Page 18 of The Curse of Redwood
So, it’s true. Ezekiel was real.
I felt the blood rush from my face, and despite the warm temperature in the room, a chill passed through me.
“When did Ezekiel die?”
Ben pressed his lips together, and his brow winkled as he scrolled through the information. “Hmm. That’s weird.”
“What is?”
He tore his eyes from the screen to look at me. “It doesn’t say anything about Ezekiel’s death, and he’s not mentioned anywhere else in the article. Maybe he’s listed in the death records.” A few clicks later, he pulled up another page. We spent thirty minutes searching through the names and still didn’t find anything.
“Do you think Florence would know anything?” I asked. “She helped you find stuff on Blackwell Manor, right?”
Ben nodded and scooted his chair back. “I’ll ask her. Come on.”
I followed him to the side of the room where Florence was shelving returned library books.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Cross?” she asked, once seeing us. Whether subconsciously or not, she smoothed down her red hair.
I did my best to hide my smile.
“What might be the reason a death wasn’t recorded?” Ben asked. “I would understand if it was during war time or a plague when death tolls skyrocketed, but that doesn’t seem to be the case here.”
“Whose death are you looking into?” she asked suspiciously. Then, she beamed with a smile. “Is this for a book you’re writing? Oh, I was so thrilled when you found Theo Blackwell’s journal and finally let his truth be known.” She looked at me. “Mr. Cross helped solve a century old missing person’s case, you know.”
“Really?” I asked, playing dumb. “He should get a medal for that.”
Ben bumped my shoulder before smiling sweetly at her. “I appreciate the praise, Florence, though it is certainly misplaced. Theo is—er,wasthe person who told his story. I just helped pass it on to others. As for my question… this could very well be for a novel.” He leaned closer to her. “And if you help me, you might even be mentioned in the acknowledgments again.”
Again. He’d listed her inThe Ghost of Ellwood. Just a single sentence, but he’d told me Florence had freaked out over it when he brought her an autographed copy of the book. It was sweet.
“Ezekiel Warren is the person I’m looking for,” he added.
“Warren.” She thought a moment before holding up a finger. “The first name doesn’t ring a bell, but the last sure does. You’re looking into Redwood Manor, aren’t you?”
“You caught me. What can you tell me about the Warren family?”
Ben was smooth… real smooth. Because Florence started falling all over herself trying to help after that. She led us to a door withStaff Onlywritten above it, letting us walk inside before she shut the door and followed behind us.
“That house has a very dark history, Mr. Cross. Even darker than Blackwell Manor if you can believe it.” Florence went over to a shelf at the back of the room and ran her fingers along the spines of the books before stopping at one. “A man named Charlie Michaels, a writer in the 80s, was fascinated by the history, much like you two. He put together all he could find about the manor and its inhabitants, even detailing some of their deaths. I think he was writing a book about Redwood, though he never finished it. This is a record of everyone who lived in the manor from the year it was built until the 1920s.”
“Why does it stop there?”
“That’s when the massacre happened,” she answered. “Have you not heard the story?”
Both Ben and I shook our heads.
“To make a long story short,” Florence said, handing Ben the book of records. “A wealthy businessman named Jasper Davies moved into the mansion with his wife and their three children. They had a dinner party one night.” She leaned closer to us. “Now, there’s only speculation at what happened next because no one knows the real truth. But rumor has it that Jasper killed his whole family before slaughtering all their guests with an axe. He was then found hanging from the second floor balcony. I don’t believe in ghosts myself, not really, but people who’ve been in the mansion since then swear they hear knocks coming from the area he was found.”
“Knocks?” I asked.
“Like boots bumping the railing,” she explained, and I shuddered at the visual. “The house sat empty for over a decade after the massacre. The first family to live there after that only lasted two weeks before they fled. It’s been that way ever since. One family moves in just to be scared away or met with unusual circumstances.” At my questioning look, she added, “Deaths, my boy. They die in such bizarre ways too.”
“What happened to the man who recorded all of this?” Ben asked, nodding to the old book in his hands.
“Oh.” Florence cleared her throat. “Well, that’s not a happy story either. You see, Mr. Michaels never owned the mansion, but he spent so much time there in his curiosity that many people say the alleged curse claimed him anyway. He was hit by a train walking home one evening. This book somehow found its way here. But anyway. I hope you’ll find what you need in the records. I need to get back to work.”
“That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside,” I said, once she had walked away.
