Read Online Blackvine Manor Mystery by Wendy Meadows - Free Book Online
Authors: Wendy Meadows
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Phenomenon, “Yes, I need real, legitimate, concrete evidence. Then we can use it to save this place.”
“You said ‘I’,” George whispers.
She scowls at him. “Yes, alright, I’ll admit it. And I want to prove I’m not crazy.”
George turns a handheld camera on her, “So, tell me what you are sensing and hopefully all this equipment can back it up.”
Alexis takes a few breaths, worrying she is too anxious to be open to any communication. “Wait, do you see that?”
“What?” George keeps the camera steady on her.
“A mist. It’s Fenton. Delia is waiting for him on the bench. He’s tearing up a note. Angry, very angry.”
She doesn’t see the thermal camera picking up two figures near the fountain as she continues. “She’s helping him but he’s still angry, threatening to do something.”
“Can you see anyone else?” George tries to ask casually despite the obvious third figure appearing on the thermal camera.
Alexis whimpers, “My mother. She’s looking out the window. He sees her! Oh, God.”
She shakes her head, fumbling with the digital recorder in her hand. “Please be there.”
She hits play on the recorder and they hear Alexis speaking. In the static between her observations an angry voice breaks through.
“No witnesses!”
* * *
M axwell refuses to open the door all the way. “What are you doing here?”
“You buzzed me up,” Alexis points out, standing in the hallway of Maxwell’s condominium. “The least you can do is hear what I have to say.”
“I know what you and George are trying to do, and I don’t care what shadows and bad audio you managed to capture.”
Alexis bites her lip but says evenly, “It’s about what I found in the files you gave me to review. Unless you want me to return them to your grandfather myself.”
“Fine. Tell me.” He leaves the door open and strolls down the long hallway to his kitchen.
Alexis notes the stylishly updated loft, its towering ceilings and exposed brick the hallmarks of an expensively repurposed warehouse. A warehouse specializing in the packaging and distribution of war rations for soldiers, she notes, and then wonders how she knows that for certain.
The kitchen is a wide L-shape, open to the living room around a substantial granite-topped island. Maxwell leans on the far counter, keeping the island between himself and Alexis.
She slaps the file down on the black granite and tells him, “They could never prove that Fenton was the jewel thief because he never sold any of it.”
“I saw enough of the file to know he was sent to jail.”
“They finally caught him trespassing. He had jewelry on him that he claimed to have found. Between those things and a judge who was from the social circle targeted by Fenton’s thefts, he was imprisoned.”
Maxwell crosses his arms. “I know this little fairy tale, it’s local legend. Debonair burglar sentenced by crooked judge before he can become Robin Hood.”
Alexis opens the file and sifts through it. “He even got letters while in prison. Love letters like this one.”
She points to an evidence photograph and Maxwell pushes off the kitchen counter to come look at it. He shrugs and stands in front of her, his arms still crossed.
“Does the handwriting look familiar?”
“Just get to the point, Ms. Cole.”
Alexis balls up her fist and taps it on the police file. “Delia and Fenton went to school together. I proved that. Delia wrote coded letters to Fenton; the evidence is right here. So, it is not a crazy theory to think she helped him hide his stash of jewelry. And from that theory it is not a far leap to think she hid it at Blackvine Manor.”
Maxwell uncrosses his arms, putting his hands down heavily on the black granite. “I’m still selling it. And what does any of this have to do with finding your mother? That’s what you’re really after.”
She steps back. “You really think I planted those photographs? Why wouldn’t I just ask you if you
“You said ‘I’,” George whispers.
She scowls at him. “Yes, alright, I’ll admit it. And I want to prove I’m not crazy.”
George turns a handheld camera on her, “So, tell me what you are sensing and hopefully all this equipment can back it up.”
Alexis takes a few breaths, worrying she is too anxious to be open to any communication. “Wait, do you see that?”
“What?” George keeps the camera steady on her.
“A mist. It’s Fenton. Delia is waiting for him on the bench. He’s tearing up a note. Angry, very angry.”
She doesn’t see the thermal camera picking up two figures near the fountain as she continues. “She’s helping him but he’s still angry, threatening to do something.”
“Can you see anyone else?” George tries to ask casually despite the obvious third figure appearing on the thermal camera.
Alexis whimpers, “My mother. She’s looking out the window. He sees her! Oh, God.”
She shakes her head, fumbling with the digital recorder in her hand. “Please be there.”
She hits play on the recorder and they hear Alexis speaking. In the static between her observations an angry voice breaks through.
“No witnesses!”
* * *
M axwell refuses to open the door all the way. “What are you doing here?”
“You buzzed me up,” Alexis points out, standing in the hallway of Maxwell’s condominium. “The least you can do is hear what I have to say.”
“I know what you and George are trying to do, and I don’t care what shadows and bad audio you managed to capture.”
Alexis bites her lip but says evenly, “It’s about what I found in the files you gave me to review. Unless you want me to return them to your grandfather myself.”
“Fine. Tell me.” He leaves the door open and strolls down the long hallway to his kitchen.
Alexis notes the stylishly updated loft, its towering ceilings and exposed brick the hallmarks of an expensively repurposed warehouse. A warehouse specializing in the packaging and distribution of war rations for soldiers, she notes, and then wonders how she knows that for certain.
The kitchen is a wide L-shape, open to the living room around a substantial granite-topped island. Maxwell leans on the far counter, keeping the island between himself and Alexis.
She slaps the file down on the black granite and tells him, “They could never prove that Fenton was the jewel thief because he never sold any of it.”
“I saw enough of the file to know he was sent to jail.”
“They finally caught him trespassing. He had jewelry on him that he claimed to have found. Between those things and a judge who was from the social circle targeted by Fenton’s thefts, he was imprisoned.”
Maxwell crosses his arms. “I know this little fairy tale, it’s local legend. Debonair burglar sentenced by crooked judge before he can become Robin Hood.”
Alexis opens the file and sifts through it. “He even got letters while in prison. Love letters like this one.”
She points to an evidence photograph and Maxwell pushes off the kitchen counter to come look at it. He shrugs and stands in front of her, his arms still crossed.
“Does the handwriting look familiar?”
“Just get to the point, Ms. Cole.”
Alexis balls up her fist and taps it on the police file. “Delia and Fenton went to school together. I proved that. Delia wrote coded letters to Fenton; the evidence is right here. So, it is not a crazy theory to think she helped him hide his stash of jewelry. And from that theory it is not a far leap to think she hid it at Blackvine Manor.”
Maxwell uncrosses his arms, putting his hands down heavily on the black granite. “I’m still selling it. And what does any of this have to do with finding your mother? That’s what you’re really after.”
She steps back. “You really think I planted those photographs? Why wouldn’t I just ask you if you
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