Crowned and Moldering (3 page)

“Let’s take another look at the kitchen and the exterior,” I said. “And then I think
we’ll be finished.”

“I’ve decided I’d like to redo the kitchen,” Mac admitted. “It’s too old and funky
to deal with.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “And not that it matters to you, but the Historical
Society won’t care about the kitchen.”

He chuckled. “You know I live to keep the Historical Society happy.”

Wade grinned. “Even though they’ve fought you every step of the way.”

“Not me,” Mac said, aiming his thumb in my direction. “Shannon. She’s the one who’s
been dealing with all of their demands and requirements.”

I waved off the comment. “That’s what I’m here for.”

We walked into the kitchen and looked around at the dark-stained wood cabinets that
had been there as long as the house had been standing. It would take an army of housecleaners
to scrub off more than a hundred years’ worth of food spills and grime.

Mac might not want them, but those cabinets were real wood and too darn good to throw
away. I was already making a mental list of where I might use them once they were
stripped down to the bare wood and varnished to a high shine.

I mentioned this to Mac, then said, “So unless there’s something in the old kitchen
you want to keep, we’ll do a complete demo of the room. I’ll give you some catalogs
and magazines to look at that’ll give you some ideas of what materials and colors
you might want to use. Meanwhile, you can think about all the fun stuff, like whether
you’d like a bigger window over the sink, or if you want French doors instead of the
single door that leads to the back area.”

“French doors might be nice,” Mac muttered, wandering around the room. “Hey, maybe
a deck off the French doors.” He peered through the window screen to the outside and
made a face. “Would a deck drive the Historical Society folks crazy?”

“If it can’t be seen from the road or the beach, I don’t see why they’d care. They’ve
signed off on the project, so I’d say it’s ultimately your decision.” I stared at
the cabinet built into the far wall. “Hey, I forgot about the dumbwaiter. Do you want
to keep it?”

Dumbwaiters were another fascinating feature of many Victorian homes, and I couldn’t
wait to see how this one operated. The last time Mac and I had been here, I’d had
every intention of checking out the dumbwaiter, but that darn white rat had distracted
me.

“Let’s check it out,” Mac said, and joined me in front of the cabinet. “Do you think
I’ll ever use it?”

“They’re very practical in a two – or three-story house,” I said. “You’ll want to
keep it if you decide to entertain abovestairs.”

“Abovestairs, huh?” He grinned at me. “I just might. Do they make them more modern-looking
than this?”

“The outer frame can be anything you want it to be. You could get a sleek stainless-steel
front or a nice blond Douglas fir to match the rest of the cabinetry. Whatever you
decide, it’ll look fabulous.”

I unbolted the dumbwaiter’s vertical sliding door and lifted it. The old wood was
stiff and heavy, but I managed to get it opened all the way. I stuck my head inside
and looked up, but it was too dark to see anything, so I grabbed Wade’s flashlight
and took another look. “I’m not sure the old pulley mechanism is still working. It
looks like the platform is stuck upstairs somewhere.” I pulled my head out and glanced
at Mac. “If you want to keep using it, I can install a new electric motor with an
automatic control. The shaft runs from the attic all the way down to the basement,
and it’s a good-sized space. At least two and a half feet square.”

He calculated the size with his hands. “That’s not bad.”

“I wonder if I can get it unjammed,” I said, and reached inside to tug at the pulley.

“Boss, wait,” Sean said. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that?”

I frowned at him. Did he think I was afraid of getting dirty? I gave the ropes another
yank and felt them go slack just as a loud cracking, splintering sound erupted from
above and echoed through the shaft. I yanked my hand out of there just in time; the
entire dumbwaiter platform shattered and fell three stories and crashed onto the basement
floor.

The strong whoosh of air and dust coming from the shaft knocked me back a foot. Mac
pulled me farther away from the opening. “Are you all right? What the hell was that?”

“The platform must’ve rotted out.” I let out an unsteady breath. “The whole thing
broke apart and dropped straight down to the basement.”

“You could’ve been killed,” he muttered, and rubbed my shoulders while I tried to
calm my rapidly beating heart. I didn’t want to admit how close to the truth his words
were.

Once the dust had settled, I ventured over to the shaft and leaned inside to see what
damage had been done. Shining the flashlight’s powerful beam downward, I caught a
glimpse of the pile of splintered wood—and something else.

“What the—” I jerked my head out of that dark, empty space as fast as I could move.
The flashlight fell from my hand, hitting the floor with a bang. I stared at my empty
hands and watched them tremble uncontrollably. I shook my head back and forth. “Oh
my God.”

Mac grabbed my arms. “Shannon, what is it?”

“What’s wrong, boss?” Johnny demanded. “Did you see another rat?”

I couldn’t believe I was still shaking, unable to tell what I’d just seen. Could I
have been mistaken?

Sean grabbed the flashlight off the floor and leaned inside the dumbwaiter to see
for himself what I was freaking out about.

“Holy moly,” Sean said, backing away from the space.

“What is it?” Mac said. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Sean’s cheeks puffed out and he exhaled heavily. “In the basement. There’s, like,
bones down there.”

“Jeez, you guys, relax,” Wade said cynically. “It’s probably a dead raccoon.”

“No,” I said, my voice sounding scratchy and far away. “It’s more like a dead human.”

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Police Chief Eric Jensen said at the sight
of me standing on the porch with the others.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Just because I’d been on the scene of two previous murders
didn’t mean I had something to do with any of them. But didn’t it just figure I’d
be the one to spot the bones in the basement first? Which probably made me the number-one
person the Chief would want to interrogate.

“Hello, Chief Jensen,” I said, deciding to keep the conversation as cordial as possible—and
trying not to feel insulted or hurt that I was automatically seen as a suspect.

And it was too bad, because we’d been getting along so well lately. I liked Chief
Jensen—Eric—a lot. He was gorgeous, for one thing. Like, Nordic-superhero gorgeous.
Tall, blond, muscular, beautiful clear blue eyes. In my mind, I’d called him Thor
since the first time I’d ever seen him. Which was, admittedly, at the scene of a grisly
murder awhile back. One that he’d suspected me of committing. Not the best start to
a friendship, but I thought we’d come a long way since then.

He’d gotten over his suspicions—or so I thought. On a good day, he was nice and friendly
to me. He had a dry sense of humor that I found appealing. He cared about people.
I sort of thought he liked me—not that we’d ever been out on a date or anything. And
we never would if I kept showing up at crime scenes like this.

But, then, who was to say this was a crime scene? A skeleton didn’t necessarily mean
someone had been murdered, right? Maybe whoever those bones belonged to had died of
natural causes. Heck, maybe it was a suicide.

And maybe I’d win the lottery tomorrow. On both fronts I was living in a fantasy world.
Because, seriously? There was a human skeleton in Mac’s basement! And until it could
be determined that someone had lived a good, long life and had passed away peacefully
in his sleep—while stuffed inside the dumbwaiter of Mac’s remote, empty mansion—this
was very much a crime scene.

That hideous thought brought a whole new round of chills, and my shoulders commenced
shaking again.

Eric glanced at Mac. The two men had become friends, so Eric knew that Mac was about
to start the rehab on the house. “You know we’ll have to halt any renovations you
were planning until we clear this up.”

“No problem,” Mac said, sounding strangely buoyant. Of course Mac would be happy.
Could life get any better for a thriller writer than to find an actual skeleton in
his new home? It had to be the coolest thing on earth. For him, anyway.

“Where are these bones?” Eric asked.

“In the basement,” Mac said. “You want me to show you how to get down there?”

“Yeah.” Eric glanced at the four of us. “Who found them?”

Mac gave me a contrite smile. “Shannon spotted them first.”

Eric let loose a sigh of sheer aggravation. I knew that sound. I’d heard him make
it more than once.

“I found them when I looked through the dumbwaiter,” I explained. “None of us has
actually been down to the basement.”

“Well, that’s something,” Eric muttered.

Another dark SUV bounded around the curve and came to a bouncing stop at the edge
of the lawn. It was Tommy Gallagher, assistant chief of police and my old high school
boyfriend. Tommy had been happily married for many years to my worst enemy, but I
didn’t hold that against him most of the time. We were still good friends, although
I couldn’t say the same for me and his wife, Whitney.

“Hey, guys,” Tommy shouted from the car before he slammed the door shut and jogged
over to the house. With a broad grin, he said, “Hey, Shannon.”

“Hi, Tommy.” No one had ever looked more jovial at a crime scene than Tommy Gallagher.
He’d always been that way, cheerful and even-tempered, even after the times he was
clobbered on the football field in high school. He was like an adorable golden retriever—always
happy and friendly. The guy had a wonderful attitude, especially for a cop.

“Hey, Chief, I heard from the sheriff on my way over.” Tommy jogged up the stairs.
“It’ll be at least two hours before one of his guys can get out here.”

In our area, the Mendocino County sheriff served as coroner and could declare somebody
officially dead. But if the death was suspicious and necessitated a more elaborate
CSI facility, our police chief would call on the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office, about
a hundred miles away in Santa Rosa. And if he required even more detailed forensic
or pathology services or other autopsy-related services, he would call the forensic
medical group located in Fairfield over in Solano County, more than 150 miles southeast
of Lighthouse Cove.

Unfortunately, I was pretty sure the chief would be needing all of those services,
along with the forensic odontology expert attached to the group, who would, with luck,
be able to match the dental records.

And how weird was it that I knew all this stuff? After being involved with a few homicide
cases up close, I’d become sort of an expert myself. And by
expert
I mean I just knew who to call to take care of things.

Eric frowned and rubbed his neck. “I don’t suppose we’re in a huge hurry, since those
bones have probably been there for a while. But keep in touch with him, Tom.”

“You got it, Chief.”

“We’d better go take a look.”

Mac led the way back into the house, and Eric and Tommy followed. I looked at my guys
and, without saying a word, the three of us walked quietly behind them. When Mac reached
the hallway, he stopped. Shaking his head, he admitted, “You know, I’m not quite sure
how to get to the basement. I’ve never been down there.” He looked back at me. “Shannon?”

Since I’d spent a lot of time staring at the blueprints, I pointed the way. “Through
the kitchen and out to the service porch.”

He jerked his head in that direction. “You lead the way.”

I got to the service porch and found the basement door. It was unlocked, so I opened
it and stared down into blackness. I knew Mac had arranged weeks ago to have water
and electricity restored to the place, so I searched the closest walls, found a light
switch, and flipped it on. I looked back at Eric. “Here we go.”

“Wait.” He glanced at the others. “I’ll go first. Tom, Mac, you’re with me. The rest
of you wait up here.”

Relief rushed through me. I didn’t mind staying upstairs at all. I’d had too many
weird things happen in basements, the worst of which was stumbling over a dead body
in one a few months ago. So I would’ve just as soon avoided getting any closer to
that skeleton than I had to.

Sean, Wade, Johnny, and I returned to the front porch. Knowing that the work on Mac’s
house would have to be postponed for a few days at least, Wade and I got on the phone
with my second foreman, Carla Harrison. The three of us held an impromptu meeting
to rearrange schedules, crew members, and equipment. Sean and Johnny offered a few
suggestions but mostly kibitzed in the background.

Once the call with Carla ended, the four of us chatted for a few minutes about work
in general and then settled down with our own thoughts. I sat on the steps and scanned
my notes on the lighthouse mansion, then started prioritizing the jobs that would
have to be done once the house was available to my crew and me. Inevitably, as it
did so often these days, my mind circled back around to the subject of the new men
in my life, Mac and Eric.

Eric was a newcomer to Lighthouse Cove, having moved to town four months ago to take
over the job of police chief when Chief Ray retired after thirty years. I had a feeling
there was something in Eric’s past that made him reticent to get involved with anyone
too quickly. But that didn’t stop my girlfriend Lizzie from asking him on a regular
basis if he’d like to go out on a date with one of her friends. So far he’d refused
her attempts.

In Lizzie’s defense, she simply wanted all of her friends to be as happily married
and settled down as she was. And we continually assured her that we wanted that, too.
But not if it involved a blind date. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Mac had moved to town only about two months ago and he was already enveloped in the
social life. It helped that he was handsome as sin, charming, and very wealthy. But
he was also the sweetest guy in the world and so much fun and easy to talk to, and
he loved animals.

I hadn’t needed Lizzie to set me up with Mac because we’d met by accident when I wrecked
my bike out on Old Cove Highway between the lighthouse and town. He’d been driving
by and saw me go flying over the handlebars. He stopped to help and ended up driving
me home and carrying me up the stairs to my door. Shortly after that, he decided to
rent one of my two garage apartments until his house was ready, and we’d been growing
friendlier every day. Well, until that blond supermodel showed up. Mac had tried to
explain about her, but I’d cut him off before he could say more than a word or two.
I really didn’t want to hear about her.

I mean, come on. A supermodel? What was there to explain? She’s gorgeous. He’s a guy.
End of story.

Looking around, I was struck by sudden guilt. Here I was, thinking about handsome
men and my own feelings and petty jealousies in connection with them, while all this
time someone was lying dead in the basement of the lighthouse mansion. How long had
the body been there? Whose was it? Did I know him or her? Maybe it was a stranger,
a drifter. An old sailor, perhaps, who’d climbed off his boat and found shelter in
the house, hiding in the attic and somehow, some way, eventually dying in the dumbwaiter.
The image made me feel queasy. What in the world had happened out here?

I checked my watch. Eric and the others had been downstairs for about a half hour.
I couldn’t sit around a minute longer, so I pushed myself up from the steps and said,
“I’m going to go find out if the chief needs us all to wait. If not, you guys can
go off to another job site and get a good day’s work in.”

“Great idea, boss,” Sean said. I just noticed he’d been using a chisel to peel old
paint from the window sills. Sean was someone who liked to keep busy, and I couldn’t
ask for a better quality in an employee.

At that moment, I heard heavy footsteps approaching from inside the house. The front
door swung open and Chief Jensen stepped outside, followed by Mac and Tommy. They
looked somber, as anyone would who’d been staring at death for the past thirty minutes.

“Do you know who it is?” I asked.

“We might’ve found a clue,” Tommy said, earning a narrow look from Eric. Tommy was
my best source of information and Eric probably knew it.

The chief seemed to argue with himself for a moment, then shook his head. “Might as
well show you three since you all grew up around here, but I’d prefer you not spread
the news all over town.”

“We won’t,” I assured him, and all three of my guys nodded in agreement.

Eric held something up in his gloved hand. “Did you ever know anyone who wore something
like this?”

The three of us had to get close up to see the faded red letters stamped onto a thin
silver band affixed to a cheap silver chain.

Sean gasped beside me.

Eric focused on him. “Do you recognize it?” His voice was steady, not accusatory,
although I knew Sean would hate having the chief’s attention directed at him.

“I—I don’t know.”

“It’s one of those MedicAlert bracelets,” I said. “Did it belong to . . .” I hesitated
before asking the next question, wondering what I was supposed to call those bones.
A skeleton, yes, but was that what the police would call it? Or would they refer to
it as a body? A human? A victim? Was it a man? A woman? “Did it belong to the . . .
person in the basement?”

“That is yet to be determined,” Eric said, his tone turning official. He continued
moving the metallic object this way and that so we could get a better look. “Look
familiar?”

Wade squinted at the bracelet. “What’s it say on the back?”

Eric must have memorized the information and didn’t have to look to answer. “Bee allergy.
Anaphylaxis.”

Sean gasped again, so abruptly I thought he might pass out.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Do you recognize it?” Eric repeated.

I scowled at the chief and grabbed Sean’s arm. “Come over here. Sit down.” Dragging
him to the front steps, I practically pushed him to a sitting position, his elbows
resting on his knees. “If you think you’re going to pass out, put your head between
your knees and try to breathe.”

“Does he recognize the bracelet?” Mac asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” I sat down next to Sean and put my arm across his broad shoulders.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He took in a whopping gulp of air and let it out, but didn’t speak. Looking at the
expression of shock and fear in his eyes, I wasn’t sure he could.

“Sean,” I whispered nervously. “You need to talk to Eric. If you recognize that bracelet . . .”

He groaned and fell backward slowly until he was sprawled on the porch. He laid his
arm over his eyes.

Concerned, I glanced over and met Mac’s gaze, then Eric’s. “Just give him a minute.”

Looking down at Sean, I could see tears starting to leak and stream down the side
of his face. I scrambled over to his side and knelt down. I’d known him most of my
life but had no idea how to comfort him. He’d always been so big and strong, so easygoing.
I’d never seen him this overwhelmed and upset before.

Except once.

Oh no.
I was starting to feel sick myself.

I reached out and squeezed his arm. “Sean, honey, you can tell me what’s wrong.”

He sniffled, then whispered, “It was Lily’s.”

Oh God.

“What’d he say?” Eric asked.

“I didn’t know she was allergic,” I said, and mentally smacked myself. That had to
be the dumbest thing I could’ve said. But having just received one of the biggest
shocks of my life, a stupid comment like that was about all I was capable of uttering.