Loved From The Grave Read online

  Terrence had stopped beside the wishing well, and softly whining, he was staring up at nothing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sitting down next to Terrence on the grass, April followed his gaze. Though there was nothing to see she knew Troy was there, and closing her eyes she silently begged him to speak to her. The seconds ticked by. Receiving no response she let out a disappointed sigh.

  "Troy, I hope you can hear me. I'm going to make a list of questions before I go to sleep and leave them on the nightstand. Maybe you'll be able to answer them," she whispered, then opening her eyes she found Terrence staring at her intently. "Can you see him, or do you just—?"

  But a gust of cold wind interrupted her. As it whistled through the trees the first few drops of rain began to fall, and staring up at the sky she saw the dark clouds looming. A peal of thunder boomed overhead, and abruptly the few drops became a downpour. She and Terrence ran across the lawn, dashing through the kitchen door. While she found a towel to wipe herself down, he sniffed for a few minutes, then settled on the floor near the entrance to the dining room door. Finding a box of dog treats on the table, she took one out and walked it over to him.

  "Welcome to my home, you precious thing," she said, feeding it to him. "I'm very happy you're here, even if you are wet and smelly. I'm even happier you can sense him as well." Devouring the treat in a single gulp, he stared at her hopefully. "You are too cute. More later."

  Checking the freezer she found a package of frozen appetizers that had been brought for the memorial service and left unused. The date on the package said they were still good, and placing them in the microwave, she opened a cabinet and retrieved a decorative plate. Walking into the pantry hoping to find something else she could offer him, she stared at the sparse shelves.

  "I need to go to the store. Jonathan's been so kind, and he's going beyond the call of duty. The least I can do is have groceries in the house."

  Finding a package of water crackers, she placed a handful on the plate, and pulling a lone block of cheese from the refrigerator, she sliced off several pieces and arranged them nattily alongside the thin, crispy wafers. It felt like forever since she'd puttered around the kitchen, and though her heart still carried its dull ache, at least she was beginning to function. But just as the thought floated through her head, a sudden wave of heat hit the back of her throat. Sitting down, she willed the sweeping emotion to pass. Getting to his feet, Terrence walked over, sat in front of her and lifted his paw.

  "It comes out of nowhere," she murmured, then feeling it begin to wane, she leaned over and buried her face in his soft, damp fur. "You're good for the soul, you know that?"

  He whined a response, and grateful the heavy moment had passed, she rose from the chair, picked up the tray and headed into the living room.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  As Jonathan had unpacked, he'd been unable to shake the feeling there were eyes on him. He'd tried telling himself there were no such things as ghosts, but his firm belief in their non-existence had been shaken after Ivy's passing. Before leaving London he'd had some odd experiences. He'd suddenly smell her perfume, or leave something out, only to return and find it put in its drawer. In a strange way he'd found it comforting, but the thought of the deceased Troy Hammond hovering over him was unnerving. Finally standing in the middle of the room, he threw up his hands.

  "Troy Hammond, I have no idea if you're here, or if I'm imagining things because I know April believes you're communicating with her, but I assure you my only reason for being in this house is to protect her and find justice for you."

  Expecting something to happen, though he wasn't sure what, when nothing did he shook his head and carried his toiletries into the bathroom.

  "I really am losing it," he muttered. "If I'm going to stay here I need to get a grip."

  Walking back into the bedroom he started for the door, but stopped for a moment. The intense sense that he was being watched had evaporated. "Okay, that's just about as creepy," he grunted. "I need a drink. I hope April has whiskey in the house."

  Heading down the hall and into the foyer, he paused to study Man at Peace. A quick internet search had told him a similar scene by the same painter sold just over a year before, had fetched a whopping three-hundred thousand pounds. He couldn't begin to imagine the collective value of the many paintings hanging on the walls. It would have to be in the millions. Certainly enough to kill for. His beautiful Ivy had been murdered for just the money in her purse. He'd learned how to deal with the surges of anger that would suddenly bubble up from deep in his soul, but sometimes they would get the better of him, and he could feel his fingers curling into fists.

  "Interesting that Ben was able to see something was off about it," April remarked, unexpectedly appearing beside him. "I need to study it again. Maybe I'll see the difference. Jonathan, are you all right?"

  Swallowing hard, he nodded, then managed a smile.

  "Yes. Long day. I could use a drink. Do you have any whiskey?"

  "That's what I'm drinking," she replied as they ambled into the living room. "I opened a ridiculously expensive bottle. I've decided it's crazy to save things for special occasions when those special occasions may never happen."

  "I agree. What is this ridiculously expensive whiskey?"

  "Glenfiddich, Winter Storm."

  "It doesn't get much better. Find your tallest glass and fill it to the brim," he said with a poker face, then grinned. "Just kidding."

  "You can have as much as you want," she said, picking up the white bottle and splashing a generous amount into a crystal tumbler. "There's a case of it in the smoking room."

  Gratefully taking the glass, he dropped into the couch, downed a swallow, and let out a sigh.

  "That is excellent. Just what I needed. Now I'm ready to hear the news."

  "Did you know Ben's mother is an authority on Foster Hammond?"

  "I had no idea."

  "Apparently Ben's grandmother was in love with him. Ben grew up listening to endless Foster Hammond stories. Apparently he was quite the ladies man."

  "The Master of the Manor. Youthful and handsome. That doesn't surprise me. I wonder how many offspring are running around. I'm surprised there haven't been claims. The Hammonds are an extremely wealthy family, or I think they are. You never know. I once arrested a man who drove a Rolls Royce and lived in Mayfair. Turned out he was penniless, but an expert at moving his debt around."

  "That's unbelievable, but I can tell you why there was no offspring. Troy told me one of the reasons Foster took him under his wing was because he couldn't father children. Troy was the son he never had, and I can solve another mystery. A big one. I know why the artwork is in that hidden room."

  "You're kidding. Tell me."

  "When Foster came here as a young man, London was under siege from Hitler's bombers. His elderly relative was convinced Germany would win the war and take over the village."

  "And to prevent the Nazis from stealing his collection he hid it away in that room. Clever, although…" Jonathan said, a frown crossing his face.

  "What are you thinking?"

  "This house is full of paintings. Having so many forgeries made would take time."

  "Maybe he was in the process of having them done for some other reason, and when the war started he was already hanging replicas in place of the originals."

  "That could be."

  "There's something else," she continued. "Ben told me the village is aware Hammond Hall has secret rooms. This house was empty for years. Anyone could have decided to have a snoop and stumbled upon that side door, or even noticed something funny about that wall in the cellar. We don't know what it looked like before it was painted."

  "That's true, and there's something else. Back in the day this house would have been full of servants. Why wasn't he seen? Moving all that artwork couldn't have been easy."

  "What if there's another way in?" she suggested. "If the house has secret rooms, surely there must be secret passage
s."

  "Ah. Clever girl. Why don't you have a hunt around tomorrow? You might be right."

  "I wouldn't know where to start, but I will."

  "April, you've added some missing pieces to the puzzle," he said solemnly. "I promised you I'd find those responsible, and it's a promise I intend to keep. At the moment my money's on Ned and his nephew. Ned must know this house inside and out, he had plenty of opportunity, and his nephew is a handyman. I spoke with them both today."

  "You did?"

  "Ned's wife supports his claim that he was home that night, but of course she would say that. George, on the other hand, doesn't have an alibi. He says he was in the pub until around ten, then went home alone. What was your impression of them when they worked here?"

  "I didn't see much of Ned. He worked with Troy on the grounds. George seemed nice enough. I never had any complaints."

  "We're digging into their finances. That might reveal something."

  "Ned was the caretaker. He was in a position to keep people off the property."

  "Yes, I've considered that."

  "I don't mean to change the subject, but are you hungry?"

  "I am," he said, reaching for the tasty morsels on the coffee table, "and I'm embarrassed to say I have a hankering for pizza."

  "Not chicken casserole?"

  "Is that what the vicar's wife brought over?"

  "It is."

  "I've been thinking about Pizza all day. It's hard to switch my brain to chicken casserole."

  "It doesn't appeal to me either. I haven't been able to eat much, but the thought of pizza definitely sounds appealing."

  "What do you like on it? Sausage? Pepperoni? Mushrooms?"

  "Any or all of the above, but I'll probably only be able to eat one slice, though the more I think about it, the more tempting it sounds."

  "Then pizza it is," he said reaching for his phone.

  "I need to throw that casserole out. I've never been crazy about it, but I don't want to hurt Maude's feelings."

  During their conversation Terrence had been lying beside her chair, and as Jonathan called the local Italian restaurant, she reached down and stroked the dog's soft coat.

  "You can sleep wherever you want tonight," she said softly, "but I hope it will be in my room."

  "Fifteen minutes," Jonathan declared. "I ordered spicy sausage. It's excellent."

  "Pizza," she murmured. "Now that I know it's coming I can't wait."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  April and Jonathan were both carrying a slight buzz. She'd eaten two large slices and washed them down with red wine. Jonathan had gobbled down the remainder, and stayed with his whiskey.

  "I can't move," she groaned. "I think I'll leave all this until tomorrow."

  "Why don't you lie down? I'll wash up," Jonathan offered. "You've had a big day."

  "I think I will, and I need to make my list."

  "List for what?"

  "Uh, shopping," she lied, though as she said it she realized she needed to do that as well. "The pantry is empty."

  "I assume you have internet."

  "Of course. The password is Hammond."

  "No-one would ever guess," he said with a wry grin. "You need to change that."

  "Unlike former residents of this house I have no secrets," she said airily. "Besides, it's easy to remember. Terrence, are you coming with me or staying with Sherlock?"

  They'd had their pizza in the dining room, and rising unsteadily to her feet, she began to walk towards the hall. The dog immediately followed.

  "Looks like you have a new best friend."

  She paused her step, then slowly turned around.

  "Jonathan, can I ask you something?"

  "Anything," he replied, wondering why she'd become so solemn.

  "The pain. Does it ever go away?"

  Her eyes were brimming, and he realized what he'd said. You have a new best friend. She would have seen Troy as her best friend, just as he'd seen Ivy.

  "That was an incredibly insensitive remark. I'm so sorry."

  "You were just talking. It's not your fault, but does it?"

  "Grief is different for everyone," he said softly, pushing back from the table and walking towards her. "We all process loss in our own way. I still miss Ivy, but it's changed."

  "You were thinking about her when you were looking at that painting earlier. I could see it. Or feel it. Something."

  "I was. The rage used to be with me every moment of every day. Now it surfaces only once and a while, then it goes away. She wouldn't want me to be angry all the time. Troy wouldn't want you sad all the time either, and one day you won't be."

  "I, uh, I shouldn't ask you this."

  "You can ask me anything."

  "Would you mind holding me for a minute? I miss him so much. Sometimes, like right this minute, I can't stand it."

  "I know. I know all too well," he murmured, wrapping her up. "I also know you can hear him."

  "You do?" she sniffled, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

  "I do, and it's okay. He's loving you from the grave."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Who ambushed you in the cellar?

  Did you know what was behind the cellar wall?

  Do you know about other secret rooms?

  Why can't you talk to me when I'm awake?

  Can you make yourself visible so I can see you?

  Are you here all the time?

  Are you at peace?

  "Maybe that's too many questions," she murmured, studying the list. "All I can do is try, right Terrence?"

  The dog had followed her up the stairs, and though she'd invited him to share the bed he'd settled on the floor. Laying the piece of paper on the nightstand, she surrendered to a long yawn, smiled at the daffodils, and turned off the bedside lamp. The rain had been steady throughout the evening, and as she listened to it splash against the windowpanes, she thought about the hug Jonathan had given her. His arms weren't Troy's, but being held by a strong man had helped. So had his words.

  He's loving you from the grave.

  "You are," she whispered, pulling Troy's pillow into her arms and inhaling his scent. "I don't know how, but you are. Please let me feel you next to me while I sleep."

  Closing her eyes, she drifted away, and somewhere between waking and sleeping she felt his soft breath touch her ear.

  My precious April. I can only send my thoughts when your conscious mind is at rest. I am energy with no form, but I am watching over you. I cannot be at peace until you are at peace, and you cannot be at peace until you find those who broke us apart. Sink into a deep rest now, deeper, even deeper. Now you can free yourself and fly with me.

  She was floating up from her body, and Troy was waiting for her. A moment later they were flying slowly down the stairs, then through the hallway and into the library. As they approached the bookcase next to the fireplace, it moved away, revealing an empty space.

  With a sharp jolt she was back in her body. Terrence was barking. She felt disoriented, then seeing the dog scratching at the door she staggered from the bed.

  "Do you need to go out fella?" she said groggily as she opened it for him. "Let me—"

  But he was already sprinting away.

  Though dressed in flannel pajamas she felt the chilly air. Grabbing her robe lying at the foot of the bed, she slid into her slippers as she wrapped it around herself. Stepping into the passage, she flicked on the lights, and feeling more awake she started down the stairs. As she reached the bottom Jonathan appeared, striding towards her from the downstairs hall.

  "Are you okay?" he asked urgently.

  "Fine. Terrence wanted to go out."

  "I think it's more than that. I caught a glimpse of him racing towards the kitchen. I'm going to check it out. You wait here."

  "Not a chance!" she exclaimed, hurrying after him as he marched off, but as he disappeared into the dining room, something made her trip. She tumbled to the floor, and as she struggled to her feet, a flash of lightni
ng crackled through the dark sky quickly followed by a boom of thunder.

  "This is like some crazy Agatha Christie novel," she muttered, feeling goosebumps pop on her skin. "JONATHAN? TERRENCE?"

  Receiving no response, her mind flashed back to that dreadful night when she was standing in the dark calling for Troy. Forcing herself back to the present, trying to ignore the panic beginning to bubble up through her body, she ran through the dining room into the kitchen.

  The back door was wide open.

  Driven by a growing terror, she was about to dash out into the storm when Jonathan burst in. Panting and soaked, he was holding an equally soaked Terrence by the collar. As he breathlessly shut the door and bolted it, the dog vigorously shook himself, spraying water everywhere, but the wet mess was the last thing she cared about.

  "Oh, my God, I'm so glad you're okay."

  "I am, but—" he said breathlessly, peeling off his wet robe.

  "But what? Did you see anything?" she asked, grabbing a kitchen towel and handing it to him. "Was someone in here?"

  "Outside, by the wishing well," he panted, running his hand through his wet hair, "A woman, I saw her only briefly in that lightning flash."

  "The wishing well? What was she doing standing outside in the middle of a storm by the wishing well? Who was she? Did you get a--"

  "April, you need to listen."

  "Sorry."

  "I don't know what happened. I called out, and she was gone. If I didn't know better I'd think I was seeing things, but Terrence was barking at her. She probably ran off into the thicket."

  "This is crazy."

  "I need to sit for a minute. When I came in here there were no wet footprints, but that back door was open."

  "How can that be?"

  "There must be another way into this house."

  "She could have broken a window."

  "That's not the answer. There would still be water on the floor. April, take a breath and think. Is there any other way in?"