Haunting at Remington House. Laura V. Keegan
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whistling and humming, Tom concentrated on nothing but the work at hand. Old roof tiles were pulled off and new pieces of tarpaper laid. When the heavy black paper was down, Joe brought up a bundle of roofing tiles, and they covered the areas where wind and rain had shredded the roof. An effortless camaraderie, built of sweat and honest work, formed a bond between the men.
When they finished, they remained on the roof, looking out over the ocean. Yet another storm could be seen on the far horizon. Joe pointed to the roiling black clouds. “It looks like it’s gonna be another fierce one. This time of year, seems like we get one storm after another. The roof’s in good shape now, shouldn’t have to do any more repairs this season. I’ll keep an eye on it, though.”
They gathered up their tools and descended the ladder. “I’m starved. You ready to go in and have some lunch?” Tom asked.
While they ate fried chicken, salad and biscuits Joe brought from the deli that morning, Tom brought up the subject of Thanksgiving. “My sister and her family will be here next week. They’ll be staying for at least two weeks. Mary’s going to help on and off, but I need to find someone to cook and do some light cleaning while Cassie’s here. Do you know anyone who might be interested?”
“Lots of people looking for extra work this time of year. How many people are you looking for?”
“Maybe three to get the house cleaned and in order. There are more boxes that need to be unpacked and all the bedrooms need to be made up, that kind of thing this week. After that, then someone to cook and pick up while Cassie and her family are here.”
“I know a real nice woman who used to cook for the Brunsons—they own one of the textile mills. I know Nellie is looking for work—I ran into her the other day. She ran a temporary maid service last year for the summer residents so she has great credentials. She’s a fantastic cook, too. I’ll give her a call now.” Joe called her and started making all the necessary arrangements while Tom sat idly by enjoying the view out the window. The clouds, pushed by the strong winds, rolled in heading for the coast.
“All set. Nellie’s good to go. She’ll be here in the morning.”
“Thanks, Joe. About next week—do you have any plans for Thanksgiving dinner? Care to join us? There’ll be plenty of good food and conversation.”
“Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks. Since I broke it off with my lady, I seldom have dinner plans. It’d be a good change for me. And—I’m anxious to meet your family.”
“Good,” Tom said. “Think you’ll hit it off with my sister, she’s amazing.”
Jimmy and Sara knocked on the back door as Tom was finishing loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Jimmy was anxious to start his piano lesson, and they went right to work. Tom found a book of simple songs, and another of scales, for him to start practicing on. While Jimmy worked through the exercises, Tom and Sara sat on the sofa and listened. Jimmy played quite well, managing to play several songs all the way through with few mistakes. Obviously he’d had at least a few lessons in the past. He was very serious as he concentrated on the proper placement of his fingers, chewing his bottom lip when he came to a difficult part. After a few minutes he forgot all about Sara and Tom. They quietly got up and went into the kitchen to make some iced tea, leaving Jimmy to practice scales from a book that had belonged to Tom and Cassie when they were kids.
“So, how did you and Jimmy manage to escape Vivian?” Tom asked.
“Pure luck. William’s new car was delivered today. She and Billy went into Ravenswood for the afternoon. I told her Jimmy and I had plans to collect seashells. I think she was relieved not to have to entertain Jimmy or me today. So here we are.”
“Want a tour of the house?” Tom asked. After showing her the main floor, with which she was duly impressed, they went upstairs. The library was still filled with packing crates Tom had forgotten about, but the two bedrooms on the north were in fairly good order. Sara was enthralled with the view of the ocean from the balcony.
“I never met the people who lived here before you,” Sara said. “Do you know anything about them?”
“No. No one’s told me anything about them. I never thought to ask, though. I found a few pictures of them on the shelf in the living room. They seemed odd, something strange about their eyes—cold and . . . I can’t explain it. Gave me the creeps.” Tom smiled. “But they seem to have taken excellent care of the house and property. That’s a positive!”
Sara returned his smile, then said, “Vivian talked about them once in a while. Apparently she tried to get them to come for dinner on several occasions. They had some high-society connections, so she was eager to get to know them. They told Viv they seldom left the house. The brother was too ill.”
“Yeah, he certainly looked it in the pictures I found.”
“The second or third time they refused her offer, Vivian took it as a personal insult and didn’t ask them again. She said she assumed that they felt socially superior, and if that was the case, they were not welcome in her home. I was always curious about the couple, probably because they were so reclusive and because I never got to meet them. I actually only saw the two of them once. They were getting into Joe’s taxi at the train station, back from a trip out of the city. Joe was one of the few people who ever spent time with them. I’m sure he told you he worked for them on and off.”
“Joe said he worked on the house. He didn’t seem to know much about them personally. I got the impression he was on a work-only basis with the Lindemans. No social interaction,” Tom said.
“Did you know that they died here—in this house?”
“What? No!” Tom was visibly upset, is brow furrowed, his brown eyes narrowed and focused on Sara. “What happened?”
“Apparently it was a murder-suicide. It was kept very quiet. Mannie, Vivian’s cook, was our only source of information. I don’t know that she’s a particularly reliable source. But she’s the best we had! Anyway, she heard the story from the sheriff’s sister, so we have to assume it’s at least partly true. It seems that Helen shot her brother, then several days later, shot herself. They found both of their bodies in the attic. Helen left a suicide note explaining her brother, Gabriel, was in unbearable pain from his cancer. He begged her to end his suffering. After much agonizing, she did. And then, unable to forgive herself, she took her own life.” Sara stared at Tom, her violet eyes guarded.
“Not what I wanted to hear happened in my house. Damn! I didn’t know anything about it until now.”
Sara twisted a chestnut-brown curl around her index finger. “Sorry to be the one to break the news to you. If it’s even true. Personally, I prefer to ignore Mannie’s account and take a more romantic view of their deaths.”
“How can anyone take a romantic view of a murder?” Tom asked, surprised that she would say such a thing.
Sara smiled and continued, “I like to think they weren’t brother and sister at all but lovers who were separated for years. Then one day fate stepped in and their paths crossed. For reasons that shall remain a mystery, perhaps because of their families or maybe because one of them was married, they were never able to be together. Finally, after years of separation, they knew they could no longer be apart.”
“You have quite an imagination, Sara!” Tom laughed softly.
Ignoring him, Sara continued, “They moved to this small town, to this isolated house, so they could live the rest of their lives in peace, away from the rest of the world that had treated them so unfairly. Then, when the man became ill, unable to bear the thought of being torn apart again, they ended their lives.” Sara looked at Tom, watching to see how he would react to her tale, “Well?”
Tom was uncomfortable. This talk of death was disquieting, especially knowing they died right here in his house. Sara watched him intently waiting for his response. He answered, “I agree your version is the more preferable. Two lovers, beaten once again by fate, laugh in her face and secure their own eternity together. And why