Premeditated Mortar Read online

  His eyes widened. “That really is sad. But you’re right, I do love it. In fact, this just gets better and better.”

  I shook my head, chuckling. “Have I mentioned that you’ve got a dark side?”

  “You only just noticed?”

  Amused, I slipped my arm through his and we strolled north toward the trees. “You’ll be relieved to know that the graves will not be disturbed during the rehab.”

  “That’s a relief. We don’t want any ghostly activity.”

  I shivered involuntarily. “There’s a problem, though, because some of the deceased were buried in unmarked graves and a lot of the flat grave markers only have a number. No names. So the development company is trying to track down the families whose relatives died while in the asylum.”

  “Now that really is awful.”

  “I know. But they do have a bunch of gravestones that are still standing and those have full names. Jane says that the landscapers are experienced with issues like this and have promised to respect that area of the property.”

  “And they’ve agreed,” Mac said, “because they’ve all seen the movie Poltergeist.”

  “Exactly,” I said with a quick grin. “They plan to fence in the cemetery, lay down sod, and plant a few trees. They’ll add some flower beds and little benches. It’ll be nice. There are people around town who have relatives that lived and died here, so the hope is that they will appreciate the effort and feel welcome here.”

  His forehead furrowed. “Did Jane’s mom die up here?”

  “No. But she died way too young, in her thirties. And it was the same year Jane’s father died. That’s why she only had her uncle Jesse.”

  Jane’s uncle Jesse had been my neighbor for as long as I could remember, but about two years ago I had discovered his body and Jane and I solved the mystery of his death. At the time, Mac had only recently moved to Lighthouse Cove, but he had quickly become friends with Jesse and was able to help me and Jane find justice for him.

  “I remember Jesse,” Mac murmured. “He was a great guy. Jane’s had a lot of tragedy in her life.”

  I nodded. “One of the reasons she decided to get involved in the Gables project was to try to turn around the negative memories a lot of us have. She wants to bring some goodness and light to this place.”

  “That sounds like Jane, for sure.” Mac smiled. “And I mean that in the best possible way.”

  “I know you do.” There was nobody more thoughtful than Jane. She had a kind, generous heart and only wanted the best for everyone.

  Mac shook his head and muttered, “I have to write about all of this.”

  Pulling out his phone, he started taking pictures of the buildings from every angle. Then he turned and stared out at the ocean. “Wow, look at this view.” He pointed north. “Hey, you can see the lighthouse from here.” He turned around to look at the building behind him, then back over his shoulder at the lighthouse. “I guess from the lighthouse, you can see the land, but the view of the buildings is blocked by the trees.”

  “Exactly.” I slipped my arm through his. “Jane’s mom used to say that she was lucky to be here because she had the best view of anyone in the country.”

  He considered it for a long moment. “That’s a glass-half-full way to look at it, I guess.”

  “Kind of like Jane,” I murmured.

  We continued walking in silence for another minute.

  “It’s so peaceful up here, I almost hate to see them develop it,” he mused. “There’ll be hundreds of people driving up here every month causing traffic jams on the highway and marring the view of the buildings.” He scowled. “And I would really hate to see it turned into a glorified strip mall.”

  “God forbid. I don’t think the investors and the development company will let that happen.”

  “This investor definitely won’t,” he declared.

  I sighed. “I like to think that visitors will respect the place and see it as something beautiful and different.”

  Mac shrugged. “I guess it’s better to have people come and enjoy it rather than tear it all down or leave it to crumble to dust.”

  “There’s always that trade-off,” I said.

  “True.” He crossed his arms and stared at the buildings.

  “There won’t be any parking here in front,” I assured him. “Jane said they’re building a big parking lot around the back so the cars and trucks and RVs coming up here won’t spoil this lovely sight.” I spread my arms out to indicate the building complex as well as the entire hilltop.

  Mac scratched the side of his jaw contemplatively. “I guess that’s okay, then. Makes me feel a little better.”

  “You’ll get a clearer idea of everything they have in mind when Rachel takes you on the tour.”

  “I think I’d better call her this afternoon. I want to schedule the tour for tomorrow instead of waiting until Friday. I’m anxious to see the inside.”

  We reached the north end of the property and I pointed at the last building. “This will be the new Hotel Hennessey.”

  Mac gazed at it for a long moment. He turned to take in the views from every angle. “It’s beautiful. It’s going to be fantastic.” He nodded and added softly, “Way to go, Jane.”

  I pointed. “And look, you can barely see the other end of the complex from here.”

  “It’s impressive, for sure,” Mac said.

  We followed the fence line around the north side and took a look at the back of the property. The eucalyptus trees lining this area were tall and graceful.

  I took in a deep breath of eucalyptus scent. “It’s so pretty up here. And it smells so clean.”

  After a few minutes, we headed back around to the front of Building Seven, Jane’s future hotel, and stopped for another minute to study it.

  Mac said, “I don’t want to be a downer, but there are seven separate buildings with three floors each. I imagine they were usually filled to capacity. That adds up to a whole lot of mental disorders.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry to say. Back in the day they didn’t always understand the different ways that mental illness shows itself, so there were a lot of people who were wrongly diagnosed and shouldn’t have been admitted here. Women with postpartum depression, for instance, or anyone suffering from alcoholism. Some men even had their suffragette wives committed.”

  “Because you must be crazy to want to vote?” Mac shook his head.

  “Right?” I smiled, but it faded quickly. “I read of one so-called insane asylum that housed prisoners exclusively. It didn’t matter the crime, they were all just sent off to the insane asylum.”

  “That’s bizarre,” he muttered. “Sadly, these days it’s the opposite. A lot of mentally ill people are put in prison for want of a better option.”

  I looked up at him. “We should probably leave before we both get more depressed.”

  He threw his arm around my shoulder. “Good idea.”

  We turned and began the long walk back to the truck.

  “What’s with the towers on each building?” he asked. “Are they an elevator shaft or something?”

  “I don’t think so, but I didn’t get a good look at them when I took the tour with Jane.”

  “They’re dramatic, for sure.”

  “Yeah. I haven’t figured out if they were simply a decorative architectural feature or if they actually had a practical purpose. You could be right about the elevator shaft, or maybe there are rooms up there. You know, apartments for the head doctor and his family or a dormitory for the nurses. Or they might’ve used the space as a chapel, or a place for occupational therapy.”

  He gave me a light nudge with his elbow. “You must love that classic Victorian touch.”

  I gazed up at the towers. “They’re great, aren’t they?”

  “They’re amazing. Definitely add to
the gothic atmosphere. And how many chimneys do you count?”

  “A few dozen, at least,” I said. “That’s typical of the Victorian style, too.”

  “I dig the gargoyles, but they’re not Victorian, are they? And wouldn’t they scare the patients?”

  “Good point,” I said, beaming. “According to the history I read, they only used the ones with sympathetic features. No scary, ugly ones.”

  “Seriously?” He glanced up and studied the nearest stone creature. “They might not be scary, but those are all really ugly. Not sure I’m buying that theory.”

  I chuckled and we continued to walk in silence for a minute or two, enjoying the sounds of the birds and the rustling of the leaves. Then Mac shook his head. “I’m still baffled as to why I never saw all of this before.”

  “If it makes you feel better, there was a practical reason why it couldn’t be seen from the highway.”

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  “Well, I mentioned that the original doctor of this facility envisioned a place where air and light circulation would be key aspects of a patient’s treatment. Part of that philosophy included the daily practice of bringing the patients outside to the lawns where they would have a planned activity of some kind. Either a game or an exercise program, or even dancing. And gardening.”

  “So let me guess,” Mac said. “With all those people cavorting outside, the doctor didn’t want some nosy passersby gawking at them.”

  “Exactly. He knew it would be detrimental to their progress if they realized they were being watched.”

  Mac nodded. “He was probably right.”

  “So the doctor—his name was Dr. Jones, by the way, and he was a contemporary of the great Dr. Kilbride, who first championed these theories back east. Anyway, our Dr. Jones instructed the architects and contractors to build the hospital behind that hill.”

  “Makes sense,” he admitted. “And it’s compassionate as well.”

  Mac reached for my hand and as we continued our walk, I shared some more of what I’d learned in my research.

  “Dr. Jones thought the best way to heal insanity, as they called it back then, was to provide a beautiful, quiet, comfortable, and safe environment.”

  “It sounds almost holistic, but I’m not sure if that concept existed back in the 1870s.”

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I said.

  “I’ve done some research myself since I occasionally deal with these issues in my books. The doctor sounds like he was a very kind and thoughtful man, but whether or not these architectural niceties could actually ‘cure’ someone? Seems like a reach, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose so, but it was a long time ago. Doctors today know so much more about all the different levels and types of mental illness, like bipolar disorder or dissociative identity disorder, the different forms of psychosis, severe depression. And with all the types of medications and treatments available these days, it seems that if you can actually name the specific disorder, you can begin to treat it. In theory.”

  “I agree.”

  “But back when Dr. Jones was running things, he believed very strongly that the architecture of the place would help cure the disease. He was adamant that his builders follow his specifications, right down to the desired width of the hallways and the height of the ceilings.”

  “Sort of early feng shui,” Mac said.

  I laughed. “That’s a really good way to look at it.”

  “It’s pretty fascinating stuff.”

  “Yeah, it is. I’m just happy to know that the doctor took a more humane approach rather than some of the awful methods we’ve heard so much about.”

  “You mean, where they would lock someone up in the attic or throw them into a pit?”

  I took a deep breath. “Something like that.”

  He stopped walking and wrapped his arms around me. “Sorry. I tend to get cynical sometimes, in case you never noticed.”

  I gazed up at him. “I’ll bet you’ve seen a lot of inhumanity during your military years.”

  “Yeah, and you don’t forget it.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  He rubbed his hands up and down my back. “Thanks for coming up here with me. I want to soak up the atmosphere for another few minutes, and then we can go.”

  Holding me, he swayed gently. I wondered if he was a million miles away, but then he gazed down at me and smiled. Hoping to lighten the mood, I said, “I know that look in your eyes. You’re going to use all of this in your next book.”

  He sighed. “I’ve become transparent.”

  “Only to me,” I said easily.

  He beamed at me. “In my book, though, the good doctor will turn out to be a mad scientist.”

  I nodded solemnly. “You’ve got to go with your strengths.”

  “Always,” he said with a short laugh. Staring at the buildings, he added, “Now that I’ve seen the outside, I’m anxious to get a look inside.”

  I glanced around. Only half-kidding, I said, “We could always sneak in.”

  His grin was mischievous. “Don’t tempt me. But let’s take a closer look.” He grabbed my hand and we ran over to the central building. Cupping his hands over his eyes, he peered through the first-floor windows.

  Stepping back, he grumbled, “They’re covered in some kind of blue paper.”

  “It’s because the windows are all brand-new. The sticky paper protects the glass while they’re being transported.”

  “Well, that’s a drag.” He looked around, then knocked lightly on the windowpane. “I could probably break in without doing too much damage.”

  “You’re going to get us into trouble, aren’t you?”

  He gave me a lopsided smile. “Sometimes it’s worth it. For research purposes only, of course.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Right.”

  “Besides, we won’t get in any trouble. I know the police chief.”

  “So do I.” The chief was never happy when I got into trouble. “He gets cranky.”

  Mac laughed. “He’s lightened up a little since he met your sister.”

  I smiled. “True.” My sister Chloe was a good influence on our occasionally grumpy chief of police. “That reminds me, she’s coming up here next week and staying for a while. Her show is going on hiatus for a month.”

  “Cool. Is she going to help you with Jane’s hotel project?”

  “I doubt I’ll be able to keep her away.” Chloe was the star of a hit DIY show on the Home Builders Network. She had lived and worked in Hollywood for the past ten years, but on a visit home to Lighthouse Cove a few months ago, she met and fell in love with our very own police chief, Eric Jensen. And Mac was right; the chief really had mellowed since then.

  We walked toward the hedges, then stopped and gazed at the buildings again. “You should definitely call and move your tour to tomorrow,” I said. “Otherwise . . .” I stopped. From the corner of my eye, I caught a blur of movement. Chills rushed across my shoulders and I clutched Mac’s arm. “Did you see that?”

  “See what? What is it?”

  I pointed. “I thought I saw someone sneaking between those two buildings.”

  Mac was immediately on alert. He stared at the area I’d pointed toward. “Which way did he go?”

  “He went north.”

  Mac took off running toward the north end, staring at the buildings as he moved, trying to catch a look at the guy in between the structures. At the end of the row of buildings, he stopped, looked around, then shook his head and jogged back. “Sorry, love. I didn’t see anyone.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Pretty sure I wasn’t imagining it.”

  “Of course not, but he’s probably hiding now. Can you describe him?”

  I shut my eyes to bring back the fleeting image. “Baseball cap. Ora
nge, I think. Giants. Or Oregon Beavers, maybe?” I glanced up at him. “We’ve got a lot of Beaver fans around here. They had a good season last year.”

  “Remember anything else?”

  “Yeah. Dark hoodie. Black or navy blue, I think. And blue jeans.”

  He nodded pensively. “Okay.”

  “I guess it could’ve been a woman.” I scowled and shook my head. “Or heck, maybe I imagined it after all.”

  He scoffed. “Orange hat? Blue hoodie? You wouldn’t have imagined such a specific outfit.”

  I set my teeth, certain of what I’d seen. “No, I didn’t imagine it. I saw him.”

  The question now was, who was he and why was he sneaking around?

  Chapter Three

  On the drive back to town Mac pulled out his cell phone to call the developer.

  “Hey, Rachel,” he said. “It’s Mac Sullivan. How are you?”

  He listened to the woman for a quick moment, then said, “I’m good. Listen, I’d like to move my tour of the Gables to tomorrow. Are you available?”

  She had one of those bright, assertively loud voices that could be heard without benefit of the speaker. She was saying how much she would love to meet him up there tomorrow morning.

  “Great,” Mac said. “I’ll see you at ten o’clock. Hey, by the way, do you have anyone working up there right now?”

  “Oh no, Mac,” Rachel insisted. “We opened up the grounds and buildings a few weeks ago to allow our new lessees to do an assessment of all the work to be done and the equipment they would need. But then we locked it up tight because our own people still have a lot to do before the lessees can get started on their individual spaces. We don’t plan to open it again until the day of the groundbreaking next week.”

  Mac grinned at me while he spoke to Rachel. “But you’ll let me go in there, right?”

  I heard her trilling laughter. The woman sounded overjoyed. And why not? She was talking to Mac Sullivan. Who could blame her for getting all giggly?

  “As an investor,” Rachel explained, “you will always be allowed to come and go whenever you want. Just be sure to give me a call first and I’ll meet you anytime.”