23 #2
Snapping on lights to ward off the now rapidly darkening night sky.
Brewing coffee for the men, tea for herself, then refilling the water bowl for the canine opportunist. Adams seemed content to roam the vaulted living space, gaze bouncing from the massive fireplace, to the gigantic picture windows, to the crudely patched floorboards.
He still wore a slightly dazed expression, though from time to time he’d nod to himself, as if working something out.
The dog and Theo trailed behind companionably, neither of them interrupting the silence.
Raquel threw together a plate of cheese and crackers, added an assortment of baked goods from their neighbors, and placed it on the center coffee table. The dog took that as an invitation, the platter being conveniently located at snout level.
“Don’t even think about it,” she informed him.
An attempt at charmingly wagging his tail…
“Still a hard no.”
The master manipulator turned to Theo, who they both knew was the softer target.
Sure enough, Theo picked up a piece of cheese and obligingly tossed half to the dog without giving it a second thought.
The mutt had the good sense not to gloat, but Raquel could feel his smugness from the other side of the sofa.
“What do you think?” Theo asked the detective at last.
Adams was slowly turning in a circle, as if still trying to take in everything all at once.
“It…it feels both surreal and déjà vu. I’ve spent years studying photographs of this room.
I recognize key elements—the mantel, the stairs, the angled windows.
But at the same time…there should be partially filled glasses here and here.
A recently started jigsaw puzzle there. Not to mention a roughhewn pine table in the dining area holding a half-built Erector set.
Oh, and behind the table, against the wall, an antique chest of drawers—”
“A commode,” Raquel interjected softly. “Turn of the nineteenth century. I saw the piece in the photos as well, but could never track it down.”
“A commode?” Theo asked. “Isn’t that like a…toilet?”
“Commode furniture,” Adams corrected. “From the French word commode, meaning convenient. Whereas the British word for commode signifies a chair on wheels, such as for topping a chamber pot, hence your confusion.”
Raquel eyed the investigator with renewed interest. He shrugged. “I have a thing for antiques. Or really, anything old. Probably one of the reasons the cold case unit appealed to me.” He tapped his lower leg prosthetic. “Among others.”
“Do you have an area of specialty?”
“Colonial America. Which makes sense, given we’re surrounded by it.”
“You must know about hand-dug wells,” Theo prodded.
“Yeah. But the one your wife described…Smaller stones, top edge flush with the ground. The only ones I’ve encountered have been significantly cruder.”
“Wanna check it out? The folks from the skeleton recovery lab are still out there, hauling up bucketfuls of dirt. Mr. Man and I pay a visit from time to time, but”—Theo shrugged—“it’s about as exciting as it sounds.”
Adams nodded distractedly. He helped himself to a cookie, then peered into the kitchen. “This hasn’t changed,” he stated.
Theo did the honors. “No. We just had the plumbers replace the pipes to provide running water. Otherwise, the entire kitchen is a gut job.”
“What about the upstairs? Can I see it?”
Now Theo and Raquel exchanged glances. They were both protective of the second-story bedrooms. Here, they’d had time to curate an image, whereas upstairs was akin to revealing gaping wounds beneath a bandage. Raw and needlessly exposing.
“Why?” Raquel countered.
Adams had the grace to flush. “I don’t…I’m sorry. I guess I got a little caught up in the moment. But this is your home, of course. I don’t mean to come across as ghoulish.”
“You and every local who’s wandered through here.” Theo shrugged, helping himself to more cheese, while tossing another bit to Mr. Man.
“Have you studied old maps of this property?” Raquel redirected.
“Sure. Like most of the searchers did back in the day, I looked for any kind of structure, feature, or outcropping where a family of six might hide.”
Or be hidden, went without saying.
“Did you ever see a marking for an old well?”
Cookie done, Adams tucked his hands in his pants pockets. His thinking pose, Raquel was beginning to realize.
“Now that you mention it, no. Because that would’ve been worth checking out.”
“I couldn’t find one, either, which is interesting. Water access always mattered. I can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t have been noted.”
“And that’s where the skeleton and old ledger were found.” Adams turned to her with a smile. He’d told her he wouldn’t forget, and he hadn’t. “I don’t suppose that has anything to do with the diary you pilfered from the historical society?”
“You did what?” Theo gazed at her, wide-eyed.
Raquel surrendered. “I kinda, sorta stole a personal journal with handwriting that matches the ledger entries. Both appear to belong to a midwife from the 1790s.”
“That Mason guy was a little pissed,” Adams provided. “But you know, as long as you’re already guilty of the crime…”
“Might as well enjoy the ill-gotten gains?”
“I’m an investigator. You can say you were bringing new evidence to my attention.”
Huh, so the good cop also had a bit of rogue in him. Raquel was not one who had to be asked twice.
She brought her bag to the dining room table, where Adams and Theo gathered round. Slowly, she slid the battered journal onto the wooden surface, more pieces flaking off the leather cover.
“Who does it belong to?” Theo asked.
“Ruth something or other.” She glanced up at her husband. “With a little photographic ingenuity, I think I can determine the rest. But for now, let’s do this.”