Mysteries of Holt House - A Mystery Read online

  Mysteries of

  Holt House

  A Mystery

  by

  Marja McGraw

  MYSTERIES OF HOLT HOUSE, Copyright © 2013 Marja McGraw

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews. For information, email address [email protected].

  First Edition, 2001 (Secrets of Holt House)

  Second Edition, 2013 (Retitled Mysteries of Holt House)

  Cover design by Marja McGraw

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  ___________________________

  For Al, Who still believes in me and always keeps life interesting.

  Acknowledgments

  ______________________________

  Thank you to Dorothy, Jill, Al and Susan, who listen to my ideas without complaint, and for their constant encouragement and patience. Special thanks to Dorothy Bodoin, who always keeps me on the straight and narrow path while critiquing my work with honesty.

  Chapter One

  It began with the sound of a terrified scream. So loud, so frightened, and so frightening. It echoed, resounded, seeming to go on and on into infinity. I heard a thud – like the sound of a bag of cement being dropped off the back of a truck. Loud voices, scared and confused. Hands reached out – to pull her back? Or had those hands pushed her? Looking out my window I saw the grotesquely twisted and broken body of Ruth Bell lying on the patio.

  My eyes popped open about the time I decided I should scream, too, and I sat up feeling the sweat trickle down my temples and between my breasts. It was another nightmare, one of many. I’d been having dreams since the accident. There was one problem. I didn’t believe it was an accident. I was sure Ruth had been pushed out of her second story bedroom window.

  I climbed out of bed and dragged myself down the hall to the bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face. The dreams were getting to me, and so were the odd things going on around the house. There were strange and threatening notes, and things were disappearing? How did I get into this mess? I asked myself. I splashed more icy water on my face and it helped clear my head. If there hadn’t been so much time between events in the beginning, I might have realized how much danger we were all in.

  Returning to my bedroom, I sat on my rocking chair and rocked, thinking back to a bright and sunny day when I stopped to pick up a newspaper to look for yard sales. It seemed like such an innocent act, and it seemed so long ago.

  ***

  Saturday morning found me bored and pacing around the apartment. It was a gorgeous day outside, and I needed to be out in the fresh air. It would be a great day for yard-saling.

  Yard sales had become a habit I couldn’t break. I had plenty of money and could buy just about anything my little heart desired, but I was used to being busy. I couldn’t simply sit around and do nothing, especially on a beautiful day.

  The money was one of those freak things that never happens to someone like me except in books or movies. I’d won the lottery. Well, to be honest I’d only had part of the numbers – five out of six, to be exact. The jackpot had been so big that the trickle down to my winnings was nothing to sneeze at, so to speak.

  Now, six months later, I’d bought a new car, a new wardrobe, and was eating good food instead of a steady diet of fast food, hamburger, beans and pasta. I’d been in a high pressure job with a law firm, working long hours, and rarely had time to do much more than throw simple and cheap food together between the job and commuting. The first thing I’d done was turn in my resignation at the law firm. The second thing I did was go shopping.

  However, some old habits die hard, and I still enjoyed poking around at yard sales. It had always been the one activity I made time for over the years. I valued that couple of hours on a Saturday or Sunday to just wander around and look at stuff – junk that had once been someone else’s treasures.

  I drove my car to a little country store to pick up the Saturday paper. I’d lived in Northern Nevada in a small town named Serenity all my life. I guess I knew just about everyone in town, and they knew me. My parents decided to move to Florida after my father retired – sunshine, no snow and all of that – but I opted to stay in Serenity. I liked the simple pace of small town life, especially after a four-year stay in Los Angeles which left me feeling discouraged and anonymous. It wasn’t the friendliest city I’d ever visited. People were too rushed and much too competitive for my taste. And, frankly, all the “political correctness” got on my nerves.

  After paying for the paper, I strolled out to the car and opened it to the Classified Section. Running my finger down the columns, I looked for yard sales. An ad, much larger and in darker print than the others, caught my eye. An estate sale was to be held that afternoon. The idea of an estate sale intrigued me. I’d never been to one. I read the rest of the ad and found that it was actually an auction, which sounded even more intriguing. It was going to be held quite a distance out of town. It would take a good half hour to get there, and that would be on country roads with little traffic. I thought I could probably talk my friend, Sharon, into going with me. She hated yard sales, but she just might be interested in an auction. I drove back to my apartment and dialed Sharon’s number.

  “Hello?” For some reason she always sounded surprised when she answered the phone and someone was actually on the other end of the line.

  “Hi, Sharon.”

  “Oh, hi Kelly. What’s up?” I could hear her chewing something. I probably caught her in the middle of breakfast.

  “What would you think about going to an estate auction this afternoon?”

  “An estate auction? Don’t you mean a yard sale?” She didn’t sound thrilled.

  “No, it’s an auction, not a yard sale.” I chose to ignore her suspicious mind.

  “Where’s it going to be held?”

  “Out at Holt House. You know, that old house out in the Cross Roads area.”

  “I know the one you mean. I’ve heard a lot of rumors about that place,” she said. “I’ve heard they never had visitors out there. In fact, I understand they really did their best to discourage people from coming around. ”

  “I’ve heard the same stories. I guess they were recluses.” I hoped the stories she’d heard might entice her into going to the auction. “So do you want to go with me or not?”

  “You couldn’t keep me away. I’d like to see the place close up. What time are we going?” Sharon asked.

  “We’ll have to leave around eleven to get there before it starts. I want to look around first to see what’s up for auction.”

  “Okay, I’ll be ready when you get here.”

  “See you then.” I hung up.

  The mailman showed up with a letter from my parents. We chatted for a moment before he headed for the house next door. Mrs. Fletcher waited for him by her mailbox.

  I opened the letter from my parents and turned back into my apartment. It was very newsy. Mom loved to tell me everything that was happening, in great detail. And, of course, the letter included another plea for me to move to Florida. She and dad were fine, they’d joined a club made up of people their own age and were going to a club dinner, and why didn’t I move to Florida? The weather had been beautiful and warm, and why didn’t I move to Florida? She mentioned, not too subtly, that there were plenty of single men in Florida.
I finished the letter and smiled. At least I knew I was loved.

  Glancing at the clock I saw it was time to leave, so I grabbed my purse and hurried out the door. I stopped, realizing I’d forgotten to lock the door. No one ever locked their doors in Serenity, but there had been an outbreak of burglaries lately so I decided to play it safe. Big city life was catching up with us.

  I arrived at Sharon’s house, where I found her waiting by the curb, and we began our trip toward the Cross Roads. The area was unofficially called Cross Roads because even though it was out in the country, there was a spot where five roads met, each one leading to a different town or city. Our destination was about a mile past the Cross Roads.

  Sharon fidgeted in her seat, finally turning to me. “You know, there are an awful lot of stories about Holt House. I wonder how true they are. I heard one story about Mrs. Holt being insane, and that’s supposed to be why they lived so far out of town and never socialized.”

  “I have my doubts about the story,” I replied, “although I did hear they were unusual people. My dad used to deliver firewood to them when I was a kid. He said he never saw anybody there, except the housekeeper, but he always felt as though he was being watched while he unloaded the wood.”

  “Did you know the house was built during the Civil War?” Sharon asked.

  “Yeah, it’s an old house. Dad took me with him once when I was about seven years old, and as I recall, the house was pretty impressive from the outside. I remember the housekeeper was a relatively young woman, but very stern looking. She slipped me a couple of homemade cookies, and when she smiled her face lit up and softened. She said something I’ve never forgotten, because even at seven it struck me as strange.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said something about wishing Holt House had normal little kids running around. She emphasized the word normal, and I always wondered why she said that. I heard the Holts never had any children. Oh well, maybe she just wished there were kids to liven things up.”

  We drove on in silence for a while, drinking in the sights and sounds of the countryside. We saw an old buckboard, broken into pieces, half buried by the side of the road. There were cows scattered here and there, looking up at the sound of the car, then deciding we weren’t important enough to warrant their attention, they went back to grazing. Birds chirped from the treetops, enjoying the sunshine.

  Glancing at Sharon, I remembered how we’d become friends. She and her parents moved from Texas to Serenity when we were in the third grade. She tried to tell me that there was a spider on my back, but I couldn’t figure out what she was saying, because with her Texas accent it kept coming out “spadder”. She even curled her fingers and tried to mimic a crawling spider. She finally got through to me and I screamed, and she whacked me on the back, killing the spider and cementing a lifelong friendship.

  From that point on we were inseparable. She was tall and skinny, and I was short and plump. She had red hair – which had finally turned to a beautiful auburn – green eyes, and creamy skin which tanned well, unlike most redheads. I, on the other hand, was blonde and light-complexioned with blue eyes. We fretted about our figures as children, but both of us had grown into relatively attractive women, she being tall and slender, and me remaining short but with the unwanted baby fat gone.

  Sharon jarred me out of my reminiscence as she pointed her long elegant finger ahead of us and asked, “Isn’t that Holt House right there? Kind of spooky looking, if you ask me.”

  “That’s it. It looks like we made it in time to look things over before the auction begins,” I said, glancing at my watch.

  “I’m actually looking forward to this.” Sharon sounded surprised. “I guess this won’t be like your yard sales.”

  “Hardly,” I replied.

  Chapter Two

  We pulled into the long driveway and had no trouble finding a parking place. It didn’t look like there was much of a turnout. We walked toward the house and I saw a few people had come just to see the house. They didn’t appear interested in the auction, but were circling the place like vultures, trying to look through the windows. The heavy drapes were closed which seemed to frustrate them.

  We ambled over to the displays and began looking around. A man who’d been examining a table turned, and seeing me, looked startled. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder toward the porch, then looked at me again and walked away shaking his head. I didn’t think much about it until another man did the same thing.

  “You’re sure getting a lot of attention today,” Sharon said. “There’s a woman over by the porch staring at you, too.”

  “I noticed. Did I forget to comb my hair or something?”

  “Yeah, you should have worn a wig today. I wonder what it’s all about. I’m going to find out.” Her sarcasm changed to interest and she headed toward the woman who couldn’t take her eyes off me.

  I followed behind her.

  “Why is everyone staring at my friend?” she asked the woman.

  “Go look on the porch.” The woman walked away.

  We hurried to the porch, not knowing what to expect. There were small household items and several paintings displayed.

  “Look Mommy, it’s her,” a little girl said. “I thought you said the lady was dead.”

  “Hush, Heather. Don’t be rude.” The mother tried to lead the child away.

  “But, Mommy, look at the picture.” The child sounded insistent and pointed toward the porch.

  “I said to hush!” the mother said, pulling on the child’s arm and leading her away.

  Sharon and I took a step forward and stopped in surprise when we saw what the child had been pointing at. Sharon sucked in her breath. There was a portrait of me on the porch. It wasn’t really me, but it could have been a twin sister, except I didn’t have any sisters – and it looked like an old painting.

  Sharon’s mouth dropped open. “Who is that?”

  “I have no idea, but I’m sure going to find out.” I looked around for the auctioneer and saw him talking to a young couple. Sharon trailed behind me when I rushed over to question him.

  “Excuse me,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but – ”

  “Just a moment,” he said, turning to see who was jabbing his shoulder. His look of surprise was comical.

  “Oh.”

  “Who is she?” I asked, after giving him a moment to pull himself together.

  Without answering, he motioned me to follow him and led me back to the portrait.

  “Huh! This is uncanny. Do you know who this is?” he asked.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “That’s a portrait of Mrs. Holt. Are you related? We didn’t think there were any living relatives. Well, that just tears it! No auction today.”

  “Hold it! I’m not a relative. It’s a coincidence – a strange one, but a coincidence all the same.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said in disbelief. “Are you sure you’re not related? There must be some connection between the two of you.”

  “I’m positive. Believe me, if we were related, I’d know about it.”

  “Could have fooled me,” he said. “Well, at least we’ll still be conducting an auction today.”

  “Yes, I know how important the auction is.” I understood priorities, but he was annoyingly priority-oriented.

  He crossed the porch and started back down the steps, spun around to look at me once more, then stumbled the rest of the way down the steps.

  “Serves him right,” Sharon whispered.

  “I know,” I whispered. “What a bizarre twist. All of a sudden this house has my full attention.”

  “Gosh, I wonder why.” Sharon grinned. “I think we ought to see if they’ll let us look through the house after the auction.”

  “Can’t hurt to ask. I could tell him I was only joking, and I am actually related. Maybe that’ll get us an invitation into the house.”

  “Uh huh
. Like that would work. Well, come on, let’s go look around and see what’s being auctioned off.”

  “I intend to bid on that painting,” I said, walking across the porch and down the steps.

  “Somehow I’m not surprised. If nothing else, it would certainly make an interesting conversation piece.”

  “True.”

  We roamed around looking everything over. Sharon was more interested in knick knacks and glassware, and I gravitated toward the furniture. There was a wild and crazy idea germinating in my little pea brain.

  “Sharon, I want all of the furniture,” I said.

  She looked at me in surprise and her mouth dropped open.

  “Close your mouth,” I said.

  “You can’t be serious! Where would you put all that furniture? Good grief! Look at all of this stuff. I mean, you live in a tiny little apartment. You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’ve been thinking about buying my own home, and I’d need more than what I’ve got in the apartment. I can afford that now, you know.”

  “Don’t brag about your money.” Sharon bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You know I was only joking, right?”

  “Of course. I know how you feel about things. No one could have been happier for me when I won the money.”

  We continued walking and browsing, and my mind was working double-time. The more I thought about it, the less wild and crazy my idea felt.

  “I get it,” Sharon said suddenly. “But you don’t even know if this house is for sale.”

  “You’re quick, I’ll give you that. And, yes, I do. I talked to the auctioneer while you were looking at the glassware on the porch. It goes up for auction next week.”

  “I think you’ve lost your mind. This place is huge.”

  “I’ll explain what I have in mind later. Right now let’s find seats before the auction begins.”