The Scent of Heather Read online

  Despite her efforts, however, Rebecca refused to behave; she just became wilder and more unmanageable in everything she did. Rebecca was spoiled rotten and Maggie fell into the trap and spoiled her as much as everyone else did even though she hated her.

  Of course, she told herself she spoiled Rebecca because Rebecca was weak and needed to be spoiled. Maggie was strong and independent and could afford to spoil someone who could not look out for herself. She misinterpreted her responsibility as love for her sister, and when their parents died, Maggie became Rebecca’s “parent.”

  Thank God for Rod. He was the one who made her see what true love was really like. Rod made her forget Rebecca and live for herself for a time. Even though it was Rebecca who brought her and Rod together originally, Maggie still hated her, but she was glad Rebecca thought Rod so dull and uninteresting. It gave Maggie the opportunity to call herself to Rod’s attention.

  After they fell in love and married, Rebecca decided that Rod wasn’t all that boring a man after all. She set her cap for him again, and won him back. He succumbed to Rebecca’s persuasions and charms.

  Maggie would win him back again, True, Rod was weak, but it was because of his weakness that Maggie adored him. She felt she was strong enough for both of them. Regardless of what he’d done, she would forgive him for doing anything because she loved him more than life itself. She would overlook anything just to be back in his arms again.

  She hugged herself and closed her eyes, thinking of Rod’s strength, the passion in his kisses, the deep need he had for her.

  A scream followed by a loud, crashing noise brought her to her feet. It came from somewhere far at the back of the house. It had sounded like a woman’s scream, but Maggie could not be certain. Had Rebecca come back? Or perhaps it was Rod. The thought that he might be back and might have fallen into trouble again made her forget fear or caution. She ran out of the room, toward the kitchen.

  The kitchen was empty. Her eyes wandered over near the stove where she half expected to see the limp, lifeless body of poor Sophie huddled on the floor. The events of that night seemed to be repeating themselves.

  Maggie noticed that the cellar door was open. The bulb Mr. Babcock had replaced was burning.

  “Rod,” she called softly. She felt no fear, no apprehension, just an eagerness to be in her husband’s arms again. She was positive he was here; she could feel his presence now.

  No answer. Not a sound.

  He was here, though, Maggie told herself. She could almost hear his breathing. It had to be Rod. Rebecca was with David.

  “Rod. If you’re here, answer me. Rebecca told me everything,” she lied. She hesitated for a moment, waiting anxiously for his voice. When it didn’t come she started down the steps.

  “Rod. It’s Maggie. It’s all right, darling. Please answer me.”

  Maggie walked cautiously between the crates and barrels, peering to the right and to the left, searching behind anything large enough to conceal a person. She walked until she came face to face with the far wall—the wall that held the bricked-up doorway, the wall against which Heather Lambert’s portrait had leaned these many years.

  She gasped when she saw a figure lying under a pile of fallen bricks. “Rod!” Maggie screamed as she raced toward the bricks and began throwing them off the half-buried body. When she saw the face she recoiled. It wasn’t Rod’s face.

  “Mrs. Johnston!” Maggie exclaimed as she stared at the lifeless body.

  Mrs. Johnston was dead. Maggie knew that before she touched the body. The head, a hand and part of an arm lay exposed in the rubble. Maggie felt for a pulse. She did not expect to find one and was not surprised when she didn’t. She knelt there, staring at the body of Mrs. Johnston, not knowing what to make of it.

  It was obvious that the bricked-up doorway had collapsed over her, killing her instantly. But what did it all mean? Why had Mrs. Johnston sneaked down here into the cellar and tried to break down the barricade of bricks? There were no answers to her questions. Mrs. Johnston was not alive, and it seemed she was the only one from whom Maggie could have sought answers.

  Maggie stood up and backed away from Mrs. Johnston’s body. She would have to report what had happened to the proper authorities. She glanced again at the lifeless form barely visible underneath the pile of bricks. Oddly enough she felt no terror in what lay before her eyes. By all rights she should be near hysteria over what had happened but she was not. Another dead woman lay in front of her now, as Sophie had lain in front of her before, yet Maggie did not feel alarmed.

  Two women had died within the span of a day or two. It was strange how cool and detached she felt about it. It was as if she were a disinterested observer of a tragedy that did not concern her. She felt apart from everything and yet she was in the dead center of what had happened.

  Slowly she backed away, gazing down at Mrs. Johnston’s dead body. Then her eyes wandered into the room that had been bricked up for so many long years. The light from the cellar made the inside of that room faintly visible. There was a strong, unpleasant odor emanating from its depths. She remembered Mr. Babcock mentioning the old cesspool. She would have to have the bricks put back.

  As she stood there looking into the room, something caught her eye. There was something dark lying in the center of that foul-smelling room. She leaned forward and peered into the dimness. There on the floor lay the skeleton of a human being. A gasp caught in Maggie’s throat. The skeleton was draped in a man’s suit and the bones seemed to gleam in the darkness as though lit from within.

  Maggie wondered who it could be. She glanced from the skeleton to Mrs. Johnston. The woman obviously knew there was a skeleton behind that brick barricade and was trying to reach it for some reason or other. Why? What had Mrs. Johnston to do with this long-since dead man? It had to have been a man, Maggie told herself. But who?

  She mustered up her courage and stepped over the pile of bricks underneath which Mrs. Johnston lay in death. Maggie’s hands were trembling slightly as she touched the molding suit jacket that covered the upper torso of the skeleton, carefully keeping her eyes averted from the deep, blank holes that once had held eyes. There was no wallet, no means of identification, she found. But her search of the pockets was not completely unrewarding. In the inside pocket of the suit jacket her hand touched something crisp and old. She extracted a folded piece of paper. Maggie turned toward the light and carefully undid the folds. It was a letter.

  Dearest,

  I must talk with you. The doctors say Heather will recover. She should be home within the week. If you persist in staying with her I swear I will try again. Next time I will succeed. I love you too much to let you go. Take me away, please. I’ll come tomorrow night. I can be there and return here before Heather misses me. I should arrive about nine o’clock.

  Be there or I will not be responsible for what I do if you are not.

  Edwina

  “Edwina?” Maggie said. She knew no one named Edwina, yet she had heard the name somewhere before. Who was Edwina and who was this man?

  She looked again at the skeleton. There was a ring on the right hand. The ring, like the name Edwina, was familiar. It was a bit feminine for a man, she thought. She looked more closely at it. In the very center of the design Maggie saw the name “Heather” engraved on a sprig of golden heather.

  “Louis Lambert,” Maggie said as she stared at the ring. It was the very ring she’d seen in the portrait of Heather’s husband, the one that was hanging on the living room wall. She remembered David telling her that Heather had had that ring designed to look like a sprig of heather so that her husband could never forget her.

  “So he did not run off and abandon her. He was here all the time. Poor Heather,” Maggie said with a sigh.

  But Heather never knew he was here. The diary...Heather’s diary. Heather believed her husband had left the house and her.

  And Edwina? The name was in the diary; that’s where she’d seen it.

  She glanced a
gain at the letter. “Edwina,” she said as she let her eyes move toward the dead body of Mrs. Johnston. Her mind began to click. Was Mrs. Johnston the author of this incriminating letter? She obviously knew of the existence of Louis Lambert’s skeleton. Did she know also of the existence of this letter? Was that why she had tried to knock down the bricks—in order to recover this damning piece of evidence?

  But why? Why now, after all these years?

  Of course, Maggie thought suddenly. David had mentioned that the people from the state highway department had purchased the house and it was to be inspected and torn down eventually. In razing it the skeleton would certainly be found, as would be the letter. If Edwina had killed Louis Lambert and had hidden him behind that brick barricade, her crime would be discovered after all these years.

  Things were beginning to make sense of a sort, Maggie thought...rather, things would make sense if Mrs. Johnston’s name was Edwina.

  She would have to find out. It shouldn’t be difficult. Slowly she slipped out of the awful-smelling room, stepped over the pile of bricks and went across the cellar toward the stairs and the telephone in the hall above.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Rebecca sat huddled in the far corner of the front seat of the car.

  The wind was making a racket around them as David drove slowly, picking his way cautiously around the branches and other litter that was strewn on the road. The sky was black as pitch, like an overhanging shadow of doom.

  “I don’t know why you have to drive back to Pinebrook tonight,” Rebecca said. “I wanted to stay in San Francisco for a few days.”

  “Sorry, love. It can’t be helped. Business first, you know.”

  “Business,” Rebecca said with a sneer. “Is that all you can think about? Besides, what possible business do you have to take care of this time of night?”

  “I told you. I can’t take any time off right now. I have that council meeting about the state land deal first thing in the morning.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “As it is, I should not have taken today off. This deal is important. It means a lot to me.”

  Rebecca continued to sulk. “I suppose the deal is more important than me?”

  David smiled tolerantly. “Nothing is more important than you, Rebecca, but you must be sensible. We can’t live on love, you know. I’ve got to make money.”

  “I have money.”

  “You won’t have it long by the way you keep throwing it around.”

  Rebecca gave him a cold look. “Men. You’re all alike.”

  David continued his tolerant smile. “Ah, but where would you be without us?”

  Rebecca slumped lower in the seat. She stared out at the blustery night. A sign told her they were entering the town of Pinebrook.

  Pinebrook,” she said, almost to herself. She glanced over at David. “How long is this business going to take tomorrow?”

  David shrugged. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

  “I hope you don’t expect me to sit around that room of yours all day.”

  “I said I didn’t think it would take long.”

  “Well,” Rebecca said straightening in the seat. “I’ll take my car and drive back to San Francisco and wait for you there.” She fiddled with one of the several gold bracelets on her wrist. “I hate this dumb town,” she said as they passed some of the outlying buildings.

  “Well, I’m afraid you’re stuck with it for awhile at least,” David said.

  Rebecca snapped her head around and scowled at him. “I thought you said we’d live in San Francisco.”

  David tightened his hands on the wheel. “Not immediately,” he said. “I can’t just shut down the business and fly off like a bird.”

  “Why not?”

  “Rebecca, be sensible.” He shot her a quick glance. “I said we’d live in San Francisco, but I thought you realized that I would have to make arrangements to sell the business and lay some plans for the future. That’s why this council meeting tomorrow is so important. These guys from the state can be a great help to me in the future.”

  “I have no intention of staying in Pinebrook any longer than tonight. And if you love me as much as you say you do, you’ll meet me in San Francisco after your stupid meeting tomorrow.”

  “Rebecca, be sensible.”

  Rebecca gave an exasperated sigh. “And I thought you were going to be a barrel of laughs.”

  David shook his head as he pulled the car up in front of Mrs. Johnston’s house. “I am, you must remember, a business man first. I have responsibilities.”

  “Your first responsibility should be to me.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “Please, Rebecca,” he said patiently. “You have got to understand that I can’t just rush off half cocked. I’ve got to see the council tomorrow and that’s that.”

  Rebecca pulled her hand away from his. “Is it the council you have to see or is it my sister?”

  “Really, Rebecca. You’re being childish.”

  “Am I, David? You’ve been thinking about Maggie all day...you’ve mentioned her often enough.”

  “The only time I mentioned Maggie was when I told you I didn’t think you should have run off like that without telling her. She’ll be worried sick about you. You should at least telephone her.”

  “I have nothing to say to my sister. And neither have you.”

  To her surprise David laughed. “Your jealousy is showing, my pet.”

  She shot him an angry look. “You bore me, David.”

  He shrugged indifferently. “So I bore you. Come on, let’s go inside before we get blown away.” When Rebecca didn’t make a move he said, “Do I bore you too much for you to stay here with me tonight?”

  She glowered at him for a moment but didn’t speak. She’d made a mistake about David. He was just like Maggie, all stodgy and dull and straight as an arrow. How could she have thought herself in love with this small-town Lothario? He had about as much spark as a wet log. What a fool she’d been to let herself get entangled with him.

  Well, it wasn’t too late to untangle herself. She’d made a mistake thinking David was the man for her. Besides, she found out he wasn’t as wealthy as he’d led her to believe. He was a fraud; he’d deceived her into thinking he had inherited a bundle. He was just a small, hick real estate man. Sure he was just about the best-looking guy she’d ever seen, but looks were a dime a dozen. She could buy looks if she wanted just that in a man.

  She got out of the car. “I left a coat in your room,” she said. “I’d like to get it. Then I intend to drive back to the city.”

  “Tonight? Are you nuts?”

  “No, I’m not nuts, David...very sensible. Isn’t that what you said I should be, sensible?”

  “You can’t drive all the way back there tonight. This wind is treacherous. There’s a storm brewing.”

  “I’ve driven in worse weather.” She hurried up the walk and onto the porch. At the door she turned and waited for David to unlock it for her. When he did she hurried inside and started up the stark white staircase.

  “Is that you, David?” Mr. Johnston called from the living room.

  David and Rebecca exchanged looks. “Yes,” he called as he handed Rebecca the keys to his room. She hurried on up the stairs and left David to talk to Mr. Johnston.

  “Hello, sir. Quite a wind blowing up outside.”

  Mr. Johnston sat in his wheelchair in the doorway. He looked to be in a highly agitated state. He motioned quickly and wheeled himself back into the living room. David followed.

  “Yes, David, it’s pretty wild outside from what I can tell by sitting here at the window. It worries me. Mrs. Johnston’s out there someplace. She should have been back a long time ago.” He fidgeted in his chair.

  “Where did she go?”

  Mr. Johnston turned and rolled his chair over to the window. “She said she had some business that couldn’t wait. She’s been gone almost three hours.” He shook his head anxiously from side to side. “I
told her to forget it, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

  David frowned. “Forget what?” he asked.

  “Some personal business,” he said softly. He lowered his head and let out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid Edwina’s in trouble.” He hesitated for a moment, then raised his head. He looked at David, studying him for a moment and then said, “I need your help, David.”

  “What kind of trouble do you think your wife’s in?”

  Mr. Johnston sat silently for a moment, then, as if finally reaching a long and difficult decision, he said, “She went to Heather House.”

  “But why?”

  Mr. Johnston started nervously lacing and unlacing his fingers. He shrugged, looking like a man who’d said something he suddenly regretted.

  “I don’t understand,” David said.

  Mr. Johnston let out a long, deep sigh. “I’m going to tell you something that I hope will remain a secret between us,” the old man said. “You’re the only one I can trust. You’ve lived here in Pinebrook all your life, many years of it in this house. Your father and I were very close friends. I’ve looked upon you more or less as a son. You’re a good man, David, a man of integrity, I know. I can’t trust anybody else here. Their mouths are all like running brooks that never stop. But I’ve got to tell someone, someone who will help.”

  “Of course you can trust me, sir. Whatever kind of trouble your wife has gotten into, I’ll only be too happy to help if I can.”

  “I never thought I’d ever tell anybody this, but you see I’m worried sick about Edwina. I just know something’s happened to her. I’d go to Heather House myself if it weren’t for this blasted wheelchair.”

  David saw the fear in his eyes, the quiver on his mouth. “Calm yourself, Mr. Johnston. Surely your wife isn’t in any kind of danger. Why don’t I call Mrs. Garrison at Heather House? If your wife is there Maggie will know if she’s all right or not.”