Here is the next installment of my book, now published on Amazon.com Kindle.

 Chapter 14

The coroner took only about a half an hour to do his work and remove the body. By ten o’clock Det. Irving left, promising to notify Tori and Cole about the cause of death as soon as the coroner determined it.

Grateful that she was finally alone, Tori went straight for the secretary in the alcove. Since the first second she saw it, she’d been dying with curiosity about what secrets it might hold. From her years of experience, she knew that these antique desks often had hidden compartments, and she desperately wanted to find out if this one did.

Closer scrutiny showed her that the bonnet-top desk was definitely an antique, too, probably dating from somewhere between 1740 and 1750. Like the Queen Anne secretary in the main house, it should have at least one hidden compartment. Without hesitating, she reached into the center pigeonhole where the compartment had been hidden in the Queen Anne. To her disappointment, she uncovered nothing.

There had to be a compartment somewhere. She opened the doors of the cherry wood top and glanced through the few papers on the shelves. Nothing but two years’ worth of income taxes and some old bills. Disappointed, Tori closed the top cabinet. Carefully sitting down in the antique spindle-back chair, she searched each pigeonhole and the eight small drawers beside and under them. Again she found nothing but pens, pencils, paper clips, and other assorted desk accessories.

She closed the fold-up desk, moved the chair back a little and opened the top of three large drawers. It contained three things: blank writing paper, typing paper and carbon paper. Again there was nothing out of the ordinary. The other two drawers, although holding quite a few papers, revealed nothing unusual.

Leaning back against the spindles of the chair, she laid her arms on the chair’s arms and studied the secretary. If she were a cabinetmaker in the Eighteenth Century, where would she hide a compartment? Without getting up, she ran her hand along the edges of the base tier to see if she could feel an opening. Nothing. She stood up and examined the upper tier. Again nothing.

Tori stepped back three paces and examined the secretary again. Every instinct screamed for her to keep looking. But why? She had no proof that this desk had a hidden compartment, and certainly not all of them had been made with one. Still, the secretary in the main house had a compartment. That gave her every reason to believe that this one did, too.

“Okay, secretary,” she said, “I know you’re hiding something. Cole doesn’t want to believe that either of his parents killed Carl, and I just know that you can help us solve this mystery. All you need to do is open up your secret compartment. Is that really so much to ask? Come on now. It’s time to show me where it is.”

She scanned the piece of furniture until her eyes stared at the top. Could it be possible? she wondered. There was only one way to find out. Standing on her toes, she reached for the spiral spindle on the right top corner of the seven-foot-six-inch tall secretary. It moved when she turned it! Tori continued twisting the spindle until it came off in her hand. A brief examination of the piece revealed that it had been screwed on after being broken.

She put it back and went to the spiral spindle set in the middle between the two crescent-shaped peeks. When she turned this one, the tarnished brass decoration on the wood beneath it popped open.

“Eureka!” she exclaimed excitedly. The hole was just big enough to fit all of her hand into, except her thumb. Reaching in, she felt something and carefully clasped it between her index and middle fingers. To her amazement, she pulled out a small notebook about three inches by five inches. “I knew you were hiding something. Now let’s see what we’ve got.”

Tori went into the living room, sat down on the couch, and propped her bare feet up on the coffee table. Then she opened the front cover of the black notebook. The first page was dated nearly twenty-four years ago. Excitement coursed through her. She’d found a diary.

“I shouldn’t read you, you know,” she told the notebook. “It isn’t polite. But I have to know if you can tell Cole and me who murdered Carl.”

The diary started out innocently enough, detailing small yet important events to the writer. About a quarter of the way through, things began to change. A man was mentioned but not by name.

     I can’t believe what happened today. He came to me before I could seek him out. He must have known that my husband was away, because he said something about us having plenty of time to talk.

     We did talk, too—for an hour and a half. We talked about everything from food to pottery. He really seemed interested in everything I had to say, too, not like my husband, who doesn’t pay much attention to me anymore.

     I know this is a terrible thing to say, but I’d love to see him alone again. I want more time than an hour and a half, too. I want the entire day next time. I want us to sit and talk and then maybe neck. And then, with just a little luck, maybe we could do more than that. Maybe we could go to bed and relieve the sexual tension I felt this afternoon.

     I know, diary, it’s just a fantasy. But that’s all I have left now. Fantasies that I can only dream will come true. Maybe someday. I can only hope!

In a way, Tori felt sorry for the writer. Whoever she was didn’t have much of a life if she couldn’t count on her husband to be sympathetic and listen to her. It was a shame that the writer couldn’t have had the kind of relationship she already had with Cole. Even after this short time, she felt like she could tell Cole anything, and he would listen without making judgments about her opinions.

Her next question, though, was could it have been Carl that the writer had a sudden desire to see privately again? Or someone else? The printing had to belong to a woman since whoever had written the diary had mentioned her husband. And she certainly doubted that Lucinda would hide a diary in Carl’s home.

“Victoria!” she heard a man call.

What was Richard doing there? Frantic, she glanced around the room. She had to hide the book, but where? There probably wasn’t time to get it back in the secretary, and she didn’t dare hide it under a chair or sofa cushion because they were so thin. Richard could come into the apartment and sit down in either place. Then he would know something was hidden there and would probably check to see what it was.

“Victoria!” he called again, this time from a little closer to the open window.

Rising slowly, she slipped the diary into the pocket of her loose dress. It didn’t fit all the way. Maybe she could conceal it with her hand, and he would never notice that she was being anything other than casual.

Tori moved to the door and opened it. “In here, Mr. Marshall.”

Richard looked toward her and smiled. “Good morning, Victoria.”

“Morning. My watch battery died the other day,” she said as she left the apartment and closed the door, “and I haven’t had time to get a new one. Do you know what time it is?”

Glancing at his watch, he waited for Tori to join him then answered. “Almost eleven-thirty.”

“No wonder I’m so hungry!” she exclaimed.

“I don’t see Coleman’s car here. Did he have to work this morning?”

“Yep.” They strolled side by side toward the kitchen door that Tori had left unlocked. “I think I’ll have some lunch. Can I get you anything?”

“No thanks. I had a late breakfast.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I came to see how you were doing. I had a feeling that Coleman wouldn’t be able to be here while the coroner removed Carl’s remains, so I thought you might like a little company. Where are they, anyway?”

Richard opened the door for her, and she absently thanked him as she entered the house. “Everybody left over an hour and a half ago.” Moving toward the kitchen to her right, she gazed at him over her shoulder. “Would you at least like something to drink? I made lemonade.”

“That sounds good. Thanks.”

Hoping she could deceive him, Tori casually wandered up to the refrigerator and opened the door. While she stood behind it, she pulled the diary out of her pocket and put it in the butter compartment. Cole was making a personal appearance at the grand opening of a new store and wouldn’t be home until at least six. She had plenty of time to read the diary after Richard left.

Taking out the lemonade and some sandwich makings, she set them on the counter and started her task. “I’m out of ice, but the lemonade’s cold.”

“That’s all right,” he said as she poured some into a glass and set it on the table before him. “How did things go this morning?”

“Fine. The coroner was only here about a half an hour, and Det. Irving and his men left about ten. I know because I asked him the time, too.”

“Are you feeling better today?”

“Much, thank you. That spray the doctor gave me works wonders, although I’m still a little tender when I use it. That’s why I’m wearing this loose dress. Thank goodness, Cole bought me three yesterday.”

“Coleman bought them for you?” Richard asked, stunned. “Why?”

Tori shrugged in the hope of disguising her unexpected anxiety at being alone with Richard. Cole had put too many notions in her mind, and now she was overreacting to his father’s presence. Surely, the man wouldn’t do anything to her when he knew how Cole felt about her. She needed to get a grip before she found herself fantasizing about Richard doing her in.

Trying to sound unconcerned, she replied, “I don’t know, Mr. Marshall. I guess he felt a little guilty about not being here to see that I didn’t oversleep.”

“I heard that you took too much medicine.”

Tori shot her startled gaze to his face. “How did you hear that?”

“I was at the hospital for a while. Didn’t Coleman tell you?”

“Not that I recall, but I was pretty groggy most of yesterday. He could have mentioned it and I didn’t notice.” Returning to her sandwich, she considered the possibility. Had Cole mentioned Richard being at the hospital? She really didn’t think so. But if he hadn’t, why not? It wasn’t likely that Richard had anything to hide if he’d been concerned enough to show up. Finished making her lunch, she returned her gaze to her guest. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“Positive. And don’t feel guilty about eating in front of me. I don’t mind in the least.”

“Great,” she said, putting the ingredients back, “because I’m starved.”

As Tori sank onto the bench across from him, Richard said, “I want to apologize about last night, Victoria. As you’ve noticed, my son and I have a problem getting along. We did fine before his mother left, but after that our relationship fell apart. He never said so, but I think he blames me for my problems with his mother. He was devoted to Lucinda.”

Tori didn’t know how to respond, but she could tell by the look in his eyes that he expected her to say something. Judging from the sound of Richard’s voice, this inability to get along with his son bothered him a lot. Maybe he wanted her to give him some sort of explanation. She sighed, not convinced it was her place to speak for Cole. But Richard looked so sad right now—like he was really troubled by their relationship. Maybe what she’d learned in her psychology classes would help ease his distress.

“Most boys get along better with their mothers than their fathers,” she explained. “Just like most girls get along better with their fathers.”

Richard nodded. “I suppose that’s true. I guess would have been easier for him if Lucinda had written to him like she’d promised. She should have at least sent him a card for his birthday or Christmas, but she didn’t. She just disappeared. I know that bothered him more than he admitted. I never even got a phone call from her asking how the kids were. Of course, our break-up wasn’t exactly what anybody would call cordial.”

He sounded so sad. Obviously, Richard still missed Lucinda—or at the very least, a relationship with his son. Tori studied Cole’s father as she chewed and swallowed a bite of her sandwich.

Was he really upset? Or was he just trying to convince her that he was? Maybe he was just trying to get on her good side by showing a true interest in his son. Maybe this was all just a ploy to take Cole’s heat off him.

When Cole had accused Richard of having a terrible temper, Richard hadn’t denied it. If she was in love with one man and another man with whom she was living killed him, she would leave the murderer. She would sever all ties—completely and irreparably. But she would never leave her children with the man. Unless, perhaps, he threatened to kill her and the children as well.

Tori sighed and took a drink of lemonade. What a complicated mess finding Carl’s remains had created! How could she and Cole find the truth among all the possibilities they could come up with?

“Is something wrong, Victoria?” Richard asked in concern. “You don’t look very well.”

“I’m fine,” she said, returning to the present. “I was just thinking how sad it is that you were deserted like that. It must have devastated you.”

“It did for a while,” he admitted with a soft smile, “but I eventually recovered from it and remarried. I’m happy again now. But I’m afraid that Cole never got over being deserted by his mother.”

From the sound of Richard’s voice, he was quite unhappy, but she could never mention it. Was it because of Cole’s inability to cope or a bad marriage? Or was there something totally unrelated that was causing his unhappiness?

“I know this is none of my business,” she said hesitantly, “so if you don’t want to answer, just say so. But I think it would help me help Cole if you would give me some sort of explanation. Did you get a divorce on the grounds of desertion? She didn’t show up to sign the papers, did she?”

“She didn’t show up for anything, Victoria. And yes, I got a divorce on those grounds. I could have waited seven years and had her proclaimed legally dead, but I didn’t see much point in it. I needed to get on with my life. My kids needed a mother, and I needed a wife. I only had to wait a year for the divorce, although I waited three. Besides, I didn’t want Coleman and his sisters to think that they would never see their mother again. I wanted them to have hope.” He paused and grinned at her, a grin that Tori found reminiscent of Cole’s playful smiles. “Now, let’s liven up this conversation and talk about your plans for restoration.”

For another two hours, they chatted amicably. Still, Tori couldn’t help wondering why he’d come to the house. Finally, claiming that her burn was starting to hurt again, she escorted him to the door. As soon as she could no longer see his rented car, she got the diary and went upstairs to soak in a tub of oil-enriched bubble bath.

 ***

        Tori closed the notebook when she finished reading it and stared at it blankly. She couldn’t believe this was happening; she had yet another suspect in Carl’s murder. She should notify Det. Irving, but she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. First she had to discuss this new twist with Cole. Hopefully, he would have a better idea than she about how to handle this new evidence. If it was, indeed, evidence.

She put the book on the back of the toilet then patted herself dry. Taking the book into the bedroom, she laid it on the table beside the bed. She would show it to Cole later. Before they did anything, he needed to read what was in it so he had the best idea possible of what lay ahead of them.

After applying the medicated spray, she slipped into a clean dress. She glanced at her alarm clock. Four-fifteen. It was time to start the special dinner she was planning. Cole had been so sweet to her since she’d arrived that she wanted to do something nice for him. Then afterward, maybe she could convince him to join her in a skin-soothing bath—together—in a tub filled with that lily-of-the-valley bubble bath.

Humming to herself, she went to the kitchen and began preparations for the meal. At exactly five o’clock, she lit the gas oven to preheat it. Then she went back upstairs to put some curl in her hair. Her skin looked like a lobster’s, but she still wanted to look as pretty for him as possible.

By the time she finished, it was nearly five-thirty. Darn! She should have considered the extra time it would take because of the difficulty she had moving. Now dinner was going to be late.

On the way down the stairs, Tori caught a whiff of a foul smell. Grimacing, she fanned her face with her hand, as though it would get rid of the disgusting odor. What was that smell, anyway? It was something with which she was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

Then she gasped in horror. That was gas! Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she raced toward the kitchen. The gas odor was almost unbearable, and much stronger the closer she got. Instinctively, she covered her mouth and nose with her hand. It didn’t help. The stench was terrible.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, the door to the back stairs slammed shut. She spun to face it; her entire body tensed with anxiety.

“Relax, Tori,” she told herself to avoid panicking. “It was just the wind.”

Forcing herself to remain calm, she turned off the oven then went to open the window. It wouldn’t budge! She raced to the other window. It wouldn’t open, either! Panic overwhelmed her before she could control it. She had to get out of there. She had to hold her breath, but she couldn’t. She was too scared. Her breath came short gasps by the time she reached the door she’d entered.

She pushed down on the handle, but it wouldn’t open. She tried again, knocking against it with her shoulder. Still the door wouldn’t move. The back door. She could get out that way.

When she moved toward it, dizziness almost knocked her off her feet. She forced herself to continue. She had to get out of that room. Not knowing what to do, she crawled to the back door. It was locked, too. Thank God, there was one more.

But the dizziness was all-consuming. She had to take drastic measures if she wanted to survive. Reaching into the cabinet beside her, she grabbed the heaviest skillet she had. Instantly, it fell from her hands. She was so weak she couldn’t even hold it.

She grabbed a small sauce pan then crawled across the floor to the front window. If Cole was out there, he would see that she needed help.

Tori rose to her knees—then blackness engulfed her.