Stoneview Estate

Chapter One

Isn’t that a grand idea, Robyn? A birthday party for a one-hundred-year-old house?

Robyn Valcourt searched her sixty-five-year-old grandmother’s expression. She had to be kidding! A birthday party, for a house?

Why not? Lynette answered readily. Houses take on the spirit of the people who live in them. I think it would be fascinating to honor lives that were lived under the same roof.

Robyn wasn’t so sure, maybe because she didn’t share her grandmother’s feelings about Stoneview. Robin hadn’t found anything warm and appealing about the old mansion when she’d come to live with her widowed grandmother as a teenager. As a child of parents in the foreign service, Robyn had bounced all over the world, living in one embassy after another. After her parents were killed in a plane crash in southern France, she’d gratefully accepted her grandmother’s invitation to come and live with her at Stoneview for her last two years of high school.

The estate encompassed thickly wooded areas and a wide expanse of shoreline along Lake Chataqua, Maine. Historians speculated that an ancient glacier was responsible for digging out the lake bed and scattering enormous boulders near the estate, giving Stoneview its name. In the shadow of tall red oak trees, the mansion stood rather aloof in the center of landscaped grounds sloping down to the water.

From the moment Robyn had stepped through the front door of the house she’d fought a foreboding sense of uneasiness. Large rooms on the main floor were somber and dark, with heavy stone fireplaces and thick-beamed ceilings. A warren of shadowy halls and stairways connected the main floor with the basement, the second floor bedrooms and the attic.

When she was a girl, unseen presences had seemed to lurk in the shadows as Robyn passed through echoing rooms and halls. She imagined muffled, threatening whispers following her as she hurried down the stairs from her bedroom to the warmth of the kitchen and adjoining breakfast room at the back of the house.

Her grandmother’s excitement about bringing back the people who had lived there off and on for the last hundred years failed to strike a positive note with Robyn. She pretended an interest in the weird idea that she didn’t feel.

Robyn was on spring break from her teaching duties at a private women’s college in Portland, Maine. They were sitting on the terrace of her grandmother’s winter home in Florida, and Robyn was enjoying the brush of warm, tanning sun upon her winter-pale skin. Hot-pink shorts were a delightful change from her professional wardrobe of tailored suits in subdued shades of green and beige, which toned down the fiery shades of her chestnut hair. They’d been talking about the family mansion, Stoneview, when her grandmother excitedly revealed her latest brainstorm.

We’ll invite members of the families who have lived in the mansion since it was built in 1905. I’ve already begun the process of tracking down addresses.

Robyn silently sighed. Lynette Valcourt’s years as the wife of a foreign diplomat had trained her well. When Robyn’s grandfather died shortly after they had retired to Stoneview, Lynette’s social life had been sharply curtailed. The vibrant, vivacious woman had been put out to pasture much too early, and it was clear to Robyn that her grandmother had already eagerly begun organizing the whole affair. Her silver-white hair, professionally styled, enhanced her strong features and highlighted dark blue eyes. Lynette’s energy level was that of a much younger person, and her tendency to dominate everyone and everything had not faltered during the years.

We’ll try to contact a living descendent of each family, and send out invitations for a centennial birthday celebration, she told Robyn.

Do you think there will be enough guests to make it all worthwhile? Robyn asked, playing devil’s advocate.

Lynette gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "We’ll include special people in the area who have been connected with the estate through the years. Stoneview has been the setting for a good many community projects, you know. People can wander around the place and see what changes have been made to the house and grounds. We can have the affair catered, and arrange for something special like a fireworks display on the lake for the evening.

We’ll ask everyone to bring memorabilia, photos and stories to share, she continued. Maybe we could even think about writing a history of Stoneview Estate.

The use of the pronoun we made it clear Lynette expected her granddaughter to devote time and energy in carrying out the preparations for the affair.

Robyn felt as if she’d been thrust on a runaway train with no way to stop it—or get off! A chill touched her body despite the warm Florida sunshine. Maybe stirring up the past wasn’t such a great idea. She remembered how the malicious murmuring of high school classmates had ruined the newly decorated bedroom her grandmother had prepared for her arrival.

Her first day, she’d been sitting in the cafeteria with three other girls.

Really, Robyn, I don’t know how you can live in that place after what happened, one of them said with a grimace.

Doesn’t it give you the shivers? asked another.

You couldn’t pay me enough to have a sleepover there, one girl agreed.

Robyn had looked blankly at the three of them. What are you talking about?

Instead of answering, they’d just groaned and rolled their eyes.

When Robyn repeated what they had said to her grandmother, Lynette dismissed the matter in her usual dogmatic manner.

This lovely house had four families living in it before your grandfather and I bought it. I’m sure lots of happenings have taken place under this roof, good and bad. The past is past, she had said firmly. I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about it.

Lynette didn’t know her granddaughter if she thought that put an end to the matter. As soon as Robyn had the chance, she went to the Chataqua town library. As she scanned the computers of the local Chataqua Sentinel, her search paid off. She found what she was looking for.

Kidnapping and Murder at Stoneview Mansion.

Robyn’s breath caught as the headline leaped out at her from the front page. Her heartbeat quickened as she read the account. An adopted infant girl of Darrel and Sybil Sheldon had been snatched from the nursery on the second floor of the Stoneview mansion. After a large ransom had been paid, the baby was left on the doorstep of a local doctor, James Donovan, but that same night, Heather Fox, the nursemaid of the baby, was found murdered on the lawn of the estate. She’d been strangled.

Robyn stared at the photo of a fair-haired young woman, Heather Fox, smiling as she held up a baby for the camera. Robyn could tell from the background that the nursemaid had been standing in front of the garden gazebo, not far from where her body had been discovered. Robyn had shivered as if a cold draft had touched her skin, and wondered if she’d ever be able to pass by that spot again without being reminded of a strangled woman lying there.

The tragedy has nothing to do with you, Lynette had lectured when Robyn confronted her with the newspaper account. It’s over and done with!

Robyn had wanted to believe her grandmother, but when they’d stripped the old wallpaper from her bedroom and discovered her room had once been the nursery, the nightmares began. She’d jerk awake in the middle of the night, hearing sounds of a baby crying. Robyn would stare into the shadows, every nerve ending vibrating with an awareness that danger still lurked there. Once, she’d run from the room, trembling, but her grandmother had dismissed her behavior as childish. As a result, Robyn suffered her torment in silence. More than anything she wanted to please her grandmother.

Robyn knew her grandmother’s habitual strong Scotch nightcap insured her an uneventful, peaceful night’s sleep. Although Robin wasn’t into drinking as a teenager, one time she’d secretly fixed herself a similar bedtime drink. Her hopes that the liquor would knock her out were foiled even before she consumed half of the glassful. Terribly sick, she’d spent the night in the bathroom, and the next morning had to lie to Lynette about her bedraggled appearance.

Later, when Robyn went away to college and eventually became a professor of romance languages, she was too embarrassed to tell her grandmother that she’d like to change bedrooms when she came back for visits.

Even now, a twenty-six-year-old adult, she hesitated to express any disapproval of her grandmother’s ideas. Appearing to be anything but a confident woman in charge of her own life was out of the question for Robyn. Her parents had expected it—her grandmother demanded it!

We need to get the invitations sent as soon as possible, Lynette declared, either unaware or totally ignoring her granddaughter’s lack of enthusiasm. By the time I return to Stoneview in June, we should know which families will be staying in the mansion. We can arrange for lodging in Chataqua for the remainder of the guests. She paused. I think the first week in July would be a perfect time for the celebration, don’t you?

Robyn knew the question was purely rhetorical. As far as her grandmother was concerned the matter was settled. The possibility that she might not be ready and willing to drop all her summer plans and help carry out the festivities wasn’t worthy of consideration.

Robyn silently sighed. No wonder I don’t have a life of my own, she thought. During the school year, the responsibilities of her teaching position demanded total dedication. Every romantic relationship she’d hoped to nurture had died in the bud, smothered by too many other obligations. Several eligible men had shown some interest in dating her, but about the third time she broke a date, it was bye-bye.

We’ll need to mail the invitations as soon as possible, Lynette said as she laid out a timetable for all the preparations.

Getting current addresses may not be all that easy,

Robyn protested once again. What about the descendants of Hugo Koleski, who built the house?

Well, several branches of the family lived on the estate until the lumber mill closed in about 1955. I believe that when the property was sold, all the Koleski family moved away.

Maybe they went back to Poland?

We’ll have to find out.

What about the other three owners of Stoneview, before you and Grandpa bought it? How will you track them down?

Don’t worry. I have friends in high places who have access to public records. I’ll make some calls, Lynette assured her, as if that took care of the matter. After I locate someone in each family, I’ll send you the addresses. In the meantime you arrange to have the invitations printed, and be ready to send them out.

Are you sure about this, Grandmother? Robyn could not stifle a growing apprehension that such a reunion might dredge up dangerous and conflicting emotions. She didn’t know how to explain to her grandmother that on some deep level she sensed there were remaining energies in the house that should be left untouched. Even if she tried to verbalize such intuitive feelings, Robyn knew her grandmother would dismiss them with open disgust.

Sitting there in the warmth of the Florida sun, Robyn sought to deny an insidious warning rippling through her consciousness like the far-off rumble of a deadly storm.

AS SHE FINISHED OUT the school year, swamped by the closing demands of her classes and preparations to be away from her town house for the summer, Robyn had little time to think about Stoneview. She was department head of the romance languages department, and the high percentage of foreign students in the small college in Portland, Maine, put extra demands upon her time and energy. Although she found teaching gratifying and was pleased she could put her mastery of languages to good use, she realized she had let her life settle into a tedious routine. But her summer plans to explore some new and untried avenues for her personal development had to be shelved.

The hope that her grandmother would either lose interest in the project or come up short with addresses of the former occupants had been in vain. When the names and addresses arrived, Robyn had indulged herself in a brief period of childish rebellion, and ended up mailing them nearly three weeks later.

As she dropped them into the mailbox, she clung to the hope that her grandmother’s brainstorm might somehow be derailed.

Maybe nobody would come.

DETECTIVE BRIAN J. Donovan hated hospitals, especially when the innocent victim of a robbery and assault was an elderly man who had cashed his social security check, then stopped at a sleazy pool hall and bar to have a drink. A couple of druggies had waited for him, beaten him up and left him unconscious in the alley.

Police files were filled with such cases. Brian knew the chances of getting any solid leads from the victim were slight. At the age of twenty-eight, he’d seen enough selfish brutality to last a lifetime. There was an angry stiffness about him as he strode up to the hospital admittance desk.

Evening, Detective. The pretty nurse smiled as her appreciative glance passed over his tawny hair, brown eyes and athletic build. You’re out late. The sun will be up in a few hours. Her voice took on a flirtatious tone. If you’re still around, I might offer to fix you some breakfast.

Brian smiled, recognizing the intimacy in her invitation, but he’d learned to maneuver around such overtures, especially on the job. I’ll take a rain check, he answered lightly.

Promises, promises, she said, sighing. What can I do for you tonight?

Brian glanced at his notebook. An elderly man, Joseph Keller, was brought in about eleven o’clock. Assault and battery.

After checking her computer, she nodded. Room 209. Condition stable.

That’s good. Thanks. Brian knew the first few hours after an incident were the most productive in getting a line on criminal perpetrators. After that, imagination often took over and filled in the gaps. He reached the room just as a male nurse was coming out.

Brian flashed his badge. Detective Donovan. Any chance I can spend a couple of minutes with Mr. Keller?

I just gave him a sedative, so you’d better make it fast, the young man warned. He’s beat up pretty bad. A tough old guy. Fought the thugs off pretty good, but they got his wallet.

Any other personal effects? Brian asked. Forensics might be able to get some fingerprints if the muggers went through his pockets.

He didn’t have much. There are a few things in the bedside drawer.

Thanks. Brian eased inside the room and approached the bed quietly. Mr. Keller?

Even though the man’s prone body clearly showed his advanced age, there was a sharpness in his glare. Dark eyes in a bruised and scratched face narrowed as he stared at Brian. His voice was raspy and breathless as he croaked, What the hell do you want?

We want to find the thugs who did this to you. I’m Detective Donovan.

You get my money back?

We’re going to try our best, Mr. Keller. Can you tell me what happened?

He closed his eyes for a long moment and then looked at Brian as the words came painfully slow. The bastards came up from behind. Dragged me into the alley. Went through my pockets. Knocked me out.

Can you tell me what they looked like?

The Adam’s apple in his skinny throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Hoodlums. Young and white. Too dark to see much.

Brian closed his notebook. Unfortunately, the old man’s description was too generic to be of value. If you remember anything else, Mr. Keller, just call me. He laid his card on the bedside table. You take care of yourself.

If I’d been younger I’d have shown them a thing or two, he rasped, and his slack jaw tightened a little. Was a heavyweight boxer in my prime.

Really? Brian smiled at the old man. How about that?

Plenty of money and women, too. He gave Brian a grin. Owned the biggest estate on Lake Chataqua.

Lake Chataqua, Maine? Brian’s eyes narrowed.

Yep. Owned the Stoneview Estate, I did. You know it?

Yes, my father had a medical practice in Chataqua until I was almost seventeen, and we moved to Boston.

Just the name Stoneview instantly brought a hot anger surging through Brian. His father’s professional reputation had been ruined by a kidnapping and murder that had taken place at the estate during Brian’s senior year in high school. As the family doctor for Darrel and Sybil Sheldon, his dad had attended their newly adopted baby and the ill-fated nursemaid, Heather Fox. When the missing baby showed up on Dr. Donovan’s doorstep, and the nursemaid he’d befriended was found strangled, ugly speculations had targeted Brian’s father as a likely accomplice. The police failed to turn up any leads to the ransom money or the parties responsible for the nanny’s death.

When insidious suspicions destroyed his father’s reputation and the town turned against him, Brian had felt the backlash in his own life. His father decided to uproot the family, and in the move, Brian had lost touch with all his high school friends. His boyhood had been a happy one, living in the house where he’d been born, hanging out with his buddies and growing up with a sense of belonging. He’d never recovered from the isolation of the move, and had tried to protect himself from that kind of loss ever again by becoming pretty much a loner.

You must have heard of me, the injured man insisted. "Heavyweight boxer? Made