Terror at Hollowell House

There it was again...that shrill scream from atop the stairs of Hollowell House.

Everyone warned Teddy Romanowski not to buy the place. Everyone knew it was haunted. Teddy was having none of it. He should have had ALL of it.

Teddy bought a 100 year old Victorian mansion known as Hollowell House. It sat atop the only hill in the small town of Jeddison. The property itself looked as if it was hiding the horrors of its past. But, Teddy, owing to his stubborn streak, saw the place as a combination home and law office.

Hollowell House had a winding drive off a steeply inclined dirt road known as Hanson's Hill. Oddly, the property on which Hollowell House stood had a low lying frontage at road level that to swelled upward sharply as one reached the front door. Almost as if the house was devouring those who dared enter.

Houses are odd. Dwellers often ignore walls that absorb every tiny nuance of each person living within, similar to how a human brain absorbs thoughts and ideas and then at some far off point in time spews forth for good or evil.

All Teddy Romanowski saw was the beautiful architecture outside and impeccable woodwork inside. Teddy loved all things wooden. His whimsical nature, if left to it own devices, would have flouted all social acceptance of his desire to own one of those 1940s "woodies" station wagons with the iconic wood side panels.

Of course, being a lawyer, he needed the prerequisite luxury sedan. However, he was unwilling to part with his old, beat up high school jeep. He kept that only for restless days when he had enough of clients with problems and headed off to some dusty or muddy open space where he could race around in circles at top speed if he liked until mud turn the jeep into a mud cake.

At the time Teddy bought Hollowell House, he had been a lawyer for less than two years. Yet, he did quite well for himself. He attracted many females with his adorable "Teddy Bear" look. Perhaps, it was his deep blue eyes or his prematurely thinning hair. It certainly had to be his ever present impish grin. He wasn't exactly a style setter; but, neither was he the coveralls type. At five feet and ten inches, he avoided a cluttered look.

In his typical whimsical nature, he kept his wardrobe from making him appear, "too busy" as he liked to say. So, solid colors, no bulky fabrics or extra padding for him. After all, he was already beginning a slight middle aged paunch. Who needed added bulk? For women attracted to him, part of his magnetic appeal was his surefooted gait that encouraged them to know more. Teddy was not the man to be overly effusive, nor did he want to be an open book.

At age 30, still unmarried, Teddy's mind was always preoccupied with "what's next." What was next on that late September 1998 day was getting himself settled into a proper home of his own. Sure. He didn't have a wife yet. He figured he would just hire a housekeeper, a part-time landscaper and do some gardening of his own.

Teddy loved roses and so he planned a proper rose garden beneath the windows of the part of Hollowell House he planned to use for his law office. He figured the scent of roses would diffuse his legal frustrations immediately and keep him in the right frame of mind.

The first time Teddy set foot in Hollowell House was with Agnetha Bjorn, a tall, red-haired Swedish beauty whose parents made sure she had as much education as possible. Agnetha was on staff at Jeddison's only real estate agency. She looked the part of the savvy real estate agent down to her expensive heels and her more expensive silver sports car. Teddy didn't miss any of this. Still, to Teddy, business is business and taking ownership of Hollowell House was his dream since he was a little boy.

Jeddison is peculiar because from an aerial map, the town looks like disjointed body parts connected only by several small rivers and lakes. Hollowell House was located near the "throat." Teddy's family owned a modest home in the part of town where the stomach would be located. Not quite blue collar, but not white collar either.

Unlike Agnetha, Teddy was a home grown Jeddison son. Agnetha was born and raised in Pennersville, a large farming area populated mostly by Swedes. She always knew her parents intended her to go to college and that Pennersville was too far from the nearest community college, university or state college. So, she reconciled herself to the fact that she'd be boarding at one of the college dorms.

Her father, Matthias, chose a Midwest state college. By the time Agnetha was ready to attend, she was glad to be leaving Pennersville. She had her sights set for a career in business administration. During her senior year, she was offered a job in Jeddison at a real estate agency as a business manager. Not exactly the big city job she hoped for. But, beggars can't be choosy, as her father would say.

She worked for The Crayton Real Estate Agency for six months before she quickly realized she was more interested in buying and selling homes and earning a year's commission in a single sale, if the home price was high enough.

When Teddy Romanowski came into the agency office, Agnetha thought perhaps he was lost. Teddy, all five feet ten inches of him, made Agnetha think he might be a stranger in town.

"Hello, Can I help sir?" she asked.

"Yes. I am interested in that Victorian out on Hanson's Hill," Teddy said, matter of fact.

"Excuse me? Hanson's Hill? I am not sure I am familiar with that part of Jeddison," Agnetha said, slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, sorry. I think you might know it as Jeddison Turnpike," Teddy said.

It was true. Jeddison's town council loathed the idea of "sections" in their town. They wanted the town to be seen as a whole body. Teddy and older residents of Jeddison knew that was never going to happen. So, various parts of Jeddison were referred to as Hanson's Hill, Cranton Estates, Barbertown, North, South and Central Jeddison.

"People here sure do have the strangest habit of referring to Jeddison as if it was separate areas rather than a single town," Agnetha said.

Teddy grinned with that wide toothy smile that bared his perfect teeth. His blue eyes sparkled like diamonds whenever he laughed.

"Yes. That's very true. If we meet residents on the street, we ask, "Where are you from?" even though we know they live in Jeddison. Try it sometime. They'll respond by saying they live in Hanson's Hill or Barbertown. See what I mean?" Teddy said, laughing.

"Let me see if we can locate Hollowell House on the map in my office," Agnetha said.

They walked into her office. Teddy noticed the name plate on her desk that read, "Agnetha Bjorn."

Agnetha noticed how quick Teddy was to survey her office and her nameplate.

"I guess you know my name," she said.

"I'm Theodore Romanowski, Esq."

"You're a lawyer?"

"Yes. Why does that surprise you?" he asked.

"I...uh..." she started, feeling embarrassed for the second time in a few minutes.

"I don't look like a lawyer, right?" Teddy said, amused at her speechlessness.

Agnetha quickly recovered her faux pas by showing him a large map on the wall of Jeddison.

"There. That's Hollowell House, right there," Teddy said, pointing to the site.

"Oh, Mr. Romanowski..."

"Please, just call me Teddy. Mr. Romanowski makes me sound like my father," Teddy cautioned.

"The Hollowell House is not for sale. Not to my knowledge at least."

"No? Why not? It's been empty for most of my childhood," Teddy said.

"That's the problem. It's been unoccupied for more than fifteen years. I'm not sure the property owners are still available," Agnetha said.

She walked over to her desk and bid Teddy sit down.

"Let me just check something for you," she said.

She flipped through her desktop computer.

"Ah. I see now why it is still empty," she said.

Teddy's perfectly round face had a puzzled expression.

"The former owner died in 1973. If you really want the place, I can do some research to see if there are relatives who own it. But, I must caution you. The place has a lot of back taxes still owed."

"How much in the way of taxes?" Teddy asked.

"From the looks of it someone paid the taxes for about five years after the owner's death. That means there are about $40,000 owed in back taxes on that place. Can I show you something else?"

"No. It has to be the Hollowell House. It would be perfect as a home and law office. It has that nice long driveway and I like that it is surrounded by the Canadian spruce trees," Teddy said.

"Well, I can show you place. I'm not sure what condition the interior is in. Would you like to see it now?"

"Yes. We'd have to get the pass key from tax office, since they actually own it via the tax liens," Agnetha said.

"How about you go and get that key and I'll drive out to the place and meet you there?" Teddy asked.

"Sounds okay to me."

Teddy and Agnetha drove off in two different directions. Teddy arrived a few minutes later at Hollowell House. He fiddled with some of the clients' legal papers he brought along so he wouldn't lose too much time from his business while house hunting.

Agnetha pulled up about a half hour later.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting. The woman in the tax office is quite old and she seemed put out to have to go searching for the key," Agnetha said.

"No problem. I always carry my paperwork with me so I can stay on top of it," Teddy said.

The pair walked up the tri-colored stone path to the front doors. Hollowell House had two large front doors painted white which at present had severe chipping and peeling. Teddy could see that the glass in the two front doors were the old lead type he loved with glazed designs.

Agnetha pushed the pass key into the lock and unset the security alarm.

"Hurry inside! This place is alarmed and we probably have only a few seconds before it signals to police someone has entered," Agnetha said.

Teddy grinned and rushed himself inside while Agnetha put the code into the alarm panel.

He was not prepared for what he was about to see. The interior of Hollowell House looked as if it was in perfect condition.

"This is surprising," Agnetha said.

"Why surprising? Well off people in Jeddison probably always keep their homes looking impeccably clean and neat," Teddy said.

"No, I meant, it is surprising that the place has not had serious damage from leaks or pipes bursting due to aging."

Teddy made a quick survey of the place from the formal foyer. To his right was a large room with a fireplace, mantel and large mirror over the mantel. The mirror had gold veins running through it. On another wall was a large painting of a woman in a long gown.

To his left was another large room, more masculine looking. It too had a fireplace, though this one was of rough hewn stone. The hearth wrapped around from side to side and was made from sandstone. Everything about this room seemed so different from the room just across the hall.

What caught his eye next was a huge seashell at the top of the stairs.

"What's that up there?" Teddy asked.

"I don't know. I've never been in this house before. Let's have a look," Agnetha said.

They climbed stairs carpeted in heirloom Turkish carpeting of midnight blue, gold and red. It was as plush as if no one ever used the stairs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, there was a large open, almost room sized area, which was the central point of the long hall on either side. The giant white seashell stood in the direct center of the hall in a deep alcove. Teddy guessed it was over four feet in height and gradiently spread about three and a half feet in width.

"What on earth do you suppose they installed this for?" Teddy said.

"If we can get hold of the owner's relatives, we can ask. It can always be removed," Agnetha said.

"Removed! Out of the question! That thing is probably priceless in value," Teddy said.

Agnetha looked dubious.

"Besides, I love antiques, heirloom and vintage stuff," Teddy said.

Agnetha found this quite unusual in a man like Teddy. But, she supposed that there are a lot of professionals who are Renaissance men with these same types of hobbies.

As the two walked down the right side of the hall at the top of the stairs, Agnetha saw that much of the old furnishings remained behind by the former owner.

"Wow! It looks as if the owner just up and left this place," Agnetha said.

"More likely, he died in this place. You know my friends always said it was haunted," Teddy replied.

"I can see why. It  is eerie to find everything as it was when the owner left it," Agnetha said.

There were three bedrooms off the right side of the hall. They looked into each. Then, they turned to check out the rooms on the opposite side of the hall.

Teddy and Agnetha were surprised to see only two large rooms. One was obviously a sitting room that faced the back of the property. The other was a conjoined bedroom suite.

"Oh look! There's a second smaller bedroom," Agnetha said, opening the two oak doors between the rooms.

"I think back in the late 1800s that was called a "dressing room. Not sure why there was a bed in it. But, I can always use it for a clothing closet," Teddy said.

"You have that many clothes in your wardrobe, do you?" Agnetha said grinning.

In all the time Teddy lived in Jeddison, there was never a particular woman that caught his eye. He did have one steady during his college days. Law school studies ended that relationship and by that time, Teddy was already 26 years old and in big hurry to get his law practice off the ground.

He dutifully apprenticed like all newly licensed lawyers with an old law firm in the big city of Harrowsburg. It was one of those whose firm name amused Teddy: Jackson, Vinter, Harbrough and Sims. He apprenticed to Victor Harbrough, a right proper former Brit, who still had quite an accent even though he came to the U.S. as a child.

There were all too few female law clerks in the 80s. So, Teddy didn't have much of a selection for a future wife from the legal pools.

Now, he began to notice Agnetha more earnestly. He saw she was not only intelligent, very important to him; but, she was also capable of being quite "down to earth" when she dropped the real estate agent professional image.

"Actually, I own four suits for business and one suit for casual wear. I also own several pairs of shoes," Teddy replied.

"Several pairs? I don't think I've known a man who owned more than two," Agnetha said.

"You know that hill outside this place? I wear running shoes when I need to get some exercise. Especially, if I plan to scale Hanson's Hill. Guys need one pair of black and one pair of brown shoes to mix and match with business suits. I also keep a pair of old slip ons for running errands and a really beat up pair I plan to use for gardening," Teddy said.

"Gardening? You plan to be your own gardener for this place?"

"No. I don't have time for landscaping. I'll get a guy in to do that. But, I must have fresh veggies from my own garden and oh yes...roses," Teddy said, rather pointedly.

So... a guy who is health food conscious and loves roses, Agnetha mused.

"This master bedroom is large enough for an army," Agnetha said.

"That canopy bed...Can it be installed with curtains, do you think?" Teddy asked.

"Curtains?"

"Yes..you know. The kind of curtains the old English had on their beds," Teddy said.

"Well...I suppose so. But, why do you want to sleep with curtains all around you at night?"

"So the ghosts don't get me!" Teddy said, with a hearty laugh.

"Tsk! I am beginning to see that you have an unusual sense of humor, if not unusual tastes," Agnetha said.

It was true that the master bedroom was overly large and looked as if the last time it was decorated was also the first.

"Let's go have a look at the rear of the property," Agnetha said.

"Yes. I want to see where my gardens fit into my plans," Teddy said.

They walked down the stairs and as they reached the landing, they heard an odd low sort of howling.

"What's that? Did you hear it?" Agnetha said, her face turning white.

"Yes. It's probably a draft passing through the eaves. I'll have to get that checked. It might mean a opening critters can use to get into the house," Teddy said.

"You're really sure you want this place? The cost just to bring it up to date is going to be huge," Agnetha said.

"Ah, It'll mean I have to work a lot harder. Maybe, I'll have one of those major legal cases to litigate. Let's go see the back yard and oh...also the kitchen," Teddy said.

They walked out through the hall to the largest room on the first floor.

"This must have been some kind of music room or ballroom," Teddy said.

"I don't doubt. Were concerts and balls ever held here to your knowledge?" Agnetha asked.

"Can't say I ever heard anyone say they had."

They walked on through to a huge kitchen. Teddy was not surprised.

"Wealthy people always had their own cook staff in those days. It would be interesting to know what kind of business the former owner was in," he added.

At one end of the kitchen there was a window seat and diagonally across from the window seat was a small breakfast nook. As they passed through the kitchen, they saw another less formal dining area.

"Servants table?" Agnetha asked.

Teddy nodded in agreement.

The minute they left the kitchen area, Teddy saw what had been added at some point to the house: a large room that from the outside of the house appeared like a turret. It was obviously a conservatory.

"Goodness! This is much larger from the inside than it appears from the outside," Agnetha said.

She had to admit Hollowell House was fascinating, if not, a tad ostentatious for her liking.

"This is perfect! It is just what I was hoping for. This will make a great law office."

Teddy saw that there was sufficient light at the front of the room. He walked over to look out of the windows. He saw there was a well worn path that must have been used by servants. He would add some paving stones to it to make it more convenient for clients.

"Well, Ted. What do you think? Shall I hunt down the owner and get the papers ready?"

"Absolutely! When do you think I can move in?"

"That depends on how quickly I can locate an owner."

"I just need an idea so I can make some solid plans," Teddy said.

"Honestly, I can't give you a specific time frame until I find the owners," Agnetha said.

Teddy didn't hear from Agnetha Bjorn for a week. He phoned to speak to her, but, as she wasn't answering, left a message on her answering machine.

When she finally returned his call, Teddy was in the middle of a client's case that had gone to court.

On impulse, when Teddy left the courthouse, he stopped at the real estate agency. When he entered the office, he saw Agnetha sitting at her desk on the phone. She waved him into her private office.

When she concluded the call, she bid him take a seat.

"It looks like we've been playing telephone tag," Agnetha said.

"We have a similar situation. You have to show homes and you are out with your clients and I have to be in court with my clients," Teddy said.

"I have great news for you!" Agnetha said.

"Yes? And what is that?"

"I found the former owner of Hollowell House. Actually, he isn't an owner since the taxes have not been paid. I'm wondering if your having legal experience, you might be able to work out an agreement that would turn over full rights to ownership, if you pay the taxes," Agnetha said.

"Well, I can't exactly do that because I am going to be the buyer of the property. That implies conflict of interest. But, I can get my old law firm associate, Victor Harbrough, to work out the deal on my behalf. That way it can be a clean deal for all parties," Teddy said.

Agnetha had to admit she was impressed with Teddy's legal expertise. Conflict of interest never would have occurred to her to question.

"Who was the contact?" Teddy asked.

"Simon Hollowell, son of the former owner, J. Densley Hollowell. Do you know that name?" Agnetha asked.

"No. But, I plan to dig up whatever I can on him so I know who I am dealing with," Teddy said.

"So, it appears you need a lawyer and I need to clear the possible sale with Simon Hollowell," Agnetha said.

"Sounds good to me. But, can we get moving on this? I am dying to move into my new home," Teddy said.

"Dying" was probably not a good choice of words with respect to Hollowell House, as Teddy's digging of the history of the house would come to prove.

He spent the next few days scouring every possible detail about Hollowell House at the library. He found that J. Densby Hollowell was a financier who was born in Scotland in 1899. He was the son of a Scottish sheep breeder, Ian Densley Hollowell, who emigrated with his family to the U.S. in 1900. Ian Hollowell tried his hand at farming in New England, but found sheep were not as big in his new country, except for the production of wool. So, he tried to get into the wool markets with limited success.

His son, James Densby Hollowell, keenly felt the family's poverty and struggles. He vowed he would never again be poor. As soon as he was old enough, he headed for New York City. His first jobs were mostly menial until one day he met a man in a long, black wool overcoat and a derby hat, named Rickard Tompkins. They met when James worked as a busboy in one of Manhattan's upscale restaurants.

Being curious as to how Tompkins managed to be so well off, he dared to strike up a conversation. He was fired for doing so; but, he needn't have worried. Tompkins gave James his business card and hired James as a clerk for Tompkins, Cruthers and Langborne, Fiduciaries, Financial Advisors and basically, Wall Street moguls. James was now in the big time and he knew it.

His rise to the top is the same as many of those in the 1920s. Then, the crash hit Wall Street in 1929. But, James, who changed his name to J. Densby Hollowell by then, was stalwart in staying the course. When others told him to "sell," he held fast. In his marrow, he sensed the crash would be followed by great opportunity. He wasn't wrong. He began to invest in military industries that equipped the government with weaponry. By 1937, Hitler was already becoming a name that created a buzz among financiers.

When World War II was fully advanced, J. Densby Hollowell earned his first million and married the daughter of an even wealthier, expatriate English Lord,  Lady Charlotte Barnesmore. Lord Barnesmore's owed quite a lot of money when he left England with his wife and daughter, all too suddenly. To say Lady Charlotte's marriage was a match made in heaven was more her father's delusion.

James later found Lord Barnesmore tricked him into marrying Lady Charlotte because he was a heavy gambler in Monte Carlo casinos and lost nearly everything but his landed American estate. Marrying Charlotte off to James preserved some aristocratic dignity and the family's Tudor estate on Long Island's Gold Coast.

Charlotte demanded to live in the style to which her father accustomed her and urged her new husband to find a place of their own. Lord Barnesmore was beginning to harangue his daughter about leaving his estate. He was also felt his new son-in-law was a bit of a "bounder." Not that he minded James involvement in Wall Street. After all, Lord Barnesmore loved a chance to plunk down money in gambling casinos. Wall Street was more of a sure thing for him, having an "insider" advise him like James.

James, being from poor Scottish stock, granted his wife most of the extravagances she wanted. When she insisted they move out of the Barnesmore mansion to a much bigger estate, James played a trick on her. He chose the tiny, obscure town of Jeddison.

Oh yes. He'd find her the finest mansion in the East. Just not in one of her ostentatious society towns were she would drip with diamonds and spend his money foolishly on grand balls and parties. While James like the notoriety he received from being married to a member of British aristocracy, he also felt a sense of inferiority mostly a result of Charlotte's high riding demeanor.

Fate played a hand in finding Charlotte the mansion of her dreams. James learned of an estate that had been in family hands for 100 years. It was located in the relatively non-descript town known as Jeddison. However, the problem was that the son of the mansion's original owner, William Attersby, was adamant he would never sell to anyone outside the family.

Not even when James approached him with a price to buy that was five times the actual value of the place. It sat in the middle of a dense forested area not far from a small river. What James was determined to have he would have, come hell or high water. He discovered the only remaining Attersby relatives lived out of the state and were two sisters, Daphne and Delilah Attersby. James paid a detective to find out more about the two sisters and what he could about their financial status related to the estate.

His detective, Howard Mortensen, found the sisters were already quite elderly and had a reasonable interest in Attersby estate, a small pension provided by their father and ownership applicable only if their nephew passed on before them.

It isn't likely they will move back to Jeddison, James reasoned.

James was wrong. William decided it was time to take his aunts, Daphne and Delilah, back into the fold.

The two sisters were banished by William's father, because as a strictly religious man, William Attersby I, considered his sisters to be "promiscuous." Their great sin began with their refusal to give up men of lower breeding and little financial wealth, who were attracted to them. William's father paid their suitors to disappear.

The sisters' response was to drive their sister-in-law mad with lies that William I, was having affairs with some of their church's "congregation." Hannah Attersby hung herself in the large bedroom on the second floor when she went mad with suspicion and believed the sisters.

Rather than suffer the shame of his church congregation, William oversaw the cremation of his wife's ashes which he buried in an unmarked grave at the rear of his property. Shortly thereafter, William I, died in a carriage accident when the rear wheel of the carriage in which he was riding fell off. William I would not have died and might have survived with only minor injuries if, when he fell from the carriage, he had not fallen onto a rock.

The Attersby family believed it was a curse put upon William I, by his wife, the whispers and rumors of foul play notwithstanding.

By the time William II returned Daphne and Delilah to Attersby Estate, as it was originally named, the persona of J. Densby Hollowell was already well known in social circles in the Metropolitan area as a man who could be quite a demanding, ruthless businessman.

It was perhaps not such a good idea to bring two aunts whose mental faculties were limited after years of living in a private home for the aged, paid for by William I's estate. The two women were fairly unhinged. Still, William II, now had a reason not to sell to the overbearing, aggressive mogul, J. Densby Hollowell and part of his father's endowment to these two women would be transferred to William for their care and living arrangement.

William II, never married and living on his father's endowment, struggled with the upkeep of Attersby Estate. He realized offering Daphne and Delilah a place to live was a mistake from the minute their carriage pulled up and he heard their strange cackling. William II prized quiet, even to removing servants who couldn't perform their duties in silence or without noise.

Attersby Estate's staff dwindled as a result of William's curious demand for such extreme quiet. He still had a manservant, Oscar Venaida, upstairs and downstairs maids, Cornelia Devoreaugh and Harriet Carson, Mrs. Ames, housekeeper and Mrs. Wyler, his cook. In his father's time, the staff numbered over a dozen, including a gate keeper.

William II saw no point in a gatekeeper since Attersby Estate was in such a remote, exclusive location. In fact, he had the gate house torn down. He planned to do the same with the gazebo, but thought perhaps his aunts might enjoy it while taking fresh air and hopefully being out of range of his hearing.

Mrs. Ames saw to outfitting each of the elderly women with a room of their own. William II insisted it be on the opposite side of the hall. His only bow to self-indulgence was a large scalloped sea shell added at the top of the stairs, set in a specially carved alcove. The sea shell had a water spray from the center of the shell and created a soothing sound, mainly to block the noise of Daphne and Delilah on the opposite side of the hall.

William hated that the two women couldn't seem to contain their laughter without that horrid cackling sound that reminded him of witches.

What do they find so amusing? Their laughter grates on my sensitive nerves, William thought.

The longer William refused James' offer to sell, the worse the noise of the two crones became. When they were not cackling at each other, they were dragging chairs near the fireplaces in their rooms. They were always either too cold or too hot and had the maids constantly running up and down the grand staircase.

He ate alone in the formal dining hall. He was glad his aunts couldn't manage the grand staircase and took their meals in the sitting rooms adjoining their bedroom suites. The sight of those two gobbling down food would have turned his stomach.

William thought he would go mad. Still, he knew so long as he had a reason to hang on to Attersby Estate, no one could force him to sell.

William, indeed, was going mad. He felt as if his mind was in a vise grip. Not even the lovely, lilting sound of the trickling water against the sea shell in the hall offered much serenity.

"Daphne, I think our nephew is going mad," Delilah said, matter of fact.

"Oh no. He mustn't. We will have to go back to the nursing home, if he does."

"Why? This is our brother's home. Nephew only inherited it so Brother William would be sure it would remain in family hands," Delilah said.

"Dear sister, what are you suggesting?"

"I am suggesting that we could stay here forever whether Nephew is alive or dead," Delilah said.

"Oh no! Sister. Remember what happened when we got rid of old Mr. Ryan at the home?" Daphne said.

"Yes. Nothing happened. They believed Mr. Ryan died of old age," Delilah said.

Daphne knew what her sister had done to a patient at the home. Delilah wanted to be moved to a room closer to her sister. But, the nurses refused. So, Delilah waited until the night nurses weren't looking to slip into Mr. Ryan's room while he was asleep. She put a pillow over his face and suffocated him. Then, she neatly replaced the pillow and hurried back to her room.

The next day, a nurse came and announced that she was to be moved to Mr. Ryan's old room. Daphne relayed her good fortune at acquiring Mr. Ryan's room.

"So, Mr. Ryan is gone?" Delilah asked, coyly.

"Most assuredly the dear boy has gone on to his eternal rest," Daphne said, without a hint of guilt.

By the time the two dowagers arrived at Attersby Estate, William had become a recluse. Not that he had ever been a social butterfly. It was also not without William's notice that J. Densby Hollowell was using covert means to force William to sell.

What James wanted, he had no doubt he must have. There were tiny, mostly unnoticeable, only to William, things James did to ensure he could have the Attersby Estate before the end of the following year. For example, he knew William was trustee for the estate and would require the services of the Jeddison Bank and Trust Company of which J. Densby Hollowell quickly became an executive board member.

As a member, he instigated an audit of the Attersby Estate that forced William to spend weeks scrutinizing and researching financial paperwork. William provided the bank's courier with a full box of paperwork for the audit that went back to his father's records of his estate.

William knew who was behind the sabotage. As months passed, William grew ever more furious. Daphne and Delilah's cackling in their rooms above his study on the first floor only added to his ire.

He climbed the stairs virtually two at a time to try and stop their cackling.

"Aunties, please. I have much work to do. You MUST keep your noise to a minimum," William said.

The two women glanced at each other with a knowing expression that William missed entirely.

William hastened to the study to try and reduce the paperwork he knew was keeping him from his regular duties. The last straw came when J. Densby Hollowell coerced Jeddison Town Council to re-evaluate all of the properties to, as he slyly suggested, increase tax revenues.

Attersby Estate was the largest in Jeddison. Hollowell knew the minute tax collectors performed a re-evaluation of Attersby Estate property and home, it would result in a huge increase in the amount of taxes William would have to pay. Hollowell already knew William's funds were diminishing, even with money his father left. By now, it was barely enough. William began cutting expenses to the bone and his two aunts' endowments barely covered necessities.

William thought about sending the two dowagers back to the nursing center from whence they came. As their cackling overhead sounded yet again, he knew he could not live with them for much longer.

It's either them or me.

"Daphne, I've been thinking, my dear sister..."

"Say no more. I am thinking the same thing. It is now or never for us to be rightful owners of Attersby Estate. Do you agree Delilah?"

The two women had always had this plot in their heads since their early childhood. Growing up at Attersby Estate with a nanny gave them lots of experience in how to temper discipline they hated with their own brand of penance for whomever violated their freedom. As their position with their brother grew more insecure, the two dreamed of the day when they would be the only "Ladies of Attersby Estate."

Their brother, William I, rarely noticed them or their constant scheming. For them, that in itself was a kind of freedom for women of their day. They were amused their brother never once questioned why their nannies left so "mysteriously during the night" or why he blamed cook for two of them becoming seriously ill from food poisoning.

Even if William did suspect, he wouldn't have dared to expose his sisters for fear of family scandal. Daphne and Delilah assessed that refusal to expose family scandal by the time they were sent to finishing school to become proper young ladies. They took much leverage from that latitude.

When they returned to Jeddison and Attersby Estate from finishing school, their days grew endlessly long and without change. William I, was already married to Hannah, a somewhat insecure, doting wife who adapted easily to her husband's wishes so long as it didn't interfere with her creature comforts. Should that happen, Hannah became whiny and nagged her husband to distraction until he indulged her. So, Hannah remained in her bedroom suite most days, except to attend religious services with her husband.

Seeing Hannah's flaws, Daphne and Delilah set a course to make the poor woman go mad. Their brother never once suspected that in combination with his own domineering nature and his two sisters always plotting and planning some vicious act upon his wife, the reason Hannah hung herself was the fault of Daphne and Delilah. Her son, William I, was left to the care of his nanny, Odette LeMare, who became the child's surrogate mother after Hannah's demise.

On that last afternoon of her life, Hannah Attersby left a note behind that neither her husband or two sisters-in-law took to heart: "With my last dying breath, I curse the Attersby name and this home in which I was imprisoned," the note read.

Little William was eight years old and motherless thanks to two vicious aunts. Odette shielded the child from the devastation of grief. He grieved more of Odette's death a decade later than he did his own mother.

William threw the note in the fire and quietly set to cremation arrangements...just in case Hannah decided to carry out her threat from the beyond.

William loathed the sight of his son because his facial features were so like Hannah's. Little William may as well have been an orphan, had it not been for the wealth and luxury he was surrounded by that his father provided.

Now, his son, William Attersby II, was about to be the next victim of Daphne and Delilah's vengeance.

Daphne waited until she knew her nephew would be sound asleep. She crept into his room, placed a pillow over his face and smothered him. So she thought. In the darkness, Daphne didn't realize William played a trick on them. He knew one too many people seemed to come to an unusual end whenever his aunts were near.

He slept every night in his dressing room...after he rolled up two pillows and made his master bed look as if he was sleeping there.

This night, William heard the door to his master bedroom creak. He opened the door to his dressing room just enough to see Daphne trying to smother what should have been William.

"I am so sorry to send you off like this, William. You understand there are no hard feelings meant. But, Delilah and I must remain in Attersby Estate without you," Daphne whispered.

William now had proof his two aunts intended to kill him and take possession of Attersby Estate...if J. Densby Hollowell didn't.

Daphne returned to their room.

"Is the deed done, sister?" Delilah asked innocently.

"Yes. Our William now sleeps for all eternity," Daphne said.

William knew he had to be rid of these two insane women. But, how? He needed what little money came from their endowments. He couldn't afford to return them to the care center.

With the pressures put upon him by J. Densby Hollowell, William saw no way out other than to get rid of both of them. It was simple now. They thought he was dead. All he had to do was fake an accident on the staircase one at a time.

Anyone would assume two old women would naturally be unable to negotiate such a steep staircase that was an "accident" was waiting to happen. He couldn't decide whether to push them both down the stairs at the same time or wait until each start down individually.

They only came downstairs in the late morning on Thursdays to take the air. William had to be very careful not to arouse the suspicions of the servants. He would do the deed and hurry back to his room and pretend to be asleep before Oscar Venaida woke him for breakfast.

It was Mrs. Ames, the housekeeper, who thought she heard a loud thump and muffled screams from the vicinity of the grand staircase. She ran to see Daphne and Delilah both sprawled face down on the staircase landing.

"Oh my God! I warned these two women not to try and maneuver these steep stairs on their own," Mrs. Ames said.

"Mr. Venaida! Mr. Venaida! Hurry please! There's been an accident," Mrs. Ames called.

Oscar Venaida was upstairs preparing William's clothing for the day when he heard Mrs. Ames calling. He hurried down the stairs.

"What...Oh my Lord Almighty!"

He hurried back upstairs to the master bedroom.

"Sir, I must report a terrible, terrible accident," Oscar told William.

"Yes, yes...what is it Venaida?" William asked innocently, rubbing his "sleepy eyes."

"Your two aunts tumbled down the stairs to the landing. Shall I call the police?" Oscar Venaida asked.

"Certainly not! There's no reason to do that. Send Mrs. Ames up to me," William said.

Mrs. Ames hurried up to the master bedroom with the two maids and cook standing over Daphne and Delilah's bodies. Cook, Cornelia and Harriet all stood in shock. William dismissed all but the housekeeper.

On the stairs, the two maids and cook whispered among themselves.

"Mrs. Wyler why were they coming down for breakfast? They usually took their first meal in their room," Cornelia said.

"It being Thursday, they planned to take the air after they ate their breakfasts," Mrs. Wyler said.

"They had planned," Cornelia corrected in the past tense.

Mrs. Wyler shrugged.

"Mrs. Ames, I want you to contact James Miston. Send him to me at once!" William said.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Oscar, Cook and the two maids were standing over the two bodies.

"Mr. Venaida, Mr. Attersby wishes to have James Miston sent to him. Shall I have one of the maids do this?" Mrs. Ames asked.

"No, I am his manservant. I will do it."

Mrs. Ames tried to reduce the damage the sight of two dead bodies was having on the staff.

"We have a big day ahead of us, as you can imagine. Get busy and get your work done," Mrs. Ames said.

"What shall I do with the sisters' breakfasts?" Mrs. Wyler asked.

"Serve it to the staff for lunch, of course. You know Mr. Attersby cannot abide waste," Mrs. Ames said.

Within an hour James Miston, a tall, brawny Jeddison "go for" met with William.

"I want the two bodies removed to the family grave site. You can do that, can't you?"

"Yes sir. I can. Here is my invoice for my "services."

William grizzled that Miston came up with an invoices so quickly.

James Miston loaded the bodies of Daphne and Delilah Attersby onto the back of his wagon. When Miston arrived at the family grave site, he slowed the wagon and began the job of burying the two bodies. Unwittingly, he forgot to mark their graves so that a headstone could be installed later. In fact, he buried them beside the site where Hannah's ashes had been placed. Next to the sister-in-law they drove mad!

Now that William II had Attersby Estate back to his preferred tranquil state, he believed all of his troubles were over.

Two weeks after Daphne and Delilah Attersby "passed on," William II was served with a tax lien for the increase in taxes the re-evaluation caused. He knew J. Densby Hollowell was behind this.

"I will get even with Hollowell," he told himself. Sadly, that was not to be.

William decided to keep staff on; but, he rescheduled their hours so they were only needed during the daytime. Mrs. Ames and Mr. Venaida were present from seven in the morning until three in the afternoon. Eventually, Oscar Venaida was also relieved of his duties as William's valet. Mrs. Ames was expected to complete her duties within that time frame. William II also relieved Harriet of her job entirely, preferring to scale back on the service of maids to just one, Cornelia. This, of course, meant Cornelia would assume all of Harriet's duties...at her usual salary.

Even Mrs. Wyler's hours in the kitchen were cut back. She was to prepare three meals, the last being dinner at seven and then do whatever tidying up in the kitchen was necessary before leaving Attersby Estate before eight o'clock.

With his two aunts gone, William wanted as much of Attersby Estate to himself as possible.

The house went deadly silent by nine every evening. William strained to find a way to meet the money he needed for the tax lien. He decided to sell at auction some of the priceless artwork. It still wasn't enough. For the first time, William realized he just couldn't raise the money he needed.

His worries were distracted by the howling October Nor'easter outside his window. He rose to peer out of the French doors in the study. Before he had time to take cover, a wild gust of window tore open the French doors, knocking William to the floor. He struggled to his feet, his face covered in blood, and closed the heavy drapes. Then, he pushed the satin rose divan against the doors to keep the wind out.

The broken windows will need to be fixed in the morning. One more expense I don't need.

His thoughts drew him to the window seat on the opposite side of the French door. It appeared as if something other than wind was moving about.

He walked toward his oak desk and reached for the pistol he kept in it. He'd never used it. It belonged to his father who feared burglars might break into such a grand home. He kept the pistol out of sight and sat down on the seat, straining to see if the shadow was out there.

I don't believe in ghosts or such tomfoolery! He told himself he was imagining things.

He decided to retire to his bed. He slept fitfully waking only to hear the screaming Nor'easter wind outside. He pulled the covers over his head. Around one in the morning, he awoke again. This time, it was to the sound of the sea shell bubbling with water.

William rose and headed into the long hall to turn the water spout off in the huge seashell.

No water was shooting up from the fount at the base!

Annoyed, he hurried back to his room. He threw a few more logs on the fire that had burned so low the room felt was as cold as ice.

He fell asleep trying to recall if he forgot to turn the seashell fount off. He was sure he hadn't turned it on.

A guilty mind often rushes headlong into a dimension that crowds sensibility and reasoning.

When he awoke the next morning, he decided to assess the damage the storm had done. He breakfasted on his usual eggs, bacon and rye toast and then made his way outdoors.

He had decided to retain his gardener, Kor Allianz, to ensure the estate's landscaping was properly managed. The gardener was already righting all of the things that the wind tossed about.

"Good morning, sir. Strong wind eh?" Allianz asked.

"Good morning. Yes." William answered.

Inexplicably, he was drawn to the family cemetery. The cemetery was one of the reasons William refused to sell to Hollowell. When this piece of land was first bought, William I, was insistent no Attersby should ever be buried in a common cemetery. The Attersby cemetery was not much more than a square of land approximately 200 feet long and 200 feet wide.

Thus far, only his father had a formal tombstone. His mother, Hannah's ashes, was buried on the outside of the four foot high, black wrought fence. William's father was necessarily a religious man. He firmly believed when Hannah committed suicide by hanging, her ashes were unfit to be buried in hallowed ground according to the general consensus of the times.

The cemetery was at the rear of the property at the crest of a steep hill above it. As a child, William II, always imagined one day the hill would crash down upon the cemetery. It wouldn't, of course, mostly due to the fact that the soil within the hill contained large boulders probably thousands of years old.

There was a distance of one full acre between the cemetery and the house. William tread carefully on the wet grass as he neared the wrought iron gate. He glanced to the left of the gate and saw the soil had begun to settle.

Miston stupidly buried Daphne and Delilah outside the gate! And...by all appearances, in a single grave, instead of two.

William was livid. Not because the two dowagers were buried in unhallowed ground. Because now, their remains couldn't be moved without raising questions among the servants.

What if Hollowell got wind of this? William wondered what he should do.

A little voice inside his head told him to do nothing.

What's done is done.

William hoped that would be the end to it. Yet, somehow he felt as if Daphne and Delilah had more reason than ever now to exact their revenge on him from their graves.

"Poppycock! Those two are dead. What can they do to me now?" he muttered aloud.

When he returned to Allianz, he bid him fill in the soil where Daphne and Delilah were buried. He knew Allianz didn't know the sinking soil held the bodies of his two aunts.

Allianz doesn't need to know family business, William told himself.

One week later, Jeddison and Attersby Estate were deluged with torrential rain. Again, William inspected the landscape. The soil over Daphne and Delilah's grave site had sunken for the second time.

William decided to take Allianz to task.

"I thought I ordered you to fill in the soil outside the family grave site," William said, gritting his teeth.

"Yes, sir. I did as you asked. I filled it in with more soil and sowed grass seed to help it stay in place," Kor Allianz said.

"Well, have a look for yourself. The soil has sunken down about a foot from the rest of the lawn," William said.

Allianz hurried to the cemetery as William followed behind. Suddenly, Allianz let out a loud, deep scream.

"What is it, Allianz?" William asked.

"Sir, come see for yourself," Allianz said.

William stood beside Allianz and saw what the gardener had seen: a human hand poking a quarter inch out of the soil.

"Sir, how do you account for such a thing? Should we call the police?" Allianz asked.

"You go back to your work on the rest of the landscape. I'll take care of this," William said.

William felt a sense of desperation creeping into his mind. Allianz had seen the hand and now Allianz had to be "dealt with."

William bid his manservant fetch James Miston.

"Miston! You fool! You buried those two outside the iron gate. And...in a grave so shallow the gardener had to fill it in with soil. With the two days of rain we've just had, he saw a human hand when he started to fill in the soil again. I can't have Allianz spreading it all over town that he found a dead body on our estate. Deal with him. But this time, do it so it looks like an accident!"

"I'm sorry sir. I didn't realize you wanted those two women in the family plot. You didn't say. Besides, I couldn't get the gate open. The keyhole was too rusted and the key wouldn't fit into the lock. How shall I "deal with your gardener?"

"You will follow him up that hill when he finishes his day's work, until you get to the most wooded area. There, he will have an "accident." If anyone asks, say it was dark and he ran in front of your carriage," William said.

Burying the bodies of two old women who fell down a flight of stairs was one thing. But, Miston didn't like running over someone with a carriage deliberately. That was murder.

"Sir, you realize this is going to cost more than the last job you hired me to do?"

"Yes. Of course."

"What will you do for a gardener?" Miston asked, coyly.

"You want a job at Attersby Estate? You know anything about landscaping?"

"What's to know? You mow grass when it grows too high, trim bushes and water plants so they don't die off," Miston said, grinning.

William knew his involvement with Miston had diverted to a darker, more serious level. Now, Miston could identify him as the man who plotted the murder of a gardener and all because Miston did such a poor job of burying his aunts. William sated himself with the realization that Miston, as an estate gardener, would be easy to keep under his watch.

The following day, Miston returned to Attersby Estate.

"The job is done. Your new gardener, at your service," Miston said with an exaggerated bow toward William.

William was not amused. He knew Miston to be a low sort that shouldn't ever be trusted. He saw Miston had taken quite a fancy to his maid, Cornelia.

"Mrs. Ames, please remind Cornelia that the gardener is not to be bothered," William said.

"Yes, sir. I shall. Is James the replacement for Mr. Allianz?"

"Yes."

"Why did Mr. Allianz leave so suddenly?" Mrs. Ames asked.

"I suspect he found a job that paid more. Which, by the way, are you keeping the household expenses in line?" William asked.

"Yes, Sir."

William had cut household expenses to the barest minimum. Mrs. Ames made sure of that. But, she knew that it wouldn't be long until she would be next to leave Mr. Attersby's employ. She already contacted her sister, Alma, and made arrangements "just in case" she no longer had a job at Attersby Estate.

William felt that his sound judgment was beginning to slip from his grasp. He made a mistake allowing Daphne and Delilah to move into his home. His made second misjudgment employing James Miston to bury their bodies. Now he was faced with James Miston, whom he paid to get rid of Allianz.

William sensed keeping Miston on was a serious mistake and one that would remind him daily of his misjudgments. William felt a deepening sense of walls closing in around him. It didn't help that Hollowell was also hovering, ever ready to pounce.

"Uh, Mrs. Ames, I have some very serious matters I must consider and I shall require dinner in my study. Please advise Mrs. Wyler and Cornelia accordingly," William said.

He'd begun to spend a lot of time at his desk in his study. This didn't go unmissed by Miston as he worked under the study windows.

"The old man is having second thoughts about our "arrangements" Miston told himself.

William wondered what more he could do to keep Attersby Estate from getting into further debt. He knew he was incapable of maintaining the landscaping himself; but, the sight of Miston every day exacerbated his feelings of encroachment. He'd sold most of the valuables he knew would bring in more money. He considered relieving Mrs. Ames, Mrs.Wyler and Cornelia and then, reconsidered.

If I do that, it would prove to Hollowell Attersby Estate is sinking fast.

For the first time in an Attersby's life, William realized he was near the end of the line. He knew there was only one way out. If he committed suicide, there were no relatives and Attersby Estate would remain intestate. Hollowell wouldn't be able to buy the estate for at least seven years. This way out solved the problem of Miston ever telling the truth about Allianz and his two aunts missburials.

The law can't come after an Attersby if he is already dead. And who would buy an estate with dead bodies buried on it? Not even Hollowell would want it, William thought.

He was quite amused. At age sixty-one, he felt he had lived as much of the life of a privileged Attersby as was possible. To continue on would mean scandalizing the family name and relegating it to the ranks of common people.

William pulled out his father's pistol from the desk. He held it to his right temple and fired.

"Sir? Your dinner is served. Shall I bring in the tray?" Cornelia asked.

There was no answer. She rapped lightly on the two oak doors to the study. She hurried back down the stairs.

"What is it Cornelia?" Mrs. Ames asked.

"Sir is not answering. I knocked; but, there was no answer. Could he be asleep?"

"It is not like Mr. Attersby to nap before dinner," Mrs. Ames said.

The two women strode the long first floor hall to the study. Mrs. Ames knocked as Cornelia had and also received no answer.

She tried to open the door; but, it was locked from inside the room. She drew the study room key from the key ring she always wore on her belt and inserted it into the lock.

Cornelia screamed. Mrs. Ames walked toward the dead body of William Attersby II. Mrs. Ames quickly called for Miston to go for the police.

"Do you think he did this to himself?" Cornelia asked.

"I think we should not ask such questions," Mrs. Ames said.

The two women went to the kitchen to regain their composure. Cornelia's hands were shaking violently as she placed the tray of food on the long kitchen table where staff took their meals.

Hearing Cornelia's question, Mrs. Wyler asked, "Why not? We will all be without jobs now and he is no longer our employer."

Mrs. Ames gave the two women a disgusted look and left to await the police.

Attersby Mansion was left unoccupied all except for James Miston. He saw an opportunity to live in relative comfort in the now empty mansion. No more gardener' shed for him. He jimmied the lock on the back door to make entry into the kitchen.

He had no worries of being found out any time soon. Attersby Estate, being in such a secluded area rarely had any visitors and the long dirt hill road was impassable in winter and muddy in spring. He had to keep a low profile inside the mansion just in case. When he needed supplies, he had to walk into Jeddison under cover of darkness. The horses had been sold as part of the money needed to pay off the estate tax lien.

From the local paper, Miston read that Attersby Estate had a tax lien and the real property could not be sold for at least seven years until all Attersby relatives had been contacted by Jeddison's tax assessors. Miston didn't know there were no relatives.

One November evening, Miston sat in the study with the drapes pulled tightly closed. He left an oil lamp burning in the kitchen as he prepared his evening meal. The lamp created an elongated shadow of his figure. Young Thomas Winters took the hilly road to hurry back to his home. As he passed Attersby Estate, he thought he saw a figure moving in the window of the kitchen that faced the road.

He knew the place had been empty for four years. He was scared out of his wits and hurried his horse along the road. When he arrived home, he told his brother about the "ghost" in Attersby Estate. From that night onward, rumors of Attersby Estate being haunted spread all over Jeddison.

Even the local police heard the rumor and went out to the estate just in case a vagrant had broken in. When James Miston heard them outside the mansion, he hid in William's dressing room. He laughed to himself when he saw from the bedroom window the police were too afraid there really was a ghost and gave only a perfunctory inspection, checking door locks and used a small flashlight to peer into the windows at the front of the house. They checked the window of the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of order.

J. Densby Hollowell was eager to take possession of Attersby Estate. He offered to pay the tax lien to expedite the sale. If for no other reason than to end his new wife's pleading for a more luxurious home.

Hollowell's break came when Jeddison's tax office mailed him a letter saying that, after seven years, no Attersby relatives were found to take possession and Jeddison considered the estate intestate. William II had never bothered with a will. He believed he still had a lot of time, should the need arise. And, in order to keep Attersby Estate from Hollowell's hands, he knew a will would make that easier for Hollowell.

So, with no will and no relatives, Jeddison didn't want the obligation of the cost of upkeep and was more than happy to unload that behemoth property and home.

J. Densby Hollowell was thrilled that Attersby Estate would finally be his. He informed Lady Charlotte of his new acquisition over dinner. He was a little more than effusive that he would now be the owner of a mansion in Jeddison, in a most exclusive part of town.

"But, uh...where is Jeddison, James?" Charlotte's father asked.

"Oh, it is about 200 miles across the state line," James answered, knowingly omitting Jeddison was far below Charlotte's society status.

James was an expert at controlling topics of conversation.

"Who are the owners of Attersby Estate?" Lord Barnesmore asked.

"Who were the owners? A family with a pedigree, though not of royalty. Have you ever heard of William Attersby?" James asked.

Lord Barnesmore thought he knew the name. He scoured his memory for a few minutes.

"Wasn't he the man who disowned his own two daughters for being promiscuous? Didn't his wife commit suicide?"

"I believe that is just malicious gossip founded by locals who envied Attersby's wealth," James said.

"In any event, Charlotte, my dear, you shall now become mistress of Hollowell House as I intend it to be known. We will review the mansion and property in two weeks. Please be prepared to make a long list of items you wish changed and those you want removed," James said.

The authority in his voice was new and not missed by Lord Barnesmore.

When they adjourned to the library, Lady Elizabeth Barnesmore and Lady Charlotte sat with their heads together. Lord Barnesmore and James sipped their brandy slowly by the fireplace.

"When do you propose to leave Barnesmore?" Lord Barnesmore asked

"I expect we would like to be settled in before the Christmas season begins," James said.

"But, that's only eight weeks from now!" Lady Charlotte interjected.

"Surely, you realize we will want our guests to enjoy a Christmas masked ball in our new abode?" James said.

"A masked ball...for Christmas? Absurd! I should think Charlotte's breeding would disdain such contemporary frivolities. No. You best plan a formal dinner, not a masked ball," Lord Barnesmore said.

"As you know, Lord Barnesmore, I will be master of my own estate now. I believe Charlotte will accept my wishes as her command," James said.

James knew the minute he and Charlotte left Barnesmore Hall, Lord Barnesmore would return to his old ways, gambling away the fortune James fought to preserve for this thankless royal cur. His financial expertise was the only reason Barnesmore was able to keep his estate.

On the day Charlotte was to view her new mansion for the first time, she was dressed in her finest. James was amused his wife assumed Jeddison and Attersby Estate was high up on society's ladder. On the trip to Jeddison, Charlotte asked if James had seen Attersby Estate and she was anxious to know what she was about to see.

"My dear, I have told you that it is to be referred to as "Hollowell House," James insisted.

"Oh, James. Surely you cannot lower the family name by referring to our new mansion as a "house?"

"Our family name is Hollowell, not Barnesmore. Furthermore, I intend to continue my financial business as always," James said, stiffly.

"But that will mean me being all alone in your "Hollowell House," Charlotte said.

"I will see that you have a full staff at your service. By the way, did you bring the list I requested with you?"

Charlotte pulled open the strings of her pink satin purse and handed James the list. It covered more than two sides of the paper it was written on.

James knew he would pare down most of the items on the list.

The trip up Hanson's Hill, as it would later be called, gave poor Lady Charlotte the vapors.

"James, surely you can't be serious! This would be impossible in winter for our guests to access," she said.

"Not to worry, I have already taken that into account. I will pay locals to plow the road, should it be required."

"But, heavens! The road seems endless!" Charlotte wailed.

As their car neared Attersby Estate, Charlotte was aghast.

"James, tell me this is another of your amusing trifles," Charlotte said.

"Now, now. Don't pass judgment quite yet. This place will be a gold mine in years to come under my care and management," James said.

Charlotte could hardly bear to step inside. The minute her feet stepped upon the flagstone in the formal foyer, she knew she hated the place.

"Oh, James, this is just not what I hoped for!"

"You'll come to love it. I am sure. Let's have a grand tour and then you can decide the changes you wish to make. Do keep in mind that the place is already over one hundred years old. It can be registered as a historic site. That would reduce the annual taxation, so long as we don't compromise its historic integrity," James pointed out.

Charlotte heard little of what he'd said, preferring to absorb as much of the interior that would need major renovation.

"This kitchen is simply not the sufficient size for a full staff of servants," Charlotte said ruefully.

"Well, we can add on to it from the pantry. That would increase the size and value," James said.

"But, it would also compromise the historic integrity," Charlotte reminded him, hoping he would be further dissuaded from making the place his home.

"Let me deal with that. Now, let us have a look at the rooms on the second floor," James said.

They walked back into the hall toward the grand staircase.

They passed the giant seashell fountain at the top of the stairs.

"What on earth is that thing" Charlotte asked.

"We'll call it William Attersby folly," James said.

"Folly or freakish decor?" Charlotte added.

James ignored the remark. He actually liked the centerpiece of the long hall.

"What was that?" Charlotte asked.

"What was what?" James replied.

"That odd shrill scream. Did you hear it?"

"No. Charlotte, you are imagining things."

The two perused the bedrooms on the second floor. Charlotte had to admit each room was quite large. The master bedroom with adjoining dressing room was nearly as large as the formal dining room below it.

"Well? What do you think?" James asked.

"You know well what I think. I think this place is abominable, James."

"That may be; but, nonetheless, this will be our new home in just two weeks."

J. Densby Hollowell was insistent he would occupy Attersby Estate, come hell or high water. He would get his wish on both accounts.

James Miston heard the new owner of Attersby Estate from the armoire in the master dressing room. He'd hidden himself there in order that J. Densby Hollowell would not know he'd been occupying Attersby Mansion for years.

He took special care not to leave any evidence of his occupancy even when Hansen's Hill began to see a slight increase in traffic over the last decade. He'd had a place to live for free. He felt his knowledge of how the Attersby sisters and Kors Allianz died entitled him to recompense. After all, hadn't he saved the Attersby family name from scandal?

Now, Miston saw yet another opportunity. Knowing the wife of J. Densby Hollowell hated the place, he would present himself to Hollowell as a member of the staff.

What he didn't realize was that Mrs. Wyler and Mrs. Ames, nearly in their dotage, had the same idea. When they saw the ad in the Jeddison paper that Hollowell Estate, "formerly Attersby Estate" was seeking servants, they made sure to be first to appear as soon as furnishings were moved into the Hollowell mansion.

J. Densby Hollowell was thrilled with the prospect of a "ready made" staff of servants.

"Mrs. Ames, you were housekeeper here. Can you suggest two maids, one for Lady Charlotte and the other for general housekeeping duties?" James asked.

"Yes. Sir. I will take care of that right away. Shall I set them up to interview with you?

"Yes. I would like Lady Charlotte to approve of her lady's maid."

Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler were impressed their new mistress of the estate was a blue blood aristocrat. When James Miston showed his face a week later, Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler were aghast at the thought.

"Surely, Mr. Hollowell won't want him for hire," Mrs. Wyler said.

"Like you, I am hoping not. It brings back too many memories I'd rather forget. You know Mrs. Wyler, we always were suspicious James Miston knew far more about the disappearance of the Attersby sisters and Allianz the gardener."

Mrs. Wyler nodded with a fearful expression on her face.

"You don't think any harm would come to us, do you?" Mrs. Wyler asked.

"Let us just take great caution to avoid working with him. If he is hired as a gardener like before, we will have little chance to be in his path," Mrs. Ames said.

James Miston, after having occupied Attersby Mansion for so long, decided to take the position as valet to J. Densby Hollowell.

Miston presented himself to Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler already installed in their duties. Mrs. Ames located two full-time maids, Audra Ransberg and Lydia Simmons. Lady Charlotte chose Lydia, whom she referred to as "Simmons" for her lady's maid. Miston already surveyed the situation of the two maids.

"Who do the maids report to?" he asked.

"Lady Charlotte, of course," Mrs. Ames said.

"Lady Charlotte?"

"Yes, the mistress of Hollowell House is royalty. We must all conduct ourselves accordingly," Mrs. Ames said.

"And what is your position? Gardener, is it?" Mrs. Wyler asked.

"No. Valet. I will be requiring certain maid services," Miston said.

"You will arrange that, if you please, with Lady Charlotte," Mrs. Ames said.

Miston saw that Mrs. Ames would be an obstacle he would have to overcome.

With her husband busily occupied with business, Charlotte spent much of her time in her room or the drawing room downstairs.

She spoke rarely to the servants. The position of mistress of this inadequate estate was one she felt thoroughly uncomfortable with. After all, Barnesmore Estate was the aristocratic domain of her father and the daily household was left to her mother and their housekeeper, butler and the maids to deal with.

Charlotte liked her life there. It required little more of her than to be present at her father's important functions and her mother's balls and parties. She believed Barnesmores were all of what remained of true elegance and traditional aristocratic grace and charm in the states.

As she glanced around the sitting room, she realized any renovations she'd hoped for were limited to James insistence on a turret room to be added to the kitchen.

"James, why on earth do you want a turret room?" Charlotte asked.

"I just like the look of a castle. You should too. It will give Hollowell House the touch of finesse it deserves."

Charlotte knew this was much more of the American pretentiousness to appear upper class. To Charlotte, it was a sign of being more common.

She decided not to spend much time at Hollowell House with all of the construction going on with the turret room. Neither did she want to make herself visible to Jeddison society. Lady Charlotte considered herself a blue blood and as such, was unlikely to find much in the way of peerage in such a small town.

It may have been snobbery; but, Lady Charlotte had another more hidden motive: Remain apart from the Jeddison grand dames, if any actually existed and her husband might consider selling Hollowell House.

The construction on the Turret Room was completed, much to Lady Charlotte's distaste.

"James, why did you design that "room" so it is located off the kitchen pantry?" Charlotte said, knowing it was a criticism.

"Why, my dear...I am surprised that you would not realize that a conservatory should always be near a supply of water to keep plants fresh and growing," James said, peering at her over his newspaper.

"We already have a conservatory off the grand ballroom. Is that not enough?" she countered.

"That is why I wanted the Turret Room built. It gives greater validity to our wealth and standing in this society."

"There is no society in this town, James!" Charlotte said, her voice filled with annoyance.

"Charlotte, now that you mention it, I will expect you to create an atmosphere conducive to the upper class society mavens. That means you will plan teas for the Mayor and Councilors' wives. You will also invite them to our first major ball," James said, stiffly.

"And which major ball is that? You have not availed me of any plans for a ball. James, you know I am very busy trying to maintain the household."

"I am sure if you prevail upon Mrs. Ames, your housekeeper, you can delegate most of your work to her. In fact, I think I will ask Mrs. Ames to provide me with a daily prospectus of the daily work she does. That way, I can assess how much free time she has available to help you with planning the ball we will have for New Year's Eve."

"New Year's Eve? Now really, James! How common do you plan for Hollowell's to become? And townspeople in our home? How ridiculous!"

"Nevertheless, that is how we will create the Jeddison upper class. Oh and one other thing. I do not want your father and mother or any of your society friends to attend. This is strictly for Jeddison's most prominent families," James insisted.

Lady Charlotte fumed. Her husband was scheming again. When he handed her the list of guests he wished to be invited, she was aghast. But, she also saw that there was a method to his madness. It was obvious he was soliciting for the attentions of those in Jeddison with money to spend on investments. It didn't pass her attention that he invited the only banker in the town, Conrad Lestley, and also the only lawyer, Arlo Hiltson.

Lady Charlotte was angrier than she'd ever been when James mentioned all too casually over dinner that it was to be a costumed, masked ball.

"Charlotte, I think I would like you to arrange for suitable costumes for both of us," James said.

He lifted his glass of port wine high toward her and smirked.

"Would you please see to it Mrs. Ames orders our wines from our former supplier?" James said.

It occurred to Lady Charlotte she could easily become a widow and her husband would be none the wiser. A few drops of something "medicinal" in his wine---colorless, odor and tasteless could be an answer to getting rid of Hollowell House.

Lady Charlotte was shocked at how far her thoughts had gone. She just knew she couldn't stay in this horrible place for the rest of her life.

"And just what is wrong with your port?" she asked.

"It has no body and no flavor. It goes down like vinegar," James said, wincing.

Lady Charlotte didn't glance up at James.

"Is your silence a sign of disagreement?" James asked.

"No, James. I have no wish to argue," she answered.

"Well? What do you intend to do about this?" he persisted.

"I do believe that is your domain, not mine," she answered.

"Charlotte, you may be royalty in your father's home. But, you live in Hollowell House now. The elegant home I provided for you!"

"Elegant? The only elegant thing about this place is the stone flagging in the formal foyer," Charlotte said.

"I see. So this in not your idea of a mansion, then?" James snarled.

"I should say it is not!" she answered.

And with that, she rose and hurried away from yet another of her bossy, overbearing husband's tirades.

"Charlotte! Get back here right now!" James yelled.

Angrily, he pushed away from the table. Miston appeared just as James started for the grand staircase.

"Sir, is there anything I can help with?"

"Yes! Get rid of that damn wine and fetch a more suitable label!" James snarled.

"What shall I do with this one? It is barely half empty," Miston asked, sheepishly.

"I don't care what you do with. Pour it out if you wish!"

James stomped up the stairs to Lady Charlotte's room. Miston made for the kitchen with the wine bottle in hand.

"Well, it looks as if I've got a bottle of wine all to myself," Miston said.

Mrs. Ames glanced knowingly at Mrs. Wyler who was busy preparing the dessert course.

"I don't think you will have to rush, Mrs. Wyler. The Hollowells are not exactly in a mood to feast upon your gastronomic delights," Miston said.

He asked for a large wine goblet. Mrs. Wyler handed him one and he took the bottle and goblet to the pantry to indulge himself.

"One man's vinegar is another man's champagne" Miston laughed to himself.

"Mrs. Wyler, I don't know about you; but, I am beginning to loathe the sight of James Miston," Mrs. Ames said.

"No argument on that from me," Mrs. Wyler answered.

"You know? I heard a strange rumor about this place being haunted by ghosts," Mrs. Wyler said.

"That's just foolish nonsense," Mrs. Ames countered.

"I think so too. But, the fact remains that several townspeople have said they saw someone moving about when this place was empty," Mrs. Wyler continued.

"I don't see how that's possible. It was empty for seven years and only Mr. Attersby had a key," Mrs. Ames said.

"Well, there is one "other" possibility..."

"Yes and just what would that be?"

"Miston was living here all the while the place was unoccupied," Mrs. Wyler said.

"Now, Mrs. Wyler, I wouldn't go around believing rumors like that," Mrs. Ames said.

Secretly, Mrs. Ames wondered the same thing. Mainly because, she knew Miston had been an Attersby employee, though not a "house" employee.

Overhearing their whispered conversation, Miston eyed the two women furtively. He wasn't the man to trust women in any case and now he knew he had to keep his eyes on these two.

The days for Lady Charlotte Hollowell felt endless. It didn't help that even when the addition was finished, the weather turned sour. A mansion on an incline seemed to absorb every tiny gust of wind. By autumn, early rains came to Jeddison. Charlotte sat on her divan near the window in her sitting room.

James was in the library where he spent most of his evenings when he wasn't busy entertaining his business associates and friends at his men's club in High Bridge.

This particular evening, the wind whipped across the road and its shrill screams reminded Lady Charlotte of banshees and at times, like howling wolves. Then, she heard a loud thud. She turned to look out the window. It was mostly blackness from her vantage point. But, she thought she saw a strange black hill she hadn't seen before. She hurried down the stairs.

She was sure James must have heard the noise as well. He rounded up Miston and they were standing out in the rear yard. Charlotte saw what the noise was from the library's rear window: part of that huge hill at the back of the property collapsed.

"We will have to get this all cleared away at first morning's light," James told Miston.

"Yes sir. Shall I make arrangements for a plow?" Miston asked.

"Don't we have one in that shed?" James asked.

"No, sir. I don't believe so," Miston answered.

"Well, no matter. You can just use a shovel and remove most of it. Cover over those gravestones. I hate the sight of them, anyway!" James said.

"Sir, you remember I provide valet services, not gardening services?"

"Well, then ask Mrs. Ames to call in a damn gardener as soon as possible!"

"Sir, I don't mind taking care of it; but, I would expect to be paid additionally for these services."

Miston grumbled under his breath the following day.

I see how men of wealth get that way. They expect their valets to double as gardeners.

That collapse was how the grave sites of the Attersby family became covered over in the excess dirt that fell away from the hill at the rear of the property. By spring, frequent heavy rains came and the soft, sandy soil began to creep closer and closer to the rear of Hollowell Mansion.

Miston dutifully battled to keep it from crawling a few feet each day. More because he feared the exposure of his failure to properly bury the two Attersby sisters than out of loyalty to J. Densby Hollowell.

"Miston! I thought I asked you to remove that soil!" James said, surveying each new episode of damage.

"I am out here every day removing the soil, sir. The back property is now almost covered over. What would you have me do?"

"I want that soil gone. The entire rear yard will need to be sodded. That is going to be quite expensive. I rely on you to make repairs. There has to be a way to stop the soil from reaching the house," James said.

Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler were more than a little amused the high nosed valet had become a gardener again.

Lady Charlotte feigned fear of another cave in and more damage.

"James, You are fighting a losing battle. Anyone can see that. I warned you this place would not be a good place to call our home. It's as if there is a curse on it or something," Charlotte warned.

"Curse? That's absurd! I had the Attersby gravesites covered over because you said you hated the sight of it. You should be glad that the rear of the property can now be properly landscaped," James said.

It was of advantage to Miston too that the gravesites were now under at least four feet of densely packed soil. Or, so he imagined. Three days of rain the last week of May caused a sink hole in the center of the gravesite. Now, the tombstones of Daphne and Delilah were once again partially exposed.

When J. Densby Hollowell saw the sink hole, he was aghast. Was it true? Could there be a curse on Hollowell House?

Now, get hold of yourself man. You know there is no such thing as a curse.

J. Densby Hollowell felt as if he was fighting a losing battle. If it wasn't a disaster on the outside of Hollowell House, it was a disaster inside.

It began inside with the piping that provided the water to that sea shell at the top of the stairs. Somehow it malfunctioned and began leaking in several places.

"I do not understand how this could have happened," James said, surveying the damages.

The ceiling below and the back wall nearest the cove in which the sea shell stood was sopping wet and had already began to reek of a moldy odor by the time James located a proper plumbing expert, the only one in Jeddison, as a matter of fact.

"This is going to be quite a job." Hamilton Bonson, the plumber, told James.

"You sure you want to keep this thing?" Bonson asked.

"Yes. It was part of the former owner's design for this hall. Without it as a centerpiece, the long hall would look bare," James said.

"Do you often turn the waterworks on?" Hamilton asked.

"No. In fact, we haven't ever turned it on more than a few times since we moved into Hollowell House," James said.

Charlotte overheard the conversations. In reality, she was eavesdropping with her bedroom door ajar.

"We could permanently turn the waterworks off. That would prevent future piping leaks and this damage," Hamilton said.

James knew the plumber was right. Still, he loved that the sound of water in the sea shell could be seen and heard from the bottom of the grand staircase.

"For now, just repair. I will decide later whether or not I want the waterworks turned off," James said.

Charlotte was rather amused at this latest disaster.

Since we moved into this old hovel, it has been one thing after another. What next? Charlotte wondered.

She probably shouldn't have wondered because Hollowell House was cursed by its former owner, William Attersby and his mother, Hannah. To his dying day, he would have rather the family estate be in the hands of anyone else but a Hollowell.

If Lady Charlotte thought the sound of the carpenters adding the turret room onto Hollowell House was annoying, the sound of a plumber banging, tapping and turning water on and off was about to drive her mad.

"James, must that plumber make such noise? He's only making a repair, after all," Charlotte said.

"Charlotte, leave that to him. He knows what he is doing," James, said looking over the evening paper in the library.

"I can't stand the sound the pipes make when he turns the water on and off," Charlotte said.

"Be that as it may, it is part of the process of repair," James countered.

Charlotte rose from the library wing chair where she had been reading a novel. She climbed the stairs to go to her bedroom suite.

James sniffed and gave her a look of disdain.

All she does is complain. I know she hates this place. All the more reason to keep her here. She needs to come down from her royal pedestal. Here we are and here shall we stay.

The next thing James heard was Charlotte's scream. He ran up the grand staircase to see the plumber lying dead on the floor.

"Charlotte, my God! What happened?"

"I don't know. I got to the top stair and this is how I found him. What on earth could have caused his death?" Charlotte asked.

"Well, he isn't quite a young man. Could be a heart attack. I'll get the police."

James prevailed upon Miston to see the police to Hollowell House. When they arrived, James and Charlotte were in the grand ballroom. James was pacing back and forth. Charlotte stood stock still ringing her hands.

"This is not going to be good for the reputation of Hollowell House," James muttered.

"James, I think you need to face the fact that William Attersby cursed this place. How do you know who else may have died in this place?" Charlotte asked.

"Now, you are being macabre, Charlotte."

As soon as the police arrived, they brought the local coroner with them. He examined Hamilton Bonson's body and made several notes.

"It looks as if he had a heart attack," the coroner said.

"Are you sure?" James asked.

"As sure as I can be without performing an autopsy. I can't do that without his family's permission. That may take several days. Bonson was my plumber, in fact most of Jeddison's plumber. This is such a shame. The nearest plumber now is out of town. You can drop by my office if you need confirmation of the cause of his death."

The police confiscated most of Bonson's tools for "evidence." What they left was a half completed plumbing job.

James couldn't help but wonder what it was that caused Bonsen's death. The plumber seemed to be in relatively good health.

James noticed almost immediately that while the leak was repaired, there was still a constant dripping from the water spout.

It was the sound of the dripping water that drove Lady Charlotte insane. James hadn't gotten around to having it repaired. His work kept him away from Hollowell House for most of the year. By September of 1952, it was clear the Korean War was not going so well. But, the needs of the military kept businesses flush with profits and Wall Street financiers like J.Densby Hollowell were kept busy buying and selling stocks.

Lady Charlotte felt each new day was one more day of imprisonment. She hadn't fit into Jeddison society and never would.

The people in Jeddison considered her "out of their league." She never really had many friends as a younger woman. Now, in late middle age, she had grown accustomed to the silence of Hollowell House that echoed like a canyon. Naturally, the sound of that shell in the hall dripping sounded even louder than it actually was.

Mrs. Ames often heard "the lady of the house," let out blood curdling screams. When she ran to see to Lady Charlotte's desperation, she saw only a lonely woman aging faster and less attractively than she should have. She would dote on the lady of Hollowell House to no avail. Nothing was wrong and yet, Mrs. Ames knew for this lonely woman too much had gone wrong.

J.Densby Hollowell spent a lot of time in New York City, leaving Jeddison and Hollowell House for rare appearances and usually only when he required Charlotte to plan a formal dinner.

She entreated James numerous times to please have that "horrid dripping in that shell" fixed.

"James, I cannot endure that sound. It is like a Chinese Water torture. All day and all night all I hear is that dripping," Charlotte begged.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I've gotten so engrossed in work. I just haven't had time to spend here at Hollowell House," he said.

"Just when do you think you will have the time?" Charlotte asked.

"I cannot say. But, you know you can find a plumber if it is so annoying."

When James left again for his New York City office, Charlotte asked Mrs. Ames to send James Miston to her.

"Mr. Miston, the Lady wishes to speak with you," Mrs. Ames said.

"I have no business with the lady of the house. I am Mr. Hollowell's valet, not her maid. What does she want?"

"How can I know that? Go and see what it is she wants for yourself," Mrs. Ames said.

Miston had it pretty easy with James away most of the time. His valet duties left him a lot of free time to do just as he pleased. James hired a landscaping contractor to care for the estate property on a regular basis at great cost, ending Miston's complaints of having to do "two jobs for the price of one."

What pleased Miston most was gambling on horses. Jeddison was not far from Glendennan, a wealthy kind of "horse country" for the "horsey set." As a result, their horses were raced at an upstate track, Clymouth Downs, about fifty miles by car from Jeddison.

As an employee of J. Densby Hollowell, Miston ingratiated himself in to membership at Clymouth Downs, the favorite of big money people. He spent three of seven days a week placing his bets on their horses. He lost as much as he won. But, since he was paid regularly as a valet, he never worried about losses.

He climbed the grand staircase and knocked on Lady Charlotte's door.

"Mrs. Hollowell, it's James Miston, at your service," Miston said.

"Come in, please."

James was in awe of the well appointed, ultra feminine lady's suite. It was outfitted in gold shantung drapes that hung from ceiling to floor. The walls were covered in a deep rose brocade paper. Her bed was in a separate alcove on a kind of platform that required two steps to reach from the master suite.

The bed had one of those huge canopies covered in frilly pink lace fabric and pink bed curtains around it. Other furnishings included a Louis Quatorze chair and a vanity with a silk fabric bench in deep garnet. There were statuettes and a huge painting of the lady herself above her bed.

"Madam asked to see me?" Miston said, ultra formally.

"Yes. Mr. Miston? Is it?"

"Yes. What is Madam's pleasure?"

"That shell in the hall. Do you think you could repair it and stop that maddening dripping sound?" Charlotte asked.

"No. I do not have plumbing skills. I can contact a plumber for you, if you like."

"No! No plumber. You must know what happened with the last plumber. I will not have another dead body in my home."

James Miston thought it amusing that Lady Charlotte had no idea how many dead bodies were part of the Attersby estate over the years.

"Well then, I guess you are of no use to me," Lady Charlotte said.

"Madam should try to listen to music or find some distraction so as not to be bothered by the dripping shell. It is only water. Some find it soothing to the senses," James Miston said.

Charlotte rose from her boudoir chair and stridently dismissed her husband's valet.

"Useless man. How dare he be so bold as to patronize me? What does he do here all day anyway? James is wasting his money," Charlotte said aloud to her empty room.

It was true Charlotte Hollowell was losing her mind. Feelings of isolation and loss of her titled status were merely a part of the reasons for her mental instability. Most of her life, she'd been Lady Charlotte, entitled to privileged and a charmed life provided by her doting father, Lord Charles Barnesmore. He warned her not to marry James Hollowell, of late, J.Densby Hollowell, investment manager extraordinaire. She believed she was once as in love with James as he was with her.

Her mother, Lady Edythe Barnesmore told her never to marry any man who didn't love her more than she loved him. Charlotte realized her mistake almost from the outset of her marriage. As time passed, she was resigned to the deaths of her beloved parents, James taking hold of her inheritance to plunk into his business and this godforsaken mansion that wasn't really a mansion, so much as a huge noose around Charlotte's neck.

She saw clearly why he insisted on owning Hollowell House. For James, it was the challenge of wresting it away from Williams Attersby, born to the same kind of wealth and privilege as Charlotte. She began to believe James bought Hollowell House to get even with her for some imagined feelings of vengeance for her being upper class.

In her present, somewhat unstable state of mind, she knew it wasn't Attersby Estate James lusted to own, it was to force Charlotte to a lower class of life in a remote place that James could control. Much like his collection of butterflies he kept under glass and his poor Scottish heritage.

The sound of the dripping exacerbated Charlotte's depressed state of mind. The truth was she had no routine and no desire to take part in anything local. She read books most of the day or painted and sketched in the part of the conservatory James turned into a solarium loaded with exotic palms and, to Charlotte's way of thinking, the most ugly viney plants she'd ever laid eyes on. She was sure some of those plants were man eaters. James couldn't even outfit a solarium properly. Still, Charlotte couldn't just remain in her suite all day.

Lately, she ate less and her face grew pale and gaunt from lack of sunlight and proper nutrition.

"The Lady is beginning to look almost like a ghost," Mrs. Ames said.

"My, oh my. But, doesn't she though? I don't even bother to prepare lunch for her. She takes only coffee and a single slice of toast for breakfast. Then, she has a tray taken to her room for dinner and most of the time when the maids remove it, it is barely eaten," Mrs. Wyler said.

"It is like watching her waste away. Her mind isn't "right" either. I see her more than the rest of the staff and when I ask her approval on things, she mutters incoherently. I do wish Mr. Hollowell would return soon. He's been gone nearly a month this time," Mrs. Ames said.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. He pays all the bills for this place. Do you think he may have a mistress tucked in his big city apartment?" Mrs. Wyler asked.

"Hush, Mrs. Wyler! Don't even think that. You can just imagine how that would affect the Lady. Why, she would likely do herself in," Mrs. Ames said.

"Sure enough, she would," Mrs. Wyler said.

"Well, let's get on with our work. At least, we still have jobs to keep us distracted and busy," Mrs. Ames said.

James Miston walked angrily through the kitchen door to the shock of Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler.

"How dare she!" Miston exclaimed.

"Whatever are you talking about?" Mrs. Ames asked.

"She asked if I could repair that dripping in that horrid seashell at the top of the grand staircase," Miston said.

"I'm not surprised. The sound of that water dripping all day long is getting on her nerves," Mrs. Ames said.

"Well, if she left that bedroom suite once in a while, she wouldn't have to hear it!" Miston ranted.

"You know she rarely leaves her room. The last time she ventured down those stairs was two weeks ago. She eats and sleeps in that same room for weeks on end," Mrs. Ames said.

"I am not a damn plumber! If she wants it fixed, she'll have to settle for a plumber outside of town. She doesn't want any plumber, she says," Miston responded.

"The Lady is afraid of another dead body up there. She can barely pass through the grand hall upstairs without screaming out," Mrs. Ames said.

"And what if she needs a plumber for a stopped toilet or sink? Does she think a valet is supposed to do that too? On what they pay me?"

"As I recall, Mr. Miston, it was you who lived here before the Mister finalized the ownership of this place. I'd say you actually owe the Hollowells, not the other way round," Mrs. Wyler said.

"You two ladies seem to forget that my business with William Attersby was not always on the up and up, if you know what I mean," Miston said.

"And so you now feel entitled to a higher wage when you spend most of it on the horses?" Mrs. Wyler said.

"What I do with my free time is my business," Miston snarled.

"Not when you are charged with valet duties to Mr. Hollowell and we can easily make it known to him how you spend your working hours," Mrs. Ames said.

"Do that and you and I will create an unpleasant climate in Hollowell House," Miston answered.

"If that is a threat, I should tell you that your threats do not work with me. What could you possibly do to me or Mrs. Wyler that Lady Charlotte wouldn't see you in prison for?" Mrs. Ames said.

"Face facts! That old lady upstairs already has one foot in the grave. A little push and she's in the ground. Then, I tend to the task of settling my score with the two of you," Miston said.

Mrs. Ames looked at the frightened expression on Mrs. Wyler's face. They both knew Miston's dirty business with William Attersby through their family members sources. They may not have known specific details. But, Miston was not the man to keep silent when he had one too many in the local bars.

Miston stormed out the door in a blinding rage. He knew what he was thinking was absolute savagery. But, J. Densby Hollowell would likely thank him in the end.

Miston was a man for whom viciousness was born in his marrow. He never was much for conscience. He believed there were only two kind of men in the world: the all too high minded who always go by the book and always ended up failing and the corrupt who saw opportunities to be in control of all things worldly. Wasn't that who J. Densby Hollowell was?

Miston dressed for another day at the race track. He was a visionary of another kind. The kind that persists in whatever evil was necessary to the end result. He spent the rest of the day distracted by his own plotting. So much so, he lost far more at the track than he ever had.

Now, he had a better reason to get rid of the old lady and those two kitchen women. He needed more money to place his bets. With the three of them gone, who'd be the wiser if their murderer was also a burglar? Who'd suspect the loyal, dedicated valet of the famous J. Densby Hollowell?

Miston's lack of conscience made the word "murder" as easy to think as it was to do. He would have to wait till the day maids left at six in the evening. By then, only Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler would still be present in Hollowell House.

The old lady was the easy part. As frail as she was, it wouldn't take much to be rid of her. He knew her movements like the back of his hand. She ate her dinner, the maids prepared her for bed and she took to the bathroom in the hall to take her "nerve pills" as she called them.

All he had to do was get rid of Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler first. He knew where Hollowell kept his pistol. He reminded himself to wear gloves in case the police dusted for fingerprints after the three bodies were found.

He waited about a month until after J. Densby Hollowell returned from New York City and then, as always, made his excuses, to hurry back to his "business." Miston felt sure Hollowell had another woman. He knew that because Hollowell never wore men's cologne and his clothes reeked of a woman's perfume, not to mention the lipstick on his starched white shirts.

Miston pretended not to notice any of it, even when Hollowell felt guilty enough to mention that he'd gone to a party and "some woman get a little too tipsy and began to slobber all over his shirt."

As soon as Hollowell left early on the morning of January 10th and his limo pulled away, Miston knew it was time to strike. Timing in murder and burglary were of the essence of these crimes. Without perfect timing, criminals always get caught.

Miston's good fortune was a light snow falling. That would be part of his excuse that he'd gone to the track and due to the snow, he didn't return until ten o'clock that evening. He left for the race track at 8 that morning.

"And there he goes. Mr. Hollowell's erstwhile and sometime valet," Mrs. Wyler cracked.

"Do you think he meant that threat seriously?" Mrs. Ames asked.

"He'd never get away with it. Not with Lady Charlotte upstairs hearing any commotion," Mrs. Wyler said.

"Hmm. Yes. I guess so," Mrs. Ames said, dubiously.

"You don't think he really means to do us in. Do you, Mrs. Ames?"

"We both know him to be a low sort, capable of anything."

"But murder? That's serious business. He may have covered up the death of that gardener, Allianz. But, how would he cover up two murders? You know the entire staff suspected he and old Mr. Attersby plotted to get rid of Allianz. We just never knew the real reason." Mrs. Ames said.

"Yes, Mrs. Ames. To this day, I cannot fathom what on earth that gardener could have done that deserved a death sentence," Mrs. Wyler said.

"With men? They never need reasons. It could be as simple as looking the wrong way," Mrs. Ames said.

The two women both knew they were scared. They also hoped Miston wouldn't take the chance to create a massive scandal at Hollowell House that would ruin J. Densby Hollowell forever.

Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler were on edge. Mrs. Ames had the feeling the "other shoe" was about to drop. She didn't now why she felt like that; but, she always trusted her instincts.

As dusk fell, the day maids left and Mrs. Wyler was in the kitchen prepping for the next day, which never took very long now that Lady Charlotte was the only occupant in the house. When Mrs. Ames entered the kitchen, Mrs. Wyler was finishing up a few dishes in the sink. Then, she wiped down the cook stove and the counter.

"Mrs. Ames? It's almost the end of our day's work here. What say we treat ourselves to a nice hot cup of cocoa? I've got your cup ready," Mrs. Wyler said.

"You know, Mrs. Wyler? I have always had second sight when it came to such things as good and evil. It's my old Scottish ancestors endowed me with that ability," Mrs. Ames said.

Mrs. Wyler listened intently, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was nearly 9:30 P.M.

"What are you thinking, Mrs. Ames? Should we hand in our notice? We are both past our retirement ages and have our Social Security, though it might not offer as much as we are paid by Mr. Hollowell. You are afraid of Miston, aren't you?"

"I have my fears, Mrs. Wyler, like we all do with evil minded men."

The two women sat chatting for about a half hour, partly reminiscing about their first days of employment at Hollowell House. They heard the two heavy front doors closing.

"Who on earth can that be?" Mrs. Ames asked.

"Can't be Mr. Hollowell, he always lets us know when he's returning," Mrs. Wyler said.

They turned around to see a figure of James Miston. The two women instantly froze. He had a pistol in his hand. The one Miston knew Hollowell kept in his desk.

"You two. In the dining room now!" Miston ordered.

"What are you doing?" Mrs. Ames asked.

"What I should have done years ago."

"And that is?" Mrs. Ames persisted.

"Get rid of two nosey old women!" Miston snarled.

The sound of four shots fired from the gun echoed upstairs. Lady Charlotte Hollowell's bedroom suite was just above the dining room.

She hurried to the center of the hall and called downstairs.

"Mrs. Ames? Mrs. Wyler? What was that sound?" Charlotte called.

The next thing she remembered was seeing James Miston standing midstairs heading toward her with a gun in his hand.

"Oh no! Mr. Miston. Please. I beg you. Please don't shoot me!"

"Oh this? You are afraid of your own husband's gun?" Miston taunted.

Miston continued up the stairs until he stood face to face with Charlotte Hollowell.

"Well of course I ...." Charlotte started.

She didn't get to finish her thought. Miston tripped her so that she fell backward into the seashell and hit her head on the small metal spout works in the center of the shell's base. Miston knew she wasn't dead.

"But, you will be," he said.

He turned Charlotte's body so her face was in the small pool of water. He held her head down until she began to struggle fiercely, her arms clawing at her sides. Then, suddenly her fight for life was over. Miston had done the deed he planned.

"I'm not going down for murdering Allianz or any of you!" Miston yelled out.

He ran down the hall to Charlotte's room and took all of the jewelry and other valuables he could find, rifling the dresser drawers to make it appear the house was burglarized.. He ran down the stairs and did the same in the dining room and the library.

He filled a large burlap sack with his booty. He ran out of the front door, leaving it deliberately open and headed to the gardener's shack to hide the things he'd stolen. He thought he would get rid of them after this crime died down. Then, he reconsidered. He took the stolen goods to the family cemetery. No one would dare dig up a grave. He placed them in the grave plot of William Attersby I.

That grave was easiest to remove the frozen sod and replace it after he buried the goods. He used a small hack saw to carefully carve a small square about ten inches by ten inches from the frozen grass. He used a small trowel to remove the soil. Then, he placed the goods in the hole, refilled it with the soil and carefully replaced the frozen sod. The light snow falling came down in heavy flakes. Miston was glad. It hid his handiwork.

He stood up, proud of the work he'd done. Now, he had to make it appear he had just arrived home to find the dead bodies and call police. He tucked the gloves he wore into his pockets as he walked into the foyer of Hollowell House.

"Hello, I need the police. Please...Hurry! There are three women murdered in Hollowell House!" Miston said into the phone.

Within ten minutes, Hollowell House was swarming with police.

"What is your name sir and your business here?" Sargent Thomas Lamb asked.

"I'm James Miston. I just arrived. I'm J. Densby Hollowell's valet."

"Can you identify these women?" Sargent Lamb asked.

"Yes, of course. The woman with the dark hair over there is the Hollowell's housekeeper, Mrs. Ames. The other older one is Mrs. Wyler, the cook. The woman at the top of the stairs is Lady Charlotte," Miston said, carefully measuring each word he spoke.

"Do you see or hear anything?"

"No. You see, it was my day off. I usually go to the racetrack. Due to the snow, it took an hour longer to get back home."

"The snow didn't begin to fall heavily in Jeddison until the last fifteen minutes," Lamb said, suspiciously.

"It is snowing much harder north of here," Miston said, covering his lies.

"Have you alerted Mr. Hollowell yet?"

"No. Of course not. It was just too much of a shock. I'd rather not be the one to break the news of this horrible crime," Miston said, exaggerating his true feelings.

J. Densby Hollowell was contacted one hour later by phone by Detective Roy Hasselford. He couldn't be contacted sooner since he was "busy" with his latest romantic interest. The message was relayed to him by the hotel desk clerk who sent a handwritten message through a hotel page to Hollowell's hotel room.

"Please, keep this quiet!" Hollowell demanded of the page.

"Yes, sir. Of course sir." the page answered.

"I have to return to Jeddison. There seems to be a serious problem there. I will be in touch with you as soon as I can," Hollowell told his lover.

With heavy snow falling, it took nearly four hours for James to finally get to Hollowell House. When he saw the police all over the property and inside his home, he nearly went berserk.

"What the hell do you think you are all doing! This is my home!"

"Mr. Hollowell, three women have been murdered and it looks as if your home has been burglarized. This is now a crime scene. Please don't touch anything. Do you have any idea who might have done this?" Sargent Lamb asked.

"How the hell would I know? I'm a business man. I rarely spend much time here lately due to business commitments. This mansion is in a remote area. Anyone could have broken into the place," Hollowell said.

"Anyone" didn't need a key," Lamb countered.

"What are you saying? That the burglar is someone who jimmied the lock on the door?"

"No. I am saying the door wasn't locked. As you say, this place being in such a remote area, why wasn't it fully alarmed?"

"Well, the door wouldn't be locked, would it? My housekeeper doesn't lock it until after she leaves for the night. Then, only my wife and valet are on the premises. By the way, where is my valet? Miston was supposed to be here," Hollowell said.

Lamb sensed a massive wave of guilt for leaving his "mansion" so unprotected and his wife with only his valet to protect her when Hollowell should have been here to prevent such a massacre. He made a mental note that Hollowell didn't answer the question about why Hollowell House had no burglar alarm system.

As soon as the coroner's office sent over the van to tote the bodies to the morgue, Hollowell flew into a rage.

"I don't want any of this to get into the papers. Such a scandal would ruin me!" Hollowell said.

It was too late. The Jeddison journalist, Jack Vesterly, was already surveying the situation from the road and counted the number of bodies. He hurried back to his office. He had a story he knew would go national immediately. After all, three murders in a Wall Street tycoon's mansion is big news.

The papers in Jeddison were full of the murders of the three women with such rapidity that the national news conglomerates and even metropolitan area radios were glutted with details.

J. Densby Hollowell was not happy about the notoriety his name and mansion generated. Worse, even though he was in New York City at the time of the murders, he was called into the investigation as a potential suspect by a sharp-eyed detective, Roy Hasselford, who would come to set Hollowell's teeth on edge with his personal questions. Ironically, Miston wasn't considered a suspect. Not yet, at least. Still Hasselford didn't completely dismiss the possibility even with Miston's seemingly iron clad alibi.

Although, Hollowell received much sympathy from his business associates, that eventually turned to apathy as soon as the papers created suspicions that the burglary was in "inside" job.

"Inside job? Indeed!" James told Miston.

James remained in Hollowell House as dictated by Jeddison police.

"I have business to attend to! I can't stay in Jeddison until you find a murderer and burglar!" James bellowed at Sargent Lamb.

"As may know, we have assigned your case to our top detective, Roy Hasselford. He has been reviewing all the evidence we have gathered. The case should be solved posthaste. It isn't possible to kill three women and burglarize a mansion like Hollowell House without the criminal slipping up somehow," Lamb said.

The sergeant called Roy Hasselford to his office to formally introduce him to J. Densby Hollowell. Hollowell gave the somewhat seedy looking Hasselford the once over and decided the detective would be about as effective in "solving the case posthaste" as his own valet Miston would be. He misjudged the only person who would spend a lifetime trying to solve the case.

Hollowell remained at Hollowell House throughout repetitious and very redundant inquiries by Hasselford. James Hollowell resented the detective's innuendos and constant poking around in Hollowell business.

Hasselford's two day unshaven face, his salt and pepper thick head of hair and middle aged paunch did nothing to engender Hollowell's confidence in the detective's investigatory abilities. Beneath the somewhat seedy exterior, however, Hasselford was an ace at interpreting attitudes and nuances of those under suspicion. Privately, he already ruled out Hollowell.

"Why rule out Hollowell? You know he had a mistress in New York City," Lamb said.

"He has too much to lose. Men like him think money first. His New York City mistress is not exactly the creme de la creme of New York society. That's because she is pretty much low maintenance. For Hollowell, a low budget mistress comes down to his unwillingness to part with more of his wealth than is necessary. And, his early childhood is another reason. Hollowell always considered his father a failure and ever since has been competing with his father's ghost in terms of measuring his own success," Hasselford said.

"So, why settle in a remote place like Jeddison then? Why not in Boston or New York City?" Lamb asked.

"Hollowell "only" needs the "appearance" of wealth. By all accounts, he spent most of the last year in New York City. How much of his time has he really spent here in Jeddison? Or for that matter, with his wife?"

"I have to admit when he first bought the old Attersby Estate, he seemed as if he would be heavily involved in Jeddison. His wife? She was rarely seen leaving the Hollowell Mansion," Lamb said.

"He stayed in New York because the end of the war made that more profitable for him. His wife was a blue blood by birth and those types never want to deal with "commoners like us," Hasselford said.

"Where exactly are we with this case, then? If you rule out Hollowell, which I agree makes perfect sense, given your study of his background, who then had it out for his wife?"

"That's where it goes off the rails. If we consider that she spent very little time outside of Hollowell House, it comes full circle to someone "in" the house who had a reason to make it appear the place was burglarized," Hasselford said.

"We already ruled out the valet. He was at the racetrack. He had proof. We have the racing sheets he had in his coat pocket and admission ticket he bought to get into the track," Lamb said.

"What about the timing? Do his footsteps place him away from Hollowell House for certain?"

"Yes. The only thing is...hmm...Miston said he was delayed getting home due to the snow that was "worse up north" than it was in Jeddison. He claimed that's what delayed him arriving back at Hollowell House," Lamb said.

"Do we know for sure when Miston actually arrived?"

"We have only his statements. Are you looking at Miston as a prime suspect?" Lamb asked.

"I know it sounds too patent like "the butler did it." But, once you rule out Hollowell, the only other possibility is a stranger walking into Hollowell House, which would mean either tire tracks or footprints in the snow and you already know the road to get to Hollowell House is a steep incline. In snowy weather, it isn't likely a thief and murderer would chance getting stuck in snow, assuming it was already deep at the time of the murders," Hasselford said.

"Then, we have to talk to Miston again," Lamb said.

"No, Sarge. Let me do it. He already spoke with you. If he is a smart criminal, he already figured out your method of questioning. Let's start fresh with someone who can pretend not to know any of the details," Hasselford said.

"I leave it to you then. Anything to get Hollowell to stop demanding he get back to New York City," Lamb said.

"Just one thing, Sarge. Have any of the stolen goods turned up yet?"

"No. But, if Miston isn't the culprit, the real murderer could be miles from Jeddison by now. We don't have the manpower to run to every pawn shop on the East Coast. But, you can check them out, if you feel it's necessary."

Roy Hasselford waited for a few days before calling James Miston into the police department to take his statement. When Miston walked through Hasselford's office door, the hair on the back of Hasselford's neck stood up. There was something about Miston that didn't seem right. Hasselford bid the man take a seat while he studied Miston's face. He decided to go back to Miston's history as William Attersby the II's service.

"How long have you been employed by J. Densby Hollowell?" Hasselford asked.

"Going on nearly fifteen years," Miston answered.

"Can you be more specific?"

"I originally worked for William Attersby as his gardener back in the 50s. After Attersby offed himself, I found other work. I began working for J. Densby Hollowell one year after he and Lady Charlotte moved into the Attersby Estate house," Miston said.

"You were a resident of Jeddison prior to your job at the Attersby Estate?"

"Yes."

"The Attersby Estate lay unoccupied for quite some time. Where did you work in those years?" Hasselford asked.

"I found a job upstate," Miston lied.

"Do you have the names of the business you worked for then?"

"Actually, it wasn't a business. I have a relative who lives upstate, an elderly aunt. She needed a gardener. I volunteered to help out, her being family and all," Miston said.

Miston wondered why Hasselford was digging into his past. Thus far, there was nothing that could possibly tie him to the Hollowell murders and burglary. He felt quite proud that he'd meticulously managed to throw off any suspicions...until now. He was certain Hasselford was looking for a way to tie him to those murders.

"I see from Sargent Lamb's notes you like to gamble on the horses," Hasselford said.

"Not much else to do in Jeddison or at Hollowell House, what with Mr. Hollowell spending most of his time in New York City at his place of business," Miston said.

"Yes...his "business." About that. Did Mr. Hollowell ever mention his extramarital affairs? According to what we've been able to gather, he's had several different lovers over the past decade. To your knowledge, was Mrs. Hollowell aware of it?"

"Mr. Hollowell would never discuss his personal business with any of the staff. As for Mrs. Hollowell, she was a recluse who was starving herself and by all appearances, losing her mind," Miston said.

"Mr. Hollowell's last lover was Cora Ann Baddely, half his age. We've done a search on her. It isn't likely she carried out the murders or the burglary," Hasselford said, hoping for a telling response from Miston.

"I wouldn't know that. But, you know women. Always getting their backs up when they don't get their way. If I were you, I would definitely consider one of Hollowell's lovers as a possible suspect. When women want to corner a rich man into marriage, they can get pretty desperate," Miston said.

"Yes. Well...I will consider that Mr. Miston. By the way, did you drive back to Jeddison from Clymouth Downs?"

"Yes. Mr. Hollowell allows me to use Mrs. Hollowell's car. She has...had...a driver's license. But, a lot of good it did. She never left her room except to be bathed down the hall in the powder room," Miston said.

"You said she was "losing her mind." Why was that? Do you know?"

"Actually, she was kind of "touchy" from the minute she moved into that place. Then, when the plumber died so mysteriously, she began to act "funny." You know?"

"No. I don't know. Can you be more specific?"

"For one thing, she was going berserk over that dripping water in that seashell fountain in the hallway," Miston said, a little more cautiously.

"Oh yes. That seashell. Whose idea was it to install that?" Hasselford asked.

"That was done by William Attersby II. He thought it would be a point of interest in the center of that long hall. At least, that's what I was told by staff," Miston said.

"What caused the dripping?" Hasselford asked.

"I'm not a plumber. I can't say."

"Mr. Miston, we might need to call on you again for more information. You've been very helpful. Thanks for coming in today."

Hasselford and Miston rose and shook hands.

Miston was a shrewd man. He knew from the minute he met Hasselford he was under suspicion. Miston drove back to Hollowell House. He had to get away before Hasselford's questions about Charlotte's death got too near his culpability.

When he returned from the police station, J. Densby Hollowell was sitting at his desk in the library. He looked up as Miston passed by.

"Miston, may I have a word? I want to know how your interview at the police station went," Hollowell said.

James Miston walked stiffly toward a chair that faced Hollowell's desk.

"It was as you might expect. A lot of questions I couldn't answer," Miston said, toying with Hollowell's sense of curiosity.

"Such as?"

"That detective, Hasselford, tried to imply you were having an affair and the woman might be the murderer," Miston lied.

"What? Cora? A murderer?"

Hollowell began to laugh hysterically.

"And what did you tell him?" Hollowell asked.

"I said that I didn't know anything about your personal affairs," Miston lied again.

"Miston, we both know that I've not been faithful to Lady Charlotte. What else did he ask about?"

"Mostly about Lady Charlotte's being reclusive and behaving "erratically" and that seashell dripping in the hall that made Lady Charlotte so annoyed. That's about all he asked," Miston said.

"Miston, you were at the racetrack at Clymouth the day of murders, right?" Hollowell said.

"Yes, sir. I was. I normally take one day a week off as we agreed. But, as you know, we always worked around the specific day of the week, due to your business schedule," Miston said.

James Miston did not want Hollowell to try and create a picture of guilt to lob on him.

"Yes. I realize all of that. From this point on, I may not be needing your services here at Hollowell House. I am thinking that perhaps, we can set up some kind of arrangements so you will only be in service when I am physically here," Hollowell said.

James Miston was livid!

After all the things I did for Hollowell? He's firing me? How dare he!

"But Mr. Hollowell, with the loss of your housekeeper and cook, all you'll have are the two day maids. The house will be empty and you know how dangerous that can be. If a burglar broke in once, he can do it again," Miston said.

Hollowell gave pause to the fact that Hollowell House would be empty again. Worse, he realized with all the notoriety and bad press on the murders, the place would be difficult to sell. It would be difficult to sell under any circumstances given the exclusive rural location.

"Miston, you might have a point. However, you were not on premises when the murders occurred, a burglar could as easily return while you are "off" for the day."

"You could hire a security guard for the days I take my day off," Miston said.

"No. No. I should think that it would be impossible now to get a security guard to come anywhere near this place. The ghosts of the past curse Hollowell House. I can't risk more scandals. I have a business to consider. I will be closing Hollowell House. There are just too too many bad memories here."

James Miston knew he had to wait until Hollowell returned to New York City and the ado about the Hollowell House murders died down before he could dig up the booty he'd stolen. Without access to Hollowell House, which J. Densby Hollowell secured before its closing, Miston was left with only the tool shed for a roof over his head. He managed to remain out of sight for most of the spring and following summer. As the days of autumn came, so too did the cold air in the tool shed. Not even the purchase of a pot bellied stove was enough to keep him warm.

He felt pretty secure that he'd gotten away with three murders and a good amount of valuable loot. When he could stand the cold in the tool shed no longer, he realized he had to get rid of the loot he'd stolen before the ground froze or worse, snow covered the place where he'd hidden it.

"Roy, what's happening with the Hollowell House murders? It's almost a year and the case is still unsolved," Thomas Lamb solved.

"Actually, Sargent, the case is solved," Hasselford said.

"How? You have no witnesses to the crime and no suspect in custody. The murderer could be long gone by now," Lamb said.

"The suspect is not going anywhere. I've kept tabs on all of the possible places the stolen goods might be pawned. The murderer and burglar are one and the same and cagey enough to wait a while, hoping we'd just let the murders become a cold case. That's his mistake. I am waiting for him to get desperate enough to sell off what he stole. Then, we've got him!"

"Wait a minute! You still think it was Miston...Hollowell's valet? Based on what evidence?"

"Based on his lie about how bad the snow storm was that delayed his return. I started my investigation at Clymouth Downs. The track remained open for several hours after Miston left so the snow wasn't yet more than a light dusting.

I traced his path back to Jeddison that day and check all along the way. The snow storm was no worse north of here than it was in Jeddison after Miston returned home. The three inches of snow piled up two hours after he already returned."

"But, we'd have seen his footprints," Lamb said.

"No. When he arrived at Hollowell House, the snow was a light dusting. His footprints were covered over when the storm dumped those three inches," Hasselford said.

"So, what do you propose to do?"

"I've already alerted every possible place to be on the lookout for the items Hollowell believes were stolen...Mrs. Hollowell's jewels and the household silver. The minute he tries to get rid of any of it, they will call and let us know. I'm hoping to catch him in the act."

As the world readied for Halloween, James Miston was ready to dig up his loot. He'd kept his car hidden in the Hollowell garage just in case police came "nosing around." A police car drove past Hollowell House once or twice a month, saw it was vacant and drove on.

Miston backed the car out of the open garage doors.

This might be the last I see of this place!

He was right. He drove to Drickston Falls about 100 miles south of Jeddison to Herman's Pawn Shop. He decided to try to get rid of the silver first. He knew the pawn broker, Sam Herman, and figured Sam would do what he always did with silver, sell it to a smelter who'd melt it down for a good price.

"James Miston! Been ages since I've seen you. Where ya been?" Sam Herman asked.

"Working. I...my...Mom passed and I'm getting rid of some of her things," Miston said.

"Looks like expensive silver," Sam said.

"It's a family heirloom," Miston said.

In truth, the Hollowell silver was a family heirloom given to Charlotte by her mother. It was passed to her mother by her grandmother.

"How much can I get for it?" Miston asked.

Sam Herman was not about to go to jail for accepting stolen goods. He recognized the silver as being stolen in that murder and burglary heist up north in Jeddison.

"Just a minute. I need to look it up in the catalogue in the back. I don't recognize the pattern," Sam said.

Sam walked back to his office at the back of his shop and closed the door. He dialed the number for the police.

"I have a guy in here...I think he's the one you are looking for. He's getting rid of some very expensive silver," Sam said.

"See if you can keep him there," Roy Hasselford said.

"He'll be gone before you get here. It takes an hour from Jeddison to Drickston Falls. I'll see what I can do," Sam said.

Miston had a bad feeling. Sam was taking too long. He picked up the silver and hurried out the door.

He worked his way to pawn shops and each time the same thing happened. The pawn shop owner made an excuse and disappeared. Miston figured out why. That Jeddison detective must have given all of the pawn shops in the state an alert for the loot he'd stolen. Now, he felt as if there was a noose tightening around his neck.

He headed for New York City. It wasn't possible a Jeddison detective alerted hundreds of pawn shops there. He got rid of the silver easily. But, the pawn shop owners were skittish about Lady Charlotte's jewels. He hung onto them more out of financial security then lack of ability to get rid of them.

J. Densby Hollowell kept a low profile for almost two years after the murder. But, his lover, Cora Ann Baddely was becoming more and more demanding that they marry. James Hollowell evaded her attempts to convince him they should marry.

"Cora Ann, no man wants the cow when he can get all the milk he wants for free," Cora's mother, Annie told her.

"Mama, it isn't like that at all!" Cora wailed.

"Yes, it is. Sometimes, a cow has a calf," Annie said with a wink of her eye.

"Even if the bull doesn't want children?" Cora said, intrepidly.

"Bulls, in the heat of the moment, never think about the possibility of a calf. That's the job of the cow," Annie said.

Cora knew her mother was right. Even though it was the wild free love era of the early 1960s, Cora knew if ever she was to be Mrs. J. Densby Hollowell, she had to do something.

When Cora announced she was pregnant, J. Densby Hollowell was livid.

"You tricked me! Get rid of it! I don't want any kid from you!" James bellowed.

"I won't. You can't make me either. So, either you marry me and give your child a name or I'll make sure the papers know what a cad the great J. Densby Hollowell really is!" Cora threatened.

"I'll marry you. One way or the other, I'll end up paying," he said.

"You bet your life you will. At least, with a wife and child, even at your late age, you have some respectability and an heir to your throne," Cora said, laughing hysterically at her maneuvering and success.

It was all over the papers that the blue chip investment financier, J. Densby Hollowell, already past his retirement age was about to marry. The papers called it a "May-December marriage." Amazingly, no reference to the murders at Hollowell House was mentioned.

James Miston caught the newspaper headline.

"Why that old dog! Married a second time and after only a decade too," Miston laughed to himself.

The headline reminded him to check on the safety of Charlotte Hollowell's jewels. He kept them in a safe deposit box at a New York City bank.

J. Densby Hollowell warned his pregnant wife not to name the child after him.

"Well, what name do you prefer?" Cora asked.

"Simon. Simon Barnesmore Hollowell."

"Why on earth do you want your son to have that name?"

"I always liked the name Simon and Barnesmore was my late wife's maiden name," he said.

"I am your wife now! Not Charlotte!" Cora objected.

"You can be my late wife too...if you are not careful!" he snarled.

"Why? Did you kill Charlotte or have her killed? I can call the police back there in Jeddison and tell them you paid someone to kill her," Cora threatened.

"The police already know I was here with you!"

Cora lost that one. J. Densby Hollowell didn't. He made sure his son was sent away as soon as he was old enough for preparatory school at the most exclusive school in New York City...and the most expensive.

Simon Hollowell loathed his father for sending him away from his mother. Cora always lavished the boy with whatever his heart desired, no matter what the expense was. His father loathed that Cora was so cloying of their son. By the time Simon was thirteen, he was sent off to military school in Boston.

"Do you ever plan on allowing our Simon to come home?" Cora asked.

"He can come home for my funeral," Hollowell snarled.

J. Densby Hollowell knew his health was failing him even though he had his own special physician at his beck and call. He spent less and less time at his office, mainly due to the new crop of juniors who were hired by his managers. He found the sound of their constant chattering grating on his nerves just as much as he found Cora's voice annoying. Fortunately, his penthouse apartment was large enough for plenty of room to keep his distance from her.

Cora was fifteen years his junior. He knew the hope she'd die before him was not ever going to happen. Then, in May 1969, Cora came down with pneumonia. She was rushed to the emergency room. Her lungs collapsed and she was dead within a half hour of her arrival at the hospital.

J. Densby Hollowell lost a second wife. His feelings for Cora died soon after the murders at Hollowell House. After Cora's funeral and burial, he realized all he had left was Simon. He figured Simon could be put to better use now that he was a senior in high school.

He decided to attend Simon's graduation.

"Dad? What are you doing here? I'd have thought you were too busy for such a frivolous event," Simon said.

"I've been thinking. Now that your mother is gone, you are my sole heir. I want you to take a position in my business," Hollowell said.

"Your business? I plan to go to college first!" Simon retorted.

"Well, it can't hurt you to work for your college expenses instead of holding out your hand for my money!" Hollowell snarled.

"I don't know anything about your business," Simon countered.

"I didn't either when I started out. You'll learn as you go...starting this summer!"

"What? I was planning to go to Europe for my graduation trip."

"You hear me, boy. You are going to work this summer. Enough of your free wheeling fun and laziness," Hollowell said.

J. Densby Hollowell spent the spring of that year restless for what reason he was not really certain. He had the feeling he'd left something very important behind. What that was, he couldn't imagine.

He'd been having odd pangs of nostalgia for a month. He ordered his limo to drive him to Jeddison. He knew where he was going: Hollowell House.

It had been nearly two decades since the murders. He kept up the maintenance, even though he resented the cost. To J. Densby Hollowell, the place was like a monument. He thought about all of the people who had died in Hollowell House. Four of the Attersbys, Hannah Attersby, the wife of William I, her son, William II who shot himself and the two old aunts, Daphne and Delilah. Then, Charlotte Barnesmore Hollowell, Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Wyler were added to the list. He was reminded of the rumor too about Kor Allianz, the gardener who worked for the Attersbys and the plumber, Hamilton Bonson.

I was correct all along. Hollowell House is cursed! That many deaths in one mansion can't be a coincidence!

He didn't know that many years earlier, Hannah Attersby cursed the place.

He asked the limo driver to pull into the long drive to Hollowell House. He'd had a special pass key made for the front door that set off an intricate alarm if a burglar tried to break in. He reached into his pocket for the key and started for the front door. He had barely 20 seconds before the alarm would sound and alert police. He hurried to put the code into the alarm panel. He heard the message, "You have disarmed the security system."

He looked around the place.

"My God! It is just as I left it the day the police came to investigate" he said to himself.

The place was cold even though the temperature outside was breezy and sunny for a late spring day. He walked cautiously from room to room. The plants in the solarium were all brown from lack of water and too much sunlight. The turret room was still unfurnished. He turned to walk toward the grand ballroom and dining room. All of the furniture in the grand ballroom looked as unkempt as the droopy plants in the solarium and he felt nauseated at the sight of dried blood on the dining room floor. He walked back toward the grand stair case. He stopped at the sight of that huge sea shell. He heard the steady drip, drip, drip as he wended his way to the top of the stairs.

He walked down the hall and the dripping seemed loudest near to Charlotte's suite of rooms. The blood stained hall carpet remained just as it had been the night of her murder. The two day maids refused to ever set foot inside Hollowell House again.

Between the rank odor of Charlotte's colognes, the sight of the pool of blood on the floor and the loud dripping of the sea shell in the hall, Hollowell just wanted to run as fast as he could. He reset the security system and sped off in the limo back to his penthouse in New York City.

For days after, he felt as if he'd stepped too far back in time. The phone rang. It was Simon.

"I've been calling for hours. Your maid said you'd gone for the day," Simon said.

"I just needed to get some air. What do you want?" Hollowell asked.

"Where am I supposed to live while I am "interning" at your business?"

"In my suite here in the hotel, where else?"

"I don't want to be stuck in that place. Too many memories of my mother," Simon replied.

"I am not paying for you to live in a hotel room when there is plenty of room here. Resign yourself or you can sleep on a park bench for all I care!"

Simon slammed the phone down. The idea of living under the same roof as his father was loathsome. From the moment he was born, Cora kept herself "too too busy" for childcare. So, J. Densby Hollowell hired a nanny for the child and saw to his proper education. Now, Simon realized his father would get that return on his investment.

The problem was Simon really enjoyed playing cards in college with his frat brothers. When he lost the games, he knew Cora would give him the money he needed for his gambling debts. If she refused, which was rare and usually only due to his father's hovering over her expenses like a hawk, he pawned his valuables.

A very odd situation occurred when he walked into Luby's Pawn Shop in Manhattan after losing big with his college friends. Simon spied a piece of jewelry he thought he recognized. He asked the clerk behind the counter for a close look.

"Where did you get this?" Simon asked.

"Some guy walked in here three days ago. I don't ask any questions where they get it from. You got something you want to sell me?" the clerk asked.

He picked up the cameo brooch. He knew he'd seen it somewhere before. But, for the life of him, he couldn't remember where or when.

He handed the pawn broker his heavy gold cuff links with the diamond chips.

"What can you give me for these?" Simon asked.

"The stones look like ordinary glass."

"I assure you they are real. They were a birthday present from my mother, Mrs. J. Densby Hollowell."

The clerk was taken aback. He'd seen that name "Hollowell" enough times to know who the owner of the name was.

"How do I know you didn't steal these from Hollowell?"

Simon pulled out his driver's license and showed it to the clerk.

The clerk looked at the license and then at Simon and repeated this action several times until he felt sure it was Simon Hollowell.

"I'll give you $200 for them," the clerk said.

"$200? Surely, you jest!" Simon said, angrily.

"What are they worth?"

"My mother paid at least $2,000 for them!" Simon bellowed.

"I'll give you $550. That's all I'm allowed by law. If you want more, see if you can pawn it at a jeweler's."

Simon knew his father did business with nearly every top jeweler and couldn't risk his father finding out he owed $4,000 in gambling debts. He capitulated and took the $550. It wouldn't square him with his gambling buddies, but it would keep them quiet until he could find another way to get the money he needed.

The sight of that Cameo brooch haunted him for days. When he finally got settled into his father's apartment, grudgingly and resentfully, he asked his father what happened to his mother's jewelry.

"Probably still up in her jewel box. I never bought your mother anything that was too valuable. What jewelry she had was her mother's. Why do you ask?

"I...uh. I saw a brooch, one of those with the lady in profile on it and I thought mother had one just like it," Simon said, cautiously.

"Women always had those. They are called "cameos" and after World War II, they became quite popular for a time as heirlooms. My first wife, Charlotte had a very valuable one. It was her grandmother's and probably several grandmothers before her. It was made from real carved ivory and set onto an amber background," Hollowell said.

"What happened to your first wife's jewelry?"

"Stolen. You were too young for the gory details. Back then, I owned a mansion in Jeddison. I didn't want your mother or you to be bothered by the newspaper stories. My first wife, the cook and housekeeper were murdered during a burglary in Hollowell House. That's why I took a suite of rooms here in Manhattan," J. Densby Hollowell said.

Simon whistled long and low.

"You certainly did a good job of hiding all of that," Simon said.

Simon spent the next decade dutifully and quite unexpectedly working at his father's trade. He got quite a rush from managing huge sums of money for other people and watching stock prices go through the roof.

When his father reached age 74, he was hospitalized for pneumonia. Simon thought it would pass. He visited his father often for four days in his private hospital room. They discussed business matters and J. Densby Hollowell made sure his son knew where all of the most pressing legal issues and documents were, "just in case." Simon Hollowell was to inherit his father's business interests, the lease to the penthouse suite and that old mansion in Jeddison.

J. Densby Hollowell died a three days after Simon's last visit, taking with him many secrets and unanswered questions. After the funeral, Simon began sorting through his father's things like old certificates, his military enlistment papers and a few old photos. He found one that startled him. He didn't realize his father had kept photographs of his first wife. But, there she was, not in the photograph itself, but in a framed painting over the mantel where his father posed. She wore a white frilly dress or so it appeared since the photograph was in black and white. At the collar, there was that cameo he and his father talked about years ago! The one stolen during the burglary and...the one Simon saw in the pawn shop.

The burglar must have pawned it in New York so Jeddison police wouldn't catch him. Simon had to know who the burglar was. After all, he did murder three people in Hollowell House. Simon knew it was time to go to Jeddison and see the place for himself. He had his driver take him to Jeddison. He stopped first at the police station.

"I'm Simon Hollowell. My father owns the mansion here in Jeddison?"

"You mean that old haunted house over on Hansen's Hill?"

"Haunted? Why do you say that?"

"Oh, every in Jeddison knows about all those deaths there. It's the reason no one will go near the place. Even the kids on Halloween stay far away from it. Scares the hell out of 'em." the desk sergeant said.

"Well, I'm just wondering if the three murders and the burglary were ever solved," Simon said.

"Well, you need to speak to Chief of Detectives Lamb. I'll ring him for you," the desk sergeant said.

Simon waited about five minutes to see a tall, white haired man with a head full of bushy hair that fell nearly over his piercing blue eyes.

"I'm Chief Lamb. You were asking about the Hollowell House murders?"

"Yes. My father owned the place. I've inherited it as his only child," Simon said.

"What are you planning to do? Sell it?"

"Not if it has a bad reputation," Simon answered.

"That it does and more. You know about the three murders there?"

"No. You see, my father didn't want me or my mother bothered by the newspapers' stories. I've only just found out shortly before his death. I did want to tell you. Ten years ago, I saw a piece of jewelry in a pawn shop, a cameo brooch. I believe now it belonged to my father's first wife."

"What makes you think that?"

"My father said it was quite valuable and an heirloom. Back then, I used to owe my college buddies gambling debts. I tried to pawn the cuff links my mother gave me at Luby's Pawn shop. Then, after my father died, I saw a photograph among his other personal effects. In this photos, he was standing by the mantle in Hollowell House and above his head was a portrait of his first wife wearing the identical brooch. It has to be the same one." Simon said.

"Well, Roy Hasselford still keeps the case open even though he retired years ago. He hates that no suspect ever turned up. He had suspicions it might have been your father's valet, James Miston," Chief Lamb said.

"I'm not planning to be in Jeddison for longer than a few hours. I just want to survey the property. You say it's on Hanson's Road? How far from here is it?"

"Hanson's Hill," Chief Lamb corrected. "It's not more than ten minutes from town. You'll need the pass key to get into the place. We had it wired in case of curiosity seekers try to break in. The tax office is just next door, if you want the key.

You might also want to check with Jack Vesterly. He owns the newspaper here in Jeddison. He was the first journalist on the scene of that awful murder. The paper is two doors from here," Chief Lamb said.

The Jeddison newspaper looked as if it was the original site of Benjamin Franklin's first attempt at a newspaper. The building was a faded white clapboard on the outside. As he stepped into the building, the floor under his feet creaked loudly.

The interior was not much to look at either. No more than a half dozen desks were to the right of the entrance and two large offices were on the opposed side wall. He saw quickly the name, Jack Vesterly, on one of the two office doors.

Simon approached Jack Vesterly's office. Seeing him on the telephone, he waited until Vesterly was free.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Vesterly asked.

"I'm Simon Hollowell. My father is..was..J. Densby Hollowell," Simon said.

Simon realized that the name seemed not to register immediately in Vesterly's mind.

"My father owned Hollowell House," Simon added.

"Oh my goodness! Hollowell House you say? I had no idea anyone was still living who owned that old place. What can I do for you?" Vesterly asked.

"I..I guess I should start at the beginning. My mother was not the first wife of J. Densby Hollowell. My mother was Cora Ann Baddely, his second wife. I've lived in my father's Manhattan penthouse since I was a child. I came to this town because I...uh..well you see I have taken over my father's accounts and I understand that there was a robbery at Hollowell House. My mother and I were not told about it because my father insisted we not be annoyed by journalists. Sorry. I don't mean to offend," Simon said.

"Yes..there were also three murders at that old place. It went empty because of the murders. I can't imagine anyone would want to buy a place with such a murderous history. As to the burglary, it appears some valuables were removed. Of course, Roy Hasselford, the investigator at that time, had his suspicions but the clues went deadly cold after about ten years. We have our paper's account if you want to look at them.," Vesterly said.

"No. I think not. I guess I should be speaking to Roy Hasselford then. I've already met Police Chief Lamb. He suggested I speak to Mr. Hasselford. Do you know where I can find him?" Simon asked.

"Why yes. Roy owns one of those homes built just near Hollowell House. It's at the bottom of the hill in what they now call the Jeddison Historical Village," Vesterly said, with an amused expression.

"Why is that amusing?"

"The only real historical thing about that village is Hollowell House. It dates back, oh probably..."

"Yes..over a hundred years according to my father," Simon finished Vesterly's thought.

"Anyway, old Roy would love nothing more than for you to visit with and have someone to talk about the case to. You being a direct relative, you're a perfect audience for him," Vesterly said.

Vesterly gave Simon the address and phone number to contact Roy Hasselford.

"Would you mind if I use your desk phone?" Simon asked Vesterly.

"No. Go right ahead. I feel as if I'm living part of Hollowell House history all over again," Vesterly said.

Simon felt fortunate Roy Hasselford actually answered his phone call. He expected the man to be occupied elsewhere. The minute Roy heard the last name, he felt his adrenalin pumping like it used to every time he thought he'd gotten another great clue to the murderer of those three women in Hollowell House. He was thrilled Simon would stop by.

It stuck in Roy's craw that case had never been solved. When Simon rang Roy's doorbell, Roy could barely contain his excitement.

"So, you are J. Densby Hollowell's only child?" Roy asked.

"Yes Sir. I am. I understand you handled the case at Hollowell House," Simon said.

"I should say I did. What brings you to Jeddison, son?" Roy asked.

Simon was amused at being called, "son." Not even his father ever did that. Simon felt an odd kinship with Roy Hasselford. As if the elderly man was a missing piece of the puzzle of his life.

"Well sir, to be honest? I am in a bit of financial trouble. My father passed away and left a lot of loose ends of his business. You know how that is," Simon said, shading the truth.

"Son, look. I know a gambling man when I see one. I'm more'n happy to be honest and upfront with you. But, only if you do the same," Roy said.

Simon was astounded by the man's keen detective sense of clarity.

"Yes. It is true. I am in a bit of a financial bind. I've been gambling since my college days. Right now, I don't have significant gambling debts. But, I do need a bit more security money to put by in the event I lose control again," Simon said, more earnestly.

"Son, gambling is a sickness. You know that there always were suspicions that the murderer was a gambling man too."

"Really? So, you had a suspect in mind? What happened to him...or...her?" Simon asked.

"I'm not even sure he'd still be alive what with the passage of time and all. It was your father's valet, James Miston. We nearly had him when he tried to pawn off several of the items he'd stolen."

"Was one of those items a very valuable brooch?" Simon asked.

"Why yes. How did you know? Did your father tell you that?"

"No...not exactly. He said only that his first wife had a very rare hand carved brooch made somewhere in Europe. He said it was her grandmother's brooch and was a very valuable heirloom," Simon said.

"And now you want to know if we recovered any of the stolen goods?"

"Yes."

"To pawn them for money?"

"No. I am hoping to auction them off at a New York auction house," Simon said.

Roy Hasselford knew the man was in financial straits. He knew why Simon Hollowell was after information.

"That brooch was not found...if that is what you want to know," Roy said.

"That's just it. I saw it about ten years ago in a NY pawn shop!" Simon said.

"You saw it? Are you sure it belonged to Lady Charlotte?" Roy asked.

"Lady Char...oh you mean my father's first wife? Yes. I am sure. I saw it in an old photo my father kept of himself posed in front of her portrait over the fireplace in Hollowell House," Simon said.

"How can you be sure it was the same one and not a knock off?" Roy asked.

"Because the cameo figure is carved ivory on the same unusual amber background," Simon said.

"Do you remember the name of that pawn shop?" Roy asked eagerly.

"Yes, Luby's Pawn Shop in Manhattan. I doubt if it is still there," Simon added.

"I'm sure not. But, the pawn shop owner might remember how he came by it," Roy said.

The two men shared a drink, shook hands and Simon left. Roy Hasselford was thrilled. Now for sure he had a solid clue. He boarded a bus to Manhattan the very next day.

When Simon left Roy's home that afternoon, he knew he had to see Hollowell House for himself. He had to piece together the mystery his father's first marriage was. He drove over to the mansion and parked his car at the bottom of the steep driveway.

The mansion was impressive to say the least. He walked upward toward the front door, onto the large wrap around veranda and then to the right side to the turret room. Peering through the windows, he saw the plants inside were dried out.

Must have used it as a conservatory, Simon thought.

Then, he walked around to the windows on the left side of the house. It looked as if the room was a huge cavernous grand ballroom. Standing with his nose pressed against the window, he thought he heard a sound like women wailing.

Ghosts? Or, just maybe me falling for the idea this place is haunted.

Simon didn't believe in ghosts. He did believe the dead have power over the living if they died unexpectedly.

Something about Hollowell House made the hair on his neck stand up. He refused to enter the structure for fear the place would fall in on his head. He decided to do nothing with it and once his gambling debts exceeded his ability to pay the taxes on the place, Simon felt it was more than justified it should become a museum piece for the town of Jeddison.

Hollowell House now was located on a paved road that curled upward with several sharp curves that overlooked a deep 300 foot drop where houses had been built in the last two decades. The place was also surrounded now by ugly, small lower middle income homes and a four lane bridge not more than 400 yards from the rear of the property. He did notice that the town provided some landscaping and there wasn't an overgrowth in the front yard. He walked around the property to the rear. He saw that the turret room had French doors. He gave them a slight tugged. They were firmly locked.

He turned to notice the shed at the rear right of the property. He wondered if there was anything in the shed that he might be able to sell. It was a long shot since the police probably had the contents of the shed in their inventory. The large double cross buck doors were locked. He shrugged and turned to make his way back to his car when he noticed the black wrought iron fence at the rear most area of the property.

What is that,? he wondered.

He walked closer to it. The fence must have recently had some kind of cave in from the hill that stood sharply above it. The ornate points at the top poked through the soil only about three foot above ground level.

He realized it was an old family cemetery.

This couldn't be any of my father's relatives. The gate appears to be over a hundred years old.

He took a step closer to it. He felt his feet sinking into the soil and tried to pull free. But, the soil felt as if it was quicksand, sucking him under. He grabbed for the exposed base of the fence and was finally free.

"Damn! What a horrible thing! A family grave with soil like quicksand," he muttered.

He shook away most of the soil and hurried back to his car. He'd had about enough of Hollowell House.

For the life of him, Simon Hollowell couldn't think what possible value the place had. He gave it one last look and decided to let the town have it. He gave no more thought to selling the old place. The cost to bring it back to livable standards, coupled with cost of the taxes and heaven knew what else might need to be replaced, Simon headed back to New York.

When he returned to his father's apartment, he searched high and low for some semblance of mention of a family grave site at Hollowell House. Annoyed that there was none, he shoved his hand into his pocket and remembered he written down Roy Hasselford's phone number while in the police chief's office.

On a hunch, he dialed Roy's number.

"Hello,? This is Simon Hollowell here," he said.

"Oh yes. J. Densby Hollowell's son, right?"

"Yes."

"I see you made it back okay?"

"Yes. I did. I have a question..."

"You mean about me following up on that pawn shop? I plan to take a trip to Manhattan tomorrow. Would you like me to keep you posted, if I discover anything that might be of interest?" Roy asked.

"Yes...but that isn't why I called. I stopped out at Hollowell House after I left you. Did you know there is an old family grave plot at the back of the property?" Simon asked.

"Yes. We knew. It is the one William Attersby is buried in, right?"

"I don't know. It looks as if the graves are covered over. The iron fence is exposed only about three feet. Must have been some kind of small landslide," Simon said.

"Yes. That is possible. What with that new bridge going up so near and the heavy duty equipment moving the soil around," Roy said.

"Is there any way to know for sure who is buried there?" Simon asked.

"I wish there was. All the town knows is that William Attersby I, the original owner, had it built when he bought the property. Course now, my memory on all of this is a bit rusty. There was talk in town from the old folks that his wife hung herself right there in that mansion. Old William was a religious sort. She'd be buried somewhere outside the "hallowed ground" as it was called then. I'm sure William is not the only one buried there," Roy said.

Simon shuddered at the macabre thought of skeletons buried somewhere on that property. As a child, his curiosity about such things led him to studies in the dark world of the occult. Fortunately, ghosts in penthouse suites like his father's were not a likely occurrence.

"I'm thinking maybe since everyone in Jeddison thinks the place is haunted, it isn't of much use to me even if I try to pay the taxes on it. I'm not in any kind of financial position to do that. But, thanks for your input," Simon said, and rang off.

Simon was something of a strategist where finding pockets of money was concerned. He thought he would offer Hollowell House to the town and suggest they use it as a museum or some such. Perhaps, his years as a gambling man taught him the fine art of timing and strategy. However, it occurred to him he should make sure any of the remaining valuables in the house belonging to his father were removed and auctioned off to the highest bidders.

He dialed the number of the Jeddison tax office. A woman answered who sounded as if she had been the town clerk since the first settlers established the town.

"Hello? This is Simon Hollowell. My father owned Hollowell House," he began.

"That old haunted mansion out on Hanson's Hill?" she answered.

"Yes, that is the one. I am wondering if I am allowed to remove any of the artwork that belonged to my father and some of the heirlooms that remain there," Simon said.

"I'll think you'll need to check with our town manager. Hold on a moment and I'll transfer your call," she said.

Simon was transferred in less than a few seconds which only inspired suspicion.

"Yes. Mr. Hollowell? This is Lawrence Bydon, Town Manager. What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I am entitled to the artwork and heirlooms in Hollowell House, given there is a tax lien on it," Simon asked.

"Actually, the taxes have fallen behind, if you bring them current, you are then entitled to ownership of the house, property and all its belongings," Bydon said.

Simon knew that was going to be the response.

"Well, at the moment, I am not able to do that. May I have the pass key to enter the place?" Simon asked.

There was a long pause. Simon could tell Bydon was speaking with his hand over the phone.

"Actually, I'm afraid we cannot allow entry into Hollowell House to anyone at this time. The place is old and might be unsafe," Bydon said.

"I see. Well, thank you for letting me know," Simon said.

What a perplexing situation. Simon needed those valuables to auction, but without that money, he couldn't get to them because of the back taxes owed on the place. He paced back and forth in front of his father's desk.

I can't break into the place even though my father owned it. The Jeddison cops would blame me in a heartbeat.

Simon walked over to the wall safe behind the portrait of his father in the den. He remembered seeing a very old key in the safety deposit box in the safe. He wondered if it was an old key to one of the doors at Hollowell House. If it was, he wouldn't need the town's pass key.

He opened the safety deposit box. There were several papers in it. He'd already looked at them when he began parting with his father's effects weeks after he died. One of them caught his eye. It was the deed to the property upon which Hollowell House stood. Attached to the back of it was a hastily drawn sketch of the property. Simon picked up his father's magnifying glass that he'd kept on his desk. Simon passed the glass over the drawing of the rear property. How different it appeared than the actual landscape. There it was! The family graveyard of William Attersby. That's all there was. No indication of who was buried there.

There wouldn't be. This document looks to be over a hundred years old and the paper has already begun to turn brown! Simon thought.

He foraged to the bottom of the box and found the key he was looking for. It was approximately three inches long and had a decorative handle at the top. He slipped the key into his pocket. He looked for more keys. There were none. He wondered which door this key opened. He also wondered if he could enter the place without setting off any remote entry alarm.

The next day, Simon jumped into his car and headed for Jeddison. Once again, he inspected the grave yard. The soil had sunken even further and Simon decided not to take his chances getting mired in the muck. He fished the key out of his pocket and walked to the Turret Room. He tried to turn the key in the lock. To his surprise, it fit.

Why would my father have a separate key for this room? It looks to be an addition and a strange looking one at that, Simon thought.

It was true, the Turret Room gave the mansion an odd look. For some reason, it was built to look as if it was two stories high. In reality, it had a huge ceiling.

Simon opened the door and stepped inside.  The musty odor of dead plants made him feel nauseated. The round shape of the room also made it claustrophobic. Simon hurried to see if the door to the kitchen was unlocked. It was. Everything had been left as it was the day the cook and housekeeper were killed.

He walked from the kitchen through the hall, stopping briefly in the dining room. No one even cleaned up the dried blood from the floor in the dining where the two women had been killed. It gave Simon a really bad feeling.

He hurried off to the ballroom. He saw the ivory carved mantel and wondered what price that would get the town when they sold the place. To his surprise, there was no valuable artwork in this room. He walked out into the hall toward the grand staircase.

The flagstone foyer near the massive front doors caught his eye. He walked to the library where his father's desk was set against one wall, a massive stone fireplace on the opposite wall and a set of windows with a window set on another wall. There it was! The oil painting of his father's first wife, the Lady Charlotte herself above the fireplace.

He imagined his father standing as he had in that photo. Lady Charlotte was dressed to the nines and slathered in jewelry and that valuable cameo. Again, no other artwork and only gilt wall sconces of no significant value.

Simon left the library and walked out into the hall and up the stairs. At first, he thought he heard an odd sound like soft wailing. It grew somewhat louder as he reached mid stairs. Then, he saw the huge seashell at the top of the stairs. He hurried up toward it.

That sound must be coming from old, rusting pipes.

He noticed the base of the seashell was wet. He turned the spray jet on and water splashed against the back of the shell and dropped down into the base. Something caught his eye. It was something small and sparkly. He bent over to get a closer look. Something lodged in the drain the water spray emptied into.

"A woman's earring? What on earth is it doing here?" Simon said.

He examined the earring carefully. It was a diamond stud with a gold pendant from which a ruby hung that was set with a circlet of six diamonds. Simon looked for the match. There was none. He shoved the earring into his pocket. He inspected all of the rooms on the second floor. To his shock, nothing remained of Lady Charlotte's jewels and even her silver hair ornaments and brush, comb and mirror were gone. He knew nothing would remain of his father's valuables since his father probably emptied those out the minute his first wife was dead.

He turned off the seashell water spray out in the hall. He used his handkerchief to wipe away his fingerprints on anything he might he touched. He made his way down the stairs to the great room. Again, there was nothing of real value.

In the grand dining room, the silver was gone and only the china and crystal glassware remained. The walls, covered in trompe l'oeil, was now badly faded. Standing in the grand dining room, Simon heard the wailing sound again. He had the oddest feeling he was being watched. He hurried back toward the kitchen, avoiding the puddle of blood that was now a fine brown powder.

Simon felt cheated more than angry. There was nothing of value he could stash in his coat and make off with. He carefully locked the door to the Turret Room and drove off.

Simon was being watched, but not from inside Hollowell House. He never noticed the dark shadowy figure peering from inside the shed window. The minute Simon's car drove off, James Miston, now a doddering old man of seventy two, scurried quickly from the shed to the Turret Room. He unlocked it with the key Old Hollowell gave him when he replaced Kors Allianz as Hollowell House's gardener and was promoted to valet.

He had been able to live fairly comfortably from the money he'd gotten from the Hollowell valuables he'd stolen. He left New York City the minute he discovered pawn shop owners were aware of where the jewels and other items had come from.

There was only one place left he could go that no one would ever find him...Hollowell House. He'd done a good job of hiding himself in the shed whenever the police patrolled the place. The minute they left, he entered the house and cosseted himself in J. Densby Hollowell's old four poster bed with the bed curtains to keep out the cold and a huge feather bed comforter to keep him warm. He lived like that for nearly two decades and foresaw the possibility he could stay at Hollowell House forever. He was certain it reputation for being haunted, would prevent the sale of the place.

When anyone entered the house, Miston slipped in through the Turret Room. Then, he would make his way silently down to the basement and turn the lever that supplied the water to the seashell on and off so it would make that wailing sound...the very thing he'd done to Lady Charlotte to drive her insane.

Miston knew so long as he remained incognito from Jeddison police and the NY police where he pawned the stolen goods, he was safe. He was puzzled though as to who the man was who had just entered Hollowell House. For such a long time, he had only to worry about being found out by local police. Was this guy a detective?

Miston walked around the interior of Hollowell House. He could see nothing out of order or missing. So, what did that man want? Why did he enter Hollowell House from the Turret Room and not the front door? He couldn't have been a cop. Miston realized whoever the man was, he had a key to gain access and for James Miston, that was not a good thing. It meant he could be discovered more quickly.

Usually, around Halloween, kids thought it was funny to try to break into Hollowell House. While they were busy trying to enter through the front door or windows, he slipped in through the Turret Room and wailed loudly to get rid of them. It always did the trick.

Nothing like the sound of human wailing and yelling at the top of my lungs! He mused.

Simon Hollowell spent the next two years trying to piece together what Roy Hasselford told him about the three murders. Simon figured even if James Miston was still alive, he had to be close to eighty years old.

Those were three murders that would remain open in Jeddison police records. He kept the earring he found that day in Hollowell House. He dared not try to sell it just in case it belonged to Lady Charlotte Barnesmore Hollowell. Yet, it stuck in his craw that none of her jewels had ever been recovered, nor any of the other stolen goods.

Simon Hollowell never expected the phone call he received that day in 1990. A woman named Agnetha Bjorn, a real estate agent had a buyer for Hollowell House. Simon was shocked. He asked if the buyer was aware of the mansion's reputation for being haunted. She said the "interested" party lived all his life in Jeddison and was fully aware of the stories about the place.

Over the next month, Simon spoke with her twice, once to assure her the town owned the place due to his inability to pay the back taxes owed and that, no, he was not in any way interested in taking possession of the place.

James Miston, totally unaware of the possibility that his "home" might be sold, continued his daily routine. He shopped for goods outside of town where he was a stranger and unrecognizable. He kept his supplies in the shed and prepared his meals there on a makeshift pot bellied stove.

In the spring of 1982, he saw the casually dressed man with the tall more formally dressed woman enter the house with the passkey. They spent a lot of time walking around the property and viewing the inside of the house. Miston was aghast!

Could this be a potential buyer? James thought the place would just decay with time and he'd end up dead in some hospital and be buried in a potter's field in Jeddison. Now, he realized his very existence was about to be totally compromised. He stayed inside the shed oblivious to Agnetha Bjorn and Teddy Romanowski.

James knew he had to do something and fast. He couldn't allow these people to upend his living arrangement. There was no way he could remain in the shed or sleep in old Hollowell's bed now. Not unless he did something to prevent anyone from moving in. He had an idea.

On the day Teddy Romanowski brought in two contractors, Hollowell House was fully outfitted for terror by James Miston. He'd dug up the skeletal remains of Daphne and Delilah and carefully replaced their graves with overgrown grass.

He took the two skeletons through the Turret Room and placed one inside the kitchen pantry and the other in Old Hollowell's armoire. He rigged the seashell so the wailing sound from the pipes would scare the man and woman off.

All was quiet at Hollowell House which lulled Miston into a false sense of security. Those contractors worked on inspecting the roof to make sure it didn't leak or cause drafts in the attic. They didn't spend much time on repairs. Just minor repairs to basement windows and making sure all entry ways were properly caulked.

Teddy Romanowski decided to keep much of the furnishings in Hollowell House. The next thing Miston saw was a team of cleaning people with their dusting and vacuuming equipment marching inside. They arrived every day for a week promptly at eight in the morning and left every night by five.

Teddy was downstairs in J. Densby Hollowell's library organizing the desk when he heard one of the cleaning women scream upstairs.

"What is it?" Teddy asked.

"A skeleton, sir! Look!" the woman shrieked

"It's not human I don't think. Someone must have gotten into this place and figured they'd scare us. I'll get rid of it."

Teddy looked closer. He realize the skeleton had once being human. He phoned the Jeddison police. A car was at Hollowell House in five minutes.

"You say there is a skeleton in Old Hollowell's armoire?"

"Yes. I think it may be human," Teddy said.

The detective and two uniformed police officers bounded up the grand staircase. The cleaning woman pointed toward J. Densby Hollowell's bedroom. She was frozen in her place and as white as a ghost.

The detective sent one of the police officers down to the family burial plot to see if perhaps that was where the skeleton had been removed.

The detective was in a huddle with the two officers.

"Well? Is it human?" Teddy asked.

"I'm afraid it is, Mr...uh.." the detective began.

"Romanowski. Whose skeleton is it?"

"We know from the looks of it, it's a woman's. Our medical examiner can give us a better idea after he does an autopsy. It was dug up from the family burial plot."

"You mean that gated thing at the back of the property? Can I have it removed?"

"You could have them re interred elsewhere...if you are willing to pay the cost of it," the detective said.

Agnetha Bjorn appeared in the front foyer.

"Ted, my goodness! What's happened?" she asked.

"It's a long story. Stay on and I'll tell you as soon as they take the skeleton out of this house!" Teddy snarled.

"A skeleton! Oh my God! Ted! I'm so sorry!"

"I'd like to say this might have been a "present" from one of my lawyer friends, except that I know they are too chicken livered to go digging up a burial site," Teddy said.

The cleaning staff asked to be allowed to finish their work early and return the next day as if time would erase the sight of that skeleton in the closet. The detective and police left and Teddy and Agnetha went to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee. Teddy hadn't yet supplied the pantry with supplies. Agnetha saw that most of what he'd purchased lay askew on the kitchen counter or table.

She decided to help him by organizing these items and washing up two cups and saucers that Teddy left in the sink.

"Real estate agent turns domestic?" Teddy said laughing.

"How can you joke at this time?" Agnetha asked.

"If I don't try to laugh some things off now and then, I'd be as nutty as some of my clients," he answered.

"Whose remains do you think it is?" Agnetha asked, setting two cups on the table.

"It could be just about anyone. Maybe, Lady Charlotte? Who really knows who exactly was buried out there in that family plot?" Teddy said.

"You mean there are no records of their deaths?"

"Well, there wouldn't be. These people lived very exclusive lives. Exclusive of laws the rest of us have to obey," Teddy said.

"Surely, there must be a family bible or record somewhere in this house of who is buried out there," Agnetha said.

"If there is, I have yet to find it."

"Do you plan to? I mean...are you really interested enough to discover who is buried out there? Does it at all bother you that this property has a family burial plot?"

"Which questions shall I answer first?" Teddy asked.

Agnetha gave his shoulder a gentle push. It was the first time she had ever showed any sign of friendship. Mostly, she'd kept it on a business level.

"My priority is to get my law practice in place here in that Turret Room. I am going to be on my own in law in just a month. I want it all in place for the new year coming. Then, maybe I'll have the free time to figure out who is buried out there. I am not the kind of mindset that falls for ghost stories and haunting. So no. That grave yard out there doesn't bother me in the least. I am certain that whoever put that skeleton in the armoire upstairs did it to scare me off. I'm not scared off easily. I plan to move in next week and I'm hoping you will be my guest for Thanksgiving Day dinner here in the Hollowell formal dining room," Teddy said.

"I'd love to! Do you plan to have other guests?"

"No. It seems fitting you should be my first guest for dinner since you are the reason I was able to move into this place."

"We both know that isn't true. You were going to buy this place since you were a child," Agnetha said.

"And just how do you know that?"

"Simple. Hollowell House is in your blood," Agnetha said.

"I guess you are right. I've always wanted to live here. I'm not sure why. It isn't as if my childhood home was a shanty. There is just something about this place that seems to call my name," Teddy said.

"Maybe, yours will be the name that beats the curse on this place," Agnetha said.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"When I was younger, there were whispered rumors that Hollowell House had a curse on it. It was cursed by Hannah Attersby, William Attersby I's wife. I'd heard she was driven crazy by William's two sisters. You do know that those two sisters lived here with William II's to prevent J. Densby Hollowell from forcing William to sell," Agnetha said.

"I can't thank you enough for those "gory" details. What happened to the two sisters?" Teddy asked.

"They were elderly and lived in a nursing care center before William retrieved them and brought them here. I suspect they died of old age. Could be they are planted out there in your cemetery," Agnetha said, with a light snort.

"Oh, now it's my cemetery, is it? Hmm...You are quite right. It is my cemetery and I think I will leave it where it is. That detective said I could have all of the bodies buried there removed. I think keeping it will make it a warning to anyone who thinks they will scare the beejesus out of me," Teddy said, laughing.

"Ted, this is serious. What if someone from the Hollowell past wants you gone?"

"Well, for sure it isn't that lone son of Hollowell, you know? The one you found who was connected to the place when we needed to make sure the property was free of any but the tax liens?"

"Simon Hollowell. I doubt he would want to set foot inside this place. He was Hollowell's son. But, more so, his "mother's" son, if you know what I mean," Agnetha said.

"Why? What did you learn about him?"

"That he is a big time gambler who doesn't seem to be able to control his gambling habits. That's why he couldn't pay off the tax liens on this place."

"Oh, I see. So, he never actually lived here then?"

"I doubt it. His father married Simon's mother as soon as Lady Charlotte was murdered...here...in this...house," Agnetha said.

"How do you know so much about them?" Teddy asked.

"I don't really. I just only got more interested after you were so insistent you had to have this place. What are you going to do with most of the furnishings they left behind? You know I could help you auction them off, if you like," Agnetha said.

"Auction. Hmm. I hadn't really given it much thought. But, I suppose I'll want to keep the most relevant pieces...if for no other reason than to preserve the place's history," Teddy said.

"So, you don't mind at all that three women were murdered here and who knows how many others?" Agnetha asked.

Teddy looked deeply into her eyes and for the first time, she saw him admiring her.

"You won't come visit me here at Hollowell House then?" Teddy asked.

"I am like you. I don't believe in ghosts. But, I do believe in negative vibes. This house has negative vibes. I feel it the minute I walk into the place," she said.

"Where do your vibes feel strongest?"

"Midpoint of that grand staircase. Ted, I am certain something quite macabre happened at the top of those stairs. I get this horrible feeling whenever we pass that seashell."

"That seashell? It can't hurt anyone. I do plan to have it fixed though. I'll be fully settled in and I don't want my clients scared off by the wailing sound it makes."

The day before the movers arrived, James Miston didn't dare enter Hollowell House. After all of the readying for the new owner had been done, he knew any signs of someone entering the place would immediately have them searching for him. He managed to elude police for such a long time that now, he felt he couldn't jeopardize anyone finding out he had made Hollowell House his home.

He figured out the middle aged man who returned most often was the new owner. He was sure of it when he saw him enter the Turret Room with a new set of keys.

Teddy didn't tell Agnetha, but he had the oddest feeling he was being watched. By whom, he couldn't say. With most of his legal effects now set up in the Turret Room, the only thing that remained was to bring the remainder of his effects, his clothing, the desk for his office and a few of the items like books, the statue of Justice and his box of cuff links and tie tacks.

Teddy left Hollowell House for about two hours. Miston could no longer enter through the kitchen, since the new owner had the locks changed. He left one of the basement windows unlocked and climbed through that to get to the piping. He turned on the water spray in the seashell.

"That ought to scare the hell out of him. I won't be put out of the only home I've known," Miston told himself.

He looked around the basement. None of the previous owners ever stored much down there, save a few broken chairs and end tables and an old stained carpet. However, he knew the attic had a few old antiques J. Densby Hollowell stored there. These were mainly things that were stored in the house since William Attersby and his aunts occupied the place. Not much value or Miston would have gotten rid of them as he did a few other things.

An amused expression crossed his face. The new owner of Hollowell House wouldn't really know what other tawdry items Miston pawned over the years to keep himself fed and warm.

Over all, I've done alright for myself. It could have been a lot worse. I could have ended up in prison for those murders. They don't even know about Daphne and Delilah or Allianz's "accident."

Miston couldn't help the feeling he'd lost control.

Miston hadn't spent much time in the attic. He stored Hollowell's old clothes up there, a broken mirror with gilt edging and a wooden coat rack. He wondered if the new owner had explored the attic or basement those first days he toured the place.

Miston was glad the new owner hadn't cleaned out the shed. He would though, Miston was sure of it. He'd probably start cleaning out the garage soon. Miston had to move his car parked to a small area near the thicket in the woods he cleared away further up Hanson's Hill. Still, with all of the new homes built so near to Hollowell House, Miston knew someone would eventually see the car...or worse...him and call the cops.

James Miston felt as if his entire world was about to end. He hurried out of the basement just in time. Not ten minutes later, the new owner of Hollowell House pulled into the driveway. He had a habit of leaving his jeep and luxury sedan parked side by side midpoint in the driveway. Miston read this as the new owner being too lazy to open the garage door to park the vehicles inside.

Of course, there was one other possibility. By leaving the old jeep in the driveway, it made it look as if Hollowell House was occupied.

Teddy returned with a brown paper package in his hand. He walked out toward the mail box near the road, removed the brown paper and added his "shingle" to the wooden post that bore the small wooden sign, "Hollowell House."

So, this guy is a lawyer? Now, Miston knew the new owner's name, Theodore Romanowski and his occupation. Miston never felt more afraid of his future. He had no where to go and before long he had to leave his makeshift home in the shed. Unless...

Unless I offer my services as I did to Hollowell. I could say I had prior experience as a gardener and that I could live in the shed. Yes. That would be the way to remain here.

When Teddy walked up the stairs that evening, he heard the splashing sound of the seashell. He was sure he hadn't turned it on that day. He figured the cleaning people must have accidentally loosened the valve that turns it on. Teddy left the spray on.

I actually don't mind that sound. It's kind of soothing.  It was soothing and put him to sleep until the wailing started again. Teddy rose from his bed and shut the thing off.

Damn wailing sound! There has to be a way to stop that. Gotta remind myself to have the piping checked.

He wended his way back to his master bedroom. He did manage to get those curtains he wanted around the bed. He pushed them aside and plopped himself back into bed. He pulled the bed curtains tightly in place.

Snuggled into his bed, he felt drowsy.

Why does this room always feel so cold? I sure hope I don't have to spend more money on having this place insulated. You'd think the original owner would have had the sense to make sure the walls were thick enough to be draft free.

He felt so exhausted from the hectic days of moving in and trying to get settled that he finally fell asleep soundly.

The next day, Teddy was in the Turret Room when he heard a knock on the door. He glanced at the clock on the wall quickly. He saw through the leaded glass pane on the Turret Room door it was Agnetha Bjorn.

"Hello, Ms. Bjorn. What can I do for you?" Teddy said with a grin.

"You can ask me to lunch!"

"I wish I could; but, I am due in court today," Teddy said.

"Well, what if we have dinner then instead?"

"Sounds fine to me. Where would you like to eat?" Teddy asked.

"Let's eat in. Shall I pick up some groceries? Or is your pantry full?"

"My pantry? You mean that closet thing outside the kitchen? I haven't had time to stock it."

"Well, how about I take some inventory. You probably need everything by now," Agnetha said.

"Let me just finish these documents. You can do your "inventory" though, if you like."

"Fine..Will do."

Not two minutes after Agnetha opened the pantry door, Teddy heard her screaming.

"Ted! OH MY GOD...Look! It's another skeleton. Hurry call the police," Agnetha said, shuddering.

"I don't know what is going on here; but, this is getting a little tiresome. I thought the police gave this place a once over when they found that other skeleton. Which reminds me, they never did identify "whose" skeleton that was."

Teddy rang for the Jeddison police. The same detective, Roger Lamb, arrived five minutes later.

"Well, Mr. Romanowski, I see you found another skeleton?" Lamb said.

"Yes. This is really getting on my nerves," Teddy said.

"I should think it would. It's obvious you have not used this pantry or you'd have known the skeleton was there," Lamb said.

"I haven't had time. I do have a law practice, you know."

"I realize that."

"How many other skeletons am I going to find?" Teddy asked.

"Let me have my men check out that family grave yard. If the grass has been moved, we'll know it."

Lamb discussed the situation with two uniformed police officers. They hastened out the kitchen door to the back yard. Teddy knew they were inspecting the grave yard. Now, he wondered if maybe those bodies buried there should be moved to avoid any more of these skeletons showing up unexpectedly.

When the police returned, they told Lamb that nothing had been moved near the family plot.

"Are you sure?" Teddy demanded.

"Yes, sir. The sod all around it is intact."

Agnetha saw Teddy was really unnerved by this incident.

"By the way, Jeddison police never did inform me who the other skeleton is," Teddy said.

"We had our medical examiner work on it for a few weeks. It appears it was one of the elderly aunts of William Attersby. I'd bet anything this is the skeleton of the other aunt," Lamb said.

The police removed the skeleton carefully and Lamb told Teddy if he needed anything, to call.

"You may be sure I will."

"Well, I guess we won't be eating dinner in. Do you still feel up to dinner?" Teddy asked.

"Let's just get out of here for a couple of hours. Maybe, our appetites will return later," Agnetha said.

Teddy and Agnetha decided to take a tour of the new shopping mall that had just been built on the highway. The mall had a nice, quiet little restaurant. Around 8 that night, they decided to have drinks and a light dinner.

"I sure hope those skeletons won't put you off visiting," Teddy said.

"What's a few skeletons in your closet," Agnetha said, laughing.

"I am so glad you feel that way. Because I was wondering if you could suggest someone to help with my clerical work," Teddy said.

"Who would I possibly find for you who wouldn't be scared out of their wits to work in Hollowell House," Agnetha said"

Teddy agreed.

"I guess I'll have to do all that typing and filing and use an answering machine to take my client calls."

"What if I come in and help a couple of days a week?"

"You? But, you already have a job. How on earth would you fit that into your regular schedule?"

"For a great guy like you? I'll make time."

"I have to tell you. It really is nice to have an ally in you, skeletons in my closet or not," Teddy said.

"I think maybe these drinks are going to our heads. Better we head back to the "bone yard," Agnetha said.

"You are really getting a lot of mileage out of this, aren't you?"

"And if the shoe was on your foot, wouldn't you?"

"You bet I would," Teddy said.

When the police left that day, Miston knew he had to vacate the shed or be found out. While the new owner was out, Miston hauled most of his stuff to his car. The only thing he left in the shed was the pot bellied stove which by now was quite old and wouldn't be cause for suspicion. For now, his car was his new home...until he could get hired by the new owner as a gardener.

Miston appeared bright and early one week later at Hollowell House's front door.

"Who on earth is that at this hour?" Teddy wondered.

When he walked to the door, he saw a man seventy-ish and slightly disheveled.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" Teddy asked.

"I was wondering if you could use a good gardener? The name's Kelly, James Kelly" Miston lied.

"Well, Mr. Kelly, I wasn't planning to..." Teddy began.

"I used to work here when the Hollowell's owned the place," Miston said.

"I see. Do you have references?" Teddy asked.

"No sir. You see I moved out of Jeddison many years ago. Old Mr. Hollowell never did provide me with any references," Miston lied again.

"What can you do?" Teddy asked.

"Well, I used to live in that old shed. I kept the lawns mowed, the plants and trees well pruned and fertilized and made sure the grass was proper aerated. I didn't work for Mr. Hollowell very long," Miston said, deliberately distorting facts.

"I don't think I want a live-in gardener. But, I could use a little help for a while until I get settled in," Teddy said.

That wasn't what Miston hoped for. He was so sure that he would be allowed to live in the shed.

"The thing is that I could pay you rent for letting me stay in your shed," Miston said, trying not to sound desperate.

"I suppose that would be okay. But, what would you do in winter. I don't think there is provision in the shed for heat," Teddy said.

"I think there is. When I was Hollowell's live-in gardener, there was an old pot bellied stove in there. If there isn't, I'll see if I can find one," Miston said.

"I suppose. Anyway, at this point, we could call it a draw. I'll pay you for your services and deduct a bit for the use of the shed," Teddy said.

"That works for me," Miston said.

Teddy Romanowski didn't realize he had just made a deal with a murderer. When Agnetha stopped by and saw the old "codger," she thought he wandered onto the property.

"You do realize you have a trespasser?" she asked Teddy.

"He's my new "gardener," Teddy said with a grin.

"A gardener? He looks older than this place. I thought you planned to do all of the landscaping by yourself? You hand that old guy a lawn mower and he's as likely to mow you down with it," Agnetha said.

"You are getting a lot of laughs out of this, aren't you?" Teddy said, ushering her into the great room.

"Why are we in here?" she asked.

"I'm practicing my boy scout safety rules on how to start a fire in this old fireplace," Teddy said.

"Ted, I don't think you should...." were the only words Agnetha was able to utter.

Then, there was a big, black cloud of soot.

"Ted? Did you remember to open the flue?" Agnetha said, trying not to laugh hysterically.

"I am not going to incriminate myself by answering that," Teddy said.

"You don't need to. You look as if you have been doused in charcoal."

"Very funny. How am I supposed to get that stupid flue open now that the fire is lit?"

"See that set of fireplace tools hanging over there? One of them is a rod with a curved hook on the end. You just..."

"For Pete's sake, Agnetha, I am not stupid. That was just a rhetorical question," Teddy said.

"My, my but aren't we a tad touchy today? Ted? You okay?"

"I'll be one whole hell of a lot better if ever I can feel I am settled in," Teddy said.

"You will be. How about we go and tackle some of your paperwork. At least, if you are uncluttered in the Turret Room, you won't feel like an alien," Agnetha said.

"Can't. I'm too hungry. I was going to try to roast a couple of wieners on this hearth," Teddy said.

"What? Why don't you just use the stove in the kitchen?"

"Skeleton in that pantry remind you of anything?"

"That was nearly a week ago. I am sure by now your cleaning people have pretty much gotten it in order," Agnetha said.

"They did. But, now I need an exterminator. I found mouse droppings. What next? Giant cock roaches trying to make a meal of me?" Teddy said, sarcastically.

"Let's hope not. Where are those wieners and the buns?"

"Over there on that long dresser."

"That's a buffet server. The former owners must not have ever used it. It looks as if it has been polished to death by their maids," Agnetha said.

"They had maids too? I suppose I'll need a maid next?"

"No. Of course not. You can always have any parties you plan to hold catered," she said.

Teddy suddenly got an impish grin on his face. All five feet and ten inches of him was covered in soot and there was this lithe, impeccably, too neat and clean goddess standing near the "buffet server." On impulse, he walked toward her.

"No! Ted! No! Don't...."

It was too late. Teddy Romanowski put his arms around her waist and rubbed his face on her opalescent cheeks until they were as black as his.

"Oh NOW, you just know I owe you for this Ted Romanowski!"

"I should hope so, "Ms. Bjorn."

"Come on. We need to get to the kitchen and wash this gunk off. I don't want to mistake you for a pile of rubble," Agnetha said.

"You know something, Ag?"

"That's the first time you've ever called me that. My father always called me, "Ag."

"I'm too tired for more than two syllables today and you may as well call me what everyone else does in my  family...Teddy. I can't get used to, "Ted."

"It's a deal. Say...Teddy...look...that guy out there you hired. He looks as if he is moving into that old shed."

"He is. Part of his wages included allowing him to stay in the shed. He is obviously homeless."

"Teddy? His face seems so familiar to me. Like I've seen it somewhere before," Agnetha said.

"I can't imagine an old guy like him being newsworthy, can you?"

Agnetha didn't know why she was having deja vu. There was something about the expression on his face. Not quite a smile, but not quite a snarl either.

"I suppose you are right. So...tell me what do you want to do about your ravishing hunger? Is there anything in the fridge I can make you?"

"No. Come on. Let's eat those hearth roasted wieners."

"Then, we tackle your paperwork in the Turret Room?" she asked.

"You took a day off to work in my office?"

"No. The real estate prospect just didn't show up. It was just an apartment anyway. Not a very big commission," Agnetha said.

"You really like real estate, don't you?"

"I wouldn't say I "like" it. It's a job. Do you love being a lawyer?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I've practically always wanted to be a lawyer," Teddy said.

"And a future judge?"

"Now, that isn't going to happen. In this state, it's "who" you know. Not "what" you know. I don't have the kind of associates I'd need to become a judge. Although, one of my former college friends was a guy who was also born and raised here in Jeddison. He was my roommate until we graduated. He isn't a lawyer. He's worse...he's a politician!" Teddy said.

Teddy knew he was developing "feelings" for Agnetha. He hoped to keep their relationship platonic. But, lately, he realized they were beginning to think alike and spending at least two or more days a week together. He wondered if she felt the same.

Agnetha saw the pensive look on Teddy's face.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked.

"Thanks to inflation, my thoughts cost more," Teddy answered, his face slightly flush.

"Whatever you were thinking, that red face is a dead give away it wasn't my skill roasting these wieners," Agnetha said.

"Can I ask you are personal question?" Teddy said.

"Like I could ever stop you?"

"How is it an attractive, intelligent woman like you isn't married. You and I can't be more than three or four years in age difference," Teddy said.

"I think I was married to my career," she answered.

"I see. Yes. I do know all about being married to a career. But, aren't you worried about that "biological clock thing?"

Agnetha laughed and laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Teddy Romanowski, I'm not exactly "past it," you know. I still have a few good years left," Agnetha said.

"I didn't mean it to sound so fatalistic," Teddy said.

"In Hollowell House? Everywhere you turn there is something fatalistic about this place," she said.

"Does it really creep you out that much?"

"You want the truth? I am as fascinated by Hollowell House as you were...er...are."

"So, we can both do some digging and find out more about the place and events that happened here?" Teddy asked.

"There isn't a way to avoid it. Either we find out which ghosts we are up against, or we'll never have a decent night's sleep."

Over the next several months, Teddy began to see his law practice grow. He wondered though if part of the sudden interest in his legal expertise wasn't due to client curiosity.

He received a call from a new client, Roy Hasselford, who was interested in setting up is will.

"So, Mr. Hasselford, you don't have a will?" Teddy asked.

"No, sir. I always put it off. I have a brother who recently passed and no children of my own. I was always too "busy" with my career to take the time to marry and have kids. Police work often gets to be an obsession," the older man said.

"You were a police officer?"

"No. I was a police investigator. In fact, ...uh...I don't know if you know this, but I have been to Hollowell House before," Hasselford said.

"You have?"

"Yes. I was with the Jeddison police department when I was a detective. The triple murders and burglary...that..You do know there was a triple murder and burglary that happened in this place, don't you?"

"I know about the Hollowell House murders. It was a break in by an intruder, right?"

"No. We always believed the suspect was James Miston. He was originally the gardener for William Attersby when they owned this place. Then, he became the valet to Mr. J. Densby Hollowell," Hasselford said.

"What happened to this...James Miston?"

"That's the thing. We never could find out more than that he pawned a few items he'd stolen. I got so far as New York City and a pawnbroker there. But, there was no forwarding address, not that I expected there would be. Miston vanished as if he never existed," Hasselford said.

"He'd probably be dead by now, don't you think?"

"Likely. He'd be in his seventies by now. That's why I want to settle my will now. I'm getting to 84 and I want to leave this case with everything I've worked on to the Jeddison police. I don't want all the information I've collected to fall into the hands of some newspaper journalist," Hasselford said.

"Well, that usually is not what is required to be inserted into a will," Teddy advised.

"I have a bit of money saved. I want to know if I can donate it to the Jeddison Police to continue to keep the case open until Miston is found," Hasselford said.

"I see what you mean about your career keeping you "busy,"" Teddy said.

"You can say it. I am obsessed with this one case and seeing it to a close before I die or, at the very least, after I die, so I can rest in peace that the man who murdered those three women will not go scott free."

Teddy did his best to comply with Roy Hasselford's wishes for his will. He realized Roy Hasselford was the valuable source of the information he and Agnetha were looking for.

Agnetha dropped by that evening for after dinner drinks.

"I had a very interesting client in to see me today. I can't discuss his legal business; but, I can tell you he is just the person we need to answer a few questions about Hollowell House."

"Really? Can you tell me his name or is that "confidential?"

"He claims there were three murders that took place here in Hollowell House and a burglary. He said he doesn't think it was done by an intruder."

"He is obviously some kind of detective? He has a suspect in mind?"

"It's a cold case by now; but, he thinks it was the valet," Teddy said.

Teddy realized Agnetha didn't seem to understand.

"Apparently, we are going to need to go as far back as the original owner of this place. The client said it was owned by "William Attersby" and that the suspect he has in mind was originally his gardener."

"I don't recall any mention of an owner named Attersby," Agnetha said.

"Well, we wouldn't. It was probably around World War II or possibly even earlier before this place became Hollowell House. I've only ever known it as Hollowell House. I never heard my parents or anyone mention that Attersbys owned this place."

"Looks like we've got quite a bit of digging to do," Agnetha said.

"The question is what happened to the suspect in those murders?" Teddy asked.

"You've got me. He'd probably be dead by now, don't you think?"

"My client seems to think so too; but, he is obsessed with closing this case before he dies. He said he is 83 and wants to make sure this case, this particular one...is closed or he feels, as he said, "I won't rest in peace."

"But, if this is still an open case, we won't get any information on it from the police department here in Jeddison," Agnetha said.

"That's right. That's why this client can't talk more about the suspect than to tell me his name. The suspect's name was probably in the papers and therefore, isn't proprietary," Teddy said.

"Okay. Doesn't that mean we have to go through old newspaper accounts of the murders?"

"Yes. Let's take some time to visit the Jeddison newspaper first," Teddy said.

"From what I understand, newspaper journalists spend their daytime hours hunting stories and night hours writing them. So, we can stop by any night after we both finish work," Agnetha said.

Teddy was kept somewhat distracted by the number of new clients he was taking on and also by contacting former clients in his earlier position. Lawyers retain their clients even when they move on, due to legal documents and court cases they are involved in adjudicating.

Yet, every time Teddy heard that wailing sound from the sea shell, he reminded himself to have that checked. He'd awake in the middle of the night and hear the house creaking and the wailing sound and pull the covers over his head until daylight.

Most days, he awoke around 6 AM. He marched to the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee from the automatic coffee maker he set to start brewing the night before. Depending on how ambitious he felt, he would make breakfast of bacon and eggs or if he was in a hurry, a buttered bran muffin. He wondered if it was time to hire a housekeeper or perhaps find himself a wife.

He felt ambivalent about marriage. His life was fairly organized, even to the familiar sight of his new gardener emerging from the shed before the sun rose. He wondered what the gardener could find to do so early in the mornings. He'd given Kelly pretty much the run of the shed and landscaping. So far, he did a fairly decent job.

On the evening Teddy and Agnetha decided to stop by the Jeddison Newspaper, Kelly was crossing from the rear of the property to the shed.

"He's probably in for the night," Teddy said.

He noticed the look on Agnetha's face.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know. But, for the life of me, that gardener's face seems so familiar."

"Unless you were a hobo once in your life, that old man was likely a vagrant who hops from place to place looking for menial work," Teddy said.

"I suppose."

Agnetha couldn't help the feeling in the pit of her stomach she'd seen the old man's face before. Teddy decided to let Agnetha drive to the Jeddison newspaper office. Neither had ever been inside of the place and were surprised by how old the interior furnishings were.

"It looks like something out of a black and white movie," Agnetha whispered.

"I was thinking the same thing. Those guys over there at the printing machines looked bored," Teddy responded.

"You'd be bored too if the only thing you had to do was make sure the machines pump out newspapers," she said.

"C'mon. Let's see whose ear we can get," Teddy said.

The two walked over to the first desk where a reporter was pouring over his computer. The little nameplate on his desk indicated his name was Tom Hacksman.

"Yes, Can I help you?" he asked.

"Do we need permission to go through your archives?" Teddy asked.

"No sir. You just need to know how to use that old microfiche machine over there. Help yourselves. Anything in particular you are looking for?"

"Actually, yes. I recently purchased a "historic" home in Jeddison. I'd like to know a little more about the place," Teddy said.

Agnetha nearly laughed out loud when Teddy told the reporter Hollowell House was "historic."

"Wouldn't a visit to the library be better or for that matter the tax office?" the man asked.

"I've already been to both," Teddy said.

"Well, you go on ahead and use the machine and see if you can find what you are looking for," the reporter said.

"A micro fiche machine and a senior journalist who looks as if he's been with the paper since President Harding's administration," Teddy snickered.

"Come on. Let's see what we can find," Agnetha said.

"You do the honors. I am not a gadget guy," Teddy said.

From his office, Jack Vesterly, now Editor-in-Chief and newspaper owner, kept a close on the couple. He wondered which historic house the man was referring to.

"You take notes then while I do the search," Agnetha said.

From the newspaper accounts, Hollowell House was owned by William Attersby, I. He lived there until his death with his wife, son, William II and two aunts.

"There are those two skeletons we found in Hollowell House," Agnetha said.

"They are either his wife and an aunt or two aunts," Teddy conjectured.

Jack Vesterly walked toward the couple.

"Find what you are looking for?" Jack asked.

"Some. Are you a journalist?" Teddy asked.

"Was. I own the paper now. I was a journalist probably since before you finished grade school, always assuming I am a good guess of age," Jack said.

"So, you would remember any stories about murders in Jeddison?" Agnetha asked.

"Well now, there hasn't been a real crime in this town since that mess over at Hollowell House when that intruder killed those three women. Before that, there were deaths mainly due to accidents," Jack said.

"Is that anything more on William Attersby I?" Teddy asked.

"I should think if there is you'd want to check with old Mrs. Matthews. She's a dowager for sure; but has a memory like a knife when it comes to Jeddison history. She should. She's president of the Jeddison Historical Society," Vesterly said.

"I covered the three murders at Hollowell House. Is there anything about that I can help you with?" Jack added.

"Yes. Actually, you might be able to. I live in Hollowell House," Teddy said.

"No kidding? Someone actually bought that place...I am surprised. Now there's a place with history. I see why you want to know more about it," Jack said.

"Well, I'm sure you know those murders have never been solved," Teddy said.

"Nothing to be worried about. Old James Miston is probably six feet under by now. That's why the case is still open. Miston vanished as if he never existed. I found out he replaced the Attersby gardener. Always thought that was kind of odd, you know?" Vesterly said.

"How so?" Agnetha asked.

"Well, there was a gardener, a foreigner, Kor Allianz. He must have run off the road over there on Hanson's Hill. Probably sleepy or something, fell right off the cart. The horses must have run the cart right over his body. His remains were in pretty bad shape," Jack said.

"Who replaced him at Attersby Estate? Do you recall?" Teddy asked.

"Yes. James Miston."

"But, I thought Miston was J. Densby Hollowell's valet?" Agnetha said.

"Yes. He turned up after Hollowell got ownership of the Attersby Estate and later became the valet. But...uh...how did you know that?" Jack Vesterly asked.

"Oh, I guess I just remembered reading it somewhere," Agnetha said.

She had read it somewhere. More than two decades ago when she was writing an article for her junior high school history class on current events. Like Teddy's limited knowledge, much of what was withheld from the Jeddison newspaper was at the behest of either the Attersbys or J. Densby Hollowell.

"Anyway, Miston seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. There is a detective who worked on that case; but, I doubt he is still living, Roy Hasselford. He was literally and figuratively obsessed with those Hollowell Murders," Jack Vesterly said.

Teddy knew who Roy Hasselford was. Hasselford asked Teddy to process his last will and testament for him. He reminded himself to check to see if the will had gone into probate court. That would tell him if Roy Hasselford was still living.

"Did you have the chance to interview him?" Teddy asked.

"You know how police are. They allow you only what can be seen in public they can't control. But, when it comes to details, if Hasselford did have any evidence, it is likely long gone or still in police files," Jack said.

"What about the curse I used to hear about as a kid?" Teddy asked.

"Curse? Oh you mean that curse of old Mrs. Attersby? I am not sure if it's true. But, who knows? As you can tell from what you read about the Attersbys, they were an "odd sort. As I say, you'd be better off to check out the Historical Society maven, Mrs. Matthews, she's lived in Jeddison "since the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock."

I doubt you'll find her at the museum. She only keeps it open two days a week now. There just isn't that many who are born and bred in Jeddison who still live here or who even care about its history," Jack Vesterly said.

"Where do you we find her then?" Agnetha asked.

"She lives over on Ridner Terrace. It's the oldest house on the street with the ivy all over it."

Teddy and Agnetha continued to peruse the archives for another hour. Jack Vesterly was amused at the two. If the young man was the owner of Hollowell House, he must be in "money." Jack knew about the back taxes and sinking soil in the family cemetery, thanks to his contacts at Jeddison town hall. This wasn't news to old residents like Jack Vesterly. But, this new owner would eventually realize a lot of those rumors about Hollowell House were not all fiction.

Teddy thanked Jack and handed him his business card. Agnetha did the same.

After they left, Jack muttered, "A lawyer and a real estate agent?"

"Well, it looks as if all we learned about those murders was everything we already knew. Do you think J. Densby Hollowell had his wife, housekeeper and cook murdered?" Teddy asked.

"Why would he? His wife had to know he had a mistress tucked away in New York City," Agnetha said.

"How do you know he had a mistress?"

"It was "alluded to" in one of those archived papers. It appears Simon Hollowell wasn't just J. Densby Hollowell's son, he was the son to his former mistress who became his second wife," Agnetha said.

"Wow! You got much more out of those archives than I expected," Teddy said.

"How about we have a late night snack? Where? At the diner on the highway?" Agnetha asked.

Teddy and Agnetha were becoming deeply entrenched in the oddities of Hollowell House.

"Tell me something...If you had to do it all over again, would you still buy Hollowell House?"

"Yes. I don't believe in ghosts or hauntings. I just think Hollowell House is tainted. Over time, things that become tainted can be changed," Teddy responded.

"Do you think a little remodeling is the answer?"

"Funny you mention that. I am giving serious thought to auctioning off some of the old bedroom furnishings," Teddy said.

"You mean like the stuff in that clunky old master bedroom suite of J. Densby Hollowell? Bed curtains and all?" Agnetha said.

"No. I like that room. I was thinking maybe of refurbishing Charlotte Hollowell's bedroom suite. The furnishings in there need something. I won't get rid of the bed or the armoire and smaller tables and chairs. Just maybe those hideous lamps. I'm sure they could be valuable antiques by now. I think I'd like to get rid of that full length mirror too. There already is one in my "dressing room."

"You have a "dressing room," do you?"

"You know I do. What's so funny?"

"I'm not sure. A dressing room is supposed to be accompanied by a valet, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily."

Agnetha knew she was pushing Teddy. She didn't want to end their evening in discord so she changed the subject.

"Ted..Do you plan to speak with old Mrs. Matthews of the Historical Society?"

"I don't know...What do you think about that?"

"What could she know that the Jeddison Newspaper didn't already publish? I must say...I found it quite odd there were no photos of the housekeeper and cook who were murdered with Charlotte Hollowell," Agnetha said.

"I'd like to know more about that curse of Attersby's wife. Why would she do that? I guess I am going nutty for whatever bits of information about the house I live in," Teddy said.

Teddy's legal cases kept him busy for almost two months. He nearly forgot all about doing any more investigating of the occupants of Hollowell House. He hired a cleaning woman, Janice Lofton, to come in three times a week to do laundry and clean the place dusted and vacuumed. For the time being, he made due with take out or fast food for his meals or...dining with Agnetha.

Jeddison seemed to be experiencing a glut of new developments to the point where Hanson's Hill was becoming a regularly traveled thoroughfare at all hours of the day and night. Teddy wasn't sure he liked that. He had a new front gate installed that had a remote transponder that opened and closed it. It turned out, being so busy with his clients, he saw less and less of his gardener, James Kelly. Kelly did the job he was paid to do.

"Mr. Romanowski? May I speak to you for a moment?" Janice Lofton said.

"Yes. What can I do for you?"

"It's your gardener. I hope I am not speaking out of turn."

"James Kelly? What is it?"

"He acts a bit strange, is all."

"Strange? In what way? Has he spoken to you suggestively?"

"Oh no sir. Nothing like that. He has the same routine every day. The minute you leave or are in your office in the Turret Room, he heads toward the back of the property near that big hill. Then, he seems to be looking for something there on the ground."

"I can't imagine what he could be looking for."

"Then, he seems to disappear. I see him from the window in that large ballroom when I am dusting in there," Janice said.

"He's an old man. I doubt he could be up to something. I haven't noticed anything missing."

"It's just that after he disappears, that crazy wailing sound from that pipe in the seashell seems to start."

"Kelly isn't a plumber. At least, not to my knowledge."

"I've lived in Jeddison my whole life. His isn't a familiar face in town."

"He is something of a town hermit, perhaps," Teddy said.

"I'm sorry. None of this is my business. It's just that you are such a nice man and he seems so suspicious."

"Well, thank you for that. I'll keep my eyes open if that makes you feel better," Teddy said.

It was true the seashell at the top of the stairs was next to impossible to fix. Teddy had several plumbers in and none found any reason for the strange sound it made at odd hours of the day and night. Teddy decided to learn to live with it. He grew so accustomed to that sound that in the middle of the night, he would hear it and smile and say, "Good Night J. Densby Hollowell wherever you are!" and roll over and fall back to sleep.

Teddy had to drop off some legal papers in Jeddison's Historic District. It wasn't far from the intersection of Hanson's Hill and Ridner Terrace. He hadn't spent any time in this part of Jeddison. The Historic District consisted of ten homes built when the earliest settlers came to Jeddison. These homes were placed on the state's historic list and were preserved through state funding. One of them was the small white cottage where the Jeddison Historical Society was housed.

Teddy was reminded of Mrs. Matthews. He parked his car in the old lot in the now defunct Jeddison railroad depot and crossed the street to the cottage. He knocked on the door. There was no answer.

Then, he heard a voice from inside calling, "I'll be with you in just a minute. I'm not twenty years old anymore."

The door opened to a petite, white haired woman of about eighty, Teddy guessed.

"I'm Teddy Romanowski...I..."

"I know who you are. You bought that haunted place over on Hanson's Hill," the elderly woman said.

"How did you know that?"

"Jeddison may be growing in population, but news and faces get around fast as it always has," she said.

"You must be Mrs. Matthews?"

"Ida Matthews died not two months ago, poor thing. It was her "time" though. She lived a good, long life. She was our curator. I've taken her place. I'm Clara Ames. What can I do for you?"

"Mrs. Ames..."

"Miss...I never married. That fool sister of mine, Martha, rest her soul, married in haste..Repented at leisure, just like the saying," Miss Ames said.

"Sounds like you've been in Jeddison your entire life. Bet you know a whole lot about Hollowell House," Teddy prodded.

"I should say I do. Martha was housekeeper there," Miss Ames said.

"Mrs. Ames was your sister? How do you have the same last name if she was married?"

"It was a blight on the Ames family name. Martha fell head over heels in love with our cousin, Samuel Ames, a fly by night sailor who couldn't stay away from the sea," Miss Ames said.

"Oh, I see."

"Don't think you do...How long have you lived in Jeddison, son?"

"My entire life"

"Then, why don't you know how my sister died?"

Teddy felt embarrassed. He hadn't immediately connected the name "Ames" with the Mrs. Ames, Hollowell House's housekeeper who was murdered.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry. I have been so preoccupied with work lately. I should have recognized your sister's name."

"I warned her to stay away from that place. But, after Samuel abandoned her, she needed a job. She knew the house maids who worked at the place when it was owned by the Attersbys. Still, she knew old Hannah Attersby cursed that place."

"Why did Hannah Attersby do that?"

"William's sisters...Daphne and Delilah Attersby. Bad apples those two. Flittin' about with every Tom, Dick and Harry...and right under their brother's nose as if they were deliberately disobeying him. He was a proper Christian man, you know. That kind of dallying about wasn't permitted in those days."

"Was that why Hannah Attersby cursed the place?"

"Oh no. I should say not. It was Daphne and Delilah who drove her mad with jealousy..unfounded, of course. Kept telling Hannah her husband was having an affair. You know, don't you? Somewhere on your property is Hannah's unmarked grave."

"No kidding? I knew of the family cemetery. I didn't know there was anyone buried outside of that old rusty gate," Teddy said.

"Hannah hung herself in her bedroom. William Attersby I, being so religious, couldn't bury his wife in hallowed ground. So he had her buried outside the family plot," Miss Ames said.

"Do you have any idea who else is buried there?"

"I do. But, mind you...There is no proof. Let me see. The first William is probably buried there. So, my guess is his son is too. Strange tale that. William II also committed suicide and townspeople swear he was buried on hallowed ground only because he was blood of his father. There was talk by the Jeddison mortician Lady Charlotte is buried there. Most likely so is her husband, J. Densby Hollowell."

"What do you know about about Daphne and Delilah Attersby?" Teddy asked.

"William II was in dire financial straits. To keep the estate, he removed those two aunts from the care center and allowed them to live in the Attersby Mansion. He needed their money you see. Course, as the story goes, William II, died before they did. I imagine they must have lived their days out in that place and are also buried in the family plot. Not that their brother would have fancied that," Miss Ames said.

"So Daphne and Delilah Attersby were sort of wayward sisters then?" Teddy asked.

"Their brother was just so intent on them marrying "well" and there seemed to be no man good enough according to his standards. But, you do know that those two sisters were...well...not right in the head?"

"No. I didn't know that. Why do you think that?"

"When they were in that nursing home, there were whispers they'd conspired to "hurry" the death of a patient there so Delilah could have his room. They wanted rooms next to each other, you see. William I, once told my bank manager, a member of our historical society, Daphne and Delilah made William's life miserable with their constant cackling like witches."

"How do you know this?" Teddy asked.

"Nurses and bank managers are not exactly pillars of silence. One member of our historical society is related to a nurse who once worked at that care center. Our society has boasted some pretty interesting people over the years. For example, did you know that my sister was a member? I tried to convince her to engage Lady Charlotte Barnesmore Hollowell to become a patroness of our Museum, but my sister said Lady Charlotte was beginning to lose her mind," Miss Ames said.

"No kidding? Mrs. Hollowell was going insane at the time of her murder?"

"My sister said she was always complaining she was hearing things. She had a plumber in to fix that confounded oddity, a seashell, my sister said, at the top of the stairs. Is it still there?" Miss Ames asked.

"Yes. Lady Charlotte wasn't imagining things. I've had half a dozen plumbers in myself to try to stop the wailing sound it makes," Teddy said.

"You should be careful. Hollowell House is haunted and some say there are more murders than my sister, old Mrs. Wyler and Lady Charlotte that happened there."

"Why do you say that?"

"My sister always felt something was amiss when Attersbys' gardener died so suddenly. And what about the plumber? He was trying to fix that seashell. My sister said he just keeled over and died right there in the water in that seashell. Lady Charlotte refused to allow any more plumbers in Hollowell House after that," Miss Ames said.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way, Miss Ames. But, you surely do have some memory for a woman...uh.."

"My age?" Miss Ames laughed, her blue eyes twinkling.

"All spinsters have great memories. It's all we have. No kids or husband to occupy our minds. What about you young man? You have a wife?"

"Um..uh..No."

"No woman in mind?"

"Well, maybe. I've just been so busy over the last three years trying to get Hollowell House in shape and my law practice off the ground," Teddy said.

"You bring a wife into Hollowell House and she won't be your wife long. That's for sure."

"Miss Ames? About that plumber? Do you recall his name?"

"No. But, I think I can find it in one of our files. Wait here. I'll be right back."

Teddy ran through some of the things Miss Ames had told him so he could relay it to Agnetha.

The old woman returned with a newspaper in her hand.

"We've already been through the Jeddison newspaper archives. I don't recall any mention of a plumber's death at Hollowell House," Teddy said.

"Because it was only reported in the obituary. His name was Hamilton Bonsen. The Jeddison police should have a report on it, if they let you have a look at it," Miss Ames said.

He saw that the elderly woman was growing weary.

"Miss Ames? If you have to guess who murdered your sister, who do you think it was?"

"Am I a criminal investigator? That would be that Detective Hassleford's department. But now that you ask, I always believed it was an inside job. My sister didn't like Hollowell's valet, I...I can't recall his name now," Miss Ames said.

"Why did your sister dislike the valet?"

"He was too cocky according to my sister and a gambling man too. Played the horses a lot. My sister said toward the end the valet didn't have much to do and headed off to the track a lot.

Lady Charlotte didn't think much of him either. My sister said Lady Charlotte would ask him to do things and he'd find an excuse or outright refuse to do what she asked," Miss Ames said.

"Was the valet's name James Miston?"

"Why yes. That's his name. James Miston. Oh a sorry lot that one. Young man, I don't think I have much more I can help you with," Miss Ames said.

"Miss Ames, you have been so much more help than I ever expected. I would invite you to dinner; but, I know you won't come to Hollowell House. Can I take you to lunch then?"

"I don't go out much anymore, Mr. ...?"

"Romanowski. Teddy Romanowski. If you ever need any legal help, I'll be happy to do it pro bono."

"Pro bono?"

"Free," Teddy said with a laugh.

The time Teddy spent with Miss Ames felt as if she had open up a treasure chest of information. He knew that her memory might be somewhat dim in the short term, such as her not remembering his name. But, when it came to her long term memory, it was as clear as a bell. Teddy hoped when he reached her age his memory would be as acute. He couldn't wait to tell Agnetha what he learned.

He phoned her at her office; but there was no answer. He headed back to his office. He spent a lot of time worrying about the paperwork he needed to get processed. He pulled into the long driveway and saw Kelly, the gardener crossing his path. Teddy wondered what landscaping Kelly was doing in the rear of Hollowell House.

As he exited his car, he heard Agnetha's car pull up behind his. He waited for her to park it.

"I'm glad you're here," Teddy said, dismissing the previous curiosity about Kelly.

"Need help with something?"

"Well, actually, I was going to try and reduce the paperwork on my desk," Teddy said.

"I can come back another time, if you're busy...or I could help in some way with secretarial stuff."

"That would be great. Most of the paperwork just needs some collating and I loathe that and there's a ton of filing as you will see," Teddy said, grinning.

They entered the Turret Room from the rear door rather than the client's side entrance.

"I was sure I locked this rear door. Let me check something," Teddy said.

He walked over to the side entrance door and checked to see if it was locked. It was.

"Does anyone else have a key? Does anything look as if it's been touched?" Agnetha asked.

"Uh. No. No one else has a key. You have the only other key to the front door. But, since you are scared out of your wits about ghosts, I'd bet you've never bothered to use it," Teddy said.

"You've got that right. I don't want to be here when you aren't on the premises," Agnetha said, shuddering.

Teddy hurried over to his desk to see if anything was amiss. Nothing was.

"Ted? You seem preoccupied. Is everything alright?"

"Actually, it might not be alright. When I pulled into the driveway, Kelly was crossing the path from the rear of the house," Teddy said.

"You think he somehow got into this Turret Room?"

"I don't see how. He has no keys I am aware of. I never leave keys laying around either. But, he hasn't been in Hollowell House since the day he applied for the job," Teddy said.

"What do you really know about him?" Agnetha asked.

"Now that you mention it, not much. Other than that he used to be old Hollowell's gardener for a short time. I only hired him until I could get a grip on things around here...if I ever do," Teddy said.

"Oh, you will. Look how much you've already completed. And, from the looks of your desk, I'd say your law practice is well in place."

"No criticism from the peanut gallery," Teddy said.

"No. No criticism. Ted, I feel that you and I have some odd bond, don't you?"

"Now that you mention it? Yes. I know I can trust you. More than that, I trust your judgment. Do you think Kelly tried to get into this room? And if you do, why?"

"I've told you before, that man's face always brings on deja vu. I know I've seen him somewhere before. Try as I might to strain my brain, I come up with nothing," she said.

"Do you think he is someone from your childhood? Or...maybe someone your father might have associated with?"

"No. Nothing like that. I keep getting this picture of Kelly and mixing it with pictures of other men I've sold homes to or have had meetings with in the industry. I come up with nothing. We better get to work or it will be midnight before we are done with all of this," Agnetha said.

"Have you had dinner?"

"No. But no food, until we finish this!"

"Yessss! Ma'am!" Teddy said, laughing.

They spent the next two hours working on the most pressing paperwork to have it ready for Friday depositions in court. Teddy admired how adept Agnetha was at typing up documents, filing and generally putting everything to rights. By eight o'clock, he could see she was flagging.

"Okay...enough work for one day. You'll have my office so organized I'll feel as if I'm in someone else's law practice. Shall we call in for food or do you want to venture out?"

"Oh, I think a nice fire in the great room and food on snack trays would do nicely, don't you?"

"You do have an affinity for that fireplace, don't you?"

"These are the last days of summer and I begin to feel autumn in my old bones," she replied.

"If your bones are old, mine must be ancient," he said.

"Tell you what...How do you feel about Chinese food tonight? We could get it delivered," Teddy said.

"You mean if the local Chinese takeout hasn't heard about this place being haunted?"

"I am sure the Chinese takeout staff have not heard about it," Teddy assured her.

He headed off to place the order from the kitchen phone so he could prepare some before dinner drinks.

Agnetha set about starting a fire in the fireplace. The wailing of the seashell pipes interrupted her thoughts. She felt so comfortable with Ted Romanowski. Maybe...too comfortable.

Am I falling for him? She wondered. She didn't know Teddy wondered the same thing many times before.

There was something about being alone in the dimly lit great room that made her feel edgy.

I'm just being silly. Teddy is here. What could happen?

The minute Teddy appeared in the great room, Agnetha was so startled she cried out.

"Ag...what on earth is the matter?"

"Chasing old ghosts. I had the oddest feeling I was being watched from those windows on that side of the room," she said.

"Shall I turn on the lights in the rear yard?"

"No, just hurry with those drinks. I need a stiffener," she said.

Teddy didn't like that Agnetha felt so on edge. He hoped the brandy he prepared for her would settle her nerves.

"Brandy? Well, that is a stiffener...But, I don't want it to go to my head on an empty stomach. Who knows what I might do being tipsy," she said.

"Come to think of it, I've never seen you tipsy."

"Nor shall you. You could be a serial killer in disguise," she said laughing.

Agnetha already felt the brandy making her head thick. She glanced over at Teddy and realized he was doing the same.

"We really are an odd couple, are we not? We avoid saying the things we really feel," Agnetha said.

"Such as?"

"Such as I think I am just a little more than fond of you," Agnetha said.

"I'm glad. I wouldn't like it if after all this time you developed a terrible disliking for me," Teddy said.

Agnetha shuddered again.

"What is it?"

"Oh, just me feeling cold this time. How's about a little cuddle for an old friend," Agnetha said.

Teddy was shocked. But, he soon realized it might be the brandy talking and not Agnetha.

"Uh, I think only one brandy for you," he said.

"Ted...I'm not drunk or even tipsy. You are on my mind a lot more than you should be," she said.

"I won't lie...you are always on my mind," he said.

He moved closer to her on the large overstuffed leather sofa and put his arm around her.

"That better? Feel warmer now?"

"Yes. Thank you. Much warmer and much, much better," she said, with a smile.

"You know? When I first met you, I was determined to keep it all business. As time passed, I realized I'd begun to rely on your opinions and your ideas," Teddy said.

"I rather like that."

"Ag...Do you think you would be able to live here in Hollowell House?"

"You mean move in and live with you? My, my, my...What would the dowagers here in Jeddison think of that?" Agnetha said.

"Do you care? I'm not afraid of marriage. But, you have to admit there are not too many women who would take on living in a place like this," Teddy said.

"I'll accept your offer on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"That you never leave me alone in this place until I know for certain all the ghosts are gone," Agnetha said.

"Well, you know I am never farther away than the Turret Room. That close enough for you?"

"Yes. Did you hear something?"

"Yes. It's the Chinese takeout delivery with our food," Teddy said laughing.

"How do you know that?"

"I can smell dim sum and Won Ton soup three miles from here. I'm starved. So, it's a deal? You'll  move in with me?"

"Yes, I will. Give me a week to get my things together. Did you order my Low Mein?"

"Yes and Yes." Teddy said.

Agnetha disappeared into the kitchen while Teddy arranged the snack trays with their food. She peered out of the kitchen window and saw a dim light in the shed.

I know that face. I am sure of it.

She placed a pot of steaming hot tea on a tray with two cups and returned to the great room where Teddy was already munching on a shrimp egg roll.

"Hey! No fair starting without me!" Agnetha said.

"Well, come on then. Oooh. Hot tea. What could be better?"

"Chinese Green Tea to be exact. It's better for you," she said.

One week later, Agnetha Bjorn moved into Hollowell House. She would come to wish she hadn't. She and Teddy agreed they would share a bedroom. She wanted no part of sleeping alone in Lady Charlotte's old bedroom suite.

Miston watched as the mid-sized moving truck unloaded clothes and other items. He noticed they were all women's clothes and that lawyer was directing where they were to be placed in Hollowell House. This last year he spent living hand to mouth in the shed forced him to become more suspicious of the new owner of Hollowell House; but, nonetheless determined to force him out. Now, Miston realized he had a better way. If that woman who spent so much time with the new owner was moving in, he would have both of them gone and could go back to the empty mansion he'd felt so comfortable living in for so long.

I'll get rid of her as sure as I got rid of Hollowell's wife, that cook and the housekeeper.  He vowed.

He shoved two more wood logs into the pot bellied stove. He felt resentful the new owner spent tons of money on renovations at Hollowell House, like the new air conditioning system, new furniture and curtains and kitchen appliances. Yet, ignored that his gardener was keeping warm with a pot bellied stove and a few sticks of wood. The new owner never even bothered to ask where the wood came from. Miston relied on what he found in the woods around Jeddison and, when that got scarce, bought scrap wood from the lumber yard.

For some odd reason, he felt a renewed sense of energy flow through his veins. Now, he had a new reason to get rid of these interlopers...that woman. He didn't like the odd expression she wore the few times she saw him. Was it possible she knew he wasn't James Kelly? He tried to remember if he had ever seen her before. He guessed she was a real estate agent from the first day she showed the new owner the house.

I never had any dealings with a real estate agent. She can't have been more than a child when I was valet here.

Still, James Miston felt uneasy about the woman's staring at him. He knew she was studying him or trying to remember who he really was. Miston had to do something about it. The only money he had now was what the new owner paid him. It wasn't bad. Just never enough to gamble with. Miston wanted more. He reasoned that if he got rid of the woman, the new owner would leave in terror.

Oh yes...I will create terror at Hollowell House if it means getting rid of these two.

Miston knew the two old ladies' skeletons hadn't scared the new owner off. Nor, did the wailing in the pipes of the seashell upstairs. He noticed they both seemed to spend a lot of time in the Great Room with the fireplace emitting black smoke into the air. He also considered scaring off a few of what Miston called, "The Turret Room" people...Teddy's clients.

A little of both, I think. Miston conjectured.

Teddy's clients had appointments during daylight hours only. This wasn't missed by James Miston. If he was going to scare off those people during the day, it had to be something that looked or sounded real.

After Agnetha settled in, she and Teddy spent many evenings just talking about their future after each finished their business day. Miston hated the sight of the smoke from the Great Room chimney. For him, it was like a terrible blister on his heel.

The more often he saw it and those two together, more enraged he became. He realized this was not going to be as easy as getting rid of those others had been. For one thing, he was wary that the guy was a lawyer and could possibly have a lot of friends in Jeddison's law enforcement at his fingertips. What if he found out he hired the most notorious killer in Jeddison?

I can't think about that now. I have to concentrate on getting rid of both of them. 

To celebrate their first month together. Teddy and Agnetha decided to splurge and have dinner at the most expensive restaurant they could find in the vicinity, Ristorante della Robbia in nearby Pennersville. It was Agnetha's old hometown. Teddy thought she'd like the nostalgia.

"What on earth made you want to have dinner in Pennersville?" she asked.

"I just thought maybe a trip down memory lane might jog your memory banks."

"Well, this place didn't exist when I was a child, you do know that right?"

"No. But, do you have any relatives left living in Pennersville?"

"As you know, my parents are both deceased now. Dad passed away a few months before I sold Hollowell House. My mom died about one year before that. Dad was never going to make it without Mom. I offered to come back to Pennersville to care for him; but, he wouldn't hear of it."

"So, we never really lived very far from each other as kids and maybe, we were destined to be a couple then?" Teddy asked.

"Seems like it. Pennersville had changed a lot. I haven't been back since my Dad died. It's like Jeddison. When I first showed Hollowell House, I recall there wasn't much development," she said.

"Yes. I know. Now? There are so many new housing developments that the old homes like Hollowell House look alien."

"Alien to humans only. Not to the ghosts of the past," Agnetha said.

"Ag...you have not seen one single ghost since you moved in. I think that's a record."

Her glance was captured by the sight of someone, an older man.

"I think I know that man," she said.

"Really? Who is he?"

"He was one of those members of that farming group. I think the name of the group was the "RFC."

"What does it mean?"

"Rural Farmers Consortium"

"Your dad was a member?"

"Yes. I barely recall this. My Mom used to joke about him going to meet with his "boys club."

Teddy smiled. He knew Agnetha was from Pennersville; but somehow, the idea of her being a farmer's daughter didn't fit the persona he saw before him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Actually, Don't become annoyed. I was trying to imagine you as a farmer's daughter," Teddy said.

"My Dad owned cows, that's true. My Mom kept chickens. That's also true. But, they were insistent I would be the best I could be and I have always tried to live up to that. What about you? You rarely mention your family," Agnetha said.

"There's just my Mom now and my siblings, my sister, Ellen and brother, Tim."

"Do you see them often?"

"Ellen moved out of state...California. Tim is married and lives in Vermont."

"So, you are the youngest then?"

"Nope. I'm the middle child. Tim is older by three years. My family was purely middle class Jeddison. My Dad was your typical factory foreman and my Mom, a housewife. She can, used to, make a mean bean pot," Teddy said, with a grin.

"Beans are a favorite of yours. Aren't they?"

"How do you know that?"

"Those half a dozen cans of pork and beans in the pantry are a big clue."

"I like them for a quick meal," Teddy said.

"I do too. It was my Mom's favorite Saturday night dinner...franks, beans and fried potatoes. I slathered it all in ketchup," Agnetha said.

"I don't get to see much of my Mom. She lives with Tim in Vermont now," Teddy said.

"Do you ever visit or go skiing on the slopes in Vermont?"

"Me? Ski? I...uh...no. Do you ski?" Teddy asked.

"Yes. Being a Swede and all, I'm naturally inclined to snow, ice and snow sports."

"Well, I guess we will need to go visit Tim this coming winter and you'll teach me how to ski," Teddy said.

After they checked the menu and their entrees were brought to them, Teddy and Agnetha's conversation waned.

"Oh, Ag. You know? I almost forgot to tell you. I don't know how I forgot this. I visited Miss Ames at the Jeddison Historical Society a few weeks back. I got so busy at work. I kept reminding myself to tell you."

"Ames? Is she..."

"Yes. She is the sister of the housekeeper who was.."

"The word is murder Ted. We have to get used to living in a place where three murders took place. It no longer bothers me until I hear that blasted screaming of the seashell's pipes," Agnetha said.

"I know. Maybe, we need to rip that thing out."

"No. Ted. Anyway, did this Miss Ames have anything to add to what we already knew?"

"Actually, it was nearly the last thing she said that seemed to coincide with my client's belief James Miston, Hollowell's valet was the murderer," Teddy said.

"Did Miss Ames say why she thought that?"

"She told me her sister was afraid of Miston. So was the cook. She seems to think there was some funny business with the Attersby gardener dying so mysteriously...run over by a carriage," Teddy said.

"Oh my Lord! Does know if this Miston is alive or dead?"

"If he is, he'd be close to eighty years old by now and wouldn't see a day in jail even if he was given a life sentence," Teddy said.

"You mean because of his age, if he is still alive, he'd get away with it?"

"Miss Ames thinks that some of the staff who worked at Hollowell House were also afraid of him. He always had the ear of J.Densby Hollowell. She said Hollowell's wife, Charlotte, was pretty much mentally unbalanced and frail as could be. So, whoever committed that murder didn't have to struggle with killing her off," Teddy said.

Agnetha picked up a very different opinion of James Miston. It was obvious he hated women enough to kill three of them. What if he wasn't dead? She wished with all of the strength of her memory she could remember why Ted's gardener looked so familiar to her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Teddy said.

"I'm afraid they cost more than a penny. But, I am sure your allowing me to move in with you gets you a discount," Agnetha said, grinning.

Teddy wasn't the man to fall in love without thorough analysis of his future intended mate. In truth, he never believed he actually had a soul mate until he met Agnetha.

"Well, if you are ready to return to our haunted mansion, I think the waiter is eyeing us surreptitiously. Awaiting a nice tip no doubt," Teddy said.

"Thank you for dinner. How about if I leave his tip? After all, it is my hometown and I think I'd like to pay some tribute to that," Agnetha said.

"Ted, you wanted to know what I was thinking earlier when you were telling me about Miss Ames. All the while you were sharing her information, James Miston came to mind. I'm not sure why."

"I had the same thought when I met with my client to discuss his will. You realize when my client dies, the murderer of those three women and whomever else, dies with him?"

"Do you think he is that close to death?"

"I think he feels he is. He is the only one who has consistently suspected James Miston."

"Did Miss Ames tell you the name of the Attersby gardener? Something is missing in that whole story," Agnetha said.

"All she said was that the Attersby gardener died too quickly. She gets a lot of her information from the members of the Historical Society. I'm guessing most are the dowagers of Jeddison and older folks. But, you recall that Jack Vesterly said there wasn't much interest in Jeddison history. So, who knows who could be left of those old members?"

"Ted, there is something we need to do before we go on any more hunts for information," Agnetha said.

"What is that?"

"You have a huge library at your disposal. Have you actually looked at any of the books on those shelves?"

"Ag, I...uh..you know something? I never even gave that a thought."

"You know how people often tuck things away in books as bookmarks. And you recall I mentioned that there has to be a family Bible that might have a great deal of information on family ancestry. Bibles usually do," Agnetha said.

"There was no indication J. Densby Hollowell was a religious man. Quite the contrary given that you said he had a mistress and Simon is the son of that mistress turned wife," Teddy said.

"I was thinking of the previous owner, William Attersby."

Teddy and Agnetha rode home discussing the possibility of going through some of the books in the library the following weekend.

Teddy spent half a day on Saturday seeing clients and writing up his case work while Agnetha spent her time in the library looking  for anything that resembled a Bible.

"I found it!" she exclaimed to the empty room.

The sound of the rain nearly all day nearly drowned out the sound of Teddy's footsteps as he entered the library.

"You found what?"

"The Attersby Family Bible! Look, Ted. Here it is. My goodness. It goes back to Attersbys in Europe. It looks as if they were always wealthy people. There's a gap between the time the Attersby bought this place. William Attersby I must have had only two sisters. It indicates Attersby's father and mother came to live here in the states and bought this place, or maybe just the land and had the mansion built. It mentions three children, William, Daphne and Delilah. Then, there is a gap. Their lineage picks up again with William I's marriage to Hannah. If this is correct, William I was easily a decade older than Hannah. See? Look! It mentions a nanny for the two sisters, Daphne and Delilah. So, they must have lived here as younger children," Agnetha said.

Teddy stood over her shoulder as she read from the same chair where Lady Charlotte once sat and complained about the paltry appearance of Hollowell House. Teddy instantly looked up at the portrait over the fireplace of Lady Charlotte. There was something in her eyes that made Teddy feel morose.

"Ted? What are you thinking about?"

"That portrait. It is of Hollowell's wife. I am certain of it," he said.

"I should think so to. The dress is the give away. If it is was a portrait of Hannah Attersby, the dress would look much older in style," she responded.

"Why do you think a man who had a mistress would put a portrait of his mentally ill wife in this room? The desk over there is probably where he spent most of his time working."

"Or, not. Remember, J. Densby Hollowell would have been quite busy trying to increase his investments after World War II. From the sound of it from Simon Hollowell, he was in New York City most of the time," Agnetha said.

"So, he brings an aristocratic wife to a remote place like Jeddison, deposits here in a mansion she more than likely loathed. That's probably why she went mad," Teddy said.

Distracted, Teddy realized he had digressed from the topic of Hollowell's books in the library."

"Any other books in here you think I'd be interested in?" Teddy asked.

"Yes. There are lots on finance and business. That very top row of books on that high up shelf has a lot of very old books you could probably get a pretty decent price for. Most of them are classics and I'm betting some are first editions," Agnetha said.

"How do you know so much about books?" Teddy asked.

"My cousin, Willa, was a librarian and an avid reader in Pennersville."

"You are welcome to read any of them," Teddy said.

"I am more the fiction reader type. How about you?"

"I spend most of my work day reading law manuals and guides to apply them to my clients' cases. But, I do like to read biographies and non-fiction. Anything good on those shelves like that?"

"Yes. In fact, the only fiction I've seen must have belonged to Lady Charlotte Hollowell. They are all old books on poetry," Agnetha said.

"Ugh. I confess I am not much into poetry," Teddy said.

"Well? Shall we go through some of the shelves then?" Agnetha asked.

"Why not? We might find some book marks and notes tucked inside them."

It was as if the books were magnets. There were literally two entire walls with bookshelves for the pair to go through. They spent their rainy days indoors in the library. This didn't go unnoticed by James Miston. From his viewpoint in the shed, the shed's window was in direct line with the floor length French style windows of the library. He saw the woman sitting on the cushioned window seat with several books beside her. What was she looking for?

"Teddy, look at this!"

"What is it?"

"It's an old family Bible. Remember I said there had to be one if the original owner, William Attersby, was so religious?"

Agnetha flipped through the pages to the last page. There it was! The record of family deaths.

"Teddy! It's a veritable map of who is buried out there in that family cemetery."

Teddy looked at the page. It listed the deaths only of William Attersby I and his wife, Hannah with the note that she was buried outside "hallowed ground."

"That proves Hannah Attersby hung herself. But, there's no mention of any of the deaths of his sisters, Daphne or Delilah. I wonder why?"

"Could be he and his wife died long before they did," Teddy said.

"Well, why isn't there any mention of his son?"

"There wouldn't be. He also committed suicide. He's either buried inside the family plot, which is not likely. Or, Daphne and Delilah outlived him and had him buried near his mother, Hannah. This is all so macabre," Teddy said.

"Except...those two skeletons had to be the remains of Daphne and Delilah. Oh, Ted. That makes whoever planted them in Hollowell House someone who had to know those two women well enough to know where they were buried."

"You know something? You are right! But who? See if you can find a book of accounts from back then. It would tell you who William Attersby II, paid wages to," Teddy said.

Agnetha searched all of the books. Then, she got an idea. There had to be a wall safe somewhere in Hollowell House. Mostly likely it would be in the study where both Attersbys and Hollowell worked. The study was an anteroom just off the library. In reality, it was part of the library, albeit in a rounded alcove nearest the bookshelves.

"Teddy? The desk, have you gone through it thoroughly? You know those old desks always had those "hidden" drawers. And...there has to be an old wall safe somewhere in this place," she said.

"That's it Ag! That's why that portrait is hanging over the fireplace! There's a safe behind it. We can check that first and then see if we can find the hidden drawers in the desk, if they exist."

The portrait of Lady Charlotte was in such a heavy frame that Teddy feared it was fall from its place. He moved it very slowly and carefully.

"You were right! There is a safe. I'm sure Simon Hollowell had no idea it was here. I doubt there is anything important inside it. That night the three women were killed, the murderer would certainly have found this safe," Teddy said.

"How will we get it open?" Agnetha asked.

"I'm nothing, if I am not adept at cracking safes," Teddy laughed.

The two felt ebullient that they'd found the safe. Miston knew there was nothing in it. He knew Hollowell emptied it of valuables after the three murders. All that remained were a few old documents that by now had no value to anyone.

Teddy listened for the safe tumblers to click and when he heard the third, the safe was open. Teddy reached inside while Agnetha held the portrait. He found a small cache of old papers, nothing more. He removed the papers.

"Nothing! Not one single valuable gem!" Teddy said, smirking.

Agnetha let go of the portrait too soon. It came crashing down onto the carpeting in front of the fireplace.

"Jeeze Ag...that could have killed me," Teddy said.

"Oh, gosh. I am so sorry!"

He patted her on the shoulder. Miston saw that they found the safe and managed to get it open. He felt a sense of amusement. He stood there at the shed window and could see their every movement and they didn't know they were being watched. He saw the the new owner take the papers to the study desk.

"Here is what you were after, Ag."

"It looks as if the first William Attersby kept books of every dime he ever spent. Here's a record of the wages he paid his staff. It looks as if his son pared down the staff around the time Hollowell bought it. See here? William I paid for his sisters care as they aged through an endowment. That must have cost his son quite a bit out of the regular household income. My guess is that Hollowell used some strategic means to reduce William Attersby II's wealth. Hollowell had to know it was old money inherited and wouldn't last under Hollowell's pressure," Teddy said.

"Teddy? Look! James Miston was the caretaker of Attersby Estate. But, the Jeddison paper archives said he was Hollowell's valet," Agnetha said.

"Now that you mention it, That's also what old Roy Hasselford said in the newspaper archives I read," Teddy said.

They found the hidden drawers in the desk. Except for a few scraps of paper, bills for a plumber and copies of invoices, there was nothing of significant interest.

For the next few days, there was and odd silence between Agnetha and Teddy. It wasn't borne of problems with their relationship. Rather, a preoccupation over what they found. Both felt as if they were living in a surreal dimension.

"Ted, Remember the man we saw in Pennersville back in the late autumn?"

"The one you said was a member of your father's farming club?"

"Yes. I remember now why I recognized him," Agnetha said.

"Why?

"My Mom didn't like him. She and my Dad argued that he was a gambling man. Used to go to Clymouth Downs. She warned my Dad that the club should keep him as far away from their money as possible. My Dad didn't put much into that."

"Clymouth Downs? Why does that name sound familiar?" Teddy asked.

"It's a horse racing track near Drickston."

Teddy and Agnetha barely managed a single day living in Hollowell House without discussing its bizarre history. Miston saw they were spending a lot of time in the library and the study in the adjoining alcove of the library. He wished he had done the same. He realized it was possible old William Attersby or J. Densby Hollowell might have left evidence tying him to the murders. He shrugged off the possibility; but, didn't dismiss the idea those two might link him to both owners and the deaths of Allianz and Bonson.

As spring came to Jeddison, Teddy and Agnetha found themselves too mired in business to notice the gardener was spending less time on his duties. It wasn't until the usual April rains and the winds dried up the soil that Teddy realized his gardener, Kelly, hadn't spent much time on gardening.

Miston was relying only on his wages from gardening and the temptation to run off the the race track was so overwhelming that as soon as the owner was gone during the day, Miston hurried off to the track. He always lost more than he won. Until he got wind of a "tip" on a horse, PowderPuff, and won nearly $3,000.

Now Miston knew he had the means to take off before these two people figured out his real identity. He mapped out a plan where he would leave for a few weeks, rig the Sea Shell water fountain upstairs in Hollowell House to electrocute one or both of them and then when Hollowell House was empty again, he would return to what surely would become the worst noose around the town of Jeddison. Two more deaths would make the place totally unlivable if for no reason than that it was substantially dangerous.

Miston left Hollowell House as planned. He kept track of news in the Jeddison paper. For over a month, there was nothing. He couldn't know Teddy and Agnetha decided to take vacation for two weeks and get away from Hollowell House. When they returned, they noticed that the lawn had not been mowed.

"Ted? Look! Kelly's old car is gone. It looks as if he's jumped ship," Agnetha said.

Teddy hurried over to the shed. All of "Kelly's" personal belongings were gone.

"He's gone alright. Without a single word of farewell either! Damn it!" Teddy said.

This was the first time Agnetha ever saw Teddy so angry.

"He must have left while we were on vacation," Agnetha said.

"Let's go inside. It looks as if the rain is coming again. Doesn't it ever do anything in Jeddison but rain?" he asked.

Agnetha knew Teddy felt annoyed at the gardener more than the weather. Once inside, Teddy went directly to the Turret Room. Agnetha went upstairs to change her clothes and start the unpacking. As she headed up the stairs, she saw three steps from the top of the stairs were soaked with water.

"What in the world is this?"

She finished the flight up the stairs and saw that the seashell in the alcove must have a broken pipe and it flooded the entire length of the hall. Agnetha took a step toward the seashell to shut off the water. The minute her hands touched the spout she fell over into the seashell her body quivering from the electricity. She managed to pull herself away from the flooded fount and fainted on the carpeting.

"Ag? Are you upstairs?" Teddy called.

He called a second time as he looked into the kitchen, pantry and other rooms on the first floor of Hollowell House. Then, he bounded upstairs.

"Oh my God! Agnetha! Ag..." he called to her.

She moaned softly and slowly opened her eyes.

"I'm calling an ambulance!"

He carried her to the master bedroom and laid her on the bed. Agnetha was only partially conscious. Her entire body felt as if someone had taken a cattle prod to it. When the ambulance arrived, Teddy followed it to the Jeddison hospital. He paced nervously back and forth for nearly an hour until Doctor Hennessey approached him.

"Your wife..."

"She isn't my wife. But, we do live together in Hollowell House," Teddy said.

"Hollowell House? You mean you live in that old mansion out on Hanson's Hill?"

"Yes. Agnetha moved in almost a year ago," Teddy added.

Doctor Hennessey knew the history of Hollowell House well. Most in Jeddison did.

"Do you realize your friend here was almost killed?"

"Yes. Is she going to be alright?" Teddy asked.

"She has some minor electrical burns on her hands. We are treating those now," Doctor Hennessey said.

"Can I see her?"

"I'm afraid not. We are doing an EEG to make sure there is no permanent brain damage from the electrical shock. What was she doing that caused this?"

"We just returned from a vacation and she must have gone upstairs and discovered the waterlogged carpets from that stupid seashell fountain in the hall alcove. I was downstairs in the Turret Room checking messages on my answering machine. I use the Turret Room as my law office," Teddy said.

Doctor Hennessey was trying to create an image of the scene that caused Agnetha's injury.

"I recall another injury with that seashell. I was just out of med school and an intern when they brought in a plumber who also was injured near that thing," Doctor Hennessey.

"Yes, a plumber named Bonson was trying to repair it. It drips constantly. I've also had plumbers trying to repair it and I'd given up after the third plumber said he couldn't find a reason for the dripping. This time, however, there has to be a broken pipe or something to cause that kind of overflow of water. The entire hall carpeting is soaked. Agnetha must have tried to shut the spout off. I never thought to have the wiring checked because we so rarely turned that thing on," Teddy said.

Teddy felt so miserable for three days until he saw a news report that Agnetha Bjorn had been "nearly electrocuted" in Hollowell House.

"Dammit! Is this place ever going to stop being in the papers?" Teddy asked himself.

He began to feel as if he should just face the fact that Hollowell House was cursed, if not just by Hannah Attersby, then by those three women who were murdered. He felt so depressed that not even his clients' cases could distract him.

He felt glad he would finally be allowed to speak to Agnetha.

"Ag...I am so sorry! I think you were right all along. Hollowell House is cursed. I can't take a chance that one or both of us won't end up dead. I am thinking it is time to sell!"

"Ted Romanowski! You don't believe in ghosts and you know it! It isn't the house! It is that someone wants us out of there enough to destroy your property and your best friend and closest ally," Agnetha said.

"But, Ag...the place is dangerous. There are plenty of other places in Jeddison I can buy without risking your life," he said.

"No. I will be fine. Even the burns on my hands are only minor. They'll heal and I'll tell you what. I'll even bake you the very best roast chicken you've ever had as soon as I get out of here."

"When do you think that will be? I hate being all alone in that place. I had to have the upstairs carpet dried out and an electrician to disconnect all of the old wiring in that seashell. I'm going to have it removed. I can't chance another episode like this," Teddy said.

"Oh Ted. You don't need to do that. You like that thing. Can you come for me on Friday after your morning court depositions?"

"I'll be here with bells on."

"No bells...please...I don't think my aching brain could manage them."

Before she was released from the hospital, Agnetha was taken for another EEG. She chatted with the orderly who prepared to move her to the special testing area.

"It's kind of like a nuclear testing site," Agnetha said.

"The papers say you live in that old haunted mansion, Hollowell House," the orderly said.

"Yes. But, I assure you it may be old; but it isn't haunted."

"Funny thing about that place. My Mom once worked there.:

"No kidding?"

"No. She was a maid back when the second owner still owned the place, J. Densby Hollowell," the orderly said.

"Does your Mom ever speak of her employment there?"

"Lets just say after those three women were murdered in that place, she vowed never to step inside it again. My name is Steve Markham. How are you related to the new owner?" he asked.

Agnetha laughed through her pain.

"I'm not actually. I was the new owner's real estate agent. It is such a long story. How well did you mother know the other members of the staff at Hollowell House back then?"

"Well for one thing, she hated J. Densby Hollowell's valet. She said the housekeeper told her that he once worked for the original owner when it was Attersby Estate. The housekeeper told my Mom before he was a valet; he was a gardener. That housekeeper must have had some kind of suspicions about him," Steve Markham said.

"Why do you think that?"

"One too many dark things happened and always the gardener turned valet was connected to it somehow. Like for example, that guy who died out on that road in the middle of the night. The housekeeper believed it was no "accident." And what about that plumber who mysteriously dies in an upstairs fountain? My Mom liked Mrs. Wyler. She always said she was fair to the maids. Mind you. My Mom was only there during daytime hours. She was glad for that. She wanted no part of being in Hollowell House at night. All those odd screeching and screaming sounds were bad enough during daylight hours," Steve said.

"Tell me something. Does your Mom have any photos of the staff that you recall?"

"Matter of fact? There was one. It was the one old J. Densby Hollowell insisted he needed in case any of the staff stole anything," Steve said.

"Do you think your mother would allow me to see it?"

"I can't say if she even still has it. I will ask for you though. I'll bring it to you later this evening if she still has it. But...uh...why do you want it?"

"The new owner has been trying to track down information on former members of staff. How long was your mother in service at Hollowell House?"

"About two years. It was around the time Hollowell remarried. He spent less and less time at that old place. I'll have to ask my Mom what year it was. Well, here you are. Good luck with your test," Steve said.

Teddy stopped by to visit with Agnetha around seven that evening. A half hour later, Steve Markham appeared.

"My Mom found that photo you were after. She kept it with some of the other things she had like her little name badge and her employment papers. She said she hadn't looked at them in nearly thirty years," Steve said.

"What's this?" Teddy asked.

"Ted Romanowski, this is Steve Markham, he works here at the hospital. We met when he wheeled me downstairs from me EEG. His mother used to work for J. Densby Hollowell as a maid just two years before those women were killed. He said Hollowell had a photo taken of the staff in case anything should go missing in the place. He wasn't there very often. I guess he must have worried about is valuables," Agnetha said.

"Nice to meet you Steve. I am the new owner of Hollowell House," Teddy said.

"I can't believe anyone would want that old place. Oh sorry, no insult intended," Steve said.

"No problem. I am beginning to think the same thing," Teddy said.

"Anyway, my Mom found the photo. She even put all the names of the staff on the back for you," Steve said.

"What's this about a photo of the staff?" Teddy asked.

"I asked Steve to bring this photo. Please thank your mother for me. I will return it to you," Agnetha said.

"No need. My Mom said you can keep it. She hates the sight of it," Steve said.

He handed it to Teddy.

"Well, I'll be off. I have an early day tomorrow," Steve said.

He shook Teddy's hand and started to extend his hand to Agnetha and realized she couldn't due to the bandages on her burned hands.

"Ted, let's have a look at it," Agnetha said.

When Agnetha saw the faces in the photo, she was aghast!

"Ted...look closely at the man at the end of the photo. That face is your gardener, Kelly!" I knew I recognized it. I saw it when I was a child in the papers. Of course, he has aged a lot since then," Agnetha said.

"Ag...I don't think.." Teddy began.

"Ted, it has to be him. He's lost quite a bit of weight since the photo was taken and his hair is snowy white now. Try to imagine your gardener with dark hair," Agnetha said.

"But this means..."

"It means James Kelly is James Miston, the murderer. Oh Ted. You have to inform the police immediately!"

Agnetha saw Teddy was distracted. He had avoided mentioning to her that the chief detective on the case of the three Hollowell murders was Roy Hasselford because he was a client. It was Hasselford who told Teddy that Hollowell's valet was a major suspect.

"Ted? What is it?"

"Do you still have any contact information for Simon Hollowell?"

"If I do, you know it is already almost five years old. Why do you want to contact him?"

"I want him to verify this is James Miston," Teddy said.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling that maybe Simon Hollowell is somehow connected to James Miston."

"Only through the fact that Simon was J. Densby Hollowell's heir. You can't seriously think a valet and a Hollowell heir have anything in common," Agnetha said.

"Okay, maybe not directly. But, Simon Hollowell like Miston were both gamblers," Teddy replied.

"I thought I read that Miston gambled on horses," Agnetha said.

"If I tell you this, you must promise never ever to tell anyone. Swear?" Teddy said.

"I swear. What is it?"

"Remember when I told you about that client I met with?"

"No. Oh, wait. You mean the client you said knew a lot about the Hollowell House murders?"

"Yes. He was the chief detective," Teddy said.

"You mean you actually spoke with Roy Hasselford?"

"You said it. I can't confirm or deny it without violating his right to privacy."

"You lawyers! Honestly, you act as if everything is a major intelligence agency secret."

"What did he tell you about the murders?" Agnetha added.

"He said he'd spoken to Simon Hollowell. He implied that Simon was a gambler who lost money playing cards. When he went dead broke, he thought getting rid of Hollowell House was his last source of money. I asked if Simon Hollowell had taken anything from the mansion. He said Simon had no interest in anything in the place and that it was likely because he didn't know the value of antiques. He did tell me that Simon once saw a piece of jewelry that belonged to J. Densby Hollowell's first wife, Charlotte, some rare antique cameo that was a one-of-a-kind heirloom. It was in a pawn shop in New York City. By the time the detective hunted the pawn shop down, it was gone. The pawn shop owner said the buyer paid cash and left no forwarding address. That's why I think maybe Simon Hollowell is connected to Miston. How else would Simon know about the family heirloom if Miston hadn't told him?"

"Oh, Ted. There could be any number of reasons. I just didn't get the vibes from Simon Hollowell you got about him from this detective."

"So, go through my files at home and see if you can locate Simon Hollowell's last known address. I believe, if memory serves, he was living in his father's New York City penthouse suite. If he's a gambler, you can bet that he isn't that because of gambling losses. I'd also see what remains of his father's business. But that still won't help you even if Simon Hollowell does recognize Miston," Agnetha said.

"Why?"

"Because, the timeline is all wrong. He couldn't have been more than a young boy when those three women were murdered. Maybe, if you spoke to the detective again, he could give you more information on Simon Hollowell's youth and possibly even his whereabouts. I would bet anything, he would love to see that photo though," Agnetha said.

"You're a better detective than I thought," Teddy said.

"If I was, I wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed," she said.

"You won't be. You'll be leaving tomorrow. I'll pick up sharply at 10 in the morning."

James Miston was not the man to be thwarted in his goals...ever. He realized his plan to get rid of the new owner and his lady friend seemed unsuccessful.

Teddy Romanowski was not a man to be thwarted either. He felt he had to get to the bottom of the terror that so plagued Hollowell House. He refused to believe a mad woman's curse was the cause or that three murders were not the work on the same man whom Agnetha believed is James Miston.

Teddy sat at his desk with the wailing sound of the seashell upstairs echoing through the house.

"I thought I turned that thing off," he said to the empty room.

He tried to stay focused on his paperwork; but, he never he was all too preoccupied with that photo of the former Hollowell staff. He searched for the file with Roy Hasselford's name on it. He found the detective's phone number and dialed it. He looked at the clock on his desk. It was already 9:30 PM.

"Hello? Roy Hasselford here. Who's calling?"

"Mr. Hasselford, it's your lawyer, Theodore Romanowski. I was wondering if I could meet with you tomorrow. I found something you might be interested in. May I stop by around ten tomorrow morning?"

"Is there a problem with my will?"

"Oh no, sir. That's all been taken care of. I understand you chose your wife's nephew for your executor?"

"That's so. Is that a problem?"

"No. Not at all."

"What is it you feel we need to discuss then? I don't have any more funds for your legal services," Roy Hasselford said.

"It's a photo a friend happened onto," Teddy said.

"A photo? Of whom?"

"The staff of Hollowell House. It was taken shortly before Hollowell began cutting staff. Would you be interested in seeing it?"

"Sure. Can you bring it by now or is it too late?"

"Are you sure? It is almost ten o'clock," Teddy said.

"Pshaw! I'm a night owl. Come on over."

Teddy put the photo in his jacket pocket not realizing Miston returned to the shed. Teddy got into his car and started to back down the driveway. He thought he saw a dark shadowy figure emerge from the shed. He stopped the car and let it idle. The figure seemed like a phantom stopped in its tracks.

Damn him! Why doesn't he leave? Miston wondered.

Teddy didn't want to keep Roy Hasselford waiting. Perhaps, he should have. When he arrived at Roy's house, he saw the old man had aged in the seven years since he first met him. He tried not to look surprised.

"Where's this photo you have?" Roy asked.

Teddy pulled the photo out of his pocket.

"Do you recognize any of these people?" Teddy asked.

"For sure. This woman is the cook, Mrs. Wyler. The woman at the far left of the photo is the housekeeper, Mrs. Ames. Can you get my glasses on the desk over there?"

Teddy grabbed the pair of horn rimmed glasses.

"There! There he is! This man here is James Miston! I'd know his face anywhere. I ought to. Been my life's work trying to catch him," Roy Hasselford said.

Teddy was aghast. Agnetha was right. His gardener, Kelly, was James Miston!

"Mr. Hasselford...I have something to tell you. Your lawyer needs your  advice. You see, several years ago, a white haired, half emaciated man came to my door asking if I needed a gardener. That was back when I was still trying to get Hollowell House in order. I really didn't think I'd need a gardener then. But, I also knew I didn't have the time to keep the landscaping duties up to par," Teddy said.

Roy Hasselford seemed impatient.

"The man I hired is James Miston."

"What? And you didn't know?"

"He said his name was James Kelly. I hadn't seen photos of him then. It wasn't until we went searching the Jeddison newspaper archives that my friend, Agnetha kept insisting she thought she recognized Kelly's face. She's in the hospital. Another Hollowell House accident. Fortunately, not serious...this time," Teddy said.

"I'm sorry to hear that. What kind of accident?"

Teddy relayed the story of Agnetha's accident and how she came up the photo in Hasselford's hand. Roy Hasselford seemed not to be surprised.

"You must alert the police! I'll go with you to the station," Roy said.

"There's just one problem...Miston is in the wind again. He left the shed where he was staying on my property several weeks ago," Teddy said.

"When did the accident happen?"

Teddy was impressed with Hasselford's keen detective sense.

"About a week after he left. Agnetha and I had been going through the books in the library and then we went on a two week vacation. When we came back, we noticed the lawn hadn't been mowed. That's when I thought maybe Kelly...er..Miston had died or something. I checked the shed and everything was gone except the pot bellied stove he bought to keep warm in winter," Teddy said.

"Was anything missing from Hollowell House?"

"No. I did check around the place. I couldn't find anything missing," Teddy said.

"So, Miston must have had enough money to leave, then," Roy said.

"I don't see how. I paid him his wages. To my knowledge that was his only income," Teddy said.

"Let's go down to the police station," Roy said.

"Now? It's nearly 10 PM."

"You can be sure someone will be there who will remember me," Roy Hasselford said.

The pair arrived at the police station. With Teddy gone so long, Miston knew he had to make his next attempt to be rid of him the last and final one. He used the old key to the kitchen to enter the house. He hurried up the stairs to the seashell. He scraped down the electric wiring at the back of the seashell and popped a hole in the water pipe adjacent to it. As soon as the wiring got wet enough, Miston knew it would cause an explosion and fire. With the seashell in the direct center of the hall, it would be impossible for Teddy to escape. He would die of smoke inhalation while he slept.

With the August temperatures so high, hiding in the shed, Miston fled to the nearby woods. He was determined no matter how late it was, he would watch the owner of Hollowell House die. With him gone, the woman would be too.

Roy Hasselford had a bee in his bonnet even after more than twenty five years of detective work on the Hollowell House murders. The Jeddison police were accustomed to Hasselford's obsession with the Hollowell murders. Although in truth, it had been several years since the last time he had appeared at the station.

"This is the owner of Hollowell House. He has come across evidence he believes proves his gardener, one James Kelly, is actually James Miston. Two weeks ago, there was another accident that sent this young man's friend in the hospital. Miston is a killer. I have no doubt that he has been living all these years right here in Jeddison, albeit under cover. We have to send uniformed officers out to Hollowell House to search the property. Miston has one mission...to remain in Hollowell House even if he has to kill anyone who gets in his way," Roy Hasselford said.

"Roy, Miston is an old...that is...He is probably dead by now. We can't waste taxpayer money on a dead end search that will turn up nothing," the desk seargent said.

"Does this photo remind you of anything?" Roy asked.

The desk seargent examined the photo.

"It's an old black and white photo of the staff of Hollowell House. So?"

"So, James Miston is in that photo and James Kelly IS James Miston," Roy said.

"Can you prove it?"

Teddy saw that this was going no where and interrupted.

"James Kelly has a full head of white hair now and is much thinner. But, if you got a sketch artist to draw a sketch of James Kelly and then changed the hair back to its darker color, you'd see it IS one and the same man. I didn't believe it at first either. The thing is Miston took off a few weeks ago around the time Agnetha Bjorn had her accident," Teddy said.

"I know that name. You two were in here a month ago looking for information on the property you own, weren't you? Are you saying your lady friend had an accident in Hollowell House?"

"Yes. She could have been electrocuted. She was trying to turn off the seashell. But, I am certain now Miston rigged it," Teddy said.

"How does he get into the place?"

"I have no idea. He either still has an old key or he finds a way in through a basement window. I've had all of the locks on the doors changed," Teddy said.

"All? Are you certain? That place is old and had several doors with locks on them that could easily be jimmied," the desk seargent said.

"I know for certain I had the locks on all the doors.." Teddy started.

"Wait! there is one door lock I didn't change...the kitchen pantry door. I just didn't think it would be accessible since the inner kitchen door has a lock too," Teddy added.

"There's your answer then. The person is getting in through the old kitchen pantry door," Roy Hasselford said.

Teddy felt totally embarrassed. It was possible that Miston had kept a key to the kitchen pantry door and got into Hollowell House through the kitchen...if the same key opened both doors. He made a mental note to have the locks changed...if it wasn't too late.

"Mr. Hasselford, let's go.It's obvious Jeddison police feel our concern about Miston is a stretch," Teddy said.

As she drifted off to sleep, Agnetha worried Teddy might forget to pick her up at 10 AM. She had no idea Teddy and Roy Hasselford had been to the police station. Teddy dropped Roy Hasselford off at his home and waited until the elderly man shut off his front porch light.

Teddy hurried across town. He realized this entire Miston issue had his mind totally preoccupied. He faced tons of work he left sitting on his desk in the Turret Room. He couldn't even lay blame on his usual procrastination this time.

He pulled into the driveway of Hollowell House with the oddest sense of impending doom. He tried to dismiss it as he unlocked the door to the Turret Room. He turned the lights on and hurried to his desk. The phone rang. It was Agnetha reminding him to pick her up at the hospital the next morning. He had to admit it was, at that moment, the further thing from his mind. When Agnetha rang off, he could tell she was worried. Not about him leaving her stranded at the hospital.

Teddy knew women has an odd sense of intution. He respected that. Once, when his Mom told him not to go skating out on the pond near his home, he was glad he listened and stayed behind. One of this friends, Charlie Willard, fell through the cracking ice and nearly drowned. Now, he felt just as uneasy about the tone of Agnetha's voice.

In the distance, he thought he heard a car engine's whine. He told himself it was one of the new homeowners in one of the two new housing developments at the top of Hanson's Hill.

When the sound died away, Teddy steeled himself to pay attention to his work.

James Miston parked his car in the woody thicket as he'd done many times before. He walked the rest of the way to the shed. He saw Teddy's car parked in the driveway.

So, he's returned. Good. It's been several hours. By now that wiring in the seashell should be wet enough to cause a blaze. Hopefully, he'll go to bed before long and die of smoke inhalation.

Teddy stretched and yawned. It was after midnight and he managed to get all of his work done. He felt quite proud of himself at what he accomplished.

Amazing what I am capable of if I just put my mind to it, he thought.

He dressed for bed, set the alarm clock for seven the next morning and fell fast asleep. He dreamed he was in a thickly wooded forest and came upon a shed that resembled the one on his property. It was ablaze. The acrid odor of smoke awoke him. He couldn't see for the thick smoke in the room. He hurried out the door and to the hall. It was impossible to see the top landing of the stairs and there were flames coming out of the seashell. Teddy remembered what his Dad taught him about fire...stay wrap something around your face and head and stay low to the floor.

Teddy removed his pajama top and fell to his knees. He crawled blindly toward what he hoped was the landing at the top of the stairs. He felt with both hands for the first step. He found it! The flames were already licking at his body. He crawled toward that first step and tumbled down the stairs.

The smoke was everywhere as he stood erect.

This is one time I am glad for the extra "padding" I carry in my weight.

He reached with extended arms as a guide to hurry to the phone in the library. The room was full of smoke and he could barely see the desk in the alcove. He felt the desktop until he found the phone to call the police and fire department. Then, he hurried out the French doors.

He saw a dark shadow standing near the family gravesite. It moved toward the shed.

Miston! Miston did this! Teddy thought.

He ran toward the shadowy figure in bare feet. Miston didn't hear Teddy's footsteps. Teddy whirled the old man around.

"Miston! You did this! You are going to jail."

"No, I am not! Because you are going to die!" Miston said.

Teddy saw the old man pull out a small silver pistol. He thought it was the end for him.

Both men were distracted by the sound of the fire engines and police cars.

Teddy spun around so that Miston had to do the same.

"Well? Fire if you are going to. It won't matter now. Your old friend Roy Hasselford identified an old photo of you."

Teddy knew he had to keep talking until the police arrived. Miston took several steps backward. Teddy knew what he had to do next. He kept moving slowly enough to force Miston to move toward the family grave yard. Teddy remembered about the soil there always being so soft...soft enough Teddy hoped to keep Miston from escaping.

"You don't belong here! I do!" Miston said.

"You? You were nothing more than a gardener," Teddy goaded.

"I was valet to the former owner!" Miston bellowed wildly.

Teddy kept advancing until Miston's back was to the wrought iron fence around the grave yard. Miston took one more step backward. His feet became stuck in the marshy soil at the foot of the fence just as the police arrived. Seconds later, the fire trucks arrived. And not ten minutes later, so did a Jeddison news reporter and several TV camera trucks.

"The fire started upstairs. Please save what you can!" Teddy yelled to the fire fighters.

"Mr. Romanowski? Who is this man?" the uniformed officer asked.

"This is James Miston," Teddy said, matter of fact.

"James Miston? You mean the man...." the officer began.

"The man your desk seargent told Roy Hasselford and me he "didn't want to waste taxpayer money on a dead end search that will turn up nothing. Well? There's your man." Teddy said.

Teddy hurried off to Hollowell House. He saw the fire fighters with hoses entering the house. They'd broke the lock on the front door.

Teddy wondered how much of the damage would be covered by his insurance. Fire Chief, Paul Deignen, walked toward Teddy still in his pajamas.

"Mr. Romanowski? We tried to save as much as we could from water damage. It looks as if it was an electrical fire that started up on the second floor. In old houses like this, wiring has to be checked regularly," Deignen said.

"Is the place habitable? Can I stay here for the night or should I find a hotel room?" Teddy asked.

"The serious damage is to that seashell at the top of the stairs. I'm afraid that isn't going to be salvageable. Also, I wouldn't take any chances that the grand stair case landing at the top is secure. Better get a carpenter in and have it reinforced just to be on the safe side."

"What about the wiring in the rest of the house? The kitchen? The Turret Room? The library? Is it safe to use any electricity?"

"I wouldn't without an expert electrician. My wife and I use Bonson Electrical. It's an old company. But, they known what they are doing."

"Thanks. I'll look into it. Right now I just want to get into a shower and a robe. I'll have to take my chances up those stairs," Teddy said.

"Well do be careful. The landing at the top may still be hot," Deignen said.

"I promise I won't make this awful night any worse by burning my feet," Teddy said.

By the time the fire engines left and Miston was taken into custody by the police, it was nearly four in the morning. He was soon surrounded by news cameras and the journalist, Tom Hacksman, prevailed upon Teddy, peppering him with staccato questions.

"Mr. Romanowski, who was that man the police took in custody? Is he an arsonist?" Tom Hacksman asked.

"You'll have to get that information from the police. Look I am very tired. It is nearly daylight. I have a big day ahead of me," Teddy said.

"Just one more question, Mr. Romanowski. Do you believe in Hannah Attersby's curse on Hollowell House?"