The Death of Perry Many Paws (13 page)

“But …”

I couldn’t take it anymore so I reached past him and pushed the door open just a crack.

“It didn’t squeak at all …”

“No one said it would. Are you even half-awake?”

The door in the library is behind a bookcase, the usual revolving bookcase like you see in the movies. There wasn’t a light on in the library or else even the most clueless burglar would notice a library bookcase that swung open enough to allow two people to look out from behind it. The only greeting we received was from Mycroft who lumbered over and began sniffing at us and pawing at the bookcase. There was no other sound.

“I don’t think there’s anyone here. Hand me the flashlight,” Cam whispered. Of course I didn’t have one. I ignored him. He must have caught on because he didn’t mention it again. “I’m going in. You wait here.”

“No!”

“No, you don’t want me to go in …?”

“No, no I don’t want to wait here!”

Just as we began to inch ourselves into the room, Mycroft raced out and began howling in the front hall, his toenails doing a tap dance on the marble floor. We both hesitated, not wanting to expose ourselves to the burglar if Mycroft had gotten his scent in the hall. We were still at the point where we could pull the bookcase closed and stay hidden in the wall if we had to. Suddenly there was pounding at the door and Mycroft started barking in earnest. One of us screamed and the other one swore, but I’m not sure who did what. Then it dawned on us that the police had arrived and we bolted out of the passage to the front door to let them in.

What followed was the usual police procedural. In summary, there was no sign of a break-in at either the front or back doors. None of the windows had been tampered with. Nothing was missing. Nothing was disturbed. I was waiting for them to tell us it had to be an inside job, which pretty much made Mycroft the culprit as Cam and I could alibi each other. An hour later they were gone and we were wide awake. Cam started a fire. I made him some coffee and grabbed a diet soda, caffeine-free, for myself. I also brought in a package of cookies and a doggy treat. The three of us sat around the fire munching and staring and trying to figure out what had happened. Cam reached over and squeezed my hand.

“You were incredibly brave, sweetheart.”

I squeezed back, “So were you, once you woke up.”

“Yeah, my emergency response time could use some work. Coming in through the passage was a good idea. If someone had actually been in here, we would’ve been really exposed coming in the regular door.”

I pulled my hand away. “What do you mean
if
someone had been here? Don’t you believe anyone broke in?”

“Well, no one was here and nothing was disturbed …”

“Cam, I heard something down here. Mycroft was howling. You know he would never do that if he were alone.”

“He might’ve had a bad dream.”

“I heard something, someone. I know I did. Someone was in here. I’m sure of it.”

“What would they have been doing in here? How did they get in? I don’t think we should worry about something that may not even have …”

“Maybe they were in here during the day and just hid until we went to sleep …”

“Oh, that’s reassuring.”

“Well, the house is so big we could have dozens of people hiding in here and never know it.”

“We could install heat sensors in all the unused rooms so an alarm would go off if entire families were hiding on the third floor,” Cam suggested, a tad too sarcastically.

“Be serious, Cam.”

“I’m being as serious as I can be when I never heard a thing, never saw a thing and neither did the police. They’re professionals, and if there were signs of a break-in they would find them. They were here for over an hour going all over the house and didn’t find anything suspicious. The fact that Mycroft howled, rare as that is, doesn’t mean someone broke in. You should be glad no one was here. It seems to me that ‘false alarm’ is the best conclusion we could hope for.” He put his arm around my shoulder. “You aren’t disappointed that there wasn’t a break-in, are you? If so, we need to add some adventure to our lives.”

“What I’m disappointed about is that no one believes me when I say someone was in here. Oh, forget it. Let’s see if we can go back to sleep.”

We agreed that we would go up the main staircase and close up the passage. As we left the library, Mycroft pushed himself to his feet and started after us. Mycroft always slept in the library at night and in the solarium during the day. He was physically unable to make it up the
stairs anymore. As we reached the bottom of the staircase Cam knelt down and gave Mycroft a good ear rub.

“Time for you to go back to bed, boy. We’ll see you in the morning.” He gave him a hug and tried to head him back toward the library. Uncharacteristically, Mycroft refused to budge and continued to paw at the bottom stair and sniff around.

“I think he’s all discombobulated. I wish we could take him upstairs with us,” I said as I reached over and rubbed his head. “Poor little guy has no idea what’s going on.”

“Well, that makes three of us. I guess we can just let him wander around down here for a while if he’s restless. He’ll eventually work his way back to the library.” We each gave Mycroft a good night hug and headed up the stairs. When we reached the top I turned around to see if he had headed back to the library. He was right where we left him, standing at the bottom of the stairs staring up at us. Only this time he held something white in his teeth. It looked like cloth.

Cam and I scampered down the stairs and removed it.

“It’s all wet and drooly,” I said. “What is it?”

Cam held it up and shook it out. It wasn’t really white, more of a creamy yellow, and it was quite beautiful, with lacy edges. “It’s a lady’s handkerchief. Where would that have come from?”

“It looks pretty old. Part of it is starting to unravel. There’s something sewn on it,” I said. “Look. There’s an embroidered monogram in the corner.”

“I think it’s an ‘S’ and a ‘D.’ No, wait, it’s a ‘B.’ An ‘S’ and a ‘B.’ Oh Jesus,” Cam said as he sat down with a thud and let the handkerchief drift to the floor. I picked it up and stared at it. Then I stared at him.

“What’s wrong?”

The same husband who had told me that he didn’t hear a burglar and didn’t see a burglar so therefore there was no burglar blurted out, “Sylvie’s back. We’re being haunted!”

ot surprisingly, I overslept. It was after nine. I reached over for Cam but of course he wasn’t there. He had gone to work. Cam is the Director of the Birdsey Bugg Foundation, one of the oldest and least known charitable foundations in the country. The foundation was started in the early 1800s by Horatio Birdsey and Adolphous Bugg. Both men were very well off and were able to leave money to their heirs in addition to starting the foundation to benefit the people of Birdsey Falls. The current President of the foundation, and Cam’s direct boss, was Wilhelmina Bugg. I smiled remembering when Abbey used to tell everyone that her daddy’s job was to give people money.

With Abbey on my mind, I closed my eyes for a few precious seconds more when I heard a scraping sound over my head. Oh no. Last night the noise had been under me and today it was above me. And Cam wasn’t here to explore it with me. I wasn’t nearly so brave when he wasn’t here. I lay there hoping it had been my imagination, but then I heard it again. Scraping followed by a rubbing sound, something heavy being pulled across the floor. I stared at the ceiling. What room is directly above us? We don’t use the third floor except for guests so it has to be one of the guest rooms. Without at least one diet soda in the morning I can’t think. Granted my house is enormous but I should have a general floor plan in my head. Above me is … ah, Cassandra’s old room! It was
one of the shrine bedrooms in the house, kept exactly as Cassandra had left it when she moved out. She didn’t even use it when she stayed with us, instead preferring one of the larger guest rooms with a queen-sized bed. No one used that room, so why was there noise in there?

“Shit!” someone bellowed.

Cam! I would recognize that swearing anywhere. I grabbed my robe and ran to the bottom of the stairs.

“What are you doing up there? Why are you home?” I saw his rear end scooting across the third-floor landing as he dragged a box across the floor.

“Hey,” he called from his upside down position. “Sorry to wake you but I cut my finger on this stupid box.”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

“I took today off. I wanted to be sure you were okay after last night and didn’t want to leave you alone in the house. I’m bringing this thing down. Watch out in case I drop it.”

He proceeded to lug the box down both flights of stairs and into the dining room, plopping it on the dining room table. I got a diet soda out of the fridge and noticed that Cam had already consumed half a pot of coffee. “I wish Bing were here with those sticky buns,” I said.

“If you toast some bagels I’ll fish through this box and find what I want to show you,” he offered.

“Deal.” I thawed two bagels in the microwave and then put them in the toaster. “What is that box, anyway?”

“It’s stuff from Cassandra’s first couple of years of college.”

“Why do we want to look at that?” I peered over his shoulder and saw a bunch of notebooks, postcards, photos and a beanie. “Is there a photo of you and Meggie whatever …?”

“Meggie Smalls? No. I doubt Cassandra kept photos of me and my prom date but Cassandra was fascinated with the Sylvie story …”

“Sylvie? The ghost who left the handkerchief in our house last night?”

“Yes. Cassandra wrote a story about her in college. I remember reading it and it was pretty good. Rather than have me tell you the story I thought you should read what Cassandra wrote. Look! Here it is. I already ate once this morning so why don’t I read it to you while you eat?” Cam said.

“Read away and don’t leave out a single word.”

“You remember that Roger Behrends lived in New Orleans after the Civil War …”

“Right, after he returned from England where he hid out during the war so he wouldn’t have to fight,” I said.

“Yeah, he was a good businessman but not much of a fighter …”

“If you can call carpet bagging in the post-Civil War South ‘good business practice,’” I protested through a mouth of cranberry bagel.

“It
was
good business, in the sense it was profitable. Not good business in the moral sense. I agree. When Roger was living in New Orleans he fell in love with Sylvie Darcantel, a beautiful French girl …”

“Where’s her portrait? I’ve seen all the Behrends portraits and, no offense, there wasn’t a single beautiful girl among them.”

“You need to let me read the story before you can ask the questions.”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

Cam opened the folder and began to read.

Sylvie’s Story

         
Roger Behrends was the handsome son of Bascom Behrends, a very successful businessman in Birdsey Falls. He turned twenty-one in 1861 and decided to visit relatives in Devonshire, England. Once the Civil War broke out, he decided it was best to remain in England until things were settled. He went into business with his English cousin, Wilton Behrends, and moved to London. There he remained until
1865, making money and studying the architecture of the stately homes and castles of England. He returned home determined to build a castle for himself but found the town and surrounding area economically depressed after the war. When he discovered that there was easy money to be made in the Reconstruction South he packed up and moved south to add to his fortune
.

         
While doing business in New Orleans, Roger met Sylvie Darcantel, a black-haired beauty with deep blue eyes and skin as white as marble. This was the late 1860s and New Orleans was a colorful and mysterious city, populated by Creoles, French, Haitians, Indians, Gypsies, freed slaves and plantation owners. Lots of hustle and bustle, lots of wheeling and dealing, lots of money to be made and lost, and lots of exotic and interesting people to meet. All this was very different from Birdsey Falls. Roger certainly had never met anyone there who was as enchanting and exciting as Sylvie Darcantel. He fell madly in love with her and she with him
.