I spread the papers over my bed so that Salem could see them easily. There was a fair bit of information -newspaper reports, family trees, birth and death certificates, all printed off from my family haunt of the library. Dad had been thrilled when I asked him to drop me off there again to do some more research about the house (one of these days I would actually have to do some research).
“This Charlie McClaire is certainly an interesting character.” I said as Salem stood next to the bed, trying to get a good look at the papers. “According to this report, he made a ton of money investing in manufacturing in the 1930s, just before the war broke out. When the war started he was able to get government contracts for years. He was even knighted in the 1940s for his services to the war effort. He married a very wealthy woman from the Ashcroft family and through her eventually became a Lord and even served in the House of Lords! He ended up a very, very wealthy man.” I said the last sentence slowly, emphasising each word.
Salem straightened up and shrugged his shoulders.
“That doesn’t prove anything. Charlie would have inherited the money after I died, that doesn’t prove he had anything to do with it.”
“True,” I conceded. “But then take a look at this…” I waved a newspaper article in front of his face. It was from The New York Times and was dated 30th July 1924. Salem leaned in to take a closer look and began reading the article aloud.
“SS Vestris sinks…left New York for River Plate…severe listing…sank 2pm…hundreds feared dead.” Salem stood up straight and looked down at me, clearly confused. “What does this have to do with me?”
I smiled triumphantly and held up a different piece of paper.
“Because of this. It’s the passenger list from the SS Vestris, and,” I paused for dramatic purposes, “this! It’s another newspaper article. About the McClaire family-and the tragic loss of their son and brother Salem who was on board the SS Vestris.” The newspaper article was from the local paper and featured a front page photograph of a family dressed sombrely and looking mournfully into the camera. The headline read. “Tragic death at sea for heir to the McClaire family.”
Salem still looked very confused. He quickly scanned the paper I was holding up.
“So, that’s it then. I died on this boat?”
“No, because you were not on the boat.”
Salem shook his head and started pacing the room.
“Lacey, will you please tell me what is going on, this is very confusing.”
“This is the official passenger list for the SS Vestris,” I began, holding the paper aloft as if it were a torch. “Your name is not on it! I think your step-brother told people you were on the boat so they would think you had drowned when it sank.”
Salem leaned back against the wall. It still freaked me out how he could do that.
“Why would he do that?”
“Maybe, if he,” I coughed nervously, unsure how to proceed, “did something to you, he needed a way of making it look like you had died but without there being a body for people to find. Maybe he made it look as if you had just disappeared for a little bit, gone back to America, then, when this happened, he decided to use it as a way of getting rid of you.”
“But people would have known it was a lie. If there was a passenger list, they would have just checked that surely?”
“I was thinking about that. But remember Salem, this was England in the 1920s. People with money, especially people with titles, were very respected. Why wouldn’t someone believe them? No one bothered to check the record because no one would have suspected anything.”
I could see Salem’s mind working over the details.
“So, with me declared officially dead…”
“Charlie inherits everything.” I finished for him.
The room was silent for a few moments.
“It makes sense. Question is, what do we do about it?” Salem asked.
“Well, its only a theory,” I began, though a damn good one, I should be a detective, “and its only part of the story. We still don’t know exactly how and when you die. That’s the important part. This is just the cover-up.”
“So how do we go about finding that out?” asked Salem.
I gave my triumphant smile once more.
“I figured I’d go straight to the source.”
***500Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHU5I61iLxF
I took a moment to examine what my life had come to. Just a few days ago I had been a normal girl embarking on a new, if slightly odd, adventure in life. Now, here I was. Standing in front of a grave looking building, about to interrogate a man who must be well over a hundred about a possible murder he committed in the 1920s which resulted in a ghost and a time-travel portal appearing in my new home. Yes, life had certainly changed.
I waked up the gravel path, my feet crunching with each step. The front door loomed in front of me. It was a small, converted Georgian country house. The two steps leading up to the door were clean and free from any sign of dust or leaves. I rang the bell, hearing a shrill tone coming from the inside of the hall. Within seconds the door was opened by a young woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform. She smiled at me politely.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here to see Charlie McClaire. He’s expecting me.”500Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwU04GxuIAs
For a nursing home this place was not bad. It looked more like a five star country hotel, with its high ceilings, wide corridors and spacious rooms, each of which seemed to come with its own fireplace. The walls were lined with bookcases that were filled with leather bound volumes. Expensive looking artwork and ornate mirrors were hung on the walls. There were vases of fresh flowers dotted around. The only thing that gave away the buildings true purpose was the bustling of men and women in nurses’ uniforms and the slight hint of chlorine in the air.
“Mr McClaire is in the garden,” the nurse who had opened the door said. I had followed her through numerous rooms until we reached the gardens, an wide, open space occupied by Greek statues, gazebos, arbours and sunhouses. It was a sunny day, so many of the residents were sat outside. I had been sent in the direction of an old man in wheelchair who was sat alone on the far side of the garden next to a shallow pond. I made my way over. He had his back to me so as I approached I spoke up.
“Mr McClaire? It’s Lacey Whitmore. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
At first I wasn’t certain he had heard me, but slowly he turned his face towards me, with what I presumed was a smile crossing his wrinkled face.
“Good afternoon Miss. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His voice was quiet and weak and he sounded as if he was having trouble breathing. I sat down on a low bench next to the pond and lent closer towards him in case he was having trouble hearing. I took in the man in front of me. I didn’t know what I had expected, but he did not look like a cunning murderer, still appearances can be deceptive I reminded myself. The man in front of me was wearing a smart beige suit and, despite the warmth in the garden, he had a patchwork blanket draped over his legs. Thick glasses hung on a chain around his neck. He appeared small and frail, but there was a steeliness about his eyes and a determined set to his mouth. I had the feeling that although his body may be breaking down his mind was as sharp as ever. He leaned towards me, straining with the effort.
“You bought my house.” A cheeky glint came to his eyes and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, my father did,” I replied. “It’s a beautiful house.”
He nodded slowly, more to himself than to me, as if he was conjuring up memories.
“Yes, it was. Once.”
“How long has it been since you went there?”
“Many years my dear.” He was staring down at the ground, his eyes fixed on a small patch of daises. “Too many bad times there, I couldn’t stay.”
Now was my chance, I thought.
“That’s what I came to talk to you about actually. As I explained on the phone my father and I are planning on making the house into a sort of “murder mystery” hotel. I’m doing some research about the house so we can put on a display somewhere. Just some bits about the history of the house and the McClaire family.”
He nodded again.
“That sounds interesting” I didn’t think he was being entirely truthful.
“I don’t mean to upset you but I was doing some research and found out about the death of your brother, Salem McClaire?”
“Step-brother,” he said quietly. “Yes, very sad business.”
“I understand he died when the SS Vestris sank?” I took in his reaction carefully, watching for any sign of deception or guilt.
“Yes,” he simply said. “Very sad.”
“The strange thing is,” I made my voice as casual as possible, “I found the passenger list for the SS Vestris and Salem McClaire’s name was not on it. Do you have any idea why that would be?”
This time it was a simple shake of the head. After a few moments had passed he said.
“Salem was always an impulsive one. He probably only bought his ticket at the last moment.” His voice betrayed no sign that he was lying. I pressed on.
“But he was definitely on the ship? You are sure of that?”
His eyes looked at me once more, that hidden inner strength shinning through. I tried to gaze back, unperturbed.
“Of course he was. He wrote to tell us he would be on board.”
“But his body was never found.”
“They didn’t find most of the bodies.” His eyes continued to burn into mine.
“I don’t suppose you still have the letter from Salem? I hate to ask but it would be good to put in the display, what with him not being on the passenger list.”
He leaned back in his wheelchair.
“No, I have very few personal documents these days.”
He was looking out across the pond now.
“Well, is there anything you could tell me about Salem that might be interesting for our visitors? Something about what he was like as a person perhaps.” I might have imagined it but I was sure I saw a fleeting look of disgust cross his face before disappearing almost instantly.
“Salem was a fool. You would do better to research someone else Miss, someone more worthy.” He didn’t say anything else and several minutes passed in silence. Eventually I stood up to leave.
“Well, I should leave you in peace. Thank you for your time Mr McClaire.”
I began to walk back to the house when his voice stopped me.
“I’m sorry I could not be more help Miss. I hope you find what you are looking for.”
Me too, I thought. I started walking again when his voice stopped me once more.
“It’s very strange but, I used to know a Lacey Whitmore, a long time ago. Very strange. Such an unusual name”
“Yes, very.”
He slowly turned around in his wheelchair, his eyes fixing on mine.500Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGM4YanFoDj
“Be careful Miss, about digging around for answers that you might not want to find.”
I managed to force a smile before turning around and practically running for the door. 500Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuGvyeN9aFz
