Humming Bird…
So Aunt Pearl forwarded me this email she received from the Naturalist’s Club, Garden Club and Rye Botanical Garden’s and Herbarium…announcing the sit-in at Nevermore.
Tag Archives: weekly mystery
The Votes Are In!
Crap! Crap! Crap!
Mrs. Lebondowsky tried to oppose the move at the emergency meeting – but to no avail. The sit-in might buy some time, but ultimately it hurts Nevermore’s image in the public’s eyes…Crap!
(photo Photo by Bence Balla-Schottner on Unsplash words by me!)
2.45 An Obvious Fact…
(What was waiting for the three of us at the end of our deductions…)
Standing behind Robbie, watching the security video over his shoulder for the umpteenth time, the lump ice dwelling in the pit of my stomach started making the bologna sandwich feel like a bad idea. Uncle, who’d declined an additional screening, sat at his desk hands steepled together deep in thought. Pressing the touchpad on Beatrice’s laptop Robbie skipped backwards in the footage and watched the entire episode again.
Then again.
When he rewound it for a third consecutive viewing, he climbed aboard the same train of thought Uncle, and I’d already taken a whirl on. Restless, I got up and started to pace around the perimeter of the room.
Robbie (eyes glued to the screen): “You’re sure there was no one else in the building?”
Me (tracing my finger over the spines of the books): “I cross-referenced the video feeds with time punches, everyone had left for the day.”
Robbie (his leg bouncing like mad): “Someone not scheduled could have stopped by? Or a salaried employee could’ve stayed late…”
Me (looking across the room at the back of his head, I shook mine): “All accounted for, and the alarm report and entrance logs both agree that no one else was in the building by this point.”
Robbie (turning in his seat to look at me): “Would you mind if I double-checked?”
Uncle (rising from his chair): “Another set of eyes never hurt.”
Passing the laptop over to me, as I’d finished my revolution of the room, Robbie got to his feet and joined Uncle behind the desk. Listening with half an ear to Uncle’s summation of each report Ira included in his envelope, I sat down and cued up the video.
Pressing play, I watched the empty lobby for a few seconds until the Judas, the Brutus, the veritable Peter Pettigrew of Nevermore, strode into view.
Walking over to the alarm panel, Sarah punched in her code (according to the alarm activity report – disarming it), then unlocked the adjacent door and let Laney inside. They spoke for a few minutes before Laney handed over the books she’d borrowed after which they exchanged hugs, Laney left (to join Beatrice, Wood and I for dinner, ducks and pirate-themed fun) and Sarah relocked the door.
It’s at this point in the footage where I wish the video contained audio because after she stops waving at Laney – Sarah pulls out her cell and makes two calls.
The first, significantly longer than the second, prompted Sarah to pace in tight figure eights in front of the main entrance while jerkily gesturing to the person on the other end of the line. Following her conversation with whomsoever, Sarah stood stock still, head hanging for a few minutes before dialing the next number.
Four minutes after the second conversation ended, Sarah unlocked the doors again. Only this time, Little Ben walked in. Six minutes later, according to the night watchmen’s log, Little Ben called to request extra security for Nevermore.
Me (stopping the video and looking over at Uncle who’d swapped seats with his son): “Didn’t Sherlock Holmes warn us that there’s nothing worse than an obvious fact?”
Uncle (holding the mouth of the potato chip bag towards me): “Actually, he said there’s nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.”
Me (declining his offer of delectable fat-soaked starch): “I like mine better.”
Uncle (nodding sagely): “I know.”
And let me tell you how I’d kicked myself for not seeing this sooner….
Sarah had known most of the details of The Brace Affair because she was there when we’d hatched the plan. Between Sarah’s foreknowledge and her friendship, I bet that’s why Laney didn’t count her as ‘anyone’ when I asked if she’d told anyone about our plans that night.
Robbie (massaging his temples): “Okay, I agree it looks like Sarah ratted you out. But I still don’t get why? She’s your friend.”
Me (shaking my head): “Technically, she didn’t rat us out. She only told Little Ben someone was coming. I spoke to him afterward, he had no clue who he was chasing.”
Robbie (looking relieved): “So it’s possible she was skating the line between being a good friend and a good employee.”
Me (shrugging): “Maybe.”
Robbie (waving his hand over the papers): “Have you tried talking to her about this?”
Me (smiling sadly): “Nope.”
Robbie (disbelief evident): “Why not?”
Uncle (heaving himself up from the chair, taking Beatrice’s laptop off my lap): “Probably for the same reason I wouldn’t.”
Robbie (looking towards Uncle, confused): “But this whole thing could be just a huge misunderstanding.”
Uncle (waving for Robbie to stay put, he set down the electronic device on the desk): “Your right it could. However, neither your cousin or I believe Little Ben was the first person Sarah told about the impeding pirate landing. That’s what was bothering you about the video, isn’t it Phoebe?”
Me: “That’s part of it.”
Robbie: “Wait, how did you guys get there?”
Uncle (tapping the trackpad): “Watch the video again……..See how Sarah stares out the glass doors after the second call, and she unlocks the doors a good minute before Little Ben walks thru them.”
Robbie (squinting at the screen): “She was waiting for him.”
Uncle (using his teacher tone): “Correct. Now, watch the first phone call again.”
Robbie (leaning forward): “She’s arguing with someone?”
Uncle (pointing at the screen): “She loses an argument with someone, watch her deflate, she’s staring at the floor, not out the door.”
Robbie (glancing between us): “Okay, I admit it looks bad. But, playing devil’s advocate here, all you really have is evidence she made a call.”
Unfortunately, due to Aunt Pearl deciding she could no longer countenance our absence from the kitchen burst in to retrieve us. I didn’t get a chance to tell Robbie my suspicions were based on more than just one call.
The Window Seat
Beatrice sent me this text after she got home…
Front & Center
So The Alter, my favorite caffeine pushers in all of Rye, had this poster hanging up on their front doors…not worrying at all…especially invoking baby animals and Bambi all in one pic…man I’ve gotta find Big Ben…Fast.
My Silver City Operative…
…Tavi sent me this pic at an astonishing early hour of the morning. So either her text got caught in the wires someplace and got delivered late or she was having an exceptionally fun and late evening someplace!
2.38 Parlor Game No.1 – The Spirit Board
(Laney’s design for the spirit board featured Morse Code…you know to weed out the undesirable tricksy spirits…)
Hunched over and walking backward around the picnic table, l concentrated on leaving an unbroken speckled line in my wake. A bemused Wood, who I caught from the corner of my eye, filching the last bite of baked beans off my plate, looked on.
Wood: “You know, pouring salt on the grass is going to kill it, right?”
Me (concentrating on maintaining an even pour): “Between the dogs, sprinklers, and rain showers, the salt will wash away before any permanent damage is done, don’t worry.”
Wood: “But why are you salting the earth?”
Me (delivering the last words with my very best Count Dracula voice – which is still pretty bad): “It’s a two-for-one kind of deal. It keeps you safe from all the creepy-crawlies, and it’ll keep you safe from all the Creepy-Crawlies…”
Wood: “Safety first, that’s what you’re going with.”
Me: “Yup.”
Hiding my smile, I kept my eyes trained on the grains of Himalayan pink, Hawaiian black, and fresh hand-harvested sea salt sprinkling from the slit in the bag.
After a spot of investigation on the internet and a lengthy conversation with Joseph, I think we sussed out how The Woman In White was able to cross the spilled salt and attack me. The contents of the bag I’d grabbed from the supply closet that night in Nevermore weren’t precisely what I thought. Instead of pure rock salt Sam ordinarily ordered, this year, he bought a blend – equal parts gravel, urea crystals, and rock salt (of highly dubious quality). So between this less than stellar mixture and strength born of insanity – The Woman In White muscled her way across.
We’re pretty sure.
Our lack of certainty on this particular point prompted me to use a salt blend Nevermore’s Residents helped me perfect but rarely use.
The imperfect circle I’m drawing might be overkill, as Orin’s unknown Errant isn’t unknown to me. However, not knowing why Abraham Flared kept my hands steady and steps even while I finished my final revolution around the picnic table where Wood sat.
Wood (sounding perplexed): “So what parlor game requires we sit within a ring of salt for safety?”
Me (walking back to the table and cramming the empty bag into my pack): “A spirit board.”
Wood (stupefied): “Ouija? Really? I can’t think of a single person I’m interested in contacting on the otherside.”
Me: “I know, but we’re not going to communicate with anyone there…”
With a flourish I placed the archival box, Aarti from the Historical Society lent me, in the middle of the table.
Wood (raising an eyebrow): “Okay…”
Me: “We’re going to try contacting the Grey Man.”
Wood: “Who?”
Opening the box, doing my best Vanna White impression, I flipped over formal photos, snapshots, snippets, and facsimiles. All the while explaining who Edmund Wynter was, his racket, the mystery surrounding his murder, and his notoriously active afterlife.
Me: “So what do you think? Want to give it a try?”
Wood (rolling his eyes): “I’m reconsidering my position on tiddlywinks.”
Wood loves all things weird and wacky but stands firmly in Houdini’s camp in regards to spiritualism.
His wife, Laney, on the other hand, loves this kind of thing. In fact, she stitched me the spirit board I’d unfurled on the table years ago after I gave her first full tour of Nevermore. She wasn’t clear on exactly how it would help me with my duties as Caretaker, but she figured it was better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
(I didn’t have the heart to tell her spirit boards don’t actually attract their intended demographic.)
Me (trying for a reasonable tone while swallowing a laugh): “It might be our only chance to solve his murder…”
Wood: “Last chance?”
Me: “Sightings of him have dropped dramatically over the past twenty-five years.”
Wood (dryly): “Right. I’m sure the drop in sightings has nothing to do with the fact Wynter was murdered in nineteen-thirty-eight.”
Me: “We could ask him where he stashed his blackmail materials. If his wife or murderer didn’t already turn them to ash.”
Wood (momentarily forgetting he thought spirit boards were pure hokum): “You want to find Pandora’s Box? Think of all the trouble his blackmail ledger could cause, Wynter had access to every government record in Rye.”
Me (shrugging): “I wouldn’t read it, I hand it over to the police, they’d read it.”
Wood: “And Pandora only meant to sneak a peek inside that damned box. What if your great grandparents had something hushed up by Wynter? Wouldn’t you want to protect their memory? Or how about my Gran?”
A ripple of electricity arcing across my toes jolted me out of the hypothetical ethical pickle Wood’s question placed me in. Glancing around, I spotted a scowling Abraham standing in the entrance of the gazebo staring at me. Turning back to my Moon Bathing companion, I found the solution to two out of three of my burning dilemmas in the buzzing of his phone.
Me (snapping my fingers in inspiration): “Tell Laney you’ll call her back on video chat. She can help us break in the spirit board – you’ll get a boatload of husband points.”
Wood, while muttering something about wishing Laney and I weren’t so close, answered his phone.
Wood: “Hey Twinkie, can you call me back on Facetime, please? Thanks…. Hey, where are you going?”
Me (getting up from the table): “The gazebo, my guy, just arrived.”
Wood (face lit by the glow of his phone): “Shout if you need me?”
Me (over my shoulder): “Of course! This shouldn’t take long.”
Stepping carefully over the ring of salt, I left Wood to catch Laney up with tonight’s entertainment. Walking past a glowering Abraham into the dim interior of the gazebo, he waited until I turned around and faced him before speaking.
Abraham: “I don’t care to be summoned, Caretaker.”
Hazards of Moon Bathing
Turns out I’m not the only one who came prepared for trouble…Wood took one look at my fingers, and without a word, whipped out this small first aid kit and took care of them!
Finder Of Lost Things 
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