John and Ruth Shipley greeted Michael cordially when he and Rochelle went into the real estate office. Both were middle-aged, friendly, and eager to show houses to Rochelle. John Shipley expressed surprise to see Michael farther away from his bank than at the restaurant across the street, and the insinuation brought a blush to Rochelle's cheeks.
“It's only a temporary reprieve. Even now, duty calls,” Michael told him, and turned Rochelle over to the Shipleys.
Ruth took Rochelle in hand, and with a book of listings, began showing them to her before Michael was out the door.
“Come by the bank when you're finished. Your car should be there by then,” Michael told her, holding her gaze a moment longer before leaving.
Rochelle smiled and nodded. Focusing her attention, she gave serious concentration to the listings. Eventually, she found three that might meet the requirements of what she wanted. Ruth hustled her into her car, and drove to each of the houses. The first one was too far away from town, the deciding factor against it. The second one was a two bedroom, and the living area was much too small. The third one seemed nice enough, but the neighborhood did not appeal to Rochelle. She sighed with regret.
“There's a couple more I can show you. Exactly what kind of home are you interested in, large, small, comfortable?”
At that same moment, they passed a beautiful home as elegant as any Rochelle had ever seen. The gorgeously manicured lawn spread over a spacious area with shrubs closely clipped and shaped.
“Does anyone live in that house?” Rochelle blurted out before Ruth passed it by.
Ruth pulled over to the curb, backed up until she was in front of the house. “No one lives there presently, but I don't believe it's for sale. There's a possibility you might rent it.”
“I'd like to see it if I may. Is it furnished?”
“It's furnished. I'll call John and see if he can get the key.” She had a two-way radio in the car and called him on it.
Rochelle was out of the car in a blink and heading toward the house. It was large, elegant, and stately. It was a two-story structure with tall shuttered windows, a long gallery spreading across the front with the roof supported by pillars. It resembled homes of the old south, but its spaciousness was the attractive characteristic that impressed Rochelle.
Ruth joined her after her husband agreed to bring the key.
“John won't be long, so we can explore the grounds while we wait. The house has been vacant for some time now, but the owner keeps it up. I believe he was in the process of remodeling the kitchen.”
“Why doesn't the owner live here?” Rochelle asked, looking at the large brick patio in the rear of the house with lots of shrubbery and plants to create a lovely landscape.
“The owner built his own home. This one belonged to his parents.”
“And where are the parents?”
“They both are dead.” Ruth was hesitant to tell her the house belonged to Michael, and that his parents had lived there. There had been so much bad publicity surrounding the house that she thought it best to say as little as possible.
“I believe I hear John now,” she remarked, turning to go toward the front of the house. “You just keep looking and I'll be right back.”
“Surely, she doesn't want this house,” John Shipley said to his wife.
“It's the only one she's shown any interest in. Did you speak to Michael about it?”
“He said he would rather rent it, but if she's intent on buying, he'll sell.”
“Did he say how much?”
“He wants Two Hundred and Twenty-Five Thousand.”
“It's well worth that and more with all the land, but there aren't too many people around here who can afford that or would even buy it if they could afford it because of its history.”
“Can she afford it?” John asked, nodding his head toward Rochelle.
“Gossip has it that she's very wealthy. Anyway, I doubt Michael would offer to sell if he didn't think she was financially capable of buying, and I imagine if anyone should know, he would.”
“This house was in his family for many years, but I suppose it's become a burden with taxes, insurance and upkeep. Michael doesn't need it, and his brother doesn't want it.”
“There's the matter of the violent deaths that occurred here. I have an obligation to tell her, but you know how opposed Michael is about people discussing anything involving his father and stepmother's deaths.”
“I told Michael she would have to be told, and he said be as brief as possible. He'd rather she didn't know all the details.”
“You know she's going to ask questions?”
“Then you will simply have to refer her to Michael,” John said, turning to leave.
Rochelle came from around the house and met Ruth at the front door. Ruth unlocked it and they both stepped inside.
The interior was spacious, richly designed, elegant and well maintained. The house was completely furnished, and when Rochelle lifted some of the dust covers from the furniture, she saw upholstered sofas and chairs done in rich fabrics, and beautifully carved rosewood tables that were old and probably priceless. As they toured the dining room, a library, a study, a den with a full bathroom, a large breakfast room that joined the kitchen, Rochelle had nearly made up her mind to buy the place.
As Ruth had said, the kitchen was undergoing remodeling. Old cabinets, stored against one wall were due for replacement with new ones that were more modern and made of dark pine. The new floor made of eggshell ceramic tiles looked recently finished. The rest of the kitchen shone with decorative ceramic tiles between the lower and upper cabinets. The soffit above the cabinets, papered with a lovely leaf pattern design, added color beneath the generous ceiling lights.
Rochelle liked the house, liked the furnishings, liked the location close to town and the interstate, and visualized herself living there. She and Ruth went upstairs.
“There are five bedrooms upstairs and two have their own full, elaborate baths with tubs and showers,” Ruth explained as they made their tour. “The other three bedrooms share a bath, but it's just as luxurious as the first two.”
Rochelle began looking in each room, impressed by each and the delightful décor of expensive furnishings. When she turned the knob on the last door at the end of the hallway, it would not budge.
She turned to Ruth. “Do you have the key to this room?”
“Yes, but there's something I must tell you before I show it to you,” she stated hesitantly sliding the key in the lock and turning it.
“This room has been closed up for a good reason. It is the master bedroom and once belonged to the owner's parents. They were killed in this room.”
Rochelle gasped. “Killed? How were they killed? Why? What happened?”
“The people were shot while they slept. Their murderer has never been caught.”
“Didn't the police have any idea who it might be?” Rochelle asked with shock.
“They made an arrest, and there was a trial, but because there was no evidence against the man, the defense cast so much doubt on the prosecution's case the jury found him not guilty. Anyway, no one believes the person charged was guilty anyway. I believe most people call it a trumped up charge.”
“Who does this house belong to, Ruth?”
Ruth hung her head and watched the toe of her shoe poke at an imaginary object. “James Matheson owned this house.”
“James Matheson, the banker? James Matheson, Michael's father?” A flash of remembrance crossed her brow. She had been in the house the time she had visited with her parents. Being a young girl, she had found nothing there to interest her; thus, the reason she had forgotten about it.
“Yes, Michael's father owned this house. I didn't think it was my place to tell you since you know Michael. I'm sorry I had to do so.”
“Who was charged with the murders?” Rochelle asked, holding the doorknob of the door to the room.
“Michael was, but no one in this town believes he did it. He was, unfortunately, in the wrong place at the right time.”
“Who is Wayne?” Rochelle asked, recalling what Wayne had said to Michael that morning.
“Wayne was a gardener and handyman here.”
“Why do he and Michael dislike each other so much?”
“Miss Rathbone, my husband and I have great respect for Michael, as we did for his father. I really do not feel it is up to me to tell you these things. Perhaps Michael can…”
“Is it a secret to the people in this town?” Rochelle asked softly.
“No, everyone knows. It's no secret.”
“Then will you please tell me? I am still interested in buying this house. I don't see any reason why my realtor can't disclose the history of the house, and if a bit of information on the people who lived here is accidentally mentioned, then I don't see anything wrong with that either.”
She turned the doorknob and walked into the room, gazing at a king-sized bed, his and her chests, and a dresser and mirror. It also had a sitting area with a small French sofa and two matching chairs surrounding a coffee table. All the furniture was in a warm white, complemented by a thick, dark blue carpet. The room apparently had received a thorough cleaning, and nothing appeared disturbed by the violence that had occurred there.
“I suppose you're right, but I hope you will consider my confidences a private matter. Michael might not appreciate me telling you.”
“Tell me about Wayne and Michael. Why do they dislike each other?”
“The senior Mr. Matheson remarried after Michael's mother died with cancer. He married a woman much younger than him and word had it that she wasn't… well, she wasn't a highly moral person.
Gossip had it that she was sleeping with Wayne when Mr. Matheson went off to work. The police investigated Wayne, could not prove anything against him, so they went after Michael.
“You see, Michael had come here from San Francisco for his father's birthday, and when Mr. and Mrs. Matheson were shot and killed Michael was at the other end of the hall, asleep in his old bedroom.”
“But did something happen between Michael and Wayne?”
“Michael caught Wayne and Tina downstairs in his father's study before the killings took place. Tina was James Matheson's wife, Michael's stepmother. He didn't want to hurt his father by telling him, yet, he felt compelled to do so. His father refused to listen. People said Tina had Mr. Matheson so twisted around her little finger that he didn't want to know her faults or infidelities.
“Anyway, Michael told Wayne to get off the property. Wayne refused to leave, saying James Matheson hired him, and he would not leave unless James Matheson fired him. He and Michael got into a terrible argument. They even threw punches at each other, but Tina called the police, who came and broke it up.
“Mr. Matheson did fire Wayne, and it came out at the trial that Wayne forced himself past Mr. Matheson into the house where he found Tina and demanded that she leave with him. The housekeeper later testified in court that she had never seen any man as angry as Wayne when Tina laughed in his face and told him he had lost his mind. Mr. Matheson tried to get him out of the house, finally calling the police when Wayne kept after Tina to leave with him. The police made Wayne leave after he collected his things from the apartment above the garage.
“It was about three days later that both Mr. Matheson and Tina were shot and killed right here in this room,” she said, nodding toward the bed that was covered with a beautiful dark blue comforter and a matching bed skirt.
“Wayne had more motive than anyone else. Why wasn't he investigated more thoroughly?”
“Wayne told the police he'd caught Michael and Tina having sex together, said they'd been having an affair off and on since Tina married Michael's father, so it became Michael's word against Wayne's. Since Tina had made a few trips to San Francisco where Michael lived at the time, the circumstantial evidence started adding up against him.”
“Were they having an affair?”
“I would bet my life that they weren't. Michael's mother instilled sound morals in her children. Michael's conscience wouldn't allow him to do such a thing with his father's wife.
“Anyway, as it finally turned out, the police decided Michael not only had a motive, he also had the opportunity. The motive was that when he told his father about Tina and Wayne having sex, his father was furious with Michael and threatened to change his will and disinherit him. The housekeeper testified to that story, and it seemed that Michael had no defense against the charges made by the police.
“The night it happened, the police received an anonymous tip that someone had murdered the senior Matheson and his wife, and when the police arrived, they found Michael still asleep in his bed.
He didn't know anything about what had happened until the police woke him. Even a fool would not have killed his parents, then gone back to bed and fallen asleep.
“Miss Rathbone, it was terrible for poor Michael. He has been through hell and back again. But everybody in this town loves him and knows he could never have done what he was accused of doing.”
“The gun shots must have been extremely loud. How could Michael sleep through that?”
“Well, like I said, Michael came home for his father's birthday.
Mind you, they never celebrated just one day as most folks do—the first day's celebration was for family, the second for employees and associates, and the third for close friends. There was too much drinking that third night and Michael admitted later that he had been upset with his father and drank far more than was his nature. One of the bank employees, Zimmerman, I believe, had to help him upstairs to his room, which is at the far end of the hall from the master suite.
He passed out, and that's why he didn't hear the sound of the gunshots.”
“Is the case still open? Are the police still searching for the killer?” Rochelle asked, finding it hard to believe that the police might even consider Michael as a suspect.
“Since Michael was tried and found not guilty, the police have put no further effort into finding who it might be. I understand Michael keeps encouraging the police chief and the sheriff's department to pursue the investigation, but if they are, I haven't heard about it. They never did find the gun used to kill the Mathesons, and without a weapon, I hear it is hard to make a charge stick without hard evidence. They only had circumstantial evidence against Michael at the trial. That's why the jury found him not guilty.”
“Did the police search for the gun?”
“They searched every possible place here on the premises where a gun might be hidden. The housekeeper, who had to clean up the mess made by the police, said they turned everything upside down, and inside out, both in and outside the house. Not a single place was left undisturbed, she reported.”
“Then it stands to reason whoever killed them must have taken the gun with them. How could they possibly suspect Michael when he was still in bed asleep? Further, who was the anonymous caller who reported the killings? Did they ever question that?”
“They did, but nothing ever came of it.”
“Poor Michael must have been devastated.”
“He was indeed, and for a number of reasons. His brother didn't know who or what to believe so he turned against Michael. Then when the police jailed Michael he wasn't allowed bail because he had a thriving business in San Francisco and they were afraid he would jump bail. His business failed miserably during the time of his incarceration without him to run it, and finally, he gave up the business, sold out everything. I don't know if it was due to financial loss, or if he simply chose to run his father's bank. Larry, Michael's brother, wanted no part of it.”
“What kind of business was Michael in?”
“He was an architect, and a very good one, I understand.
Although San Francisco was his base, rumors were that he was getting clients from all around the country, and he was making lots of money for what he did. He was into major developments such as high-rises, billion-dollar commercial projects and more, and he had a large team who worked with him. At the time of his arrest, he had been actively preparing to set up his own construction company so he not only drew the plans, but implemented them as well. Michael is a very intelligent man, but everyone feels he is not happy with what he's doing now. He made a lot of money in San Francisco, and many people felt he was destined to go far, until the deaths of his father and Tina and he was put through the whole horrible ordeal of being charged for their murder.”
“I take it, you strongly believe in his innocence,” Rochelle said, pulling the door of the bedroom closed behind her.
“The entire town believes in Michael's innocence. He is one of the most respected and well-liked persons around. When he was younger, before he went away to college, he was always doing something to help people. He would mow the yard for some old lady, baby-sit someone's animal while they went on vacation, fix a leaky faucet for someone he knew couldn't afford a plumber, and dozens of other things. Never was there a shortage of people who needed him to help them, and Michael did it in the best of spirits. He likes helping people, and it has earned him a great deal of respect and many friends. Since he's been running the bank, he's made some fairly risky loans to friends of his that no other banker would have touched, but they paid off and Michael came out ahead, not only financially, but also by gaining some strong friendships.
“Everybody still believes it was Wayne who did the killings, but it seems we'll never know the truth.”
“Where does Michael live?”
“He built his own house, a beautiful ranch style structure just on the outskirts of town. It's in a wonderful location, and some say it's the only thing Michael cherishes since the death of his father.”
Ruth noticed Rochelle was staring at her with a strange look on her face. She felt panic growing inside her, fearing she might have said something to ruin the friendship that seemed to have sprouted between Michael and Rochelle. “If I've said something…” she began.
Rochelle's expression, however, proved to be a thoughtful one.
“Ruth, I'd like to buy this house. Please draw up the necessary papers. Do you know who's doing the work on the kitchen?”
“Michael is doing the remodeling.”
“Michael?”
“He likes working with his hands. I think he enjoys it as a hobby when he's not working at the bank.”
Rochelle thought of Michael's hands that bore none of the softness of a banker's hands. She remembered the calluses on his fingers, and now felt, after Ruth's explanation, that she truly knew Michael Matheson and understood the emotional scars he was reluctant to expose.
Ruth still worried that she might have said too much. “Miss Rathbone, Michael is one of the finest men I've ever known. No one is more respected in this town than he is. If I have said anything that concerns you, please say so. I would not have you leave here thinking anything bad about him.”
Rochelle regarded her with understanding. “Everything you've said merely confirms what I knew all ready. Michael really is a very special man.”