Miles Read online

  “And that isn’t even the end of it! Alfred is attempting to paint me as incompetent in caring for the Bannerman estate! Mentally incompetent, if he can manage it,” she rolled her eyes. “It would vastly improve his chances of taking over as trustee.”

  I thought of the neglected state of the House of Bannerman, and wondered reluctantly if maybe Alfred had a point.

  “How does he plan to prove this?” asked Mom.

  “I was informed by my attorney this morning of Alfred’s intentions, and that the House of Bannerman is in terrible disrepair, which could be used as evidence that I am not fit to see to the adequate care of the estate. For the past three years, while Miles was away at the academy and I traveled and visited friends, we employed a caretaker to see to the grounds and upkeep of the house. I’ve taken for granted that it was in good hands. The Henderson’s have always been trustworthy, I don’t understand how this could happen. After the meeting with my attorney, I was so upset that I just took off walking toward the estate, and you know the rest.”

  “Can this Alfred legally get away with any of this?” I asked.

  “There is a possibility, dear. As Miles is the last direct descendant of the Bannerman family, and my age being what it is, Alfred may be able to. He is prepared to take legal action if Miles is still unaccounted for on his twentieth birthday.”

  “When was the last time you heard from the caretakers?” asked Mom.

  “Three years ago last May,” said Polly. “Repair and maintenance expenses, including salary, were reported to our accountant, who managed payment. I did not routinely communicate with them myself.”

  “What are their names?” I asked, pulling my iPhone out of my back pocket.

  “Jim and Amelia Henderson,” Polly said.

  I did a quick internet search, and regretted to see that it located an obituary for Jim Henderson. He died in June, shortly after Polly’s last visit to the estate. On a social networking site, I discovered that Amelia was living with a sister, in Florida.

  “Well then. I guess that explains that,” Polly said. “I don’t know why Amelia didn’t contact me or the accountant… or why no one thought to mention there being an obituary in the paper… but now I know why the estate isn’t up to its usual standards.”

  Polly finished her tea, then set the mug down decisively. Her eyes were filled with resolve.

  “Regardless of everything else, I must find someone to see to setting the property to rights. The needs of the estate must be assessed, and a service hired to tend the gardens. I’m sure the inside of the house is a fright, not having been cleaned in three years... I’ll need someone to interview cleaning services and oversee the work. I’m not certain where to start,” she mused, lost in thought. “But first, I must call for a car so that I can see the property, and know what I’m dealing with.”

  Mom looked at me. I nodded, and she turned to Polly.

  “Don’t worry about calling for a car. Anika will be glad to take you.”

  Polly accepted another cup of tea, and rested a bit longer. She was alert and energetic, now. Amazing what encouragement, a warm blanket, hot tea, and some food can accomplish.

  When she was ready, I helped her back into the car, and followed the road in the direction of the castle.

  “Anika dear, I don’t mean to pry. I couldn’t help but notice, your little sister… is she quite all right?”

  I sighed.

  “No, she’s not. It’s very frustrating. She had the flu, which seemed to start everything off. She’s never been the same since. She has a lot of strange symptoms that come and go. She’s definitely sick, but the first doctor we saw couldn’t find anything wrong, and instead of continuing to look, he decided there was nothing wrong. My parents took Doreen to another doctor then, who ran a lot of tests, but came to the same conclusion. Then Dad was laid-off work, and that made everything more complicated. No insurance, and so many expensive tests and expensive appointments, and they all say the same thing, that there’s nothing wrong. Some have insinuated that Doree is making it up, which just infuriates us!”

  “Well of course,” said Polly indignantly. “No one could look as miserable as she does, without truly being ill.”

  That didn’t exactly make me feel better.

  “It must have been dreadful, your Father out of work. How are things now, dear?”

  I told Polly about Dad’s new job working for Uncle Mark, and our living arrangement. She wanted to know why “a bright young girl” like me wasn’t in college, and I explained that I would be, as soon as I could afford it again.

  “You know dear,” she said. “When my son and daughter-in-law were killed in a car accident, my grandson and I started a scholarship in their memory. You really should think about applying. It’s not too early to start thinking about next year.”

  I told Polly about the hike Chip and I took through the woods, and my abrupt meeting with the cellar. I told her we waited out the storm inside the house, and we both had a good laugh when she told me I should have turned the lights on. The electricity was never disconnected. I didn’t even think of trying!

  We arrived at the castle and I pulled into the long driveway. There were no dark clouds lurking, today. It was beautiful and serene in the bright sunshine, as awe inspiring from this side, as it was the other. The Hendersons were conscientious in caring for the estate while they were there, so the exterior was in good repair. The grounds had certainly seen better days, though. The three years of neglect had taken their toll. The sun brought out flaws I wasn’t aware of last Friday, in the shadow of the encroaching storm.

  “Oh my. I do see what everyone’s talking about,” Polly said grimly.

  We walked slowly around the property so Polly could see the depth of the neglect. She was a very friendly little lady, and had all sorts of questions. She wanted to know all about Tryon. She said she just loves little boys, “so much easier dear, than when they’re older” which sort of surprised me, but I guess we’ll just have to wait a few more years to find out.

  “When I followed Chip into the house last week, I saw something very odd.”

  “Oh? Did you, now?” Polly’s expression was inscrutable, as she looked straight ahead at the path in front of us.

  “There were two sets of paw prints. Chip’s, and another dog’s. It was very strange,” I said.

  “Hm.” Polly sounded like I do, when I want to keep what I know to myself.

  “I’m not certain, but before it started to rain and I fell through the cellar doors, I think I saw a curtain move.”

  “Oh my, just look at those two squirrels! I remember a time when I was filled with that much energy.”

  I didn’t doubt it. She was pretty spry, even now.

  The squirrels were cute, but I’m skilled enough at the art of redirecting, to know when someone else is doing it. Polly did not want to talk about this.

  As we continued our walk around the perimeter of the forest encircling the castle, Polly wanted to know all about my interests, what career I was considering, and so many other things. Eventually I had a question for her.

  “The story of the two Bannerman brothers really haunts me. I saw the portraits when we were waiting out the storm, and I just can’t believe the story is true. I’m sure their parents tried to learn what happened, but was there ever any evidence that might be useful in solving the mystery now? If there is, forensic science could prove what really happened, that day.”

  “You know, I’m not sure,” said Polly, with a gleam in her eye. “I would assume that Miles’ and Delevan’s father would have kept anything he collected. As you can see, the house is quite large. There are places that I have never been, even though I lived there for many years.”

  “Wow, that’s something. It looks massive on the outside, but must be even bigger on the inside,” I joked.

  “Oh, it is. It would be quite something if Miles Bannerman could be absolved of the crime after all these years…” she said thoughtfully. “And w
ouldn’t that just take the wind out of Alfred’s sails!”

  She was positively giddy at the thought.

  Polly narrowed her eyes and gave me a searching look.

  “You seem a very smart, responsible girl. How would you like a job?”

  Chapter 3

  “Now remember, dear. As we discussed before, I don’t want you coming out here alone. You bring that dog with you,” Polly said, waving her cane in Chip’s direction. Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “Yard men can be a rough lot, but he’ll keep them in line.”

  I choked back an involuntary laugh at that unexpected comment, and ended up in a coughing fit. I wondered what her experience with ‘yard men’ had been, or if she was making a joke.

  I was grateful that Polly liked Chip, and suggested he come to work with me. I wasn’t sure I would’ve taken the job otherwise. I felt safe enough, but if Chip wasn’t here, and I was alone in the silent house for very long... well, I was really glad to have Chip’s reassuring company.

  Chip and I walked Polly to the waiting taxi, which would return her to the hotel where she was staying.

  “Room service, dear. A wonderful invention.”

  Polly and her attorney would interview PI’s to search for her grandson Miles, and I would hire people to restore the grounds and clean the house, and repair anything in need of it. In addition, I would oversee the work, making the estate look so sharp, no one would be able to use it to question her ability to manage the trust.

  I had Polly’s blessing to search through the house for anything that could be used as proof of what actually happened to Miles and Delevan Bannerman. The chance to search for clues and maybe solve the family mystery felt right, as if it was what I was meant to do.

  I stood and surveyed the outside of the house. The opportunity to work here and the ability to start saving for college again, taking that worry off Mom and Dad, meant a lot to me. I couldn’t believe Polly was trusting me with such an important job. I couldn’t help but think that the dire need to start the clean-up at once, and my immediate availability, had something to do with it. But I also think Polly is a very sweet, philanthropic lady who wanted to give me a chance, and help my family in the process.

  I only hoped hiring a nineteen-year-old to manage the estate wouldn’t backfire, and be considered evidence that Polly wasn’t mentally competent!

  Last night, I spent hours on the internet studying how to care for antiques, and clean rugs and drapes, and anything else that might be in the house. If I didn’t know the right way to do things myself, I’d never be able to tell if the people I interviewed were up to the job, or not. This house was filled with antique treasures, not particleboard. I wasn’t willing to trust the cleaning and handling of the contents to just anyone.

  Armed with my newfound knowledge, I spent several more hours looking up cleaning services and landscape maintenance companies, and reading online reviews. The list was now narrowed down to a manageable size. This morning, I made appointments to interview four of the services on the short list. The interviews would start tomorrow.

  I waved to the repairman installing the new cellar doors, then Chip and I turned and went back inside the house. We walked through the entry and on into the first living room, or parlor. I really needed to get online and figure out names for all of these rooms. Whatever it was called, this is where I’d start. I was determined to have a clean space in which to conduct tomorrow’s interviews.

  Sunlight filtered through the curtains, dimly illuminating the room. Its fingers of light touched the mahogany end tables and curio cabinets, and caused the sheet enshrouded sofa and easy chairs to appear ghost-like. Beautiful paintings were scattered at intervals across the Victorian wallpaper, and a large fireplace stood in between two picture windows. Cobwebs covered the contents of the room like the softest blanket, and every surface was thick with dust.

  I shivered, but not from the cold. The room was so quiet and still, as if it was sleeping.

  Chip whined softly.

  “It is too quiet, isn’t it?” I agreed. “Let’s get to work. Once we’re started, it won’t be so bad.”

  I crossed the room and drew open the curtains. The bright sunlight streamed in unhindered, warming and dissolving the ghostly effect of the room, and exposing the unchecked dust and spider webs mercilessly.

  “Well, it looks like a real room now anyway,” I said.

  Chip sneezed loudly in response.

  Several hours of hard work later, the heavy curtains were folded neatly, ready to be picked up by the professional cleaners. The rugs were rolled, awaiting the same destination. The hardwood floor gleamed, after a much needed cleaning. I surveyed the dust-free room, congratulating myself on a job well done.

  I was a little disappointed at not finding anything even remotely pertaining to the family tragedy, and I looked thoroughly. I reminded myself that this wasn’t the most likely place for a clue to be kept. The huge estate held many other rooms, and I would search every one of them. If anything was here, I’d find it. I was driven. It might take me the rest of my life, considering the size of the house, but I’d get it done.

  I turned to collect the cleaning supplies and put them somewhere other than on the floor, when I heard a faint rustling.

  The sound came from the entryway, on the other side of the large arched doorway to my right. The lighting was very dim there, compared to the parlor, where the sun poured freely through the curtainless windows. I couldn’t see a thing.

  I looked to Chip for assurance. I wasn’t imagining it, he heard it, too.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I began to make out the staircase. At the end of the gracefully curving banister, sat a statue. Before I could feel too startled by the sight of the unusual ornamentation, a golden retriever walked into the living room through the doorway on my left. That did startle me, but before I or even Chip could react, the statue turned to look at the dog.

  “Our visitor is back again,” he said.

  I jumped so hard my teeth rattled, and the bottle of glass cleaner I held fell to the floor with a clatter. Chip and the retriever loped toward each other like long lost friends, no worries there.

  Thanks a lot buddy, run off and leave me why don’t you!

  The statue, who now looked more like Polly’s missing grandson, looked back at me.

  I tried to convince my heart to climb back into my chest where it belonged. It was a little late for calm cool and collected, but I was determined to gain back some semblance of control.

  “Are you Miles?” I said.

  Instead of answering, he lost his balance and fell off the banister, and onto the floor. There he stayed, staring at me as if, what, I have cobwebs in my hair? I look like I’ve been cleaning all day? I don’t look like I belong here, my t-shirt and ripped jeans aren’t exactly proper parlor attire?

  I swept the hair that insisted on escaping my ponytail behind one ear, and resisted the urge to rub under my eyes to remove any smudged eyeliner. The boss’ grandson was extremely good looking, and sharply dressed. In his white shirt with rolled up sleeves, dark vest, and pants, he looked great, even if he was sprawled on the floor. I, however, was a mess. It left me feeling off balance and self-conscious, like a scullery maid finding herself in the same room as the master of the house.

  “Are you Miles?” I said again.

  He just sat there, staring as if mesmerized, and it was starting to get to me.

  “Your grandmother has been so worried!” I snapped at him, my patience gone.

  “Are you… talking to me?” he asked slowly.

  “Do you see anyone else in the room?” I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms.

  I could not believe this guy! I change my vote, he’s not the cutest guy I’ve ever seen in my whole life, and not that smart, either.

  Glancing toward the retriever, he slowly rose to his feet.

  “I’m sorry… I wasn’t trying to be rude. You just really startled me.” He stepped forw
ard, studying me intently. “You’re the first person to speak to me in over a hundred and forty years.”

  I was preparing a snappy comeback, when he stepped out of the shadows, and into the parlor. As the light from the windows touched him he faded, for lack of a better word. He wasn’t all there, and I don’t mean that in the mental sense.

  “Whoa, I don’t believe in ghosts,” I stammered, taking a step back and running into a chair. My mind raced madly to find something else that would explain what I was seeing.

  “I don’t either, exactly…” he said, rubbing his forehead as if he, too, would prefer an alternate explanation.

  This admonition on the part of semi-transparent guy surprised me so much, I found myself arguing the opposite.

  “Well how do you explain—this?” I exclaimed, gesturing towards him.

  “I can’t really, it’s… complicated,” he said.

  I sank into the chair behind me, not enjoying how it felt to have all the blood in my head rush out as fast as it possibly could. I dropped my head into my hands, to try and slow the rapid exodus. The retriever walked over and pushed on my arm, making room to rest her chin on my knee. Chip watched semi-transparent guy, and looked puzzled.

  “So I see your dog is solid… real… alive… something…” I struggled for the right word.

  “She sort of comes and goes.”

  What he said and the way he said it would make me laugh, if I wasn’t so freaked out.

  “She made the choice to stay with me. Maybe that’s why she can switch back and forth,” he added.

  My head swam. I was a little young to exhibit signs of schizophrenia, but maybe that was it. Maybe Polly didn’t hire me, I wasn’t even in a house, I’d been cleaning tree trunks all day. Maybe I was living out my own A Beautiful Mind! Not that I’m a math genius, or anything. Pretty terrible how that was the most reasonable of the two really disturbing explanations for what I was seeing.

  I would love to wake up now, but that required falling asleep as a prerequisite. I settled for closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath.