Kristin Ashe: Disorderly Attachments Part 8

"What do you want to do?"

"What can I do, other than deal with her professionally and hope she'll do the same."

"Do you think she will?"

"She'd better," Destiny said firmly. "Especially at the conference."

I needed a defibrillation. "What conference?"

"Didn't I tell you?" No," I said evenly.

At the end of August, the Colorado a.s.sociation of Educators is meeting in Steamboat Springs. Dr. O'Keefe's promised to introduce me to the superintendents of other school districts in Colorado. Once we've successfully launched pilot programs for GLBT teens in Metro Denver Public Schools, she'll serve as a reference. If I want to roll out programs statewide or nationwide, her support is invaluable."

"She has that much power?"

"From what I hear, if she supports something, it gets accomplished."

"And if she doesn't?"

Destiny laughed nervously. "You don't want to get on her bad side."

"You're not worried about her personal feelings?"

"I can handle those," Destiny said c.o.c.kily. "I have a great idea. Let me introduce you. If Dr. O'Keefe has a crush, it'll disappear when she sees how hot you are and how much we're in love."

"I am hot," I agreed, wiping clammy sweat from below my ears and replacing the hat and oversized sungla.s.ses.

Destiny grabbed my hand. "Let's go find her and get it over with so we can go home. Give me a chance, and I'll show you how much these one-sided attractions make me want you more."

I grinned but wouldn't budge. "You go back to work. Press her for the connections she promised, and if she won't share, screw her. Make your own."

"Good idea. Screw Dr. Carolyn O'Keefe," Destiny said merrily.

"I'll meet her some other time."

"She's not going anywhere. If these programs take off, we'll be inseparable."

"Super," I said, smiling weakly.

Destiny had barely made it out of eyesight when I leapt to the nearest trash can.

The echoing taste of chocolate made me swear off fountains.

The following morning, for the first time since I met Carolyn O'Keefe, I awoke without dread. Destiny's rea.s.surances had helped loosen the tightening in my chest, and I felt like a new person, euphoric almost.

Not even the dour Elvira Robinson, of Save Our Denver, could darken my mood.

"I don't believe Mrs. Middleton and her daughter appreciate the significance of the sale of the Fielder mansion."

"I believe they do," I said with a forced smile.

We'd begun our meeting at noon in the SOD office, which occupied a room on the first floor of a Victorian mansion on Franklin Street, and the building stood as a testament to SOD's preservation efforts. Painted to highlight intricate architectural features, the house looked as if it had been cared for every minute of its 120 years. Inside, SOD had decorated to imitate life in the late 1800s. Heavy drapes blocked most of the sunlight, and mahogany wood paneling added to the darkness. Antique furniture filled every corner, with each piece staged as a history lesson. On top of the twelve-drawer sideboard, ancient bathroom accessories such as razors, toothbrushes, combs and makeup jars rested on a lace table runner. A china cabinet with gla.s.s doors and shelves displayed kitchen utensils and dishes, and a marble coffee table showcased books and magazines from the era. Crystal lamps were placed throughout the room, but few were in operation.

I sat on a settee that felt as if it had come over on the Mayflower, tried to ignore the distraction of a cuckoo clock that sounded every five minutes and hoped the smell of cinnamon potpourri wouldn't infiltrate my clothes.

From my shadowy perspective, I had to strain to see Elvira Robinson. She had a narrow face, with pale skin, painted-on eyebrows and bright red lips. She'd tucked her gray hair into a bun, but the majority of it had fallen out. She wore a matching ensemble, a pink dress, shoes, hose and hat, which all hung loosely, as if she'd lost weight since their purchase at Sears decades earlier. I swear her pillbox hat was on backward, but I couldn't think of a polite way to broach the subject.

Her hearing aids must not have been adjusted properly, because she leaned into my every word and spoke loudly. "There are only a handful of homes in Denver on the scale of the Fielder mansion. It's a treasure."

"In the shape it's in?" I said, no longer distracted by the sharp whistle that accompanied many of Elvira Robinson's words.

"Oh, dear, yes. You couldn't duplicate the quality today, with its intricately crafted faade. That sort of decorative stone and brick work cannot be procured in this construction climate. For instance, you'd need a stone lintel and a stone sill for a window. These are made from Castle Rock rhylostone with a carved face. They can be imitated in concrete, but its cost-prohibitive and produces a vastly inferior result." She sighed heavily. "I wish Mrs. Middleton could be persuaded to reconsider our offers."

"You submitted more than one contract?"

"Two. One buyer was prepared to perform architectural research, using original photographs of the house from the eighteen nineties, in an effort to duplicate the period. I understand both offers were higher than Roberta Franklin's. Do you have some knowledge as to why Mrs. Middleton rejected them?"

"I believe Nell and Hazel felt more comfortable working with Roberta. She's going to allow Hazel to continue living in the carriage house."

"Does Mrs. Middleton remain in good health?"

"According to Nell, she's still driving."

Elvira let out a judgmental cluck. "I don't know how she manages. Pulling a car out of the driveway and steering it down the alley can be a challenge." She shook her head sadly. "You're certain there's no hope for one of our buyers?"

"Roberta seems committed," I said vaguely.

Elvira's face bunched up, and her upper lip disappeared. "That's a shame. Sometime before I retire from the board of SOD, I would like to see one great house rise again to the glory of the late eighteen hundreds."

"It must have been a time of richness," I said with empathy.

"You cannot imagine! More millionaires lived in Capitol Hill than anywhere on earth. They made their fortunes in gold, silver, soil and industry, and they didn't hesitate to compete to build the most ostentatious living quarters. They spared no expense in bringing the best craftsmen and materials from Europe, and the homes took years to construct. Many owners died before completion."

"Without enjoying the luxury?"

"Yes, but most, I would venture to guess, enjoyed the process as much as the finished product."

"Can you tell me about the history of the Fielder mansion?" I said, eager to add to my library research.

"It would be my pleasure." Elvira rose to retrieve papers from a rolltop desk next to the fireplace. "I have a fact sheet I prepared for one of our grant applications."

Elvira Robinson handed me a sheet of paper with a checklist or information and two photographs of the Fielder mansion, one vintage, one recent.

"If you wouldn't mind reading aloud," she said, moving stiffly, returning to the loveseat across from me. "I'm having trouble with my eyes.

"Sure."

She sat in absolute repose, and I cast a furtive glance to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep before I recited the first bulleted point. "Built in eighteen ninety-three for the Fielder family, who made their fortune in silver. Peach sandstone was used in the stairs of the porte cochere, Pikes Peak granite in the entrance door threshold and Yule marble in the fifteen fireplaces."

Elvira swayed in her seat but resisted toppling. "The finest white marble in the country, from a quarry near Aspen."

"The house has an exceptionally high attic," I continued.

"Yes, yes," she said, her head bowed.

"Numerous spires and turrets. A hipped roof and wooden corbels. Rounded and angled towers and a mixture of window styles, including a two-story bay window. Combination of cla.s.sic Queen Anne and Richardsonian Romanesque."

"Combined brilliantly," she said excitedly. "Asymmetry, textured surface, cla.s.sical ornaments, art gla.s.s, high brick chimney and wraparound porches and balconies from the Queen Anne period. Add to that ma.s.sive, rough-faced stone masonry, eyebrow dormers, squat towers and round arches of the Richardsonian Romanesque architecture, and you have a masterpiece of its time, for all of time."

I stifled a yawn. "The Fielders never moved in?" I surmised from the next entry.

"No. The Sherman Silver Act was repealed in eighteen ninety-three, and silver lost its value. Many families lost fortunes overnight, including the Fielders."

I cleared my throat. "The Fielders sold the house to Dr. and Mrs. Benedict the next year. The Benedicts made changes to the front porch and enclosed the back porch. They owned the home until nineteen thirty-two but didn't live in it continuously. They traveled around Colorado for extensive periods of time and often rented the home to other well-to-do families who were having mansions built in the area. It was sold upon Dr. Benedict's death for ten thousand dollars to the Alsops. Only ten thousand?"

"Far less than the cost to build the house, but common for transactions during the Great Depression."

"The Alsops turned the private residence into a boarding house, supervised by their housekeeper, Mary Flesch."

"Yes, many of the homes that survived the economic downturn suffered the same fate as the Fielder. They were converted into multiunit buildings, broken into an a.s.sortment of living arrangements, various configurations of shared baths, hot plates and iceboxes."

"It looks like the Alsop family held on to it for a while. They sold it in nineteen fifty-nine to the LaTourettes, a couple who attempted to remodel the structure into office s.p.a.ce."

"Unsuccessfully, thank goodness."

"The following year, Herman and Hazel Middleton purchased it. They've had the longest period of ownership," I observed. "More than forty years."

"Yes, and until recently, I would have deemed them suitable custodians." Elvira smiled fleetingly. "At least the building won't be destroyed. I tell my committee members we didn't win, but we didn't lose. If Philip Bazi had wrestled away the mansion, we'd all have had a good cry."

"The developer? You're not a fan of his?"

Her nose wrinkled. "He's demolished seven significant buildings."

"Historic landmarks?"

"No, although we were in the process of applying for protective designation on three. All seven structures, however, were unique. The buildings were razed to make room for parking lots, an apartment building, a loft project and a chain video store. It's disgraceful!"

"I'm sure Roberta will do a fine job with the Fielder," I said rea.s.suringly. "You'll be pleased."

Elvira raised both eyebrows and threw up her hands. "I'll cross my fingers. Many in the neighborhood would mourn the defacement of the Fielder's character. Particularly Halloween tour guides."

I sn.i.g.g.e.red. "You believe it's haunted?"

She tugged at the ends of her hair, unraveling what was left of the bun "Yes, I do."

I looked at Elvira Robinson for signs of humor but could detect none.

She continued, unfettered, "Growing up playing in these streets, I'd heard rumors about the Fielder mansion, but they were all in fun. Noises, sensations, movement of objects, shadow forms, strange smells. Most I dismissed as amusing distractions."

"Nothing to be concerned about?"

"Nothing to believe until I had the opportunity to meet with the owner who sold the house to the Middletons. Her tale gave me pause."

I consulted the sheet. "Mrs. LaTourette?"

"Yes, Madeline LaTourette. She and her husband purchased the building from one of the Alsop children. The LaTourettes intended to gut the building, and they began construction on the north wing. They didn't advance far," Elvira said dramatically.

"Demolition problems?"

"Yes, but not the sort you might imagine. For security purposes, they erected a chain-link fence around the property and hired watchmen to patrol at night. When each guard quit in quick succession, they turned to a pair of Doberman Pinchers. That plan, regrettably, lasted but one night."

I had an uneasy feeling. "Don't tell me someone hurt the dogs."

"Someone or something. The LaTourettes discovered a grisly sight in the morning."

I grimaced and said hurriedly, "What?"

"Both dogs lay sprawled on the sidewalk, dead. It seems they had leapt from a second-floor window in the turret."

My jaw dropped. "Over the security fence?"

Elvira nodded. "A sizable distance." Why had someone left the window open?"

"They hadn't," she said loudly. "The construction worker who was the last to leave swore the window had been secured."

Goose pimples formed on my arms. To gain access to the room, the LaTourettes had to pry open the door, even though it had no locking mechanism. There were claw marks on the inside of the oak door, and the dogs had scratched through it."

I involuntarily shuddered. "No!"

"Before they jumped, those poor animals had slashed until their pads where shredded. They had to escape whatever torture was inside that room," Elvira said, her voice fading. "There's no other explanation."

"Unless," I said, employing a theatrical whisper, "they were flung."

Chapter 10.

The ghoulish tale of the Dobermans bonded me and Elvira Robinson.

I spent hours listening to more of her stories of boom and bust, and when I returned to the office at the end of the afternoon, Fran greeted me gruffly.

"Nice of you to show up."