Sara Mason Mysteries Collection

Chapter 7

Sara led Daphine through the rooms on the first floor. In the dining room, she said, “This fireplace will be removed.”

“Taking it out?”

“Why do I need two fireplaces? We"ll be knocking down some walls to showcase these servants" stairs between the kitchen and this room.”

“Servant"s stairs?”

“You"ve never heard that term?” Sara rolled her eyes, but proceeded to explain anyway. “In Victorian houses, servants occupied the back bedroom and used these cramped staircases to access the various floors. The homeowners wouldn"t think of using this staircase.” Sara laughed while Daphine pranced around, shielding her eyes behind a hand, and pretending to be too good to even look at the back staircase.

They peeked into the temporary bedroom on the north side where Sara confined herself, pending renovations. Other than the Alden"s loaned twin bed and dresser, she had purchased a new stereo system to enjoy her music. A commercial grade computer and peripheral equipment, also new, filled one end of the room. She needed to complete her obligation of two more games. The new equipment better served her programming. She also wanted to start traveling and could now afford to do plenty of it.

Several years earlier, she realized her only accomplishment was becoming a San Juan tour guide, herding people around to see landmarks. Life had to offer more than that or she would go loony. Her frustration built, at times, to such a frenzy as to render her immobile. Then, out of boredom, she tried her hand at using a computer at an electronics expo. Doing so felt as if a dormant part of her mind exploded into activity.

“Oh, there"s little Starla,” Daphine said as she stared at the small framed photos that hung near the window. Daphine"s expression sobered. She felt the tears rising and slipped out of the room silently.

They continued down the hallway to the front foyer with its traditional black and white flooring squares.

“You leaving these in?” Daphine saw everything through the eyes of an artist.

“Replacing them with more of the same. Every mansion I"ve seen and liked had these entry tiles.”

The large empty parlor sat to the left on the south side of the house along the driveway and also overlooked the front porch, yard, and levee embankment to the west. They climbed the front staircase. “Careful,” Sara said. “Some of the spindles are missing. The handrail is weak.” Halfway up, a window on the landing provided another view west, and north along the levee to the stand of eucalyptus.

Daphine snooped around like she was a potential buyer. She walked into each of the three bedrooms and into the only lavatory on the second floor, which didn"t have a tub or shower.

“I"m claiming half of this linen pantry to enlarge this bathroom,” Sara said, measuring back down the hallway several feet. “Got to be able to bathe on this floor too.”

They came to the bedroom at the back.

“Victorian homes had bedrooms this large?” Daphine asked.

“Used to be the servant"s room. The Talbots doubled the size by extending over the back porch.”

“So, the renovated bathroom is for the master bedroom quarters,” Daphine said. “The rest of your guests will have to use the downstairs john?”

“Actually, no. I"m dividing that northwest bedroom and installing a third bath.”

They climbed the narrow staircase only high enough to push open the attic access so Daphine could peak in. The attic had been cleaned as well, but still looked forlorn. They returned to the first floor via the split staircase into the kitchen with its borrowed table and chairs. The staircase provided access to all four floors, from the basement to the attic access.

“This house is a maze,” Daphine said. She never stayed still and sometimes turned circles in the room taking in one continuous view.

Sara smiled, amused at her lifelong friend, who was even more delightful to know. The house was much bigger than Sara had hoped for, but the third owners who purchased from the Talbots decided to unload the tormented mansion, instead of refurbishing.

The smell of fresh coffee filled the air. Clean mugs sat upside-down on a kitchen towel on the old linoleum-covered countertop.

“Seen any ghosts?” Daphine asked, accepting and sipping. “You seem a little rattled this morning.”

“I"ve been visiting Starla.” Sara wasn"t sure about revealing her recurring dream.

“That spooked you?”

“Not really, I guess.”

“Your hands were shaking just now. You eat anything this morning?”

“Hey, I"m fine.”

“I don"t hear it in your voice.” If Daphine was anything, she was as persistent as when she was a teenager.

“Let me show you around the outside,” Sara said, heading for the back doorway with her mug.

Sara led the way down the concrete steps to the workshop between the house and garage. Streams of sunlight intermittently broke through the clouds from the east. The air was fresh and smelled of rain. “Talbot added this,” she said, pointing to the workshop, which was a little wider than a single-car garage.

“Strange,” Daphine said, placing her hands around the warm mug. She turned and studied the direction the Sun would pass. “Men usually build a workshop to catch the south side sun, to get as much daylight as possible, so they can enjoy longer hours at their work or hobby. Should have been built behind the garage.”

“The real estate agent said Talbot didn"t want to build out into the field,” Sara said. The workshop sat adjacent to the garage side. The roof connected over the back steps and porch off the kitchen and nicely covered the walkway. “The house has a full basement. I might tear this shop down.”

They walked up the driveway as gravel crunched underfoot. More steps led to the basement entrance underneath the entry where Daphine knocked earlier at the sitting room doorway. Sara opened the lower door. Light filtered in from horizontal windows just above ground level on the opposite side of the building. “No way am I coming down here to do my wash.” The large dingy room smelled musty. “I"m setting up the laundry area inside the back porch.” The basement contained what was left of the built-in tables and workbenches Talbot installed to process his gold and make jewelry.

“So, seen any ghosts?” Daphine seemed not about to let up.

Sara closed the door, and they headed toward the front yard. “Heard something.”

Daphine jumped back and nearly spilled her coffee. “Who? When? Some people have both heard and seen the ghost.”

“I thought I heard,” Sara said, smiling. “I probably imagined it, since everyone"s prepped me for it.”

“What did you hear?” Daphine"s eyes were intense. She hugged herself.

“Could have sworn I heard someone walking around the property when I first moved in.” She rolled her eyes. “Buck says it"s my imagination.”

“The spookiness won"t stop till you leave the place.” Underneath it all, Daphine seemed to enjoy the mystery surrounding Talbot House.

“No chance. I"m staying.”

In the front yard, Daphine said, “Every old mansion has one of these.”

The tip of the flagpole poked up as high as the winterized branches of the tall old Pin Oaks. Stone steps between the trees led up to the mailbox at the top of the levee. Next, they walked around the north side of the house, passing the wrap-around front porch.

“Hey, look at that,” Daphine said, pointing at the ground level basement windows.

Sara bent in closer. Pry marks rimmed the window frame. “Someone must have gotten locked out at one time.”

“Those look fresh to me,” Daphine said. “See the difference in the wood tones?” The artist in Daphine would notice that.

Sara looked again. The window frame was old, weathered and gray, while morning sunlight across the interior of the marks exposed a light brown. “Would be hard to say how old those are,” she said. “With the house standing vacant so long, the curious, or the homeless, might try to get in.” She motioned for Daphine to follow. “I"m replacing all the windows anyway.”

Daphine gasped. “Wait!” She stooped down quickly and ran fingertips across the concrete. “What are these?”

Sara turned to look where Daphine pointed and only recognized the old concrete walkway. “So?”

“Fresh marks,” Daphine said. She sat her coffee mug on the walkway beside a mark.

“Marks?” Sara asked, amused. “What marks?”

“I"m not kidding, Sara. Look.”

The concrete had been hit with something that formed a fresh scar with a gentle crescent shape that showed whiter concrete underneath the surface. Daphine ran her fingers across the mark again and then found others. “Why here? Why outside these windows with the pry marks?”

Sara bent down. “What do you suppose made those?”

“Clearly, a shovel,” Daphine said. “Someone pounded a shovel down in anger when they couldn"t get inside. The marks are fresh. Look, here"s a chip of concrete that the wind hasn"t blown away.”

Sara remembered Buck"s admonishment and wasn"t sure she wanted to hear any more. “Maybe the cleaning people made the marks.”

A lawn of weeds struggled to grow around the back, over the house pad and down into the field. Without having had regular care, the ground felt hard-packed and dry underfoot.

“With those marks on the concrete, maybe you really heard someone,” Daphine said.

“Ghosts?” Sara asked, playfully reversing her suspicions. “Maybe we should go hear the details straight from Esmerelda Talbot herself. Isn"t that when people say the ghost stories began, when her husband went missing?”

“Hey, I"m game,” Daphine said, grinning ear to ear. “Let"s go visit Mrs. T.