to say to keep them out of danger was less than obvious. As far as she knew, Harvey was the only one outside her own family who even realized Archie and Lester had been on a treasure hunt. And since whoever had knocked Lester unconscious and tried to kill Archie was obviously hell-bent on protecting the prize, anyone else they so much as suspected might be on the trail could become the next target.

  Including herself and her—

  Nope. Not going there.

  No one else was going to know. Period. And no one else was going to suspect that she—or her family—knew anything either.

  She got out of the van. Just as she swung the door shut, her phone rang with an obnoxious cuckoo sound. She muttered under her breath and picked up. “Hey, Alice,” she said with dread.

  “Hey, Alice?” the voice of her longtime coworker, graphic designer, and cofounder of her ad agency barked. “Hey, Alice? Don’t ‘Hey Alice’ me! Quote Leigh Koslow: ‘I will get you the concept for the Rinnamon account by Monday morning at the latest. Really. I swear you’ll have plenty of time to finish the mockup before you head off for that fantasy cruise you so richly deserve. And if I don’t, I’ll be happy to foot the entire bill for it myself—’”

  “I never said that!” Leigh protested.

  “Well you should have!” Alic
e growled. “I swear to God, Leigh, I’m heading for the airport first thing Thursday morning no matter—”

  “I know, I know!” Leigh soothed. “You will go. I do swear it. But I don’t have the concept yet. This weekend has been—”

  “You hear the violin I’m playing? Don’t tell me your problems, Leigh. You just get that snarky, totally undeserved, million-dollar imagination of yours in gear now. Go stare at a bunch of pottery crocks. Drink out of them. Sit on them. Spit chaw in them. Skeet shoot them. Line them up and roll bowling balls into them—I do not care. Just get me that concept!”

  “Look, Alice—”

  The line went dead.

  Leigh muttered some more. Pottery crocks! How could she possibly think about something so mundane at a time when—

  “Archie’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Leigh spun around. Scotty O’Malley stood at the edge of his yard, his shorts dappled with a purplish liquid the color of beets, his hair sticking out in spikes as if he’d styled it with a tub of margarine. “Well?” he repeated, his tone as snotty as his expression. “Isn’t he?”

  “No!” Leigh answered, a little more sharply than intended. “He isn’t dead.”

  Scotty’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “How do you know?”

  Leigh’s brain searched for the wisest way to answer. There was no point in trying to keep Archie’s plight a secret; it had already been broadcast on local news in Ohio and might soon hit the Pittsburgh stations as well. She couldn’t err by giving away his exact location because she didn’t know it. But for everyone in the neighborhood to hear that something terrible had happened to Archie would surely increase their general wariness, and that was a good thing.

  “The police have located Mr. Pratt in a hospital in Ohio,” she informed. “He’s been in a coma. But we’re hoping he’ll be all right.”

  Scotty’s pupils widened and his jaw dropped. He let out a completely inappropriate expletive. “What happened to him? Did the ghosts maul him? Did he have, like, that green ecto-slime stuff all over him?”