Dark Places: From the Ashes

Part Four

“So, Trixie, how is the investigation going?” Matt Wheeler asked. He had invited Trixie to his office for an informal review. “Have you come up with all the answers Jim asked for?”

She hesitated a moment. “Most of them. He got quite a lot of his answers without my help. Mr. Rainsford actually did most of the work.”

He seemed to understand the subtext of disappointment in her words. “But you showed him where to look.”

“Yes, I guess I did.” She frowned. “But I got that by chance, too.”

“A chance that happened because you had put the effort in earlier.” He smiled. “You don’t have to be self-deprecating, Trixie. I know that you’ve put a lot of work into this.”

She nodded her thanks.

“So, what have you found? Other than an impending scandal, I mean.”

“Lots of things I didn’t expect,” she answered, and began outlining the connection between Frank Marshall and Jonesy, and how it led to the connection to the Frayne family.

“I had often wondered how Jim’s step-father came onto the scene.” A hint of sadness came into his eyes. “There didn’t seem to be any way to find out, since Jim didn’t know.”

“Yes, that was one of the more surprising things I found – other than the house, of course.”

“You mean, the house at Maple Grove?” he asked, frowning.

“No, Ashgrove. They’ve got a bit of a tree theme going,” Trixie noted with a grin.

Matt Wheeler did not look amused; instead, he seemed thunderstruck. “Maple Grove. Ashgrove. That’s the thing I was trying to remember!”

“The tree theme?” she asked, confused.

He turned to look her in the face. “Our school had a big anniversary celebration not all that long after we graduated – maybe one or two years later. It was the last time I saw Win Frayne, actually. He and I talked for a good long while about what had been happening in our lives and he mentioned to me that he’d recently gotten in touch with a long-lost relative. He also told me that he was in line to inherit a property of some value, but that he was considering refusing the legacy.”

Trixie’s eyes widened. “Did he mention the name Ashgrove?”

“I don’t recall. But I do remember him talking about the irony of a place with ‘grove’ in the name, but not a tree in sight – and that if he did inherit, the first thing he’d do would be to rectify that.”

“And would Frank Marshall have been there? Could he have overheard something?”

“It’s possible. I don’t specifically remember seeing or talking to him. But it was roughly thirty years ago, now, and my memory is not infallible.”

“And you haven’t really seen anything of Frank Marshall in the intervening time, either?”

“No. I understand he moved to England around that time and that he’s only returned recently. That’s what I was told when I enquired about him, anyway. He’s only just taken over the family business in the last few months.”

“So he’d be extra anxious to keep his reputation clean,” she mused. “And Jonesy is taking advantage of that.”

“That would be plausible.” His eyes twinkled. “Don’t worry about that side of things, Trixie. Frank Marshall will just have to reap what he has sown – we all do.”

She nodded. “That’s a great way of looking at things. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Do that. And remember that you’ve sown lots of good things for this investigation. The results will come; you just have to wait.”

A smile spread across her face. “Waiting’s not my strong point, but I’ll do my best.”

The following Friday, Trixie arrived home from work to find a note pushed under her door:

ASHGROVE. TONIGHT. J WILL BE THERE.

She frowned at it for a long moment, wondering whether “J” meant Jonesy, or Jim, then made her decision. Dropping her handbag onto the floor, she headed for the bedroom, where she dressed in dark, comfortable clothes and shoes. Next, she stopped in the kitchen and made a hasty snack to eat on the way.

At the door, she noticed her bag and rummaged in it for a moment, pulling out only a small amount of cash to take with her. She locked the door behind her and was gone again less than ten minutes after she had arrived.

The weariness from the end of the work day had vanished, to be replaced by an underlying excitement. Something was happening, at last. She got in the car and drove non-stop to Rhinebeck, not even thinking about what she would do when she got there until she was nearly there. She found a place to park, well out of sight of the house, and began the rather long walk in the twilight.

Reaching the edge of the property, she stood for a minute or two, watching for any sign of other people around. Not even a passing car disturbed the evening stillness. Lights shone from the windows of the nearest house, but the occupants must be safely inside.

For the next ten minutes, Trixie explored the grounds as best she could, finding no sign of anyone else. She chose a spot near one of the front corners of the house, where a large and messy shrub sprawled, and settled down to wait. In the gathering gloom, she knew that she would soon disappear from sight, but any new arrivals from the direction of the road would be easily seen.

During the first hour of her wait, Trixie wondered whether there were other ways of approach that she had missed. One of her feet went to sleep and she had a difficult time re-establishing the circulation without a lot of movement and sound. Mosquitoes bit her. Some kind of night creature made noises that seemed to be right next to her head.

The second hour brought the conviction that her apartment was being robbed as she sat there waiting, alone, in the dark. She had at first suspected that the note had been written by Dan, but now she was sure it was from Jonesy himself and that he was at that moment helping himself to the leftover Chinese in her fridge and putting his dirty feet on her table. The image of his contracting food poisoning from the week-old fried rice was the only thing that kept her at her station.

As more time passed, she thought of more and more reasons why she should not be there. Further, she conjured motives for an absurd variety of people to have written her that note. Everyone from her mother to Frank Marshall seemed to be capable of having sent her on this wild goose chase.

But then she saw a flicker of movement near the front gate and the sound of stealthy footsteps.

She saw the stoop-shouldered silhouette, the glow of the cigarette, and suddenly she was flashing back to another mansion in another time, and the flames and smoke and fear. She felt her breath shudder between her lips, hoping desperately that he could not hear her. The shadows were deep where she hid and he did not seem to be carrying a light of any kind, which made it all the more important for her to be quiet.

Trixie shrank back further into the shadows as he snatched the cigarette from between his lips and tossed it in her direction. She could see the glowing end among the long grass and was seized by the fear of it catching alight.

Only a few steps away, Jonesy was fumbling with something. She heard the repeated snick of a lighter, but saw no flame. In a burst of expletives, Jonesy threw the lighter into the bushes, narrowly missing Trixie. He was rummaging through his pockets, now, with increasing desperation and a matching incoherence in his swearing. She took the opportunity to ground out the butt, hoping to prevent any repeat of the burning of Ten Acres. Around the same time, he seemed to remember its existence and started in that direction, perhaps in hope of lighting the next cigarette from it.

Trixie edged away, while trying to watch him at the same time, and came up with her back against the house. She slipped around the corner as Jonesy got down on hands and knees to search. With wildly beating heart, she cowered in the shadows and considered her options. Her current position was anything but safe; Jonesy might, at any time, give up on his search and walk around that corner. She could not easily return to her car. The surrounding properties and their occupants were unknown to her. In spite of the overgrown nature of the grounds, there were no hiding places that would stand up to scrutiny, should she sneeze.

With a further surge of fear, she came to the conclusion that there was only one sensible option: to get to a more elevated position. The decision made, she moved as fast as she could towards a place she had noticed when talking with Aiden King, from which she might climb onto part of the roof. She found it without difficulty and put her hand on the nearest windowsill, to leverage herself up. It was a good deal harder than she imagined and her grunts of exertion could surely be heard. At last, she heaved herself over the edge of the roof and scrambled up to the ridge. She lay down as best she could, while still holding on tightly.

Footsteps sounded on the path and she lowered her head. On the patio below, she could see Jonesy’s silhouette, the set of his shoulders and jerkiness of his movements suggesting to her that he was angry. She watched him walk along the side of the house, rattling each window in turn. He stopped at the door and gave it a few hard shakes. At almost the same time, she felt a movement beside her.

She froze, eyes wide. A hand touched her shoulder and she struggled not to flinch. The fingers tightened and pulled her back, then withdrew. Awkwardly and with excruciating slowness, she worked her way across the expanse of roof, until she was at the outer edge of the roof, on the opposite side to the patio.

She glanced over the edge. To her horror, Jonesy rounded the corner of the building. He was so close that she could smell the smoke that permeated his clothing. He muttered something and began walking towards her.

Trixie leaned down closer to the roof, holding her breath. Jonesy hesitated for a moment right below her hiding place and then continued on his way. His footsteps passed another corner of the house and in another few moments he disappeared from view.

At once, a hand grasped her arm and drew her back the way she had come. She fumbled slightly, but kept her balance as she and her captor passed back over the ridge to the other side of the roof.

“Who are you, and what are you doing?” Trixie demanded in a whisper, as the other person looked up at the face of the building.

“It’s me.” Dan’s voice was low. “I’m getting us out of here.”

“But that was Jonesy! We’ve got to stop him, somehow!”

“Yes, but not by confronting him.” He sighed. “Look, I don’t want to just let him do whatever he wants, either, but we can’t physically stop him. We need to outsmart him instead.”

She raised an eyebrow, even though he could not see it. “And how do you expect to do that?”

He shrugged. “Just stop arguing and get up there, okay?”

“Up where?”

He pulled her to her feet and put her hand on one of the architectural details. “Foot there. Hand there. Other foot there. See?”

Under Dan’s tutelage, she climbed up the ornate face of the building and had soon reached a balcony above. She turned to see Dan following her, climbing like a cat. As he swung over the railing, she glanced up and behind him at the view of the river, which shone in the moonlight.

“People might see us,” she whispered, pointing. “And what can we possibly do from way up here?”

“That depends where he’s gone.” He peered over the edge and then swung around the corner to another balcony. “You stay there. I’ll be back.”

“Stay there,” she muttered, glaring after him. “Like I have any choice!”

She sank down onto the floor, to keep out of sight, and leaned against the wall. A soft noise from below caught her attention. Peering over the edge, she saw Jonesy at one of the windows, apparently trying to open it.

Trixie started to rummage through her pockets for something to throw, but nothing suitable came to hand. With wild eyes, she looked around herself for anything she might use and she noticed a planter, the plant long-dead, but the surface of the soil covered in decorative pebbles. She took a few in hand and got into position.

The first stone went too far and landed on what once might have been lawn, making little sound. Her next attempt clicked against the hard surface of the patio floor. Jonesy stopped what he was doing and looked around. Trixie debated whether to throw another, or to wait. She did not want him to suspect her position, so she decided to try throwing one just beyond him in the hope that he would look the opposite way.

She aimed carefully, threw the stone and ducked. To her annoyance, she had not thrown quite hard enough. Jonesy turned her way and began to slowly approach. As she crouched against the wall, she suppressed the strong urge to look at what he was doing.

“Who’s there?” she heard him ask. “Show yourself.”

Trixie stayed as still and quiet as she could. She heard the shuffle of his footsteps cease, then turn back in the other direction. Then, movement inside the house startled her. Her head turned sharply, as she tried to convince herself she had imagined it. A man-shaped shadow moved on the inside of the balcony door. Then, slowly, the door opened.

She was preparing herself for a fight when a voice asked in a hoarse whisper, “What are you doing Trixie? Stop that!”

“But he’s breaking in!”

A sound from below indicated that the attempt had been successful. A window creaked as it opened and when Trixie next looked, she saw Jonesy’s leg disappearing inside. She looked back to where Dan had been and found him gone. Getting to her feet, she tried the balcony door but it was locked.

Growling with frustration, she searched for a way out of her situation. She dared not try to climb down – or across, or up – from the balcony, but the locked door was its only egress. She looked in through the glass panels of the door, trying to see what was going on, but nothing was visible.

Ten interminable minutes passed before she heard Jonesy exiting the way he had gone in. He carefully closed the window and slunk off into the shadows at the far side of the house. A further five or six minutes passed before Dan returned to the balcony door.

“Come in, quickly,” he told her. “Try not to touch anything, though.”

She nodded her approval and followed him through the house. Some large piece of furniture loomed over them as they passed through the room and into the corridor. Doors, open and closed, appeared in the gloom, but Dan did not hesitate. Through one doorway, Trixie could make out the shape of a baby grand piano, silhouetted against the windows beyond.

They reached the top of the grand staircase that Trixie had once seen through the front windows. As they descended its wide curve, she caught glimpses of a stooped figure moving outside and wondered whether Jonesy might see them.

Dan stalked through the entrance hall without appearing to look at it. Trixie peered around herself for a moment, trying to take in the details of the sparse furniture and modern art, in contrast to the ornate architectural style of the house. She scurried to catch up as Dan disappeared through a shadowy arch.

Through one open door could be seen a vast dining room, with room to seat about twenty. Another room contained a formal living area. Dan pushed open a plain door and they moved from the showy part of the house into a utilitarian area. As Dan half-turned to see that she was still following, Trixie realised that he was carrying something that he had not held before. Before she had time to ask about it, however, they reached a door.

“I think this one will lock behind us if we go out this way,” he explained. “If not, I’ll let you out and I’ll find a way out upstairs somewhere.”

The door, when it was open, yielded onto a shadowy patch, overlooked by nothing that Trixie could see. Dan pulled the door shut and checked that it was locked. With a jolt, Trixie realised that he was wearing gloves.

“What about the window that Jonesy used?” she asked, suddenly remembering it.

“I’ve secured it as best I can.” He gave a shrug. “I’ll get onto Jim in the morning and he can have Mr. Rainsford check that the place is locked up tight.”

They walked together in silence to the place Trixie had parked her car. Dan led her in a short-cut across a neighbouring property, apparently without attracting any notice at all.

“Get in,” she ordered. “You have some explaining to do.”

He shook his head. “Not yet. I have to get rid of something first.”

She turned her attention to what he’d been carrying. “What is that?”

“Oh, a few things I picked up.” He handed some of them to her. “You can look at these while you’re waiting. Lock yourself in and, whatever happens, don’t get out.”

Trixie gave him a long look, then did as she was told. With the light on, she could examine the items in relative comfort. The first was a gold lighter engraved with the initials F.D.M. in ornate script. Flicking it, she found it to be empty.

The next was a single sheet of paper, covered in spiky handwriting. As she read, her eyebrows rose; this sheet was a photocopy of an I.O.U. from Frank Marshall to Jonesy for large sum, with an exorbitant amount of interest added underneath. A different hand had written on the copy ‘Paid in Full’ and the current date on the bottom.

Before she could look any further, a bright light flashed somewhere nearby and someone began to scream. Trixie dropped the things she held onto the floor and tried to open her door, having forgotten that she locked it. She fumbled to get out, threw the door open and staggered to her feet. As she ran back towards the house, she pressed the lock button behind her back and hoped for the best.

She could still see the light, which flickered like fire. Just as she was about to round the corner which she felt sure would let her see the source, strong arms grabbed her, almost dragging her off her feet. She opened her mouth to shout, but a hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to bite it, but missed.

“Easy,” Dan urged, in her ear.

She stopped struggling until he let go of her mouth.

“But what’s happening?”

He snickered, and the sound sent chills down her spine. “Let’s just say that Jonesy is having some trouble with his car.”

He was dragging her away by this time, in spite of her efforts to stop him. She felt the roughness of his hands on her bare arms and wondered, wildly, what he had done with the gloves. They reached her car and Dan opened it by taking her keys from her. She thumped his arm as he dumped her into the passenger seat, but let him drive anyway. The place she had chosen to park was isolated, so no one was around as he turned the car and left the scene at a calm and sedate pace which was entirely at odds with the rest of his behaviour.

They had travelled in tense silence for only a minute or two when they heard the sirens. Trixie looked around wildly, trying to see where they were, but Dan kept his eyes on the road ahead of him.

“When are you going to tell me what’s happening?” she complained.

He lifted one shoulder a fraction of an inch. “When we’ve put enough miles between us and them.”

Her temper boiled over and she grabbed his arm. “Pull over.”

“Cool it.” His voice was cold and his expression angry. “Don’t you realise how much trouble we’ll be in if we get pulled over? Now, act normal and we’ll get away with it.”

For a long moment, she was too stunned to speak.

“Dan? What have you done?”

Again, he gave half a shrug. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

“Dan.”

A breath passed between his lips. “That thing I was carrying? That was a remote-controlled incendiary device.”

“He was going to blow up the house?” she squeaked. “And you were holding the thing, when he was going to set it off? Are you out of your mind? How did you know that he wouldn’t do it while you had it?”

In the light of a street lamp, she saw a smile flicker on his lips. “Because I’d snitched the remote control. And, anyway, an incendiary is a fire-starter, not an explosive.”

Her heart stuttered. “Let me get this straight. You broke into the house and watched him get ready to set it on fire. Then you stole the thing he was using to set it. Then you put it – where? – before giving him back the remote control. And how did you do that? How could he possibly not know?”

“I told you we had to outsmart him.” He paused to make a turn. “I just made it look like he’d dropped it. He never suspected.”

“He probably suspects now,” she countered. A terrible thought occurred to her. “He can still suspect things, can’t he?”

“What are you accusing me of?” he asked, in a dangerous voice.

“You never answered the question of where you put the device.” She shivered. “That wasn’t Jonesy on fire, was it?”

“Nah. Just his car.”

“Dan!” She could not put words to the things she wanted to say to him. “But–”

“I made sure he was clear of the car when it went up, okay? I’m not that callous.”

“But–”

“It’s what he deserved.” His voice was hard. “And, if we’re lucky, he’ll get put away for the attempted arson, too. He must have got that thing from somewhere and the police will be able to trace it.”

Just as she thought she could not feel colder, another chill ran through her. “But what if they place us at the scene?”

“That’s why we need to not attract any attention.” He glanced across at her, his expression unreadable. “We get away from there and they’ll never know it was us.”

She lapsed into uneasy silence. At length, she asked, “And why did you even get me to come? What was I supposed to do?”

He grinned. “You know I don’t own a car. I came up on the train. You’re my get-away driver.”

“You’re the one who’s driving,” she pointed out, sourly.

“Picky, picky.”

When they had put ten or fifteen miles between themselves and Rhinebeck, Trixie’s curiosity began to overcome the other things she was feeling and she started looking for the items she had dropped.

“What are these things?” she asked, as her fingers searched under the seat for the lighter. “And where did you get them?”

“The lighter was the one Jonesy threw at you. I think it belongs to Frank Marshall and that Jonesy left it there to frame Marshall.”

She nodded. “Those must be his initials. But how did you know that he threw it at me?”

“I was watching.” He went on as she opened her mouth to protest. “The paper was under the incendiary. I think it was Jonesy’s insurance policy, in case the thing didn’t work.”

“That would kind of suggest that it was Frank Marshall who supplied it.” She frowned, trying to think through the implications. “It was a lot of money that he owed. But would Jonesy really take revenge in lieu of getting money? It doesn’t seem like him.”

Dan shrugged. “Maybe, if there was no prospect of ever getting what he’s owed. But it was only a copy, wasn’t it? If the thing had worked, it would have been burned up. And I think you’re underestimating Jonesy’s grudge against Jim.”

“I guess.” Once more, she frowned. “But what’s this other thing?”

“Damn. I meant to leave that outside in the grounds somewhere.” He shook his head. “Too late, now.”

Trixie turned the small metal object over in her hand. “Does it belong to Jonesy? Were you trying to frame him?”

“You can’t frame someone who’s already guilty,” Dan argued. “It belongs to the place Jonesy works now – or worked. I guess they’ll fire him after this. It’s got the name of the company stamped on it. I found it in his car.”

“Oh, so now I’m handling stolen goods, as well as breaking and entering, and an accessory to arson.” She groaned and rubbed both hands across her face, the metal thing having dropped back to the floor. “If the police come knocking, we’re both sunk, you understand? I can’t just lie to them.”

He sighed. “If they ask – if anyone asks – you tell them you spent the night with me.”

She looked down at her lap. “That’s not going to go down well in certain quarters.”

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that,” he answered, his eyes on the road.

Hours later, Trixie was awakened by a phone call. Since she had only fallen into an uneasy sleep around the time she usually got up, she was drowsy and a little irritable. Guilt also tore at her for her part in the night’s events. Some of these things must have been evident in her greeting, as the caller – Jim – immediately became apologetic.

“Sorry to wake you. I thought you’d already be up.”

“Usually,” she grunted, rubbing her eyes. “I had a late night.”

He hesitated a moment, then seemed to let that go. “I’ve just been interviewed by the police.”

“What?” Her heart beat faster and she wondered if he could hear her guilt. “Why? What about?”

“They didn’t actually tell me, but a quick search of the news tells me there was an explosion that destroyed a car outside an abandoned house in Rhinebeck. It doesn’t take a genius to deduce from their questions that Jonesy was involved in it somehow – and to connect the dots on which abandoned house they were talking about.”

She sat in silence for a moment, wondering what to say. “An explosion? Was anyone hurt?”

“None of the reports I saw mentioned it if they were,” he answered. “Are you okay, Trixie? You seem quiet.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I’m just sleepy still. So, what did the police want from you?”

“Oh, I think they were just tying up some loose ends. They wanted to know if I’d seen or heard from him since his parole ended – I haven’t, by the way – and whether I knew of any business he might have had in Rhinebeck.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth,” he replied, simply. “I don’t know anything about what he’s been up to lately and I don’t know of any interests of his in that area. I did tell them I’d heard rumours, but they weren’t interested.”

She was silent so long that he asked, “Trixie, are you still there?”

“Yeah.” She yawned. “I was thinking. What do you suppose it means? What would destroying a car achieve for Jonesy?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. And what makes you think he did destroy it?”

“Cars don’t just explode by themselves,” she retorted, trying to put the right tone into her words. “Not usually, at least.”

“I suppose not.” He sighed. “I guess I’ll talk to you later. I just wanted you to know that this development had happened.”

“Thanks,” she answered, her voice soft. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem. See you later, Trix.”

“Bye, Jim.”

She put down the phone and stared at it for a few moments. She did not know how she was going to get through the next few days. If anything, things would only get worse from here.

Her gloomy prediction soon proved to be correct. All weekend and into the next week, communications of all kinds ran hot between the Bob-Whites and their families. Snippets of information, or speculation, were shared, commented upon and dissected. Throughout, Trixie tried to act naturally and to join in the discussions. To her bemusement, Dan seemed to have no trouble keeping up the pretext that he was not involved.

Late on Monday afternoon came the revelation that Jonesy was accusing Jim of planting explosives in his car. All of Jim’s friends and family considered that to be utterly ridiculous, and made no bones about saying so. To Trixie’s unspeakable relief, Jim had a firm alibi for the time in question.

On Monday evening, the local news ran an amusing story on the would-be arsonist’s ineptness in setting fire to his own car instead of his target and it seemed that the matter would die out from there. Dan’s wish was realised, as the story also revealed that Jonesy had been arrested on charges relating to the incendiary.

By the following weekend, Trixie’s bitter feelings on the misadventure had subsided to a dull ache. She was of two minds over how she should deal with Dan, should she see him, but she had decided to just allow any such encounter to follow its natural course. Her fretting on that point came to nothing, however; she neither saw nor heard from him after Monday.

She did, on the other hand, see both Jim and Matthew. On Saturday, she was asked to meet the two of them at Manor House to review the progress of the investigation. A pang went through her when she heard the request. It was one thing to pretend innocence on the phone, by text or via computer and quite another to do it in person.

She arrived in plenty of time, stopping by the stables on the way to see the horses and chat with Regan.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” he commented, on first seeing her. “Did you forget where we live?”

Trixie smiled. “Just about. I’ve been busy chasing things up for Jim, on top of my usual work and all. We really didn’t know what we were getting into, this time. This whole thing with Jonesy really caught us by surprise.”

Regan snorted. “When did you ever know what you were getting into?”

“True.” She walked over to Susie’s stall and greeted the mare, then half-turned so she could still talk to Regan. “I just didn’t expect this investigation to turn violent. It just seemed so… dead, I guess. I thought everything I was looking for was buried deep in the past and it couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“The past can hurt you when you least expect it,” he replied, his shoulders drooping in what Trixie interpreted as defeat.

She paused, weighing her words. “It’s funny. Dan said something like that to me lately, too.”

His glance was quick and guarded, but she knew that she had made the right connection. His only answer was a slight nod. A moment later, they both turned to the door as a rider approached. From what Trixie had noticed already, the only horse missing was Jupiter. The big, black gelding came into view, and Jim swung down easily from the saddle.

“Am I late?” he asked. “I thought I had time for a quick ride before we meet with Dad, but maybe it wasn’t quite as quick as I thought.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m early.”

“I’ll take him, Jim. You two get out of here.” Regan took the reins, a tone of dismissal in his voice.

Jim’s protest died on his lips and he thanked the groom and strode out into the sunshine.

“Did I just walk in on something?” he asked, when they had put a little distance between themselves and the stables.

Trixie grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said anything, only my curiosity got the better of me. I made some kind of throwaway remark about the past not usually hurting you – connected with this investigation, I mean – and he just looked so… sad, I guess, and worn down, and I kind of mentioned Dan, to see whether that’s who he was thinking about.”

Jim nodded. “We’ve all noticed the strain between them, at some time or another – and the deterioration of Dan’s behaviour.”

She stopped short and turned to him, saying, “I don’t know what to do. I mean, he’s crossed lines before, but now . . .”

“What do you mean, Trixie? What are you implying?”

She shrugged. “I’m starting to think that this is my fault.”

“How do you figure that?”

For a few moments, she just kicked at the path. “Did you ever think about when this started? When he started crossing that line? I think it was when we were investigating your Dad’s hotel.”

Jim considered that for a minute. “He did find out some uncomfortable truths in the course of that investigation.”

She frowned. “Yes, and I think that’s made it worse, but I think the trouble started even before he found any of that out. It was taking him back to that building in the first place.”

“I think, maybe, you’re reading something into events that wasn’t actually there.” He gestured in the direction they had been travelling and they began walking again. “I get the impression that there was something up with Dan before any of this happened, and until he lets us, we’re not going to be able to help him.”

“He’s scaring me,” she admitted. “More than once, now, I’ve wondered just what he’s capable of – which is something I thought I’d never have to think about a fellow Bob-White – but more than anything I’m scared of what he might be getting himself into.”

“Yeah, me too.” He squeezed her arm in a gesture of comfort. “I’ll talk to him. Maybe I can convince him to let someone help.”

She smiled her thanks and they went inside the house. A short time later, they were seated in Matthew Wheeler’s office.

“You’re looking very pleased about something, Dad,” Jim noted.

His father nodded. “I’ve had rather a productive morning. Among other things, I’ve had this office swept for surveillance.”

Trixie’s eyes widened. “Did they find any?”

“Oh, yes,” he answered. “Very cleverly concealed, too. I’m flattered by the attention.”

All temptation to confess her involvement left Trixie in that moment. Whether here, in this recently-cleared room, or anywhere else, there was the chance that she might be overheard by some outside party.

“Now, down to business.” Matthew’s voice broke into her reverie. “I’m sure you’re curious about the progress on tracking down Eric Mills.”

Trixie nodded. “Have they found him, yet?”

Her host shook his head. “Not a sign of him. There doesn’t seem to have been any family or friends to miss him and he quit his job before the funeral. From what has been discovered so far, it’s like he vanished off the face of the earth right after the memorial was carved. It’s fairly clear that he had that done, using the provisions for that purpose in the trust, but he never distributed the rest of the assets, even those that were directed to go to himself.”

“That’s weird.” She frowned. “His actions don’t seem to be motivated by greed – unless he was planning on stealing the lot and something prevented him. Either way, though, I get the feeling that he’s dead.”

“I believe they’re checking up on unidentified bodies,” Matthew agreed. “But there’s also the possibility that the accomplice inside the County Court might have forged documents for him, so that he could take up another identity.”

Trixie groaned. “In which case, they may never find him.”

“I don’t think that’s anything to worry about,” Jim put in. “Sure, it would have been easier if he’d done what he was supposed to do in the first place, but there are ways to deal with the situation as it stands. Mr. Rainsford is working on it now.”

“But if he’s not dead, and we don’t find him, we might never know why he did this,” she objected. “Surely he must have known that you’d find out eventually.”

“I’m perfectly happy with the information you’ve gotten me,” Jim answered. “You’ve done all that I asked for and more.”

“Yes.” Her admission of the fact was grudging. “But we still don’t know why your father had that falling out with his father.”

A glance passed between Jim and Matthew.

“I think I know that.” Jim picked up an envelope, addressed in a large, flowing hand, and gave it to her. “I think it was an ideological difference that caused the rift between them.”

“To my grandson, James Winthrop Frayne the second,” she read. “Where did they find this?”

“In a wall safe in the house,” he answered. “I don’t suppose anyone even knew it was there. It wasn’t even locked. That was the only thing inside.”

“Maybe someone had been inside the house and stolen other things from it already.”

He shook his head. “Apparently, it looked like it hadn’t been opened in years.” A soft smile played on his lips. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

Trixie flipped open the flap and drew out the enclosure.

‘August 27, 1996

‘My dear grandson,

‘It seems clear that I will never know you, and perhaps that’s for the best. I was not a good father and I have failed to even be a friend to my only son. To tell the truth, I don’t even know where he lives right now, or whether you have any younger siblings. He will probably tell you, if you ask him, that I cut him out of my life without a backward glance, but that’s not entirely true.

‘Winthrop was born at a time when I was trying to pretend to be something I was not. My ex-wife, I see with the benefit of hindsight, was doing a very similar thing. She thought she could force herself to be maternal, when it was not at all in her nature. By the time the child was two, the lies we were each telling to ourselves began to break down and so did our marriage.

‘I wish with all my heart that we had taken up the offer made by my older brother James. He and his wife were willing to take Winthrop and raise him as their own, but Ellie insisted that Winthrop would be better off with her family than with mine. More lies. They pretended that he was her sister’s child. They took away his name and defied any attempt I made to keep in touch. I gave up after a while, until the day that I heard that Ellie had died. By that time, it seems, it was too late. He’d been poisoned against the Frayne name. He only used it at school because the school insisted that it was his legal name.

‘But all was not lost. Even after he and I failed to agree on anything, really, my brother James managed to bring him around a little. Your father and I both have the Frayne stubbornness, though, and we’ve never really seen eye to eye. I hope he will give this letter to you when Ashgrove comes to him. The house means a great deal to me and I’m glad that I can afford to keep it. I suppose your father will have it torn down, or sell it off and give the money to some cause that I have no interest in. It will probably pay for saving some useless species that can’t survive on its own. I’m glad I won’t live to see that.

‘I know that James has left you his house and money and I hope that will be enough to set you up in life. The way I’m going, I might not live to see that, either. He’s a stubborn one, my brother, and he doesn’t approve of me at all. It’s been a bitter pill for him to see Ashgrove come to me instead of him, and that only because I had a son and he did not. Not that it did me any good. Winthrop is as different from me as two people could be.

‘And you, my grandson, will probably take after him. I am sure he will never be as weak as I have been, that he won’t give up time with you because someone tells him it’s better that way. He won’t abandon you like I abandoned him. I hope he is a good father, and that you will grow into a good man. I hope that, one day, you will be able to forgive me for failing him and, by extension, you.

‘Your grandfather,
‘George Frayne.’

With careful fingers, she returned it to the envelope and handed it back to him.

“How sad,” she commented.

Jim nodded. “Yeah. Rather depressing, really. Especially when you consider the fact that at the time it was written, my father was already dead and my mother had married Jonesy.”

“Does it change anything, though? Really?”

He thought for a few moments. “No, I don’t suppose it does.” A smile played on his lips. “Though, I do like the idea of planting some trees.”

“Where? At Maple Grove, or Ashgrove?”

“Either. Both.” He shrugged. “Actually, I think it had better be at Maple Grove. I don’t know that I’m going to keep Ashgrove and it would be a waste to plant something that the next owner just tears out.”

“You’re going to keep the house in Maple Grove?” She could not keep the surprise out of her voice, though she noticed that this was not news to Matthew. “I thought you’d sell it up, now that the whole thing is cleared up.”

Jim shook his head. “No. I didn’t buy it for its connection to my family. I went to see it for that reason, but I bought it because it was a good price and in a strategic position.”

“For?”

He hesitated, looking to his father for a moment before continuing. “Don’t tell Honey that I told you first, but I’ve chosen the site for my school and it’s just outside of town.”

“Jim! You promised her that she’d get to see the school site before you bought. She’s going to kill you!”

Once more, he shook his head. “I haven’t bought it, yet. And I’m planning on taking her there this weekend. I’m sure she’s going to love it.”

“She’d better, or you’ll still be in trouble,” Trixie warned, while trying not to laugh. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.”

“You had other things to occupy your attention.” He became serious. “It’s time I returned to my roots. Maple Grove is close enough to the area I spent the happy part of my childhood. I know it’s the right place for my school.”

“And what about Ashgrove?”

He glanced away. “I’ll have to decide after I actually see it. I know from what you’ve already told me that it’s no use for a school site. As for anything else I might want it for… well, that will just have to wait.”

Continue to part 5.