it up, and what happens? They aren’t even done, and we already got someone dead. That’s what I call weird.”
Jeffers looked at his partner curiously. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?”
Cosgrove shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “You didn’t grow up here, like I did. Something like this happened once before. Must have been forty-odd years ago. That time it was Phillip Sturgess’s brother. Conrad Junior.”
Barney Jeffers frowned. “You mean he died? Here in the mill?”
“Not just in the mill, Barney,” Cosgrove said darkly. “Right here. At the bottom of the stairs.”
Jeffers uttered a low whistle. “Jesus. What happened?”
“That’s the thing,” Cosgrove went on. “No one ever found out. No one ever knew if it was an accident, or murder, or what. But it was just like this one.” He fell silent for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Weird,” he muttered. “It’s just—well, it’s weird, that’s all.”
Then, his face grim, he started toward the patrol car, bracing himself for what was ahead. He was about to call Jeff Bailey’s parents to tell them their son had died in the mill, a pickax through his heart.
10
Hannah was in the midst of serving dessert when the telephone rang. Carolyn slid her chair back and started to stand up, but Abigail’s voice, quiet yet firm, made her sink back into her chair. “Hannah will get it.” Silently, Hannah placed the pie she had been serving on a sideboard, and left the room. A moment later she came back.
“It’s for Mr. Phillip. It’s the police, and they say it’s an emergency. I explained you were in the middle of dinner, but they insisted—”
“It’s all right, Hannah,” Phillip said. “I’m sure it’s important.” He turned to his mother. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Abigail glared at her son. “Really, Phillip, it’s most impolite of them to call you now. I simply don’t understand—”
“Maybe you will, after I talk to them,” Phillip interrupted. “Go ahead with dessert.”
When he was gone, Abigail turned her attention to Carolyn. “You simply must learn a few rudimentary things, Carolyn. First, it’s very impolite to call people during the dinner hour. There is, however, little we can do to stop that. It seems that no one has manners anymore. But if the phone does ring while we are dining, Hannah will answer it.”
From the corner of her eye, Carolyn saw Tracy’s smirk, but ignored it. Beth, intently studying her plate, appeared suddenly to have found something fascinating in her pie. Smiling tightly, Carolyn patted Abigail’s hand. “I’ll try to remember that, Abigail,” she promised as the old woman jerked away as if she’d been burned. “But suppose Hannah weren’t here? Suppose it were her day off?”
“One of the other servants—” Abigail began, then abruptly fell silent as she remembered that there were no other servants. “In that case,” she finally admitted, her voice stiff, “I suppose one of us would have to answer it.”
Score one for our side, thought Carolyn as Tracy’s smirk faded and a tiny smile played around the corners of Beth’s mouth. In silence, the four of them began eating their pie. After four or five minutes that seemed to Carolyn like an eternity, Phillip returned, his expression grim.
“I have to go downtown,” he informed them.
“Now?” Abigail immediately asked. “Surely whatever it is can wait until we’ve finished dinner?”
“What’s happened?” The look on Phillip’s face told Carolyn that something was terribly wrong.
“An accident,” he replied. “A couple of kids got into the mill after the party this afternoon.”
Beth’s eyes widened, and her fork stopped in midair. Then, as her hand began to tremble, she carefully put the fork back on her plate.
“And what happened?” Abigail Sturgess asked. Her voice, normally strong and commanding, suddenly sounded hollow. When Carolyn looked at her, the old woman was pale, and there was an anxiety in her eyes that Carolyn had never seen before. “Tell me, Phillip,” she insisted. “What has happened?”
Phillip hesitated a fraction of a second. “Jeff Bailey,” he said at last. “He’s—well, I’m afraid he’s dead.”
There was a sudden shocked silence as the name sank in. It wasn’t a stranger—not even someone they had known only casually. It was a boy they all knew, who had been in their home only that afternoon.
“Jeff?” Tracy echoed. “Jeffs dead?”
“But—how?” Carolyn asked. “What happened?”
Phillip shook his head. “I’m not sure exactly. I have to go down there immediately.”
Abigail rose to her feet. All the blood had drained from her face now, and she was swaying, as if