“If Mr. Essent hadn’t sold the house…” The constable had finally caught onto Georgette’s thoughts.

  “No one would have found her for quite some time.” Georgette shivered and Charles wrapped his arm around her.

  “This has been quite a shock for my wife,” Charles said. “I don’t want to be cold, but perhaps we can move the child and allow my wife to sit and have some tea before we return to the rather grim tidings?”

  The constables nodded. “The other Mr. Aaron is informing Mrs. Siegel today. It needs to be done before the rumors get too far. Poor woman deserves to catch her breath and have a good cry before folks start dropping by on her.”

  The constables conferred quietly and the one went inside while the other crossed to the man with an ambulance.

  Charles watched his Georgette shiver again with her hand slipping from the opposite elbow down to her stomach. He tugged her closer to him, hugging her tight. Their baby was fine. This poor mother would be—at the least—given the chance to bury and officially say goodbye to her daughter. Charles sighed into Georgette’s hair. It didn’t seem to help all that much, and he hoped to never know for himself.

  Eunice crossed to them. “I’m taking the children to the library and for a long walk.”

  “Take them to the pub for lunch,” Georgette said, shivering.

  “Is it really Polly?” Lucy asked, her hand wrapped tightly around Janey’s. Poor Eddie was pale and sick-looking.

  “Yes,” Charles told them. “The constables will be returning her to her to family, and we’ll be doing what we can to help them with their work.”

  “Was she murdered?” Eddie asked. “Did someone do that to her?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Charles said. “I won’t tell you it’ll be all right. Not for the people who loved her. All we can do is help and be a little kinder, a little more helpful, a little better to make up for the loss that occurred here.”

  Lucy nodded and Janey pressed her face into Lucy’s chest, but then she looked up. “Will you make us go now because of this? Will we all be too much trouble?”

  “You’re staying with us, Janey,” Charles said. “This is your home now.”

  The saying of it cemented that last niggling doubt in his mind. He’d never expected to take on three nearly-grown orphans, but he wasn’t sorry he had. He’d done this once before with Joseph and Robert. Charles knew already that the good outweighed the hard things.

  Janey’s lip was trembling again, but she nodded as she wrapped her arms around Lucy.

  “They won’t be sleeping in the attic now, Charles.” Georgette considered for a moment and then said, “You’ll take the rooms above the kitchens so Eunice can hear if you need anything.”

  “Those are too fine,” Eddie objected, but Georgette waved him off.

  Eunice looked at the children. “You’ll be coming up with ideas of what we can do for the family.”

  “I know,” Lucy said. “The vicar said the graves were overgrown because the handyman has been ill. We could make sure the Siegel graves are all cleaned up.”

  Eunice nodded and clucked the children after her as though they were ducklings. They went along even though they were nearly grown. It was a good plan, Charles thought, to do good for the Siegel family.

  The moment the children were gone, Georgette looked up at him. “How can it be? Why would anyone hurt a girl?”

  “I believe most motives tend to be the same nonsense. Greed, to hide something, love, and fury,” Charles told her. “And none of them are good enough reason for what happened. Are you going to be all right staying here, Georgette?”

  She nodded. “I feel certain that if there is a lingering spirit, it is a sweet thing. Perhaps Polly is still here and perhaps she wanted us to find her body. But, Charles, the evil—whatever led to her death is gone. If she stays after she is buried, and I’m not sure that she would, we’d have a guardian angel.”

  They went inside, finding their way to the kitchens where Georgette scrubbed her hands for far too long. While she did, Charles made the tea, having to dig through the cupboards until he found the extensive stash.

  Without asking, he made her a mix of chamomile and mint tea. It had been what his mother made him when things were wrong. He added to the tea too much milk and sugar for Georgette and left his with a bit of lemon and solitary sugar cube.

  She was sitting at the table, staring out the window. The garden was bright with sun shining down on the lawn, the flowers. The willow tree laid out interesting patterns on the ground. There was the sound of workmen and constables working together as they carried out furniture and boxes, loading them into the two empty bedrooms. Georgette and Charles could hear the steps overhead as they moved up and down the stairs.

  “What do we do?” Georgette asked Charles. “The children are cleaning up the Siegel graves. No doubt Eunice will keep them working beyond those graves until they are hungry, tired, and ready for a bath and a bed, but what do we do?”

  Charles wanted, he thought, to say that they’d taken in Eddie, Lucy, and Janey. Even though it was new, however, it didn’t feel noteworthy. It wasn’t a place to feel as though they’d done something extraordinary. It was just what they had done and would do again. Charles had little doubt that they’d never regret it.

  He tangled his fingers with Georgette’s. “I don’t know what to do, Georgette. What can be done? There’s nothing that makes up for what happened here.”

  Georgette sighed and sipped her tea. She didn’t even seem to notice it wasn’t one of her odd teas, so he found his concern growing. Could the shock affect the baby? Would they lose their little one in all of this? If they did, he had to admit he’d be more grateful they’d barely believed the baby was there before it was gone.

  She rose a few minutes later, and Charles followed as Georgette walked outside, silently. Her hands trailed the flowers that grew next to the house. Her gaze moved from the house to the back gate and the wood, to the edge of their garden that bordered the Mustly garden. He didn’t need her to tell him she was imagining what Polly might have seen and done.

  Georgette’s gaze stopped on a treehouse in the garden next door. It was on the border of the property and the vantage point from the treehouse allowed a view of both gardens. Her gaze narrowed and she moved on.

  Polly could have been playing in that treehouse. She could have been swinging on the old swing they’d removed from the willow tree. She could have been walking along the path of the wood that went behind both the Mustly house and the Essent house.

  She could have been doing anything. There were no answers. Nothing that would make things obvious. Nothing that would tell them what had happened to a girl, five years before, and why she had been killed and hidden.

  The mystery of it was going to bother Georgette until they knew. Charles sighed. Joseph needed to find the killer before it drove Georgie batty. She tucked her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder as they rounded the house. A rather unexpectedly handsome man with a medical bag in hand was looking down at the form on the stretcher.

  “Must be Polly, of course.” He looked sick at the sight of what was in front of him. “Terrible accident. Terrible thing.”

  The constable whose name had not filtered into Charles’s subconscious stared at the doctor, jaw dropped. “This is clearly murder.”

  “Course it isn’t. Terrible accident. Probably crawled in the attic to play and got stuck. We were busy looking for her while she was hidden in the attic.”

  “Look at her skull,” the constable told the doctor flatly. “It has been struck by a blunt instrument. Even I can see that, and I’m no doctor.”

  “Probably happened after the girl died. It’s been years, Higgins.”

  Constable Higgins snapped his jaw closed, but the disgusted look he gave the doctor had Charles wrapping his arm around Georgette.

  “That man really is an idiot,” Georgette told him. “How could her head have been crushed in that protected area that she was in? How did she get to the attic? Why didn’t anyone hear her cry for help? Only someone who knew there was a body wouldn’t investigate whatever scent followed.”

  Charles didn’t try to answer any of the questions, but he thought they were all accurate. Instead he said, “We really do need to find a different doctor. This one seems to have bribed his way out of medical school.”

  Chapter 12

  MARIAN PARKER

  Something had happened, of course it had. Joseph had told her to go to Harper’s Hollow by herself. It wasn’t that she objected, although her mother had. Marian didn’t mind taking the train to Harper’s Hollow alone. She suspected she’d be doing it time and again in the coming years. She was hardly afraid to travel alone.

  It was that he hadn’t told her what had happened. She was sitting on this train, her dog lying at her feet, and she was thinking: Was Georgette all right? Had something happened with those orphans they’d taken in? Was Charles hurt? She didn’t think it would be any of those things, not if Joseph was sending her on ahead without an explanation. It had to be something else.

  She pulled out her copy of The Chronicles of Harper’s Bend and took a deep breath in. Sliding into the tale that had cemented Georgette and Marian as friends (as it gave Marian a far better idea of Georgette’s nature) was just what Marian needed to occupy her mind. When she arrived in her new hometown, she would confirm that Georgette was well, that Charles was well, and that whatever had happened, they’d get through it together.

  The train was rather full and Marian was pulled from her book time after time by the whispering of a large family. Four grown men, their mother, and what looked to be two wives. The men were quite obviously brothers. If you took two, side by side, they could just be friends. . The group of them together, however, proclaimed them for what they were. Two who had matching eyes. Three with the same jawline. The same thick hair in varying shades of brown. The same slight peak at their hairline. Two with quite large frames and two with somewhat more standard shapes.

  “Are they sure it is Polly?” one of them men asked again. There was a bit of an agonized tone in his plea that had been what caught Marian’s attention.

  “Yes, Harry. For the love of all that is holy, stop asking Mama. She told you all she knows.”

  Harry shot a devil’s gaze at his brother and then glanced to the other two brothers. One shook his head, not meeting anyone’s gaze. He was leaning over, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. The other was staring out the window lost in thought. If Marian were to guess, she’d assume he hadn’t even heard the first brother.

  “Why did it have to be Polly?” Harry muttered. “Why her?”

  No one answered, but the mother wiped away a tear. Her handkerchief was so sopping one of her daughters-in-law reached out and pressed a fresh one into her hand. It didn’t seem to be the first time it had been done for her, and she didn’t seem to notice.

  “Do you remember the way she sang every morning?” This was from the one who was still staring out the window. “She was always too good for us. We should have guessed God would take her back.”

  The mother bit down on her bottom lip.

  “Mama, do you really think it was that Yelena woman?”

  She didn’t answer. She laid her head against the bulky son next to her and closed her eyes. The tears continued letting them all know she was awake. Marian hated herself for staring, but she couldn’t quite look away. They didn’t seem to notice.

  “Do you remember how good she was at making flower crowns?” It was the one by the window again. “Every time I see one, I think of her. Little Polly braiding flowers like a master of the art, singing while she did.”

  “Who would do this?” It was the angry Harry again. “Why?”

  Yet again no one answered. “You sold the house, Mama?”

  “You know she did, Harry. I called ahead. They have rooms for us at the Bear and Dog.”

  It was the house reference that clarified the picture for Marian. Somehow, this family’s relative . . . sister? . . . Regardless, she had died and they were all going. Given that Joseph had been called to work in Harper’s Hollow, Marian now knew why.

  It made sense. Joseph had become quite chummy with the local constables. If they had a case, they’d ask for him. The kind of thing that needed more than the locals could provide.

  In Harper’s Hollow, Marian had heard the rumors of the missing child. It had been years since the child had gone. What had the man-of-business said? Mrs. Siegel had left because of something associated with her child. If she’d disappeared and was only now found dead, Marian could just imagine wanting to escape the bad memories. Of thinking every time someone knocked at your door, you’d learn that your child had been found down a well or under a hedge.

  Mrs. Siegel must have moved away from the memories, putting her house up for sale. Marian looked down at her hands. She and Joseph had bought that house. They couldn’t go home to bury their child because she and Joseph were the owners now. Only—only, they hadn’t moved in yet, had they? Marian had a rather stuffed case to bring some of her things down, but those could remain at Georgette’s

  Taking in a deep breath, Marian let it out slowly. To think! To lose a child, sell your house, and then have the child found. Marian bit down on her bottom lip and tried, “Mrs. Siegel?”

  All the women in the party looked up. Even the eldest, who met Marian’s gaze with surprise and shock.

  “Yes,” Marian said, “I thought it might be you. I’m Marian Parker. I’m sorry. I overheard you. It was my fiancé who bought your house.”

  Mrs. Siegel stared blankly at Marian.

  “If it would be easier for you to stay in your old house, you can. Joseph won’t mind. We haven’t moved a thing yet.”

  Mrs. Siegel blinked, wiping a stray tear off of her cheekbone. Her voice was hoarse as she said, “It would be nice. It would be nice to be home when we bury Polly.”

  Marian nodded. “Then you shall be.” Marian slowly pulled the key out of her handbag. She hadn’t let anyone take it from her since it had been left in her care, and she had not intended to let it go again. It was, however, the right thing to do, and it felt right in her head.

  Mrs. Siegel didn’t thank Marian, and Marian didn’t expect it. Officially, the house was owned by Joseph now, but Marian knew he’d have offered to do the same.

  She turned back to her book. Otherwise, their manners would nag at them to speak to her, comment on the weather, and the general state of things. She wasn’t going to do that to a mourning family, so she pretended to read her book instead, and they pretended they didn’t know it was a pretense. In a few minutes, the family spoke to each other again, but they whispered now and Marian wasn’t able to hear their grief anymore.

  The walk to Georgette’s house was fraught with traffic and when Marian arrived, suitcase in hand, dog on a leash, she paused in horrified shock. Two police autos were parked behind Charles’s. Seated at a small iron table that someone had moved to the side of the yard was Georgette, Charles, and another couple. Georgette was watching the police come and go.

  A truck was also parked near the autos and old furniture was being piled in the garden. Marian crossed to Georgette.

  “Was it you?”

  “Who found her?” Georgette asked, understanding immediately. “Yes, the children and I were looking for beds. She was under one.”

  Marian must have paled because Charles pressed her into his chair. “Deep breath, Marian.”

  “Are you all right?” she demanded, ignoring Charles’s suggestion.

  “No,” Georgette said with blithe honesty. “But I will be. Meet Mr. and Mrs. Mustly. They are our neighbors.”

  Marian nodded and then they fell silent. Charles returned with another chair and another cup, and Marian realized they were all sipping one of Georgette’s odd teas. The usualness of Georgette with her odd teas, milky and sweet, the sight of Charles with his careful gaze on his wife, the pressure of another dead person. It was a fraught and odd world. Marian accepted her cup and drank deeply. Somehow, tea with Georgette did seem to set the world aright again.

  “Should we be here?” Marian asked carefully. A large bed made of fine wood and looking as if it had been attacked with an axe was being placed on the ground by the workmen under the direction of a uniformed constable.

  “There’s no point in making us leave,” Charles said.

  “What about…evidence…maybe they can find some scrap of something to say what happened to Polly.”

  “We’ve already destroyed whatever evidence might have been obtainable before we redid the flooring and painted. If there was blood on the bottom of a carpet or remnants on a wall, it’s gone now.”

  “People said your house was haunted, Georgette. Do you think they knew?”

  Georgette shook her head. “Only a fiend would leave a mother wondering and a child unburied. Maybe they guessed? Maybe they just instinctively put together a string of little things, so they wondered, but no one took their theory seriously or she’d have been found long since. Perhaps, however, there is a spirit here.”

  “Georgette says if there’s a spirit, it’s Polly watching over us,” Charles added.

  “She would’ve,” Mr. Mustly said gruffly. “Kindest, sweetest little thing you ever saw. No need to fear her. No need for anyone to fear her. No need to hurt her either.” The last was said with such utter fury that Marian flinched. Mr. Mustly didn’t notice. He rose and walked away, towards and out the back gate.

  “He loved her,” Mrs. Mustly said. “She was the light of our lives. Our children grown and gone and little Polly coming by to putter in the garden with Barnaby or take tea and biscuits. She’d listen to our stories and ask for them over and over again, as though each time was the first time. My husband loved her with everything inside of him, and he’s never been the same since she left us. She was a joy. She was our joy even if she wasn’t ours.”

 

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