A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries) by Judith K. Ivie Page A

had been hidden here by one of our ancestors. That would have been just like a Henstock . The Underground Railroad was quite active in these parts, you know.”
    I hadn’t known, but I was appropriately impressed.
    “But it wasn’t a slave, no,” Lavinia chimed in. “The authorities who first viewed the remains were quite clear about that, the Lieutenant told us. Not old enough, and that blue fabric she was wearing was certainly not Civil War era.”
    I was becoming interested in spite of my vow not to get caught up in another intrigue. “They know for certain it was a woman?”
    “Oh, yes, Dear. But as I say, she was of much more recent vintage than the Civil War. World War II perhaps.”
    “Don’t speak of the wretched woman as if she were a bottle of Papa’s claret, Lavinia !” Ada tsk-ed her sister and made an effort to mask her irritation. “All we know is it’s a woman who must have died sometime after 1945.”
    “Goodness! However did they date the remains that quickly?” I couldn’t help but ask.
    “Oh, it had nothing to do with the body,” Lavinia assured me. “Much too soon for that. But Ada and I did some research last night in Papa’s ledgers and so on, and we founds records showing that that old closet in the basement had been constructed in 1945. So the body couldn’t have been hidden there before that time. It was right there in Papa’s handwriting. He was so meticulous about his papers,” she concluded with satisfaction. Ada nodded wearily in agreement, and my heart went out to her. Both sisters must be exhausted after the doings of the past twenty-four hours, but Ada seemed to be the only one feeling the strain. Lavinia appeared to be thriving on the unexpected excitement.
    “Why was the closet or whatever you want to call that enclosure next to the furnace built in the first place?” I couldn’t help but ask. “It seems only logical that those pipes would have needed maintenance from time to time, and it must have been very inconvenient to have them right next to a brick wall. By the way, was there a door to the closet? It was so demolished, I couldn’t tell.”
    Ada paused mid-sip to consider my question and knit her brows in consternation. “Why, I don’t recall, do you, Sister? We were young women at that time, and the house always seemed to be full of workers of one sort or another and people from dear Papa’s office. I can’t say I ever paid any of them much attention.”
    Lavinia explained more fully. “Our mother died when Ada and I were just girls. Influenza took her when we were nine and ten years old, and Papa was just devastated. For simply years, he spent every evening alone in his study, lost in his work. I believe he just about forgot he had children, he was so sorrowful about losing precious Mama. If it hadn’t been for Clara and Agnes …”
    “… the cook and the housekeeper who came to live with us after Mama’s death,” Ada interjected.
    “… we probably would have gone off to school looking like ragamuffins,” Lavinia continued without missing a beat. “But those two good ladies saw to it that we were properly turned out for every occasion. And there was always bread and jam and cold milk after school. Why, we would sit right here at this very table, chattering about our day, while Clara got the supper started and Agnes oversaw our homework. How I miss those dear souls.” A misty smile played about her mouth as she recalled her old friends.
    Ada brought her sharply back to the question at hand. “Yes, they were wonderful to us, Dear , but that doesn’t get us any closer to knowing why that closet was built ten years later. Do you have any ideas, Lavinia ? It might shed some light on who that poor woman was.” She shuddered. “To think that we have been living all these years with that dreadful … thing … right under our feet the whole time.”
    Reluctantly, Lavinia dragged herself away from her childhood memories and gave Ada ’s question