Hidden In Stone: Ria Quinn Mysteries, #1

By Regina Clarke

A legacy that sets her up for life from a relative she never knew existed…A secret that began at a boarding school and haunted someone who wanted revenge…An ancient circle of stones that unravels it all…

 

On a cold March day, Ria Quinn, amateur archaeologist, arrives in Shokan Falls in upstate New York to claim an inheritance—but who was Aunt Harriet, her benefactor? No one she has ever heard of! Ria discovers there is a mysterious, prehistoric stone circle in the nearby woods that has an impossible connection to the girl's boarding school her aunt attended thirty years before. Along with this, on her first day she finds a dead body in the snow, gets an anonymous call in the night, and encounters a set of quirky townspeople with too many secrets. How is she supposed to make sense of any of it? When a second victim is found, Ria wonders if she should just return to London, where until recently she had a lowly job as a film researcher with no dead bodies lying around, no real ones, anyway.

 

Yet against the sheriff's orders that she stay clear of his work, Ria intends to find out who the killer is and what link the ancient stone circle has to her aunt's past.

 

Hailey, the golden retriever who befriends her, is a joy to have near, reading Beowulf in Old English keeps her calm, and she finds the local sheriff more than easy on the eyes, even if he does find her irritating. Those things, together with the gorgeous and ancient Shawangunk and Catskill mountain ranges of the Hudson River Valley, already have a hold on her.

 

But her desire to get at the truth threatens someone in Shokan Falls, someone who is willing to put her life at risk.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crossing Paths Press
• Release date: Oct 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393777236

Book preview

CHAPTER I

The 4:59 train from Newcastle upon Tyne pulled into Euston station in a driving rain. Honoria Quinn sighed. Scenes of where she had just been flashed through her mind. The rock art of Northumberland. Climbing hills under a blue sky to see the cup and ring and spiral formations that revealed a prehistoric landscape. Absolute joy.

She gathered up her belongings and stepped down to the platform. It would be a zoo trying to get a cab at this hour, not to mention she had no umbrella.

Ria, Ria! Here I am, wait!

She turned in astonishment to see her flatmate pushing through the crowd toward her. Emma was hard to miss, being six feet tall with a coffee complexion and long, flaming red hair, courtesy of her Irish mother. She was frantically waving one hand while moving people gently aside with the other.

Thank heavens I caught you, she said when she finally got close.

What on earth are you doing here?

Ask me twice, I’ll tell you! I’d much rather still be at the pub with Jamie and he’s none too happy with me taking off. But they won’t stop calling. And you up there excavating somewhere and you won’t take your phone with you on these expeditions so how could I reach you? They said you have to be there in three days and must call them tonight. I said you were expected back today and thank heavens you are. I’ve brought the letter they sent. Emma rummaged in her handbag.

Who won’t stop calling? I’m not going anywhere, thank you very much. I’ve just got home. Come on, I need a coffee and then you can tell me what you’re going on about. Ria hefted her backpack over one shoulder and headed with her overnight case toward a small café a few yards away in the concourse.

They’re solicitors, Ria, Emma continued as they walked. Well, they call themselves lawyers, being Americans, which they are. It sounds really serious.

Sitting down at a small table near a window overlooking the entrance floor below, Ria ordered a coffee for herself and a tea for Emma, both of which arrived in small paper bags along with a carafe of hot water, a small stainless steel container of milk, and a collection of sugar packets. Emma at last dug out a thick, somewhat damp but still sealed envelope, and handed it over.

I got caught in the rain coming here but since it’s typed and not handwritten it seems okay. Oh, do open it!

Ria smiled as she looked over at her friend. Emma was leaving soon with Jamie on a tour of South Africa and to meet his family. She’d miss having her enthusiasm around.

Fine, but first, tell me about those calls.

Three times yesterday and as many again today. All they did was give me their name, their company name, as if I could forget it after the second time, and said you had to call them because it was an emergency. You can imagine what it felt like not being able to reach you, I mean, after all, I didn’t even know what province you’d gone to!

Northumberland, the Neolithic cups and rings, some fellwalking out on the moorlands. I told you about it.

You didn’t write it down, did you, so then how could I know? Well? Emma pointed to the letter while sipping her tea.

Whatever casual message Ria expected, certain as she was that Emma had exaggerated the news, the actual contents of the letter when she opened and read it left her astonished:

Dear Ms. Honoria Quinn—Your aunt Harriet Anna Bellthorpe has left you her house at 43 Rowan Way, Shokan Falls, New York, together with all its contents. It is a relatively large property consisting of a main house with nine rooms and two outlying buildings on two wooded acres. Our valuation of $700,000 is preliminary, as we need you present to sign the necessary papers and to determine both inheritance taxes and property assignment. Since you are the sole beneficiary and assigned executor of the estate, there will be no need for a prolonged court assessment. Please arrive no later than March 14th to do a walk-through of the property with us before the signing process is completed. Inform us on receipt of this letter of your plans. Telephone us at your earliest convenience.

She was finding it hard to process what it said. Who sends real letters anymore, anyway? American lawyers, obviously. Bunker, Strafe, and Goodsen, LLP in particular. She looked through the documents attached that included a link to their website, a copy of a title deed, and the email address of the State Bar of New York to verify the profile and integrity of the law firm.

Well, what does it say? Emma said, her eyes lighted up with anticipation.

Ria read the message aloud to her and put the letter down, staring at it.

Emma, I’ve never even heard of Harriet Bellthorpe! There are no Bellthorpes in the family and I am certain no Americans. So if she was my aunt, that had to have been her married name, but I don’t recall hearing about any relative named Harriet, alive or dead.

What are you going to do? You have to call them right away, tonight! I mean, you will, won’t you?

Ria had a job as a production assistant and researcher at Dracon Follies, a small and largely unsuccessful film studio, and very little of her vacation time was left. She’d already used up most of it going to visit prehistoric artifacts found on the hillsides of Northumberland. There were just enough days to manage a quick jaunt to Spain, or maybe, to shake things up, to Tuscany. She’d been looking forward to either, given the unusually cold winter England had been having. Only, the preliminary figure on the value of her heretofore unknown aunt’s property wasn’t something one could ignore—700,000 dollars, which she figured quickly on her phone translated into something in the range of 550,000 pound sterling at the going rate. Accustomed as she was to sharing rent with Emma on a three-room flat, and with her share of cost at 725 pounds a month, the idea of owning a nine-room house for the same price as a studio in Notting Hill was rather thrilling.

All right. At the very least I have to know if this is legitimate. It’s quarter to nine here so that makes it what over there?

Oh, I have no idea! We’re on British Summer Time but they wouldn’t be, of course.

Still, the time difference couldn’t be less than five hours. Early enough for their workday, I should think. All right. Here goes.

Ria dialed the international number given in the letter and asked to speak to one of the lawyers. She was met with a voice so dry and formal it brought to mind the image of her former instructor in statistics. A few minutes later she ended the call.

Gads, I couldn’t tell a thing listening to you. All you said was ‘Yes, well, I see, right, fortnight.’ So it is all quite real? Emma asked.

They’ve just booked me on Virgin airlines for the day after tomorrow into New York City. They said a bus—a luxury transport is what they actually said—would be available to drive me up to their town, that is, my aunt’s town, which appears to be somewhere north or near the Hudson River.

Oh, that’s brilliant! An all-expenses-paid trip across the pond. But why—I mean, did they say why it had to happen so fast? You must be knackered from your trip up north.

Ria drank most of her coffee that was already cooling. Apparently buyers are arriving, maybe from Saudi Arabia, or Qatar, or China or somewhere, I’m not sure. I wanted to wait a fortnight but he said two weeks is too long. The good thing is I’m back here in a few days, and according to his calculations, when I sell the house I’ll be a lot richer than I am now.

You’re taking this very calmly, I must say. Emma was struggling to press the teabag with a spoon in hopes of getting a stronger brew.

I’ll be checking their credentials before I go anywhere, but even so, I rather think I believe him and I’m in a bit of a shock. I haven’t imagined myself owning a house, much less going overseas to sell one. You’re leaving soon as well, going to South Africa...meeting Jamie’s parents, going on that photo safari, diving off the coast, right? You’ll be gone before I return.

True enough. We’ll be there three months. But write to me, call, anything. Oh, Ria! You’ll be able to manage a much better flat to live in. Should I look for other lodgings before I go? Jamie’s almost but not quite ready for a merger.

No, of course not. I hardly know what to think, much less what to do. But any decision I make has to be a careful one, that I do know. Ria sat back and looked out the window at the passing foot traffic, people whose bedraggled appearance showed they had been caught by the rain. It was all so very strange. But she did feel a frisson of excitement. Things had been predictable and comfortable and routine for a long, long time. Something new was waiting for her, and she had the sudden, uneasy yet rather thrilling conviction her life was about to change forever.

Three days later, having left an unhappy film producer behind her, Ria found herself on a tour bus to Shokan Falls direct from New York City, courtesy of Bunker, Strafe, and Goodsen, LLP. It wasn’t her first trip over, but her first one outside the city. The countryside looked as cold as home, snow everywhere, but a very different landscape. They were driving through the Shawangunk range, a part of the Appalachian Mountains, or so the tour guide said. She had to admit, it made for some stunning scenery, even in winter. What would it be like living in this place, she wondered, but quickly brushed the thought away. She was here to get the valuation, sell the property, and return to London with enough cash for life. At least, it felt that way.

A Mr. Steffens was waiting for her when Ria reached the town of Shokan Falls. He held out a cup of tea when she stepped off the bus.

Where are the lawyers? she asked him after the amenities were done. She sipped on the lukewarm tea, wishing it were coffee.

I’m a lawyer’s assistant, he said, a hurt look crossing his face. He looked twelve. He pointed to her paper cup. They said tea’s your national drink. I have sugar packets if you need them. The others are waiting for you at the house, even though it’s a Saturday. We’re usually closed on weekends.

A few minutes later they were in his jeep, her overnight luggage in the back, driving along Rowan Way. To Ria it felt as if she had entered a medieval forest, trees arching above.

Ten minutes later he turned right onto a dirt trail. Another hundred yards and a brilliant vista opened up before her. She knew what she was looking at, having had the same vista described to her on the tour bus—the Catskill Mountains. And in front of the view was the house Ria had traveled over three thousand miles to inventory.

It made no sense to her. She never usually swore, but the only thing Ria could think of was, who was Harriet Bellthorpe and why the hell did she leave me all this?

A beveled stained glass and oak door marked the entrance. Above it was a small, wrought-iron balcony set against the white stucco surface of the house. To her right stood a massive oak tree, surrounded by a stone bench.

Please hurry. They’re waiting. Mr. Steffens had the door open. She walked through a short corridor into a room painted in shades of teal and white with a cathedral ceiling and the same wide view of the Catskills in the distance. Two men stood near the window, one in a pinstripe suit and the other in jeans and a flannel shirt. They came toward her and shook hands. Pinstripe was the lawyer named Strafe and jeans was the lawyer named Goodsen.

This property has to be worth a lot more than seven hundred thousand of your dollars, Ria blurted out.

Goodsen laughed. He had a welcoming informality.

Strafe looked as worried as Steffen. We are planning to increase the valuation before the arrival of the buyers I told you about on the phone, who are due here in three days. They are aware this could happen once you, as legal owner, have seen the property. The price has not yet been formally appraised, but we expect that to be in the range of one and a half million. That will be yours to keep, after we take our two percent for managing the estate sale.

You’ll be a millionaire, Honoria, Goodsen said. He had thick black hair and dark brown eyes and the build of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors, with a smile that seemed to light up the room, compared to his rather dour companion.

Please call me Ria. It is rather a surprise, I must say.

Understatement. Had she imagined her name and the word millionaire being used in the same sentence, ever? Had she not had her wits about her, mainly the desire to appear stalwart and nonchalant in the face of extraordinary news, she was sure she would have collapsed on the floor. But we Brits are made of stronger stuff, she reminded herself.

Yes. A surprise. I imagine it is. Goodsen raised an eyebrow and she saw the twitch of a smile, which she chose to ignore.

Ria made a gesture around the room that included the pale blue soft leather sofa behind her, the teak wood furnishings, and the thick oriental rug under her feet. In your letter you said contents were part of the estate—meaning what I see here?

Here, and in all the other rooms, Strafe said, a little impatiently. We have to get back to our offices to host a sales event. I insisted we both come here to greet you, since Harriet was one of our best clients, and I instructed our staff to have electricity and heat turned on for you. Full Internet service is already installed. The pantry and refrigerator contain a variety of foods that should suffice for your temporary stay. He pulled some papers out of the briefcase he was holding. We need you to canvass the whole house and tell us what selling price you want. These are the documents you need to read and sign—call if you have any questions. My secretary will relay them to me if I’m not in the office.

What Aaron means, so it’s clear, is that you’re welcome to stay here overnight while you look over the papers, Goodsen said. We assumed that would be easiest for you. You’ll want to read the fine print of the estate valuation, of course. There’s a rental car in the garage, however, if you do want to go anywhere, so you’re not stranded. Your own phone may work well enough, but we’re in a semi-rural area and roaming service is a hazard. Take this for a while as a backup. He handed her a new phone. I’ve configured it and posted speed numbers for Aaron and me.

Why, thank you. Very kind of you.

Strafe was Aaron. Ria wanted to ask Goodsen his own first name. Somehow in the introductions she’d missed it.

As if he read her mind, he turned as the two of them reached the front door. You can call me Sam. By the way, there’s a trunk in one of the back rooms. We had a locksmith open it and it’s full of old photographs. A package is there that should interest you—we didn’t open that. The trunk is currently part of the inventory. That goes for anything you see, of course. By rights, you own it all. With a smile that left her feeling a little breathless, or maybe it was his reference to her sudden wealth, he was out the door that Mr. Steffens was holding open. Dropping her overnight case on the hall floor, the young man followed his bosses out and Ria was alone. She picked up the papers Strafe had left on the glass coffee table, but it was impossible to focus on them.

Goodness me, she said out loud to the room. She had the feeling she had entered an alternate reality, as unknown and unexpected as if she’d been transported to King Arthur’s court.

The kitchen was all pale wood and chrome and appliances, including an espresso machine. Harriet Bellthorpe, whoever she was, had not stinted on having top of the line. Not ready to read an instruction manual on how to make an espresso, Ria opted for the kettle and a bean grinder. She knew how to handle those. She took the mug of rich, dark coffee back into the living room and gazed out at the mountains while she sipped on it. She wasn’t ready to explore anything, and there were hours left in the day. Maybe she’d just sit on the baby blue soft leather sofa and do nothing.

She really might have stayed that way, but Goodsen’s last words drew her like a magnet. A trunk full of old photographs. How could she resist? Ria finished her coffee and went off to inspect the rest of the house, but hardly took it in, extravagantly beautiful as it seemed, until she came to the room Sam must have meant. It had no décor to speak of. It had been used to store furniture and lamps and there were boxes stacked along the walls. She wondered if she’d have to sort through those and realized she had to at least open them, if the lawyers hadn’t done that already. She was hoping they had.

And there was the trunk, off to one side under a small window. It opened easily, as Sam had said it would, and held stacks of photos, most of them sepia-colored. Tucked in a corner was the package Sam had mentioned, her name clearly on the outside. Opening the seal, Ria found a camera, an old model Kodak disposable with flash. To her surprise there was a finished roll of film inside, the little window showing the number twelve, and a note.

"My dear Honoria—So you have found your way here. Now, to my way of thinking, a little mystery in life is good for us. This camera is still in fine working order. I used it a few weeks ago to add one more picture, as you will see. The photos were taken along time ago and I had forgotten to develop them. When I found this camera at the bottom of the trunk, I knew right away what I wanted to do with it.

It was unsigned, but of course it must be from her aunt.

They still made disposables, Ria thought. But did anyone know how to develop film from the 1990s anymore? On sudden impulse she took the camera into the living room, picked up the phone Sam had given her, and hit the speed dial for his number. He answered before the first ring had ended.

Not having any trouble already, I hope? he said.

No. Nothing like that. It was mid afternoon and outside the small window the sky had filled with clouds. Just a long shot. Is there anywhere up here—I mean, is there a camera shop that could develop a roll of film, a really old film in a disposable unit?

You found one in that trunk, I bet. No, you’ll probably have to send the camera off somewhere. Wait a minute— There was a loud banging, a shout, and the sound of breaking glass, then silence.

Sorry about that. I’m home getting some new wiring installed and they’ve just managed to push through a window. Listen, as it happens I do know someone who might be able to help you. Manny Fallon is a friend who dabbles in old cameras—has a great collection that goes back to the 1920s, if you like that sort of thing. Spends most of his days in a darkroom or converting what he finds into digital. I’ll give him a ring, tell him to expect you. You can drive the rental—he’s close to town. Here’s his address and directions. As Sam rattled them off to her, Ria felt a sudden apprehension. Maybe whatever was on the film wasn’t for her to see—wasn’t for anyone to see. Why wouldn’t it have been developed already?

Thanks. You make it easy, she said.

Call me, anytime. Whatever you need, I’m here. Any thoughts on the house?

To tell the truth—the place is growing on me already.

I thought that might happen, he said. Good, he added.

Manny was ready and waiting when Ria arrived at his house. Apparently helping her took precedence