Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) Read online

  “Miss Vanderhaven?”

  Lee wheeled around to come face to face with a police officer.

  “My name is Officer Wright.”

  He was a tall man with short gray hair and sharp blue eyes. His right arm was tucked in at his side, holding his cap to his chest. His left hand reached into a pocket to extract a notepad and pencil.

  “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Now?” she blurted. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  How did they find out so fast?

  “It’s about your assistant, Diane Winter. I met you the night she died. I was part of the response team. I was just about to come find your office, but saw you come out. Anyway, your friend’s condominium was broken into last night. I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”

  Lee was speechless, her mind a blank. “What are you talking about? I was th… I mean…why would anyone…why would they…she’s dead.”

  “The entire place was ransacked. Her sister is over there now trying to identify anything that may have been stolen.” He paused for an awkward moment. “Your car was seen there last night. Can you tell me why you were there?”

  “I stopped by to check on something, but I didn’t…it wasn’t me…I didn’t do anything. I just checked on something.”

  Her mind seemed to whir in reverse. Images of the garbage dumpsters, the bird, and the dark feather clicked through her head like a child’s View Master.

  “You care to tell me what you were checking on?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  There was a buzzing in her ears and she caught herself focusing on a small gnat that flitted about the officer’s head.

  “Why did you go there?”

  “Oh,” she responded, focused now on his eyes. “I was at the condo the night she died and I remembered that I didn’t see a certain vase there that night. I just wondered what happened to it. That’s all. I have a key, so I looked around for it, but I couldn’t find it.”

  “Why was the vase important?”

  He squinted in the sunlight making the skin around his eyes crease into little folds. Officer Wright finally became aware of the gnat and used his notepad to swat at it.

  “It wasn’t important,” Lee stumbled, watching the gnat. “I mean, not to anyone but me. You see, I gave it to her,” she lied. “I just wondered what happened to it. Ask Alan Grady. Detective Grady,” she emphasized. “I was at his house for dinner last night, and I mentioned it to him just before I left.”

  The officer took a note. “Did you talk with anyone while you were there?”

  Lee could hardly hear anything because her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears. For God’s sake, she had just lied to a police officer.

  “Did you talk with anyone, Ms. Vanderhaven?” he repeated.

  “No. No, I didn’t see anyone.”

  Lee thought of the brown truck and other neighbors who must have seen her, though. Her car would have been easy to identify.

  “What time did you leave the condo?”

  “I got there a little after nine, nine-thirty I think. I was there about thirty minutes, but I didn’t ransack anything. I mean everything looked normal when I left.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone else?”

  “No. I…” She thought about her sojourn to the dumpsters again, but decided not to mention it. “I let myself in, looked around for the vase and then left.”

  A chill rippled down her back when she remembered her purse and the feather. Had someone been in the house the entire time she was there?

  “Do you think this has anything to do with Diane’s death?” she inquired.

  The officer flipped the cover closed on his notepad and tucked it back into his shirt. “I doubt it. It was probably just someone who knew the condo was empty. Thanks for your time. If you remember anything, give us a call.”

  Lee was sure she should respond, but all she could muster was a mute nod. Officer Wright walked to his cruiser parked at the curb. Lee waited until he pulled away and then climbed into her own car. As she pulled out of the parking lot, she passed a brown truck parked across the street.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time Lee arrived home, she was exhausted. The strain over Diane’s death, the bird, and now her foray into the world of covert investigations had evaporated a desire to do anything that involved thought or movement of any kind. She plopped down on her bed fully clothed, thinking she’d just close her eyes for a few minutes. Almost three hours later, she awoke from a deep sleep, feeling drugged and disoriented. A quick shower helped revive her before she searched for a black pencil skirt and a blue sequined top for the party she’d promised to go to with Patrick.

  As she stepped into her undergarments, she turned to stare at herself in the mirror. The image that stared back was completely unfamiliar. Her skin was sallow and the corners of her mouth sagged, making her full lips look like deflated balloons. Deep shadows rimmed her eyes, so that with a little extra eye makeup, she thought she could go to the party as a raccoon. She twisted to survey her figure, thinking that at least her body was in relatively good shape. Her stomach was flat, and she’d avoided the cellulite that plagued her mother. But as she raised an arm and watched an inch of flab respond to the force of gravity, she resolved to start working out again.

  She’d always kept fit as a college gymnast. Back then, nothing felt better than tight muscles supporting a vault or pinning a perfect landing. She reached down and touched the deep scar that curved along the inside of her right knee with a vague pang of regret. A split second at the end of a three-minute routine − that’s all it took. A break in concentration at the wrong moment, and everything she’d worked for—including a potential trip to the Nationals—was gone. Repairing the knee had taken three and a half hours in surgery and more than six months of painful therapy. The emotional rehabilitation had taken much longer. Now she lived in fear of ever injuring that knee again. Her fingers rested on the raised edge of the scar for only a brief moment before the mental trap door closed shut.

  She finished dressing and grabbed her purse to find the onyx bird. Drawing it out, she turned it over in her hand, searching for the spot that had nicked her finger earlier in the day, but the bird was polished smooth. She didn’t know what type of bird it was, but it looked like a predator, perhaps even a hawk. As she turned it over, the light from above her mirror made its eyes glow again. A chill ran the length of her spine as she remembered the real hawk watching her at the graveyard. Was there a connection?

  She slipped the bird back into her purse and glanced at her watch. She had about twenty minutes before she had to leave. Lee had already set out a bottle of wine to give to Mrs. Bates as a gift, along with a signed birthday card. So, she decided to take a few minutes and flip through the personnel file on Bud Maddox.

  Bud’s employment was uneventful. He’d been certified as a lab technician in Redding, California over a decade ago and worked for an independent lab before moving to Medford, Oregon. Currently he lived in a nice neighborhood in West Eugene, and Lee wondered if he’d bought the home or was renting. The file also listed Emily Maddox as his wife, living in Jacksonville, just outside of Medford. This piece of news gave Lee a glimmer of hope. She knew the Foundation Director at Aurora Medical Center in Medford and made a decision to give him a call the next morning. If she could get an appointment to see him, she might also be able to find a way to look up Emily Maddox.

  Lee parked behind Patrick’s Mazda at the University’s theater just before seven o’clock and entered from the back of the house. A half-completed interior set seemed to rise from the depths of the stage. It reminded Lee of an M. C. Escher painting, with stairways going nowhere, and walls and window units sitting at odd angles. Lee took a seat half way back, pulled out a breakfast bar she’d grabbed before leaving the house, and settled in to watch her brother finish his rehearsal.

  Patrick stood just in front of the stage with one foot on a small set of stairs. Dressed in Doc
kers, a blue denim shirt, and a sweater tied around his shoulders, he reminded Lee of a young Eugene O’Neill, sans mustache. There were two male actors on stage, one in his mid-thirties with a receding hairline, and a young man with thick, dark hair who looked like he’d just stepped out of a GQ magazine. Patrick read a few lines for GQ, imitating the inflection and movement he wanted. He did this off and on for another fifteen minutes, even getting up on stage at one point to demonstrate the blocking he wanted. Then, he called it quits and packed up his script. He turned and saw Lee.

  “Hey, when did you get here?” he asked, jumping off the stage.

  “Just a few minutes ago,” she said, throwing the empty wrapper in her purse and standing up. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You’re really good, you know. Why didn’t you go into acting yourself?”

  He leaned over and hoisted the canvas bag full of scripts and papers that sat on the floor onto his shoulder.

  “I don’t act because I like to eat,” he finally responded, sauntering up the aisle. “C’mon, my car is out front.”

  Lee grabbed her coat and purse off the chair, and they pushed their way through the doors that led to the darkened lobby.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said in a churlish manner.

  “That’s what I like! A positive attitude.” He smiled as he held open the outside door.

  “Shall we? Don’t want to miss singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to the ice queen herself.”

  “Let’s hope we’re long gone before that happens.”

  She swung her coat around her shoulders and followed Patrick outside. He dumped his things into the back of the Mazda, while she climbed into the passenger’s seat. Once behind the wheel, he fired up the engine and took off with a jolt.

  “Slow down,” she ordered. “We’re not in that much of a hurry.”

  “Boy, you’re on edge. You’re not still mad about this afternoon, are you? I’m really sorry about what I said at the restaurant.”

  “No. It’s just been a shitty day all around.”

  She slumped back in the seat as Patrick guided the car past a couple of big university buildings, then turned right to circle around campus. Within minutes, Lee was watching houses pass by her window as they drove toward the hills of South Eugene.

  “So, I wasn’t the only scoundrel of the day?” he tried to coax her out.

  “Hardly,” she half laughed, gazing out the window.

  “Want to talk?”

  She stole a glance in his direction and felt six years old again. Even when they were young, she and Patrick were like night and day. If Lee wanted to go left, Patrick wanted to go right. If Lee wanted ice cream, Patrick wanted cotton candy. But he’d always been there when she needed him. The thought brought a familiar pang of regret, and she turned back to watch the rain spatter the windshield.

  “Martha Jackson put me on administrative leave today,” she said quietly. “I’m supposed to take a few days off to grieve properly.” Sarcasm dripped from her lips.

  “Did it have something to do with Diane?”

  “It had everything to do with Diane,” she reflected. “It happened just before I saw you for lunch.”

  The light changed and they drove on in silence for a moment.

  “I guess I wasn’t in a very good place when I arrived for lunch today,” she mumbled apologetically.

  “I’m sorry, Lee,” he said, glancing sideways at her. “Not that you couldn’t use the vacation, but that’s a hell of a way to get it.”

  “Well, I blew it.” She leaned her head back against her seat and turned to look at her brother. “I told the whole administrative team today that I thought Diane had been murdered.”

  Patrick’s green eyes flashed in her direction, accompanied by a short whistle.

  “I know. I know,” she deflected his reaction. “Of course the first question Martha asked was whether the police were investigating.” Lee laughed cynically. “No chance there. So, I guess Martha decided that I was probably nuts and needed a vacation before I hurt myself.”

  “Consider it from her point of view,” he said, his hands resting next to each other at the top of the steering wheel. “The police have ruled it a suicide and so far nothing points to anything else.”

  “Except the answering machine message,” Lee reminded him.

  “Yes, but does anyone know about that?”

  “No,” she said with resignation. “Well, no one except Robin and you. Then there’s the fact that Diane’s condo was broken into last night.”

  “What?” Patrick shot another glance her way.

  “I was approached by the police today. Apparently someone broke into her condo and ransacked the place. They think it was just a burglary.”

  “Really?” He turned back and concentrated on his driving. “Was anything stolen?”

  “I don’t know. I tried calling Carey before I left the house, but didn’t get her.”

  “Maybe if you gave them your answering machine, they’d start to connect the dots. Obviously, Bud had talked to Diane just before she died and apparently he invited her to Portland.”

  She shook her head. “I still think it’d be too easy to explain away. Besides, I don’t want to raise alarms before I have to.” She shifted her body so that she faced her brother. “Patrick, I need something irrefutable. Something the police can’t ignore.”

  They were in the South Eugene hills now and Patrick turned onto a side street lined with tall pines and large homes that overlooked the city. A few blocks further, and they turned into a private lane that wound up the hill, ending in a circular drive. Half a dozen cars were wedged into the space just in front of the house. Another dozen cars lined the driveway. As they arrived, a black Mercedes was just pulling out, and they slipped into the open parking spot. Patrick turned off the engine and reached for the door handle.

  “You know,” Lee stopped him. “What you said today. It’s true. I didn’t do anything to find out what really happened to Brad. I was a coward then. I admit it.” She looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “Maybe I can make up for that now.”

  He reached for her hand. “Okay, but be careful. I know I encouraged you to do this, but murder isn’t a game. And there’s no curtain call at the end.”

  Lee nodded, and they got out of the car. They were protected from the light rainfall by the canopy of trees. Lee produced a bottle of wine and a card from her large handbag as Patrick joined her. Flagstone steps flanked by wrought iron lamps led up to the huge Tudor-style house where a large arched door looked like the entrance to a gingerbread castle.

  Eloise Bates was an extremely homely woman and devoid of any personality, but her family had earned millions in the timber industry, making her a good catch. Roland Bates had even less personality, but held a prominent position at the university. Together, they enjoyed a reputation as the most boring couple to invite to a campus party. Patrick and his buddy professors took great pleasure in scoring university soirees. When Roland and Eloise attended a party together, the party was automatically awarded a zero. Lee’s eyes swept across the massive exterior thinking that while money can’t buy love, apparently it could substitute for a lack of charm.

  “Well, here we are at the Bates Motel,” Patrick quipped as he looked up the hill.

  Patrick often tossed off obscure theatrical references, but Lee wondered if Patrick knew how close he had come to the truth by referring to one of his favorite movies, Psycho.

  “You probably don’t know,” she said, climbing the stairs, “but Mrs. Bates’ mother disappeared about eighteen years ago. No trace of her was ever found. Speculation has it that her father murdered her and buried her in the backyard.”

  Patrick’s eyes grew wide. “Gaw! You’re kidding. Wouldn’t that be the story?” he said in a fake Irish brogue. “I’ll have to take a stroll in the garden,” he winked, rubbing his hands together and sounding a bit like an Irish Boris Karloff.

  Lee laughed. “You’d better be careful. If you haven�
��t met their daughter, Pauline, I wouldn’t go anywhere alone tonight. The rumors about her are even worse.”

  Patrick suddenly changed his posture to stand up straight, puffing his chest out. “Oh well,” he murmured in a clipped, Cary Grant accent. “Not to worry. We’ll take a look in the cellar and see if her mother has a few companions lying around.”

  Lee slapped him and smirked. “Pretty soon, you’ll be pretending you’re Teddy Roosevelt.”

  He smiled and held out his fist in front of him. Suddenly, he yelled, “Chaaaarge!” and pulled her up the final few stairs. When they got to the landing, he was just Patrick again, saying, “C’mon. As you said, let’s get this gig over.”

  Lee shook her head, thinking that he changed character as easily as most people breathe.

  “Jeez, are you even aware that you do that?” she said in awe. “You pop in and out of characters so fast, it’s spooky.”

  He stopped to flash a wicked smile in her direction and gestured to the front door. “Please, Madame,” he said, the nasal quality of his voice imitating one of his favorite actors, the late Peter Lorre. “You have only to turn the knob to discover what lies in wait. Avoid the basement, avoid rocking chairs, and by all means, avoid taking a shower.”

  He followed this with another evil laugh and received a second slap for his effort. Just then, a young woman answered the door and ushered them through a wide foyer to a small room behind the staircase. Lee hung up her coat and hooked her purse strap over the hanger. Then, they were led into the living room, where an imposing white marble fireplace was dwarfed by a large painting of Mrs. Bates sitting in a blue velvet chair, her hair curled into a tight cap about her head. Lee thought she looked like an older version of Lady Bird Johnson and wondered at the arrogance of having your very large portrait placed so prominently.

  The room was filled with people. In front of the fireplace, the wife of the University President listened to Roland Bates, who had somehow commanded the attention of two other women as well. Martha Jackson stood in the dining room next to a table laden with food, casually chatting with two of the hospital board members from the competing hospital in Eugene.