A Ghost at Stallion's Gate (21 page)

I looked at Darren and said, “Also, though I have nothing to support my theory, I wholehearted believe that Trudy chose not to have communication with young Gregory. As his mother, she employed an extreme measure of precaution to protect him from contracting tuberculoses. I know this seems harsh by our contemporary frame of reference, but please keep in mind that consumption, as it was called then, was a death sentence, there was not a cure, and young children were especially vulnerable to it.”

I looked from Darren to the others. “And it appears that Marla and Reggie moved to Baton Rouge because there, in a more accepting culture, they could marry. If not for that devastating flood in 1927, chances are, Marla would have lived as long as her husband. We may never know why that steamer trunk was shipped back to Palm Springs, it appears that Marla planned to visit Gertrude, why else would she mail the trunk to herself, in Palm Springs? And the same goes for why Rory and the glove box ended up in Los Angeles in storage. We could not find a date on the trunk’s crate, so it’s anyone’s guess as to when it was shipped. But I believe it was shipped in the months or weeks leading up to Marla’s unexpected death, simply because she planned to visit Palm Springs and then death intervened. As for Rory, according to Seamus and the storage records he inherited when he and his father took possession of the cold storage property this week, the cold storage locker was in Marla’s name. However, Reggie Coover paid its rent, and then after his death, his estate continued to pay for it. I’m sorry there are loose strings and I had hoped to prove the parental lineage between Trudy and her son.”

“Shannon, you need not apologize,” Darren said. “Your detective work is amazing. All this time, I suspected Trudy murdered Marla. As it turns out, the exact opposite is true. The two women went to great lengths to care for and protect each other. They were clever and brilliant in their schemes. And I agree with you, Gertrude did what she did to protect her young son. Now, if only I could prove the lineage.”

I was about to give Darren tips for genealogical research when a string of hissing, snarling and clamorous meows crashed through the quite. Then one of Gracie’s cats sprinted out of the kitchen, jumped onto the coffee table and slid across it, landing in Gracie’s lap.

“Heckle, what is gong on?” Gracie held up her cat and looked into his face. Typical of a cat, Heckle was not forthcoming, not so much as a little meow would he snitch. He squirmed under Gracie’s scrutiny. Gracie set him down and he nonchalantly sauntered away into the bedroom. We all laughed and the cat’s comical antics.

Francisco said, “If all criminals could be as cool under pressure, or jails would be empty.”

“Yes, well, I’d better go see what the commotion is about, after all, Heckle’s cohort in crime, Jeckle, is still in the kitchen.”

Gracie picked up a few coffee mugs and went into the kitchen. I stood up and was gathering my notes when a clattering crash sounded from the kitchen. Seamus was the first to get in there.

Chapter 38

The scene could not have been more hilarious than if it were a slapstick comedy. Gracie stood with her hands on her hips scolding Jeckel. Seamus was on bent knees delicately picking up shards of broken coffee mugs. Jeckle, poor thing, was wrapped up tight in a tangled umbrella. Some how he had broken through the interior side of the umbrella’s fabric and got caught up in the metal ribs of the canopy. I made a mental note that the umbrella, now ruined, had been the slender one. The hefty umbrella was now out of harm’s way, up on the countertop, there’s no doubt that Gracie had rescued it.

Gracie looked at me, Alex and then Darren. “I’m so sorry that they ruined the umbrella. And for what it’s worth, they have never done anything like this before, ever.” She leaned down and gently extracted Jeckle. “Well, at least you’re not hurt, except for letting your brother get the better of you, I suppose it will take a few moments for you to regain your pride.” She let him go and he lazily walked over to me, wrapped himself around my right ankle and purred loudly.

“May I?” I asked Gracie.

“Oh, sure, pick him up and take him away from the kitchen. I’d just as soon not let either one of them see me cleaning up after their mistake.”

I picked up Jeckle and cuddled him. His purring grew more intense as he settled into my arms.

Gracie picked up the ragged and torn umbrella and handed it to Darren. Gracie and Seamus stayed in the kitchen while Alex, Darren, Francisco and myself went back to sit in the living room. Darren set the broken umbrella on the coffee table, making the comment of “At least it has ceased raining.”

Darren, Alex and Francisco chatted about the storm. I heard one of them ask Francisco if he had family in the part of Mexico where the hurricane was. I did not hear his answer because Jeckle’s purring was loud, it dominating my attention. I gazed at the umbrella and wondered, what was it that attracted the cats to it. Then I new. The object sparkled. I blurted aloud “Opening it is a key.”

Alex knew exactly what I meant. He took the umbrella and examined the torn inside lining, and close to the top was a small shiny brass key. He reached in and pulled it out. He looked at me, winked and said, “I believe this will unlock the marble glove box.”

Francisco set the umbrella on the floor. Alex picked up the glove box and gently inserted the key, and one twist is all it took. The spring hinged lid popped open. Alex turned the box around for all of us to see.

A large manila envelope was underneath the dazzling contents. I looked at Alex and asked “Did you say that alexandrites turn ruby red in this type of light?”

Alex held up the white gold and alexandrite necklace. It was fashioned in a stepped design that is reminiscent of Edwardian fashion; a single large stone in the center of a sunray focal piece glittered a rich ruby red. He handed it to Francisco, who had taken out a jeweler’s loupe from his pocket and was examining the necklace. Next, Alex reached in and held up and brooch, of the same design as the necklace and then he followed with two earrings, all matching. He set them in front of Francisco.

“Three carrots. Four of them,” I repeated in a monotone of rote memory, quoting Rory. I looked to Alex and said. “All this time I misinterpreted a clue. I thought three carrots meant the eating kind of carrots, the kind horses like. In actuality the clue was the size of these gems, and there are four gems.” I turned to Francisco and said, “You’re the expert on this, would you say that each of these alexandrites are three carats each in weight measurement?”

“Yes. Though I believe the real question is now, to whom do they belong?”

Seamus and Gracie had come back into the living room in time to hear Francisco’s question, but neither was in view of the treasure.

“What belongs to whom?” Gracie asked.

“Those,” I pointed to the coffee table.”

“My stars, Shannon, I leave your mystery alone for a moment and come back to find this? How in the world did you open the glove box?” Seamus asked.

Alex explained the revelation while I watched Francisco continue to examine the gems, then I noticed what we had overlooked in the box, the envelope. I picked it up and looked inside, there were two small letters, still in envelopes. I took them out, opened them up. “Shhh, all of you. Let me read this.”

The room fell silent.

Noticing the post date of January fifteenth 1931 on the front and that the letter had never been opened, I gingerly opened it.

“This is from Reggie Coover and it is mailed to Trudy. He writes, Dear Trudy, it is with the saddest heart I inform you that Marla died this past week from a bacterial infection she caught when saving people in the flood of 1927. I shan’t go into details as to why she never told you about it, only to say, she sought to save you from the stress of knowing. She had been in recovery and we had hope she would be able to visit with you. Last week, in a sudden overnight bout of fever, her physical strength left her and she simply could not fight off the infection. I am sending to you her beloved Rory, for he too was a hero in the flood, helping to save several people. In a separate shipment I have sent your steamer trunk. In this glove box is another piece of documentation, it is sealed, as I found it. All that I know in regard to it is that Marla said you gave it to her for safekeeping. I feel it is now best for you to have it. With warm affection, Reggie Coover.” I looked up from my reading.

Darren said, “This explains a lot. We now know that the trunk and Rory were sent just a few days after Marla died, and they were sent to Trudy, yet Reggie had no idea, whatsoever, that Trudy had died, too.”

“But why did the trunk end up in a warehouse and Rory, along with the glove box crate ended up in cold storage in Los Angeles?” Asked Gracie.

I shook my head, and said, “I doubt we will ever know. Perhaps, a hospital employee notified Reggie of Trudy’s death and then Reggie, still grieving, had Rory, in his original crate shipped on to Los Angeles. He knew the Los Angeles area and not knowing what to do in the long run, he made the arrangement to have Rory in storage. Then never claimed him. Maybe he just never knew what to do with Rory, after that.”

“And,” Alex added, “the steamer trunk crate was never claimed. Without having the letter that Shannon just read, no other person would have known about the steamer trunk being shipped to Gertrude under Marla’s name.”

“We still have this other envelope.” I held up the second letter that was in the glove box.

Seamus said, “Go on, open it.”

I did. I extracted a folded document, opened it, silently read it and gave it to Darren. “Your quest is over.”

His hands trembled has he held it and looked it over. “This is it, the missing puzzle piece.” He turned it around to show us. Clearly, the birth certificate was official. It was issued from Riverside County with an address, not in Palm Springs, but in the city of Riverside. Gregory Straub’s birth record stated his father and mother were Lincoln Straub and Gertrude Monette Straub.

Chapter 39

On my last day in Pasadena I woke early, sent an email to Curtis Strong detailing the results of my investigation and then packed. I put all my belongings in my car and then went to check out of the inn. Darren was at the front desk. He refused to let me pay for my lodging, saying that it was the least he could do. I drove over to Stallion’s Gate. Seamus said the burial would be quiet and private. When I arrived I walked directly to the horse pasture. Seamus, Alex and Curtis Strong were already there.  Strong saw me approach, he broke away from Alex and Seamus and caught up with me.

“Miss Delaney,” he extended his hand and we shook. “On behalf of the Pasadena Conservancy, please accept your due payment and a bonus.” He handed me a sealed envelope. I did not open it.

“Thank you, it was my pleasure. And I am sincerely grateful for this burial.”

Alex came over and walked with me out to the pasture, where a grave, large enough for Rory had been excavated. I stepped in close and looked into the hole. There was Rory. The clatter of heavy equipment invaded the peaceful morning. We retreated to a safe distance to watch as the grave was filled in. It took only fifteen minutes and then the men set a concrete slab on top. Next, an upright head stone was put into place. The men and equipment left. Alex held my hand as we approached the grave. I stood there in somber respect for Rory, a magnificent horse with a big heart and a valiant soul. Curtis Strong walked up beside me, he held a tray of small potted plants.

“According to the gardener, these hearty little carrot plants will transplant easily. The gardener will plant them along the border of the grave.”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Thank you,” was all I could muster. Alex, Seamus and I walked away from the pasture. I dare not look back I told myself, I need to be calm and focused for the long drive back home to San Diego. Once we reached the driveway, I said goodbye to Seamus and then got in my car. Alex was parked ahead of me, in his car. We had agreed to caravan on the drive back to San Diego. I exited Stallion’s Gate, drove down Rivalry Road and followed Alex onto the freeway.

The End

Author’s Notes

About the publishing process: In today’s technology a book is a project achieved by the hard work of many hands. The storyteller/writer, (myself); the editorial and publishing expertise of Arline Chase and Shelley Rodgerson Chase of Write Words Inc., who, with invaluable savvy, handle the myriad details of the publishing business, which in turn, incorporate additional busy hands. All the books in my Shannon Delaney paranormal mystery series are realized through the dedication of the people at Write Words, Inc. and its imprints, EbooksOnThe.net and Cambridge Books. For this I am thankful.

The cover of this book is a vision come true rendered from the photography of Christopher Cox, my own computer generated manipulation of his photo and the cover art expertise of Shelley Rodgerson Chase and Arline Chase.

Storyline

Readers of my series know that songs often inspire my stories. In addition to songs, there is my knowledge of, and passion for, California and American history (I used to write about history for several now defunct magazines). And there is always a story element that references my Southern ancestry, which is documented to the Southern
colonial sates of the 1600s and throughout the South into present time. This book incorporates all of these factors.