Day Three - February 3 1998
I wake up, no new memories had come to me in my sleep. I still feel tired and my eyes are sore. I would love to sleep in but I realise that I don’t have the time. I don’t think I need the sleep anymore but it’s a habit I don’t want to let go of.
I get out of bed and put my feet down on the plush red carpet, I stretch and yawn, trying to pretend I’m just an another average, normal person getting up unwillingly on a Sunday morning. I look over at the alarm clock on the bedside table and decide I’ll try to give Shelby a call again. Surely he'll be home on a Sunday morning. I shift towards the phone, dial the number and wait as it rings, I begin to think I’ll have to hang up, just as I go to put the receiver down a small voice bleats out a hello.
“Hi.” I say much too loudly, putting the phone back to my ear.
“Who is this?” A small voice asks curtly.
“I’m Elena Taylor, I -“
“The daughter of Hamilton Taylor?”
“Yes, I heard you know a lot about my family and I was hoping you could help me.”
“Of course, I would love to! What do you need my help with?”
I thought I might have to convince him to give me information but it was much easier than I'd expected. I realise I should have written down a list of questions. I felt completely unprepared.
“I was reading an article about my father’s death, I was hoping maybe you could fill in some blanks.”
He sighs sadly. “That was a terrible tragedy. That whole year was just awful for your family, first your uncle, then your father and your grandfather. Are you sure you want to talk about this?”
“That seems strange, that they all died so close together.”
“Well they always say bad things come in threes. In my opinion the deaths are suspicious, not that I could put that in my book, not without proof.”
“Why do you believe they were suspicious?”
“Well, your grandfather died from a heart attack, that wasn’t unusual, he was in his seventies. But your father and uncle, that’s another story. Your uncle’s death was ruled a suicide but an autopsy found there were other marks on his neck that didn’t fit the rope that was used. He was found hanging from the rafters in his foyer. He lived alone and wasn’t found for days, as you would know. Marks were found on the staircase, it appeared as if a struggle had taken place, part of the banister was broken off. Your uncle wasn’t the most popular man at the time, the news wouldn’t let that trial go. He’d been relentlessly chastised by the media. Painted as a truly evil man, ripping off hard working people.”
I could vaguely recall Edmond’s trial. I was starting to piece together bits and pieces of that night, the dance, breaking into the house, the memories come rushing back. Me and my friends had found my uncle and the house we’d broken into had been his. The security alarm went off because he’d changed the code.
Shelby continues. “Now your father, his death was different, gun shot to the head. Brutal.”
“Wouldn’t the police think that two suspicious deaths in one family is strange?”
“I think they did but they had no solid evidence. The crimes weren’t similar and your uncle had been under a great deal of stress, it made sense that he would react in that way to avoid jail. Unfortunately that just led to the media putting the blame on your father instead.”
“Who would want them gone?” All of my memories so far had painted a rosy picture of my father, I couldn’t imagine anybody wanting him dead.
“That was part of the problem, a lot of people. Your family received many threats, especially during the trial. Your family has a pretty dark history, originally making their fortune from an assortment of criminal endeavours back in the 1800s. Then more recently your uncle bankrupting hundreds of people in a pyramid scheme. People were certain your father was involved somehow but nobody could link him to it. There were hundreds of people that could be suspects and the money that was stolen has never been recovered.”
I remembered my father, how kind he’d been to me, could someone who seemed so nice do that to hundreds of people?
“You believe that they were murdered?”
“From my research, yes. Your father most definitely. Who did it though? That remains a mystery.”
“Do you have any idea who it might be?”
“Hmmm, that’s a tricky one. I don’t want to point fingers at anyone in particular, I think I’d just be guessing at this point. I’m going to have to go, I have guests. Call me again if you need to know anything else.”
We say goodbye and I hang up. I stare at the white and gold rotary phone for a second and think. Did the same person that hurt my father come after me too?
I get dressed and go downstairs. After talking to Shelby I still felt no closer to working out what had happened. If he believed my father was murdered, who could it be? I need to work out my next move.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
I look out the dining room window, the sun is peeking through the clouds, it had snowed during the night and the garden is covered in a thick coat of white. Maida’s not up yet and my mother and Agnes are nowhere to be found. I go outside and walk the grounds, maybe the fresh air will help me think. The garden is beautiful, it would be paradise in summer. Tall trees dot the landscape, most have lost their leaves. A small lake sits beyond them, the one I saw earlier, I keep walking towards the water, my feet leaving imprints in the snow. A lot of people would die to live at a place as nice as this. I walk over towards a row boat, it’s red paint peeling off. I hear footsteps behind me.
“Boat’s broken.”
“What?” I ask, turning around
“The boat. It’s broken. See?” He points to a hole in the side of the boat.
“Oh okay. I wasn’t going to get in it.”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
I hated to admit it but I didn’t, I’d seen him from the house the other day but still couldn't recall who he was. I mustn’t have made a habit of talking to the people my mother hired. I remember she’d gone through staff consistently, Agnes had been the only one to stick it out with her for more than a couple of years. My mother had always been very demanding, staff would often walk out, you’d wake up the next morning to find out that they'd gone. I’d never really bothered to get to know anyone other than Agnes, she’d become a real friend to me.
“Sorry, I don’t.”
“Luke.”
"Elena.”
“I know who you are Miss Taylor.”
“Oh, of course, have you worked here long?”
“For a while now, yeah.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job.”
“Thank you. I try real hard, your mother’s always been nice to me, it’s the least I can do.”
“That doesn’t sound like her.” I laugh.
Luke doesn’t take the joke well. “You don’t appreciate how lucky you are. That’s the problem with rich people like you, you’re thankful for nothing.” He spits out and turns on his heel. I watch as he strides away. He's dramatic, no wonder he gets along with my mother so well. The sky has clouded over and it begins to lightly snow, I trudge back towards the house and hold my hands out to catch some of the snowflakes. I push the heavy wooden front doors open, hang up my jacket and pull my shoes off. I walk into the sitting room and see Maida, she's reading a book in an armchair, her legs dangling over the edge.
“Hey, what are you reading?” I ask.
“Uh, I believe it’s a manual on how to trade stocks and bonds?” She lifts the book up to show me the cover.
“Wow, that sounds riveting.” I say sarcastically.
“What do you do for entertainment around here? There’s no TV, all the books are ancient, how did you not go insane from boredom growing up here?”
She had a point, I hadn’t really thought about it. There wasn’t even a tape player here. No television, no magazines, nothing.
“That is strange, isn’t it?”
I thought back and remembered after my father’s death the constant news broadcasts about him led to my mother throwing out anything that could tell us about the outside world. She got rid of the TVs, radios, newspapers. Eventually it became a habit and we didn’t bring any new things into the house or you'd face her wrath. I remember having a secret stash of tapes and magazines hidden in the back of a cupboard. Once I’d discovered the room behind my bookcase I’d thrown things in there. Nick had given me his old cassette player and some headphones. I’d bring back books borrowed from the school library, magazines borrowed from Esther. I’d have to check out that room again later, who knows what I’d left in there.
“What is it?” Maida asks.
“Nothing, I just remembered my mother got rid of the TV when my dad died.” I say.
“She’s a strange lady, what a control freak.”
“I called Shelby this morning.”
“Oh yeah? Find out anything interesting?”
“He thinks that the deaths might be suspicious.”
“Well I guess multiple people in one family dying in a matter of months is a bit unusual.”
“He said that there were hundreds of people that would want them dead.”
“Well, if it’s the same person that tried to get rid of you, I feel like that must narrow the suspect pool down. What made them so unpopular?”
“A pyramid scheme, people got scammed.”
“So your uncle was on trial right, for fraud?”
“Yeah, Shelby said that people assumed my father and uncle were both involved but nobody could really link him to it. Nobody knows what happened to the money they took.”
“What do you think they did with it?”
“I don’t know. I feel like at this point I need to solve another five mysteries before I can figure out my own thing.”
“Maybe it’s all linked?”
“I hope so, otherwise I’ll keep chasing loose ends that lead me nowhere.”
I tell Maida about the room behind the bookcase and she doesn’t believe me.
“There is no way, they are not a real thing.” She scoffs.
"Come on, I'll show you."
We walk to my room and I lock the door behind us. I show her the bookcase, push the book in and the door opens. We walk inside and reach the metal door at the end of the passage, slipping inside.
“I can’t believe this.” Maida looks around, eyes wide. “I feel like I’m in a movie.”
I take a seat on the metal table in the centre of the room. “I remember hiding things in here. From my mother.”
“Did she know about this place?”
“I don’t think so.” I shake my head.
Maida looks at the blueprints on the table and traces them with her index finger. “Well, I guess this here is the room we’re in.” Maida points at a small rectangle on the paper. “Hmmm, there seems to be a space behind it too. A secret room within a secret room. Maybe that’s where you hid your stuff.”
“What wall would that be?”
Maida points to the wall behind her. “I don’t see anything. How does it open?” I ask.
“No idea.” She responds, shrugging her shoulders.
“Maybe it’s just an old fireplace or something they covered over?”
“Mmm, I don’t think so.” Maida reaches her hand out and pushes at the wall, it rattles when she releases it. Then she slides her fingers along the wall, it begins to move, she presses harder and the wall continues to slide until we’re greeted by a small space filled with shelves. They’re filled with knickknacks, tapes, collectables, photos of me and my friends. Why would I be hiding photos? I did wonder at first when I came here why my room was so empty, it feels like a spare room. I put everything in here, I pick up a troll doll and look at it’s fuzzy green hair. I go through the items looking for clues but nothing sticks out. It’s just a bunch of stuff teenage me liked, hidden away from my controlling mother.
Maida goes back to the table. She’s looking at the blueprints again, she slides the ones on the top of pile away from her and looks at the others. “Have you looked at these?”
I shake my head. “No, I only looked at a couple of them.”
“They’re of all the buildings your family must own.” I turn away from the shelf and walk over to look at them with her. “I wonder why there’s a cross here?”
“A cross?” I look down at the blueprint, it’s not for this house. I look at the address written at the top, 700 Oakley Street, that sounds familiar. It takes me a second and then I realise it was my uncle’s house.
“What do you think it is?”
“I don't know, it was my uncle’s place.
“Let's go check it out.”
A chill runs down my spine, I'd have to go back there again.