But just to be sure, I locked my bedroom door and slid a heavy antique trunk up against it. Better safe than dead.
Chapter Eight
The next morning I decided that a walk was the best way to clear my head.
After donning a T-shirt and shorts, I headed out the back door. I explained my plan to the officer standing near the door and glanced across the backyard at the officer posted at the carriage house. “Just going for a walk,” I called out when he stepped forward to intercept me.
He waved me off without asking any questions.Which hopefully means the police aren’t taking Tara Delamont’s accusations too seriously.
But I needed more information, if only to ease my own mind. Circling around to the front of the house, I waited on the sidewalk in front of Ellen Montgomery’s stately home. I’d timed my excursion to coincide with Ellen’s schedule for walking Shandy, even though I wasn’t certain Ellen would have information on any criminal behavior in Isabella’s past.
Ellen appeared on her wraparound front porch, wearing one of her typical colorful ensembles—a silky turquoise tunic over a pair of wide-legged purple, turquoise, and seafoam-green paisleypants. Apparently lost in thought, she reached the sidewalk before looking up. It was the dog, yipping and bouncing on the end of his leash, who first noticed me.
“Hey there, fella,” I said, leaning down to pat Shandy’s head. When I met Ellen’s inquisitive gaze, I offered her a wan smile. “I want to apologize for all the ruckus last night. I guess you’ve heard what happened?”
“Yes, it was all over the local news.” Ellen looked me up and down. “How’re you doing? I know it must’ve been traumatic for you.”
“I’m okay. It was a shock, of course, but the police were very efficient and polite, all things considered.” Realizing I was twisting my hands together, I dropped them to my sides. “The only problem is that all the area hotels and inns are full, and the guests can’t leave town yet, so some of them have to stay on at Chapters. Which is fine, I guess, except …”
“You’re a little afraid one of them might be a murderer?” Ellen used her free hand to adjust her straw hat, which was tied under her chin with scarlet ribbons. “Come, walk with me. I imagine you could use a bit of fresh air this morning.”
“Thanks.” I fell into step beside Ellen as the older woman let out Shandy’s leash, allowing the small dog to trot in front of us. “I did want to get out of the house, and it’s nice to have company.”
Ellen cast me a sidelong glance. “Happy to oblige, but why do I have this feeling you also want to ask me something?”
“Because you are just too darn perceptive,” I said, as we strolled past Turner Street. Off to my right, I noticed an unusual amount of activity around the cafés and shops that lined the roadleading to Front Street and the waterfront. The town’s visitors were up earlier than usual—probably grabbing breakfast before heading over to Morehead for the fishing tournament. “I wanted to ask you something about Great-Aunt Isabella. It sounds silly, but there’s apparently some suspicion clouding her past, at least according to the late Mr. Delamont and his daughter.”
Ellen paused at the gate that led into a cemetery. The Old Burying Ground, which predated the adjacent Ann Street United Methodist Church by 145 years, was enclosed by a black wrought-iron fence set into a white concrete base. Established in 1709, the graveyard was listed on the National Register of Historic Places and was one of Beaufort’s most unique attractions. It included graves from the eighteenth century, many covered with curved brick vaults. When I’d first explored the site, I’d been told that flooding and wild animals would’ve been a problem in the early years, hence the aboveground vaults. The cemetery was now owned by the town.
“I don’t want to take the dog inside.” Ellen motioned toward the gate. “Feels disrespectful, honestly.”
“Agreed.” I gazed into the graveyard, which was shaded by the twisted limbs of old trees and shrubs. “On the other hand, it seems fitting to ask my question here, since I’m searching for answers from the past.”
“Something about Isabella?” Ellen reined in Shandy, who was fighting the leash. “No, we can’t go in, you rascal.”
“Yes. Now, maybe you don’t know the answer …”
“I probably don’t. Isabella could talk a blue streak, but she rarely spoke about her past. But I’ll help you if I can.” Ellen glanced off to our right. “However, if you don’t mind, I’d preferto sit down first. Let’s head down Craven. There are plenty of benches in that little park between Front Street and the docks.”
I nodded and followed Ellen and Shandy down the street, passing another church on one side and a bar, which sat back on an alley, to the right. If it had been later in the day, I would’ve suggested stopping. I’d always enjoyed grabbing a beer or glass of wine at the small bar on summer evenings when I wasn’t hosting events at Chapters. The brick interior and outside patio were equally charming and offered a quiet retreat from the bustling crowds of tourists who filled the area closer to the waterfront.
Crossing Front Street, Ellen headed to a tree-shaded patio area off the main boardwalk. She scooped up Shandy and sat down on one of the backless wooden benches. “All right,” she said. “Ask away. You look like you’re dying to do so.”
I grimaced as I took a seat next to Ellen. “Please don’t mention dying.”
“Sorry.” Ellen stretched out her legs as Shandy spun around before snuggling in her lap. “I assume you’re trying to figure out something related to Isabella’s past?”
“Yes, mainly about the period in the fifties when she worked as a maid. I realize you didn’t know her until much later, but I thought maybe she’d mentioned that time once or twice.”
Ellen pursed her lips and looked over at the boat slips before replying. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be very helpful. She did tell me she’d worked at some fancy estate back in the early fifties, but that was all she said. She was always tight-lipped about her youth.” Ellen absently stroked Shandy’s back as she stared beyond the boardwalk.
Following her gaze, I focused on the forest of masts that filled the harbor. “That’s the thing—she never talked about that time in her life with my family either. All we knew was that she went to work there when she was in her mid-twenties. I think that must’ve been around 1950, since she was born in 1926.” I looked down at my hands, which were clutched in my lap. “Not sure why she took that job, to be honest. She actually had a college degree, so that always puzzled me.”
Ellen, fiddling with Shandy’s harness, didn’t meet my questioning gaze. “It doesn’t surprise me. From what I’ve heard from older relatives, women had difficulty finding professional positions in those days, especially since it was not long after the men came home from the war.”
“I guess that makes sense. According to my mom, Isabella only worked at the estate for a few years. Then she disappeared for a year or two before showing up here in Beaufort and buying the house that later became Chapters.”
“Really? Your family must’ve been very concerned.”
