The Corpse with the Iron Will by Cathy Ace

Author:Cathy Ace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: traditional mystery, cozy mystery, Canadian mystery, armchair travel mystery, Women sleuths
Publisher: Four Tails Publishing Ltd.
Published: 2021-06-03T07:00:00+00:00

Shutting the Stable Doors

The Dumas property was buzzing with people. No wonder movies cost so much to make – there were dozens of people on the property, most of whom seemed to be hanging about doing nothing. Maddie negotiated the various bits of equipment, wires, and rigs with ease – I trotted behind her like a puppy, afraid I might knock into something that cost thousands of dollars. I was relieved when we reached a door in the side of the barn, which opened onto a sturdy set of internal stairs.

As we climbed, the air changed; it became warmer, sweeter, and there was a definite undertone of animal presence. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it wasn’t as fresh as I’d hoped. The stairs led to a landing where Maddie opened a locked door, and we entered a massive area that accounted for about a third of the roof space of the building. It was nothing fancy; all the structural elements of the building were visible, and they weren’t at all quaint or pretty. Light streamed in through dormer windows on three sides, but Maddie threw a switch to turn on buzzing fluorescent strip lights in any case. She marched across the bare, wooden boards, her boots clattering as she walked.

“This was Dad’s world,” she said, waving an arm. “If he wasn’t out at one of the nurseries or at the office where the admin people for the entire company worked, he was here. The house? All Mom. This? All Dad.”

The two worlds couldn’t have differed more; one for show and comfort, one absolutely utilitarian. Despite the horsey smell, I knew which I preferred; I was beginning to be sorry I’d never met Terry Dumas. However, while the man might have been good at business, he certainly hadn’t been good at organization. One wall was completely shelved, another had rows of old, metal filing cabinets, some pretty badly dented, many rusting. There were box files stacked on the shelves, and on the floor in front of the shelves, and piles of papers – many yellow with age – on top of the four desks, only one of which had a chair beside it.

“It’s hard to know where to start, isn’t it?” Maddie sounded surprisingly cheerful. “But if I recall correctly, Dad kept the more personal stuff in the filing cabinets, some of which he locked. He used to let me come here to play when he was working, and Mom was out doing whatever it was she did that required fancy frocks and someone to drive her home. I liked those days. But there were never enough of them. He left us too soon.”

I wondered if that comment was something I’d have time to dissect later on, but was aware Maddie had a deadline, so didn’t want to take her focus off our search. “How about you tackle the more personal area, and maybe find those wedding photos, while I try to work out if there’s any sort of system being used for these box files? We might both find what we’re after a lot quicker that way.

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