Trick Or Treat Murder. Leslie Meier

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СКАЧАТЬ said Lucy. “I wish there was. I don’t even like them trick-or-treating. You always hear about some maniac who poisoned the candy or put razor blades in the apples. Toby won’t go with me and the girls—he wants to go out with his friends. I hope they don’t come here. A place like this is a real magnet for kids. Especially on Halloween. Think what could happen if they played with matches, or experimented with cigarettes. It wouldn’t take much to burn this place down.”

      “Like the Hopkins Homestead,” said Sue.

      “Bill was awfully upset when he heard the news on the radio this morning. That house was his first big project.”

      Lucy’s husband, Bill Stone, was a restoration carpenter.

      “That’s too bad.” Sue was sympathetic. “They said it burned to the ground.”

      “It did. I drove by on my way to your house. Nothing’s left but the chimney. I’m worried Bill’s going to take it hard. He really put his heart and soul into that place.”

      “Is there insurance? Do you think they’ll rebuild?” Sue was practical.

      “I don’t know. Bill tried to call the owners, but there wasn’t any answer. He wanted to tell Monica himself, before she heard it on the news or something.”

      “Her husband’s a doctor, right?”

      “Yeah. They live near Boston. The house was really her project. Bill said she was the perfect client. Lots of money, and good taste, too.”

      “A rare combination,” said Sue.

      Lucy smiled. Zoe was shifting around in the baby carrier and it felt a bit like being pregnant again. She got up on her feet and walked back and forth on the porch, hoping to lull the baby back to sleep.

      “Doesn’t it seem like we’re having an awful lot of fires lately?” she asked, leaning against a post.

      “Well, yeah, now that you mention it. There was the old movie theater just after the Fourth of July. It was damaged, but they were able to save it. Winchester College is going to renovate it, turn it into a performing arts center.”

      “Then there was that barn out on Bumps River Road,” said Lucy, sitting down Indian fashion and undoing the carrier straps so Zoe could nurse. “When was that?”

      “Mid-August. I remember because I was getting Sidra ready to go back to school.” Sue’s oldest daughter was a sophomore at Bowdoin.

      “Who did that belong to?”

      “Nobody. It was listed ‘owner unknown’ in the tax files.”

      “And now the Hopkins Homestead.”

      “Don’t forget that fire at the old powder house. They caught it before it did much damage.”

      “Right.” Lucy nodded. The powder house, a tiny relic of the Revolutionary War, stood in Brooks Park. “It’s kind of suspicious, isn’t it? All these fires?”

      “Not really. They were all old buildings, but old buildings are more likely to burn. The wood gets dry.” Sue picked off a bit of shingle and it crumbled to dust in her hand. “I’ll bet this place is next. Want to take a look inside before it’s gone?”

      “Can we? Isn’t it locked up?”

      “I know how to get in.” Sue grinned mischievously.

      “Okay,” said Lucy. “Zoe doesn’t seem very hungry.” Standing up she rearranged her clothes and refastened the baby carrier. “I’m game if you are.”

      Hopping off the porch, Sue led the way around to the back of the mansion. Pushing aside some overgrown bushes she revealed a flight of stone steps.

      “This is the kitchen entrance. We wouldn’t want tradesmen muddying up the front hall.”

      “Of course not,” agreed Lucy, watching closely as Sue pulled off a loose board and opened the door. “You’re pretty good at this. How long have you been breaking and entering?”

      “Practically my whole life. When I was in high school we used to sneak in here to smoke cigarettes and drink beer.”

      “I’m shocked,” said Lucy, following her friend into the darkness. Zoe’s eyes, peeking out over the corduroy carrier, were very large and round.

      “This is the kitchen,” said Sue, in her best real estate lady voice. “Very roomy.”

      “It’s enormous,” said Lucy, glancing around at the cavernous, dungeon like room.

      “All the latest in modern appliances,” said Sue, waving her arm. “The stove.” She pointed to a rusting hulk in one corner. “The dishwasher.” Sue indicated a soapstone sink complete with hand pump. “The refrigerator!” Throwing open a pantry door, she sent a startled mouse scurrying for shelter.

      “Yuck. Can we go upstairs?”

      “This way, madam.”

      Sue led the way up a flight of surprisingly sturdy wooden steps and opened the door to the dining room. Lucy blinked at the brightness; dusty sunlight streamed through the filthy windows. Long brown ribbons of wallpaper were peeling from the walls, and the carcasses of dead flies crunched under their feet.

      “The dining room needs a bit of freshening up,” conceded Sue. “The living room is this way, through the hall.”

      Stepping into the hallway, Lucy paused and let her gaze follow the long curving staircase upward. Long ago the house must have been lovely, and beautiful young ladies in long gowns would have descended these stairs to greet the handsome beaux who waited for them below.

      “I see this old place is casting a spell on you,” said Sue. “Would you like to see the ballroom?”

      “Ballroom?”

      “I kid you not.” Sue tugged at a pair of warped French doors and finally succeeded in opening them. She bowed with a little flourish as Lucy entered the room.

      It was a long, rectangular room with three sets of French doors along one side. There was a magnificent, ornate marble fireplace at one end and a balcony for musicians at the other. Facing the French doors there was a wall of matching mirrors, now spotty and dusty. The panels between the doors were decorated with carved wood shaped into lavish bouquets of flowers. Gilt sconces, long since robbed of their crystals, lined the walls.

      “Sue, how can you say you want to see all this demolished?” asked Lucy. “It’s fabulous.”

      “It could be, if somebody had hundreds of thousands of dollars to spend fixing it up. But that’s not going to happen. It’s been empty for a zillion years, falling apart bit by bit. A rock through a window here, a piece of paneling ripped out there, it’s like the death of a thousand cuts. I’m all for a swift mercy killing.”

      “You really care about this old place.”

      “They just don’t build ’em like this anymore. Hey, I want to show you something.”

      Returning СКАЧАТЬ