John Manning - The Killing Room

Kip smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry; I left out a rather salient point.” His eyes moved over to Douglas. “Your great-great-grandfather paid him a considerable amount of money to keep quiet. In the midst of the Depression, with five younger siblings in his struggling family, Harry couldn’t refuse. Only all those years later, when I found him, did his conscience compel him to tell the real story.”

Douglas groaned, putting his hands in his hair and turning to look out over the marsh.

“And you found Noons to be trustworthy?” Carolyn asked.

“I did. As did Georgeanne.”

“I held his hand,” she said. “He was speaking the truth.”

Kip chuckled. “She’s rather like a human lie detector. I can’t get away with anything with her.”

Carolyn managed a small smile. “So we still don’t know how the lottery began and what power keeps it in force-or what does the killing in that room.”

“If I were still working on this case,” Kip said, “I would try to reach the spirit of Clem. Find out what happened. Where did he go? And why did he kill Beatrice?”

“We don’t know he killed Beatrice,” Carolyn said.

“He was the only one with a motive,” Kip said. “Noons said he saw Beatrice turning him down, taunting him.”

“But he didn’t see him kill her. He left the basement. And when he went down there again, Clem was nowhere to be found.”

Kip made a face. “He saw Clem there moments before the screaming began.”

“And he rushed down there immediately and found only Beatrice. No Clem.”

“He could have been hiding in the basement somewhere.”

“Possibly.”

Kip looked extremely sad. “I wanted so much to help the family. I wanted so much to end those terrible deaths that they face every decade. I volunteered to continue my research after it was clear that I had failed. I wanted to keep going, to try to find the cause and the solution so that next time…but Mr. Young said I was done.”

Douglas turned his head at that. “Why wouldn’t my uncle want you to continue? After you had already discovered so much?”

“He is a very stubborn man,” Kip said simply.

“Did he blame you for not ending the curse?” Carolyn asked.

“Let’s just say he wasn’t very happy with me.” Kip sighed. “I refused to accept any payment from him. But I did promise him that I would speak of it to no one, unless he sent other researchers to me. I heard nothing until I got your call, Carolyn.”

“That’s why you never wrote a concluding report,” Carolyn said. “Howard Young was done with you.”

Kip nodded sadly. “I suppose I can understand his distress. I had failed. Another family member of his was dead. The curse went on.”

There was nothing much more to say. Carolyn and Kip exchanged a few words as they looked over each others’ notes while Georgeanne refilled everyone’s coffee cups. Douglas remained where he was, standing looking out over the marsh. The ducks had all taken flight, nearly in unison, and flew in formation over the coastline. The sun was dropping lower in the sky, emerging from the gray clouds to stain the marsh pink.

He didn’t like what he’d learned about his family. The secrets were horrible enough. But the way they’d withheld information from the police, picking and choosing details, was reprehensible. That woman’s killer was never brought to justice. No wonder she and her baby haunted the family. And the parceling of information that was done eighty years ago was not so different from the way Uncle Howie shared certain details with some people and not with others. What was going on?

They all bid good-bye soon after that. Kip offered to be of service if he could, telling Carolyn to call him. Georgeanne, too, said she would be willing to use her powers of intuition, as she called them, if they were ever needed. Carolyn thanked them both. Douglas shook both of their hands. To Kip he said, “Thank you for trying. I know you did all you could.”

Kip seem very moved by his words, and brought him in for an embrace.

On the ride back to the airport both Douglas and Carolyn were silent. As before, it was not until they were airborne that they spoke of what they faced.

“I’m scared,” Douglas said.

“I am, too,” Carolyn admitted.

“I just wish I knew who-or what-I was scared of,” Douglas said. “Beatrice? Clem? Or something else?”

Carolyn nodded. That was exactly what she was thinking. She rested her head against the window and looked down at the waters of the Atlantic. She steeled herself, vowing she would do everything in her power to find out what she needed to know. She vowed she would succeed where Kip had failed.

If only she had more time than one slim month.

Ryan Young wasn’t pleased when he hung up the phone with his Uncle Howard. The old man had told him that his cousin Douglas was visiting. Douglas had been there at the house for nearly a week now. Ryan had tried to seem happy that his uncle had a visitor, but inwardly, he was seething.

Leave it to that gypsy Douglas to sneak in and work on Uncle Howard before any of us could get there, Ryan thought. He was anxious to tell his father about his cousin’s sneaky ways. They didn’t trust Douglas. He played at being carefree and happy-go-lucky, a hippie on a motorcycle who didn’t give a damn about money and inheritance. But he was fooling them all. He wanted that house. He wanted all of Uncle Howard’s property. Ryan was certain of it.

Ryan glanced in the mirror at himself and liked what he saw. He’d just come from the pool, and his hair was slicked back against his head, his chiseled body glistening. He had not six abdominals but eight. His eyes brimmed with ambition and desire. He was as dark as Douglas was fair. Uncle Howard liked to say that Douglas was a lady-killer-in fact, at that very moment, Douglas was charming a young lady who was working for him. That only made Ryan more angry. It was Ryan who was the lady-killer, Ryan who had every woman in New York chasing after him at nightclubs and restaurants. It was Ryan who often showed up in the gossip columns with some starlet or socialite on his arm. Last he knew Douglas was dating some babe who worked at a diner, for Christ’s sake! Ryan had dated Paris Hilton-and had his picture printed on Page Six to prove it!

“Chelsea!” he shouted. His sister was staggering out of her room, still sleepy-eyed, her hair a mess. It was two in the afternoon, and she was just getting up after being out on the town very, very late last night. “Guess who’s up at Uncle Howard’s right at this moment!”

“I don’t really care,” the girl grumbled. “I have a wicked hangover.”

“Douglas! Dear cousin Douglas!”

She spun around to look at him, her eyes suddenly coming to life. “No fucking way!”

“Way.” Ryan folded his muscled arms across his broad chest. “I just spoke to Uncle Howard. I called just to show what a good nephew I was. Calling in to check up on him, to see how he was feeling and to tell him how very, very much”-here Ryan’s eyes rolled comically for his sister to see-“I’m looking forward to the family reunion.” He paused, his face puckering as if he’d just bitten into a lemon. “And what does our dear uncle tell me? That Douglas is there! Once again, the loser has gotten in ahead of us!”

Chelsea was running fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the knots. “Well, he’s not going to be a loser for long if he keeps kissing ass like he is. Uncle Howard will leave him everything. You know Daddy worries about that.”

“We have to go up there right away,” Ryan said. “I’m not waiting until the actual reunion. There will be too many people around then. Paula and Dean and those obnoxious twins of his.” Both Ryan and Chelsea shuddered. “If we leave soon, we can have a couple of weeks with Uncle Howard.”