Unexpected Riches (Bellingwood Book 13) (4 page)

"I'm going to get Rebecca," she said.

"Tell her to let the kittens out," Lydia said. "Beryl loves those little things and they'll do more to help her relax than we can."

Polly went back out into the living room and checked Beryl before heading downstairs. The woman had pulled her legs up and was leaning on the wing of the chair, sound asleep.

Tip-toeing down the steps to the basement, Polly followed the sound of Rebecca's voice to a back bedroom and opened the door.

"Careful, they'll get out," Rebecca cried.

"It's okay. We're going to leave. Lydia and Andy are cleaning up the kitchen."

Rebecca wrinkled her forehead. "Why?"

"Beryl is sleeping. We just need to get out of here and let her relax. It sounds like she didn't get much sleep last night and today's activities wore her out emotionally."

"Nobody really does death like you do," Rebecca said. She held out the sketch pad. "Is that close?"

Polly looked at the drawing Rebecca had done of the young man's driver's license. She'd captured him perfectly. "Weird question," Polly said. "Can you draw Beryl?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Yes. Why?"

"Look at this picture and then think about Beryl. Are they related?"

"Do you want me to do it now?" Rebecca asked.

"No. We'll wait until we get home. It's just a strange thought I had." She handed the sketchpad back to Rebecca. "Do you see anything?"

"Not right off," Rebecca said. "But I want to see what my hands do when I draw Beryl. Maybe I'll make the same nose or the chin or the eyes or something. I'll know it when I feel it."

"When you feel it?"

Rebecca stood up from the bed. "I know it sounds weird, but when I draw, I move my hand in certain ways. Do you know that your nose is similar to Henry’s? When I drew Heath and Hayden, they had a lot of facial features that were exactly alike, but their cheeks are different. Heath has a wider face. When I drew their eyes, those were exactly the same and so are their lips and the way their nostrils look."

Polly nodded, accepting what Rebecca said, even if she didn't know how to assimilate the information. "Is that the way everyone draws?"

"I don't think so. Beryl says that she only really feels landscapes, not faces like I do. She even said that sometimes she can feel the colors that she paints. They mess with her emotions. Have you ever seen her cry when she paints?"

"No," Polly said. She put her arm around Rebecca's shoulders. "I don't think I've ever really watched her paint anything."

"It's kind of cool. She doesn't like having people around, though. She says it makes her feel all stilted and stuff."

"I get that." Polly looked around the room. "Kittens are gone?"

"They took off. They were wrestling when I got down here. Hopefully they'll just sleep now." Rebecca took Polly's hand. "They're really cute, but I like Luke and Leia. Sometimes they play, but they aren't always getting into trouble because they're curious about every single thing. They've experienced it all."

The two walked out into the basement. "You should have seen them when they were little," Polly said. "I thought they were going to drive Obiwan crazy. Fortunately, he was a puppy at the same time. But they were two against one and those two kittens had no idea that he was as big as he was."

"He's a good dog. He wouldn't hurt them," Rebecca said.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Now, what’s this?" Sal asked, holding up an iridescent turquoise glass vase. "Keep or toss?" She pulled the top off the base and looked at it like it might bite her.

"Put that on the counter," Polly replied. "Mr. Gardner can tell me if it's worth anything."

Sal bent down from the top of her step ladder and carefully placed the vase among other glass pieces on the counter. "I can't believe a young woman collected all of these granny things. What was she thinking?"

"That she'd be a granny by now," Polly said with a laugh.

"Are you keeping any of this?" Sal asked. She held up a second, matching green vase."

Polly shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know. I have no idea what I'd do with it."

"People pay good money for these antiques. Mr. Gardner could make a great commission if he sold this stuff. Don't you think?" Sal held up a pair of pewter candlesticks. "I'd love these. Can I buy them from you?”

"Sure," Polly said. "You buy lunch and they're yours."

Sal laughed. "I already bought lunch."

"Then I guess they're yours," Polly replied. "Take them if you like them."

"I can't believe that poor girl collected so much stuff in just those few short years she was married," Sal said, climbing down and carrying the candlesticks over to an empty box. "It feels like my Mom's house and she has things from her parents and grandparents on top of all the things she's gotten over the years."

"From what I understand, the second wife's wedding gifts are here, too. And maybe Muriel had her own family’s things."

"Why wouldn't anyone else have come in to get it? You said Muriel has brothers who are still alive. Wouldn't their families want these things?" Sal climbed back up and patted around the inside of the cabinet she'd been emptying.

Polly was glad to have her here. Her height made this part of the task that much easier. "The realtor called the family and they said that there wasn't anything here they wanted." She stood up and stretched. "Doesn't that sound weird?"

Sal laughed, a sad and angry sound. "It does. When my dad's mother died, it was ugly. Everybody thought they deserved even the silliest kitchen items. Dad walked away from it, though. He said that she'd given him everything she wanted him to have while she was still alive. He didn't want to fight about her things. He made Mom and one of his sisters really mad."

"Why's that?"

"His sister was mad because a sister-in-law was trying to take everything and she wanted Dad to step in and put his foot down."

Polly nodded. "And your mom?"

"She thought he should have gotten a few more memories for me. We really didn't get any of her china or crystal or paintings or even books. All of the things that I remembered using when I stayed with her were gone. I'll never see them again. But Dad couldn't do it. He just couldn't handle that fight. He said he'd rather still have a relationship with his brother. His sister finally got over being mad at him." Sal paused. "Maybe not. She still doesn't talk to us very often."

"Your dad sounds pretty smart about it all."

"Grandma's will split all of the money from her estate, but the things in her house weren't specified and no one was willing to put them up for auction. Mom got the money she wanted from Grandma..."

"Sal!" Polly scolded.

"What?" Sal asked. "When it came down to it, that’s what she wanted the most. She didn't need any more clutter. They have two sets of china, a bunch of sets of crystal and more silver than they'll ever use. Their walls are filled with artwork and the furniture is exactly whatever Mom wants at the moment."

"No heirlooms?"

"Sure. There are some. Others are in storage." Sal nodded. "There are some nice pieces in the house. And I'm not really saying anything that Mom wouldn't agree with. She likes what she has and she likes money." She had climbed back down, moved the step stool and was patting around in the top shelf of a corner cupboard.

"What's this?" Sal pulled out a large envelope.

"I don't know," Polly said with a grin. "What is it?"

Sal climbed down and took it to an empty spot on a counter.

"This feels old," Polly whispered, touching the outer paper.

"Why are you whispering?" Sal asked, also in a whisper. "And you should open it."

Polly giggled. "I don't know. It just feels momentous."

"You weirdo," Sal said. "It's yours. Open it."

Polly had no idea what to expect. The pale green envelope was an odd size - at least twelve by eighteen inches. It was thick enough that there was more than a single piece of paper in it. She wasn't even certain that she should open it on her own. What if she damaged something important? "Maybe I should take it up to Mr. Gardner."

"It could be something silly," Sal said, handing her a knife. "Just open it."

"What do you think it might be?" Polly asked. "Just take a guess."

"It's big," Sal replied. "Maybe it's a collection of maps." She grinned. "Of Iowa in the early nineteen hundreds. And maybe the maps were drawn by Lewis and Clark."

"Uh huh. That makes so much sense."

"What’s your guess?" Sal asked.

"Military orders or some kind of official certificates."

Sal put her hand down on the envelope. "So what you're telling me is that we have Schrödinger's cat in here. It's either something amazing or it's nothing at all, but as long as the envelope stays sealed, it could be either, both, or neither."

Polly looked at her sideways. "Physics from you?"

"I watch television and read books," Sal said, laughing. "Now are you going to open this envelope or am I going to have to poison your cat?"

"What?"

Sal shook her head in mock disgust. "Bad Schrödinger joke. Sorry. Just open the envelope."

Polly slid her finger into an open space on the flap and pushed it apart. The glue was practically non-existent after all these years. "Okay. That's done."

"You're killing me here," Sal said. "Open the damned envelope."

Taking a deep breath, Polly reached in and drew out a stack of papers. "Here," she said. "What's this?" And pushed a couple of newspapers across the counter to Sal.

"Newspapers. There's one from Chicago and a Boone News-Republican. They're from March of nineteen sixteen. What do you have?"

"I think it's a title to this house." Polly peered at the paper in front of her. "But it wasn't a house when they first built it."

Sal chuckled. "What do you mean it wasn't a house?"

"I think it was an inn or something. It was called the Bell House and there are some words here about occupancy."

"It's right here," Sal said. She'd flipped the Boone News-Republican over and on the lower half of the front page was a write-up about the opening of a lavish, new hotel in Bellingwood for those with extravagant taste and wealthy pockets. "Apparently, this wasn't meant to be a hotel for travelers." She skimmed down a few paragraphs. "Visiting professors to the State University who come from the East and West Coast will be welcomed into its plush rooms with entertainment brought in from as far away as Omaha and Kansas City."

"Wow," Polly said. "Why didn't we know about this before?"

Sal ran her finger across the photograph. "It was a beautiful building." She pointed to where the garage now sat. "That looks like stables and right behind it is another building. What do you suppose that was?"

Polly shook her head. "I don't know." She breathed out. "A hotel. I have to call Henry. He'll never believe this."

"I thought you said he found plans for the building."

"They were renovation plans that had been filed," Polly said. "Not what we originally thought, but at least they give us dimensions. I'd love to see what this place looked like when it was a hotel. I wonder if any interior pictures exist."

"So when did the Springers buy it?" Sal asked. "Were they the ones who turned it into a residence?"

"We haven't gotten the whole abstract," Polly said. "I don't have any of that information yet. But now I want to know." She tapped the issue of the Chicago Tribune. "Why do you suppose that was saved?"

Sal thumbed through the top corners of the pages. "There are so many bits and pieces of news in here it would take a full week to read it all. My goodness, but newspapers were different back then. This is so much more interesting than any newspaper I've ever read. It's like I’m holding a microcosm of the city in my hands."

"Look at this," Polly said, holding up the Boone paper. "Headline.
Young Englishman Comes to Iowa and Finds Love
."

"No way."

"Yes way.
Mister Thomas Kenner arrived in central Iowa this week to pursue the heart of Miss Evaline Carter, the daughter of Frederick and Cicely Carter of Bellingwood. The two young people met while she was visiting her maternal grandparents in southern England. Mister Kenner, a farmer by trade, hopes to establish himself as a laborer on a local farm and would entertain enquiries from those who might be able to use a strong back and bright mind
."

"I wonder what ever happened to him," Sal mused. She pushed the Chicago Tribune back into the envelope.

Polly rubbed her forehead. "This boggles my mind. I don't know what to think about it. One hundred years ago this place was built to be a fancy hotel. Why did no one ever tell me?"

"Maybe because the whole haunted house thing took over," Sal said. "And how long was the hotel even open? Maybe no one knew what it was because it failed."

"Tomorrow I'm making Joss help me look for information in the library." Polly flipped the Boone News-Republican back over and put it back into the envelope. She allowed the title to fold back in on itself and slipped it in on top of the newspapers. "I wish they were open this evening, but I can wait until tomorrow."

"Is anyone in here?"

Polly and Sal both glanced at the back door.

"Come in," Polly called out. "We're in the kitchen."

"I just took the kittens..." Beryl stopped when she saw Sal standing with Polly. "I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

"No," Sal said. "We were looking at some old papers I found in the top of the cupboard."

"Anything interesting?"

"Did you know this place was originally a hotel?" Polly asked.

Beryl cocked her head. "No, I never heard that. What did you find?"

"The original title and an old newspaper from Boone that talks about its opening. It was called the Bell House."

"That's probably the old Bell family. They were original founders, too. You know. Bell? Bellingwood?"

"Get out," Sal said.

Beryl laughed. "Nope. Not gonna. Yeah. Hiram Bell was a railroad man. Made a lot of money back in those days, you know. Railroad coming through Iowa right down there in Boone. He didn't want to live so close, so he came up north and helped start the town. There were several of those men who saw this little plot of land and thought they could make something of it."

"How did his name become part of the town's name?" Polly asked.

"He was the one with most of the money. Well, him and James Garwood - another railroad man." Beryl rubbed her chin. "If I remember my history, there were ten families that came up here and settled. By the mid eighteen-sixties, it wasn't that much of a risk. Iowa was a state, the Indians were no longer a threat and settlers were taming the land."

"You know a lot of history."

Beryl rolled her eyes. "Some. I grew up with it. Having an ancestor who was a founder made it a big deal. And since I was an impressionable kid when we had our centennial, at least a few of the stories stuck."

Polly took the Boone newspaper back out. "But that Hiram Bell would have been an old guy by nineteen sixteen," she said. "Do you think he opened the hotel?" She handed the paper to Beryl.

"The owner's name should have been in that article," Sal said. "I missed it."

"Uh huh, first line," Beryl said. "Franklin Bell, son of Hiram, one of Bellingwood's founders." She pointed at the sentence and Sal blushed.

"Look at the article down at the bottom of the page, in the corner," Polly said. "Relatives of yours?"