Page 20 of Death at the Deep Dive

Except he never went in that chilly little room. It was kind of a depressing space, to be honest. He’d been considering knocking out the walls and adding onto one of the other bedrooms or turning it into another bathroom or something once he had a little extra cash in the bank.

A burglar would not turn the lights on. Someone lying in wait for him would not leave the lights on. Obviously one of the workmen had wandered up there for whatever reason and left a lamp on.

Which, truthfully, he wasn’t crazy about the idea of workmen snooping through parts of the house they weren’t supposed to be in, but that was still better than…

What?

Ghosts?

He laughed at himself and followed Watson up the steps, where he was waiting, tail wagging, for the next great thing to happen.

Chapter Seven

He was waist-high in dusty stacks of books when he remembered that Eudora had kept a diary.

Actually, it had been more combination daily record/appointment calendar/accounts ledger than what he thought of as a diary. Eudora had faithfully noted the weather conditions along with her blood pressure (which, given her age, had been excellent). She’d also used the book to file coupons, newspaper clippings that had no relevance to anything as far as Ellery could tell, and the occasional cartoon or poem. Once in a very great while she actually jotted down her thoughts or feelings, but mostly it was just a record of her, frankly, not very eventful life.

But, if Eudora had kept a regular diary as an old lady, wasn’t it possible she’d started journaling as a young lady?

It was more than possible. It was highly probable.

What had he done with that old journal of hers?

He’d been cleaning out the master suite—not the most pleasant of tasks, if he was honest—when he’d come across it. He’d quickly flipped through the pages, feeling a little sad at how lonely Eudora’s life looked from the outside (and even sadder when he reflected that he too was probably destined for a life of clipping out-of-date coupons and funny cat cartoons), and he’d put it aside…somewhere.

Where?

He wouldn’t have tossed it. Even back then, when he’d felt no particular connection to the house or the people who’d once lived there, he wouldn’t have discarded something like that.

So what would he have done with it?

It had to be here, somewhere in these piles of books and boxes. That would have been his thinking: it’s book-shaped, put it with the other books.

He’d likely not find it until he’d finished sorting through all these books and maps and charts and ledgers.

In any case, that journal, the journal of Eudora’s final year, wasn’t going to be useful. She’d started the journal in January and she’d died in February.

Actually, none of those later journals—assuming they still existed—were going to be helpful.

What he needed was any kind of diary or calendar or notebook detailing Eudora’s activities during the 1960s. Before or after 1963 would be useful, but if she’d actually kept a diary during the pivotal year of 1963,thatcould be a game changer. Not that he was expecting to discover something likePushed that bounder Vernon off Pequot Bluffstoday. For one thing, people didn’t saybounderin 1963. If they ever really said it at all.

One thing about Eudora, she might have been an eccentric, but she was a meticulous record-keeping eccentric. She was also opinionated. If that journal existed, there was a high probability it was going to contain information pertinent to this case.

He hadn’t come across Eudora’s journal from the year before her death, so either she threw out the old journals when she started the new ones—and, given the fact that she didn’t seem to throwanythingout ever, that seemed unlikely—or she had stored her old journals somewhere.

The attic? The basement?

He’d never done more than glance inside the attic—that had been overwhelming enough—but the basement was crowded with trunks and boxes and crates and old furniture and creepy mirrors and cobwebbed portraits of alarming people who looked like they needed vitamin B shots STAT. The basement was probably the place to start his hunt.

He glanced out the window at the starry night sky. What time was it now? Eight? Nine? Watson snoozed peacefully atop an unopened box of books. Ellery checked his watch.Ten?

Yeah, no. Tomorrow would be soon enough for that adventure. If anyone knew better than to go down to the basement, it was the guy who’d barely survived eighteen visits to basements in the sixHappy Halloween! You’re Deadfilms.

Which reminded him. He hadn’t told Jack about the unexpected opportunity (Was it an opportunity? He couldn’t quite decide) to take part in theHappy Halloweenreboot.

But then, he wasn’t sure he wanted to bring it up to Jack until he had worked out howhefelt about it.

For one thing, who would take care of Watson while he was gone?

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