A Forgotten Murder (Medlar Mystery 3)

She didn’t realize how scared she was until she reached the ledge. In relief, she leaned back against the rocks. When they scattered, she didn’t mind. It was good to be off the bottom—and to be safe. The rest of the way up would be easy.

Leaning back on her elbows, she gave herself a few minutes to calm her heart. Too bad she’d never be able to tell anyone about this adventure. Instead, she’d have to cover the top of the big hole and hope no one else fell in.

She drew her knees up to her chest and rubbed her ankle. The movement shifted the dirt enough that she saw something metal on the floor of the ledge. When she dug it out, she discovered it was a watch, dirty and corroded. She tried to see the dials but there was too little light. She wondered how it got there. Had someone dropped it over the side?

There were some sticks in the dirt and she used one to dig around a bit. What else was hidden in there? It was too dark to see much so she took her phone out of her pocket and turned on the flashlight. There was dirt, pebbles and sticks. Nothing interesting.

She was about to turn it off when she realized that what she was holding wasn’t a stick. It was a bone.

With a gasp, she dropped it. Slowly, afraid of what she was going to see, she turned the light around. Behind her, deep in the shadows, stretched out, was a full, human skeleton. Strands of dark hair clung to its skull. Pieces of rotted clothing were beneath the bones.

As Puck turned off the light, she was shaking. Her trembling fingers touched the buttons to call her mother. Come and get me! Rescue me! she wanted to cry.

No! she thought, and disconnected.

She had visions of what would happen if she told of her find. The police and newspaper reporters would come with their flashing lights. The hotel would fill with tourists who loved the macabre. Oxley Manor would become an entry in books about Places of Death.

Puck took a few breaths and looked at the way up. She put the phone and the watch in her pocket and climbed out.

Once she got to the top, she threw up. Her stomach retched and heaved and emptied itself.

Still barefoot, she made her way to a tree and sat down. She needed time to think about what to do. When her heart had calmed enough, she looked at the watch.

Using her thumbs, she cleaned off the back, then held it up to the light. It was engraved on the back.

TO SEAN THORPE. FIRST PRIZE. 1991.

Puck leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes. Sean had been her friend, a true friend. That his body was here was proof that he had not run away as everyone said he had.

But then Puck had never believed what they’d said about him. The affair. The betrayal of everyone. They even blamed him for all that happened later. She’d heard them say, “If it hadn’t been for Sean, Nicky would still be alive.”

Puck told them that Sean wasn’t like that. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have left the horses without food or water. “Something happened to him,” she’d cried. “I know it did.”

But no one would listen to her. Certainly not the police.

She put the watch in her pocket, covered the broken opening with branches and left the Preserve.

For the next two years she didn’t enter that area of the estate. And she never came close to telling anyone about what she’d seen.

Her only reaction to the horror of what she’d discovered was that she kept even more to herself. She’d always been a loner, but the effect of what she’d seen deepened her reputation of being “odd” and “different.” But that was all right. Better that than being the one who had introduced murder to Oxley Manor.

Her silence wasn’t altogether altruistic. She worried that the person who had put Sean in that place would find her shoes there. And that person would know what she’d seen.

OXLEY MANOR

PRESENT DAY

Puck was out of sight in the pantry when she first heard the name Sara Medlar.

“Never heard of her,” Puck’s mother said to Mrs. Isabella Guilford, the owner of Oxley Manor.

“She paid to restore this place, Mrs. Aiken,” Isabella said. “I owe her—” She waved her hand. “I don’t want to think of that, but let me say that I cannot turn her away. She and two others are flying in from Florida in three days.”

“The house is closed.” Puck’s mother slammed a heavy copper pot down on the big oak table. Even though it had been years, she refused to accept that her beloved Oxley Manor was now a hotel.

“That’s why she’s coming. She’s bringing her niece and her honorary grandson, Jack.”

“‘Honorary grandson,’” Puck’s mother muttered as she began chopping carrots. “I guess you expect me to cook for them.”