Hidden Legacy

By Justine Wittich

With the help of history professor Josh Matthews and Lazarus the cat, Mindy Canaday sets out to discover who pushed her aunt Felicity down the stairs. The search follows a treasure hunt designed by her late Uncle Oliver – and points the way to murder. Mystery/Romance by Justine Wittich; originally published by Avalon

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Jan 5, 1999
• ISBN: 9781610844512

Book preview

LEGACY

Justine Wittich

Prologue

Felicity Canaday felt like the worst cliché in literature — the heroine who hears a noise in the night and hurries into a dark hallway to see what is happening.

Her left leg was twisted at an odd, painful angle that she knew would hurt a great deal more after the message that it was broken reached her brain. The side of her head, where she’d struck the banister on her way down the stairs, hurt far worse.

Worse yet, her pride was shattered. Oliver would have been so disappointed in her stupidity. He’s always warned her that she neglected to plan ahead. He had been the planner, and as the result of his planning, here she was, stuck with more money than she knew how to spend and tied to an immense Victorian home by the library full of rare books that consumed far too much space. If she were feeling spiteful, which she was not, she could go so far as to say it was also his fault. After all, the cause of her predicament was that his will guaranteed freedom of his house to any and all comers, twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.

No, it wouldn’t be kind to blame Oliver for this, and Felicity always tried to be kind. Unless, of course, someone needed guidance to do the right thing.

She wondered if she were becoming incoherent. She had fallen asleep and dreamed of all the wonderful things she could do with that vast space presently occupied by shelf after shelf and rack after rack of books and maps and folios and heaven knew what else. Then the sound of the third step from the top had wakened her. Maybe she was incoherent.

On the other hand, it really wasn’t reasonable of Oliver to have decreed that any academic or researcher who wanted access to the books should have the privilege. Far too many people now had keys to her home, although she would have stoutly denied it if anyone asked. She still had that much pride. Oliver couldn’t have thought how difficult it was to have absolutely no privacy whatsoever — although thus far, no one had walked in on her while she was in the shower. Praise be.

Tonight was the last straw. Not only had Felicity been awakened by a complaining stairstep, but whoever it was wore rubber-soled shoes. She’d heard the scritching sound when their wearer had reached the landing and stepped off the oriental runner that ran down the middle of the wide hall.

Without thinking, she’d hurried from her bed and out the door to the head of the stairs and called, Who’s out there!

And strong hands had seized her shoulders from behind and pushed.

So here she was. Injured and cold and embarrassed that she’d been so stupid. Pulling herself across the floor of the foyer wasn’t an option. Her leg wasn’t hurting now, but moving it might aggravate the break. Felicity knew it was broken. She’d heard the bone snap. Besides, she didn’t think she had the strength to do anything so strenuous. And anyway, the phone was in the kitchen. Oh, dear!

Something furry brushed against her arm, then curled against her side as if for protection.

Lazarus! She said softly, reaching to pet the enormous cat. Ambient light from the street filtered through the etched sidelights around the front door, but of course she couldn’t see him. His black coat made him an anonymous shadow. The cat purred at her touch, and she gathered him close.

Just before he died, Oliver promised me you’d protect me, Lazarus. You couldn’t have saved me from whoever it was in the hall, but I’m glad you’re here now. I need you.

Chapter One

The old refrigerator’s motor ground steadily. The sound blended with the more distant rumble of the air conditioner echoing through the vent to Mindy Canaday’s left. Garth Brooks sang from the radio sitting atop the microwave.

Bracing her knees on the linoleum floor, Mindy stretched over the oven door and scrubbed vigorously with a steel wool pad at a black stain the shape of Africa in the back of the cavern, all the while yearning for the convenience of a self-cleaning oven. She made a mental note to call a serviceman to check the refrigerator. It was beginning to sound like an asthmatic lawn mower.

Happy Home Helpers has definitely raised its standards for appearance.

The teasing baritone startled Mindy so completely that she tried to stand. Her head thumped the top of the oven and one knee slid from beneath her, leaving her sprawled awkwardly across the oven door. Heart pounding with fright, she scrambled into a sitting position, rubbed her abused head and demanded crossly, Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to walk into peoples’ houses without knocking? Who are you?

She stared directly at a pair of very nice, tanned, masculine knees. Looking up past khaki shorts and a Pittsburgh Steelers T-shirt, she saw a grinning male face that just missed being handsome, but not by much. Mindy remained annoyed, but she wasn’t frightened. She’d just remembered Uncle Oliver’s ridiculous will.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Josh Matthews. I teach medieval history at the college. Your aunt gave me a key. His smile was so attractive it nearly made up for her fright.

Mindy blew a strand of hair from her eyes and scrambled to her feet, tugging at the frayed edges of the too-tight cutoffs she’d dug out of the dresser in her old room. She wished she’d grabbed something other than a faded halter top when she rummaged through the ten-year-old stash of clothing. I’m afraid I was concentrating so hard on what I was doing that I forgot Uncle Oliver’s library. Aunt Felicity warned me there could be strangers wandering through.

The intruder’s brows arched above his steady gray eyes. You’re her niece? Then I guess I owe you a double apology. He held out his hand. Your coming has been a godsend.

Mindy waved his offer away with a yellow-gloved hand, displaying the gunk on the fingers. You’d probably prefer to postpone the social amenities for another time. I’m Mindy Canaday. I think the last helper let the escalloped potatoes run over big time. She couldn’t understand why she felt comfortable with this stranger. Particularly since . . .

His flashing smile distracted her thoughts. Smelled like burning tires when you turned it on, didn’t it. He bent to pick up the battered backpack he’d set down when she did her circus exit from the oven. I have to verify a few dates for a project I’m working on, so I’ll get out of your hair. I just want you to know how much we all appreciate what you’re doing. Felicity’s one of my favorite people. She said you scuttled your vacation plans to be with her until the cast comes off her leg. Accidents never seem to happen at a convenient  time. He dug into a zippered pocket of the backpack and pulled out a leather case. He extracted a card and handed it to her.

All my phone numbers are on here . . . office, home and cell. I’m only teaching two classes this quarter, and they’re both in the morning. If you need anything, just call me.

His fingers were long and powerful-looking, matching his height and well-toned torso. Mindy had never been fanciful, but she would have sworn she felt the brush of their fingers all the way to her shoulder.  That’s very kind of you. She tucked the cream-colored card into the frame of the chalkboard behind her. I . . . ah, don’t want to seem unfriendly, but do you use the library often?

Some weeks more than others. If I’m working on a project, I sort of pop in and out at odd hours, but I try not to disturb your aunt. Never after midnight, though, he reassured her. His brow creased with concern. Darn good thing I came so early last week, or Felicity could have lain there at the bottom of the stairs till noon. He hooked the backpack over one shoulder.

You found her? A thousand questions bubbled in her subconscious.

I needed some information on the availability of iron ore in an obscure pocket of the European continent before I finished a . . . a project. Normally, most of the faculty who have access don’t use the library until after their morning classes, so no one would have discovered her till noon or later. He ran his fingers through his light brown hair. I can’t figure out how she came to fall down the stairs. She’s lived in this house for . . .

Forty years, Mindy finished for him. Surely if Aunt Felicity trusted Josh Matthews, she would have told him how she came to fall.

She stepped to the left, unintentionally nudging the bucket of sudsy ammonia and water. The mixture slopped over the edge onto her leg and ran down onto her bare feet. What a mess she was. What a mess everything was. Mindy looked at the clock. In five minutes, the flight she had once been scheduled to take would depart from New York and wing toward the sunshine and blue sea surrounding the Greek Islands. And here she stood in a puddle of filthy water in the kitchen of a Victorian relic in Wakefield Center, Pennsylvania.

Josh Matthews interrupted her yearning thoughts without a glance at the disaster surrounding her feet. I’d appreciate it if you’d remind Felicity I’m still coming over this evening for our gin game after dinner.

Annoyed by her own disappointment and his easy assumption that he’d be welcome, Mindy retorted, She may not feel up to it. She reach for the paper towels.

I know Felicity. She’d have to be flat on her back to cancel out, he said. See you.

Then he disappeared through the swinging door to the dining room, heading for the foyer and the short hall that led to her Uncle Oliver’s library, that albatross around her aunt’s neck, that annoying collection of rare and obscure historical volumes academics came from all over the world to consult. The monstrosity filled half the first floor of the big old house and flowed into the specially designed addition that spread into what had at one time been a spacious backyard.

Mindy wondered how many keys to the rambling Victorian her aunt had given out during the year since Uncle Oliver died.             

* * * *

How many people have keys to your back door? Mindy demanded as she set the rattan dinner tray on the table in front of her aunt’s chair that evening.

Felicity Canaday looked tired. New lines creased the peaches and cream skin around her normally mischievous blue eyes, and the corners of her mouth drooped with fatigue. She shifted cautiously in her comfortable chair, the cast on her left leg catching on the edge of the ottoman on which it was propped and brushing against the legs of the wide table Mindy had pushed into place before her. Her smooth brow furrowed slightly as she recited in her light voice, "You met Josh Matthews this afternoon, Mindy. Then there’s Dr. Pesco. Such a brilliant woman, my dear. You will be so impressed."

Her gaze shifted evasively to her plate. Oh, my. This is Ella’s ham loaf. What a good friend she is to bring that over! And that’s Mary’s sour cherry salad, isn’t it? She picked up her fork.

Who else, Aunt Felicity? Mindy knew she would have to be persistent. Her aunt was a master at avoiding unpleasant questions.

Well, there’s Dr. Abernathy. You remember Oliver’s good friend, don’t you? Timothy’s retired, but he still teaches seminars, and he’s writing a book about England during the Restoration . . . Her voice trailed off as she added sugar to her iced tea.

And?

Felicity Canaday stirred the tea vigorously. "Well, Sam Duvall, of course. He’s so ambitious. As soon as Penn State approves his dissertation he’ll have his doctorate. His paper on ancient Rome has been very well received . . . I think I have a copy here someplace." Her fluffy champagne-colored curls jiggled as Felicity turned to the step table at her side.

Mindy dropped into the cushioned wicker chair across from her aunt. Sweetheart, you’re having trouble meeting my eyes. Who else has access to this house? I’m going to be living here the rest of the summer, remember? I don’t want to be murdered in my sleep.

She would never forget her aunt’s call three days earlier. A strange noise woke me, and I got up and went to the top of the stairs. Mindy, someone pushed me! And my leg is broken. I’m helpless, and I’ve never been like this before.  Felicity had been Mindy’s lifeline for so many years that it was terrifying to hear the pleading in her voice. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for her, but the situation was terrifying, and now that she was here, she intended to get to the bottom of the whole affair. Are you sure you don’t want to ask for the advice of the police about this?

Felicity worried a piece of candied sweet potato with her fork. I just can’t, Mindy. They’ll suspect the entire history department. And they’ll want all the keys turned in . . . and to tell the truth, I don’t remember who all has them. Besides, I can’t believe anyone I’ve trusted would do such a thing.

Good heavens, Aunt Felicity. You’re not fit to be allowed out in the world! Mindy exclaimed. She leaped to her feet and strode to the bay window overlooking the deep back yard. Somehow she had to remain calm.

Tears filling her voice, Felicity replied, "I know, darling. But so many people have asked to use the library. And you know what a