Death at Peony House (The Invisible Entente Book 2) Read online

  “What was happening? Was the care not up to standard?”

  He shrugged. “Inspectors came in a few times a year for the board’s assessment and never found anything nasty under the floorboards. The news never picked up on it. Even the families would have been surprised. But when you worked there long enough, you started to pick up on the pattern. Some patients went a little loony after they were admitted. Most of ’em would get it mild and it’d go away after a while, but others’d come in with a broken leg or some nasty flu, and by the time they went home, they’d be going on about demons and singing flowers. Those were the ones who made it home. Bunch of ’em died before they had that chance, and for no reason the doctors could figure out.”

  The face of the young man in the hospital slithered into her mind and Daphne clutched her coffee tighter. “There was no cause of death?”

  Harold eyed her over his coffee mug. “Nothing official. Strange, right? Their best guess was that their hearts gave out, though they could never find a reason for it. Gave the place a bit of a cursed reputation among the nurses. I think in part it’s why the place closed down. The nurses didn’t want to work there anymore.”

  “How often did it happen?” she asked.

  Harold raised his shoulder. “The ones who went home a little loose in the toolshed, that was random. I’d guess around five or so a year. Don’t know if they recovered after they got home. The ones who didn’t make it were easier to track. At first it was spaced out enough that we didn’t notice, but then it started happening every six months or so. Sometimes longer, rarely shorter. Then in the year before the hospital closed, it was every four months. I don’t know what changed to make it more frequent.”

  Daphne thought about the whispers and the sobs that had led her through the hospital. They’d sounded scared, not mentally unstable. She ran the math through her head across the ten years Harold had been there. It was possible she was dealing with at least twenty-one angry ghosts in those empty hallways.

  The thought stole her breath.

  Depending on how they’d died, that much trapped energy could easily have made the hospital a suffocating place.

  Another sip of her coffee chased away the chills running under her skin. “Were any theories discussed about what might have caused it?”

  Harold sniffed. “We didn’t talk about it much amongst ourselves. The doctors turned their backs on the issue and the nurses didn’t want to risk their jobs. But I listened a lot, noticed things, and wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with the bumps in the night.”

  Daphne’s excitement crept higher. Denise had been right to send her to this man. Not only did he pay attention to details, he was also willing to talk about them. She crossed her fingers she was about to get the answers she needed, even if he didn’t know it.

  “Something was bumpy?”

  “Not that I ever saw myself. I don’t normally hold with these superstitions about hauntings or the like, but there were a lot of stories. Not surprising really, considering the age of the estate and the fact that it used to be a TB ward.” He grimaced, and his gaze slid past her with a faraway look. “They shrank the ward after the epidemic died down, but for about ten years or so it was the whole hospital. That was before my time, of course, but I can only imagine what it was like — nothing but people unable to breathe, coughing up blood, wasting away. Everyone avoided the place, terrified of the disease spreading. The patients had the gardens to wander around in, but I bet it was a lonely way to go. From what I understand, many of them went mad, too.”

  The heaviness of his voice, as though he carried the grief of the lost souls around with him, turned the flavor of coffee bitter in the back of Daphne’s throat.

  She wondered how many more ghosts she should add to the tally if the same force that went after the patients in Harold’s time had also attacked the hospital earlier in the century. She rubbed her brow, the weight of her position resettling on her shoulders.

  She might have stepped into something bigger than she’d realized.

  “Sometimes I had to work nights,” Harold continued, shaking himself back to the present. “Emergency fixings and what have you. The screams I’d hear coming out of some of the rooms. Ravings. None of it made sense o’ course, but it was enough to make your hair stand on end. It’s part of the history the Ancowitz family would rather hush up. They like to keep their name clean.”

  Daphne detected a note of scorn in his voice. “You don’t think much of the family?”

  “Oh, the ones I knew face-to-face were fine. Nice enough people. Gave up the estate to the hospital board when the upkeep got to be more than it was worth. That’s what I understand of the history, anyway. They bought themselves a nice family home and allowed the estate to be changed over into the TB hospital. They got a bump in social standing even after they lost money, so it all worked out for them.”

  “In the time you worked there, you never witnessed anything yourself about what happened to the patients?” she asked. She crossed her fingers, her hopes wavering on the edge of a precipice. After Harold, she had no other leads.

  “Nope,” he said. “Whatever did those people in, it happened behind closed doors. Or in the darkness of night when no one was around to stop it.”

  The harsh coldness of disappointment threatened to beat Daphne down, but she jumped onto another train of thought. “You mentioned madness when you worked there and when Peony House was a TB ward. What about before that, when the hospital was still an estate?”

  Harold snorted a dry laugh. “Oh, Anabel Ancowitz was known to be not in her right mind back in the eighteen-nineties. Ran around the roof in her altogether and screamed at the moon. Her Uncle George was known to catch rabbits and eat them raw. But all families have some history of mental instability in their tree, so I doubt it means anything.”

  Daphne tapped her thumb on the handle of her mug and chewed the inside of her cheek.

  She’d come to Harold thinking that one traumatic event had altered the balance of the house, but now she wondered if the problem weren’t being caused by the house itself. So many people had been affected over such a long stretch of time, suggesting something more unnerving than a series of coincidences.

  Her thoughts raced as she mentally flipped through all the magic she knew of that could present in such a way, but nothing popped out at her. She itched to go back to the hospital and take another look around with this new knowledge, but the cops would still be all over the grounds. She didn’t want to ruin any progress she’d made with Hunter by breaking her word on day two. It would be easier to sneak in that night after everyone had gone home.

  “I don’t know what else I can tell you,” said Harold. “If you’re planning to write something about the ghost stories of the hospital, you won’t find many people alive or in their right minds to tell you what they experienced back then. If you want to know more about why the place closed, you should go talk to the last living Ancowitz of the family. Charles is up there in years and a curmudgeonly S.O.B., but he can fill you in on any details I can’t.”

  Daphne set down her cup. “Is there something in particular I should ask about the hospital closing? Did the decision to close have anything to do with these patients you mentioned?”

  “Talk to Ancowitz,” Harold repeated, the stubbornness in his voice piquing her interest. Without pressing him further, she nodded and thanked him for his time. He waved his hand in dismissal. “What else am I doing with my life these days?”

  He followed her to the door and rested his hand on her shoulder to stop her. His palm was warm, and Daphne felt the tingle of energy, still strong in spite of his years.

  “I’m sorry to hear about what happened. I don’t suppose…this’ll sound strange like as not, but would you mind keeping me updated with any facts you learn? I don’t read the papers — find ’em a waste of time — but I’d like to know. Peony House was home to me for a good long while.”

  She stared once more into
the depths of his gray eyes. Wisps of white hair, what he had left of it, waved in front of his face, and she was touched by the sincerity of his request. He wasn’t someone itching for the gory details; he was genuinely concerned.

  “Of course,” she said. “Thank you for the coffee.”

  She went to her car. When she pulled out of the drive, she saw him standing in the doorway, that same expression of concern etched into the creases of his face.

  ***

  Finding Charles Ancowitz was easy enough, but getting access to him proved more of a challenge. After ten minutes of wrangling with his assistant, only to be put on hold for another ten, Daphne managed to snag a five-minute appointment with him that afternoon.

  To fill the time, she swung by her favorite coffee shop, The Leaky Carafe, and grabbed two coffees and two bagels with extra cream cheese. Since she was already late for work without having reported in and had just passed off one of the hottest stories of the year, she hoped she might keep Gerry from yelling at her if she arrived bearing snacks.

  The parking lot at the Chronicle was full, so she pulled up on a side street and half jogged her way to the front doors. The building was dated and security next to null, but it bustled with the activity of the fifty journalists and assistants on staff, each assigned their own corner of the world to study and inform the masses about. She raised her coffee to the receptionist in greeting and received an eyebrow raise in response, a familiar warning that her welcome in the office wouldn’t be the highlight of her day.

  She sneaked into her cubicle, set down her bagel, and went straight to Gerry’s office.

  He wasn’t there, so she dropped into the chair on the outer side of his desk and placed his coffee and bagel within easy reach of his chair. She crossed her legs and clutched her warm coffee against her stomach. In the silence of the office, she ran her thoughts over everything she’d learned, and the creepy feeling she’d had at the hospital returned tenfold.

  So many deaths over so many years. Had they continued after the hospital closed? Was the young man she found the first after a break or just the latest in a continued stretch?

  “First you try to get out of work, then you’re late, and now you’re taking up space in my office?” Gerry’s voice sounded behind her.

  Daphne jumped and turned toward him, her coffee sloshing onto her shirt. “Shit.”

  “Serves you right for trying to bribe me,” he said. He came around the desk, rolled his chair away and dropped into it. Eying the mess she’d made, he grabbed a roll of paper towels from his desk drawer and tossed it over to her.

  She tore one off and fixed what she could of her shirt, using the time to appraise Gerry’s current state of mind. His striped gray-and-white shirt was wrinkled, but so far stain-free. Since the man was incapable of eating anything without spilling on himself, he was either on his second shirt of the day or the morning had been too hectic for him to find time to eat.

  Seeing as how his salt-and-pepper hair stuck up in all directions and his glasses showed smudges in the reflection of his desk lamp, Daphne guessed she’d avoided a crisis by coming in late. A mix of guilt and relief flowed through her, but she decided to fall on the side of relief. It wasn’t like she’d been at home watching television.

  Gerry tucked his finger into the crinkling bag and dragged it closer, peering inside. “At least it’s a good one.”

  “Your favorite. And not a bribe. I would only need to bribe you if I didn’t have a good reason for being late.”

  “You have my full attention, Heartstone. While you’re at it, why don’t you explain to me why I received an email last night from one of my best journalists telling me she was passing off a story that could give her career a healthy nudge? A nudge she’d be wise to chase in light of the ongoing cutbacks.”

  He dragged a stack of newspapers out of his top drawer and slapped them on his desk. The top one was a copy of this morning’s Chronicle. A photograph of Peony House covered most of the top half, with “Teen Found Dead at Peony House” written in big bold letters above it.

  The byline read Peter Quinn. Daphne winced.

  “You’re lucky Foley was too busy to take this one, Heartstone. She would have fought me not to hand it back to you after you explained yourself. Quinn’s the only man I had free for the job, and he wrote the story like a coffee-maker manual. Tell me why I shouldn’t save it for Foley and promote her career over yours? What’s this plan you mentioned in your email and why the hell are you taking orders from Detective Avery?”

  Daphne cleared her throat and stared down at the smaller photograph of Hunter and Meg standing in front of the house with Hugh de Lancy, the medical examiner.

  In the rush of what she’d learned from Harold, she’d forgotten to give any thought to the plan she was supposed to have for Gerry. Her mind scrabbled for the nearest idea it could find, and she said, “The plan is to play nice with the cops for now.”

  “That’s not a plan, that’s walking on eggshells.”

  “You know me, Gerry. You know I’m the type to do anything for a story, and I feel in my gut that I’ll get more flies with honey on this one.” She picked at a loose thread on her shirt. “Avery came closer than he usually does to promising me an exclusive once they have a handle on the case.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. He hadn’t turned her down for one.

  Gerry’s blue eyes narrowed. “How did you find out about this story, Daph? When did you speak with Avery?”

  “Last night,” she replied, and dropped her gaze to her fingers to avoid seeing his reaction. “When I found the body.”

  Her boss choked on his coffee, and she passed over the roll of paper towel so he could clean up the spray on his desk. His eyes widened, appearing cartoonish behind his lenses. Before he could start in on one of his tirades, she cut him off.

  “I went there to follow up on a tip, but found the body instead. I called the police, and Avery and Kealey showed up. In exchange for not being arrested for trespassing, I agreed to pass the story off to someone else. You know my history with them isn’t exactly polished with a sterile wipe.”

  A flurry of expressions crossed Gerry’s face ranging from concern to anger, but all he said was, “Ken’ll have my ass for not having my best on this one.” He took a bite of his bagel, and a dollop of cream cheese fell on his shirt. “Shit.”

  “I’m not walking away entirely,” Daphne replied, pretending not to have noticed. “I agreed to let the main story go, but I figure that leaves me open to work on another angle.”

  “What angle?” he asked, dabbing at the mess on his shirt.

  “I don’t have a solid idea on it yet, but I have an appointment this afternoon with Charles Ancowitz. I met with the old caretaker of Peony House this morning, and he referred me to him.” She tapped the pads of her fingers on the armrest of her chair. “I don’t know, Gerry. There’s something weird about this one. The murderer might have left through a third-story window, did the papers mention that?”

  Gerry frowned as he tossed the used paper towel in the garbage. “No. No details were released, just that a seventeen-year-old was found dead. I’m surprised something like that hasn’t leaked out of every corner yet. Not even a cause of death was mentioned.”

  Daphne snorted. “I’ll bet that’s because no one knows the cause of death, so there’s nothing to leak. I’m telling you, Gerry, this is a weird one. Well worth the wait on the story.”

  “I can’t wait to see it. Seriously. If I let this lead go cold, it could be my job on the line as well as yours. I’ll keep Quinn on the preliminary stuff this week, but if you don’t have the full scoop on my desk by Saturday, I’m passing it off to Foley. After that,” he raised his shoulder resignedly, “I can’t guarantee that the next big tip down the hotline won’t go to her, too.”

  Daphne dropped her gaze and clenched her teeth. A creeping anger squeezed her insides, but she knew better than to lash out. The decision had been hers and she had accepted the conseq
uences. She’d hoped for time and he’d given her four and a half days. That was a big enough window to come up with a good angle. It had to be.

  “Hey,” Gerry said, his tone softened, “I’m sorry, kid. I see big things for you, but you know what this business is like. You need to focus your priorities or someone else will get there first.”

  She rose to her feet and squared her shoulders. “I’ll have the story for you, Gerry.”

  He met her gaze and nodded. “Saturday,” he said, and slammed the other newspapers back in his drawer. “I don’t want to see your face in the office until you have something for me to read. But thanks for the coffee.”

  5

  Daphne left Gerry’s office with a determined step and only a slight twisting of her nerves. Four and a half days to figure out what had happened to the young man and the ghosts, and to come up with a brilliant excuse for breaking her promise to Hunter.

  Good thing she enjoyed a challenge.

  Seeing no point in wasting time, she returned to her desk and read some initial research on Charles Ancowitz. If he was as curmudgeonly as Harold warned her he was, she didn’t want to go into their meeting blind.

  From what she discovered, accountant Charles had been in charge of the hospital’s finances while his father served as president of the Peony House board. Charles had taken over as president after his father’s death and, after the closure of the hospital, spent the next ten years working his way up the ranks until he became president of the New Haven hospital board, a position he had held for the last decade.

  She headed out to the three-story office building, paid for parking — an astonishingly steep amount that did nothing to lay the groundwork for a good first impression of the man — and went inside to face the assistant with whom she’d spent such a lovely time on the phone.

  The woman was no different in person than she was over the line. Daphne stood in front of her desk for three minutes, according to the clock on the wall, before she acknowledged Daphne’s presence.