Riddle Me This?

Chapter 6

The thick string on the attic door swung back and forth, nudged by the air conditioning vent in the ceiling. I caught the end and tugged, and the door opened out of the ceiling with a groan. The ladder let out its nails-on-a-chalkboard squeal when I pulled it down, and warm air poured into the upstairs hallway.

"Where's the light switch?" Matt asked.

"Up there." The ladder creaked as I climbed, and the comforting warmth flowed over me as I ascended into the space and over the top. The rough wood floor scraped softly at my knees as I stood to flick the switch on. The room filled with a dim, golden light. A soft rattle on the roof and a wet tap at the gray window announced the arrival of what the sky had threatened all afternoon.

Was it raining deep inside that house, too?

On the wall sat a cardboard box, one corner crushed and the word "Pictures" scrawled across the side in black marker. I slid it over, just a little, and plopped in front of it. Matt eased himself down across from me.

The box wasn't taped together, just held closed by the four panels tucked around each other. I flipped it open, sending dust up into our faces.

He sneezed. "Nice."

I coughed and rubbed my eyes, blinking away the tiny specks that had deposited themselves under each of my eyelids. "Oops."

A layer of yellowed tissue paper covered whatever rested underneath, and I set the fragile sheets aside.

"Saving the paper?" Matt said.

"Sure." A stack of photo albums took up most of the box, and a newspaper poked out from under all the books. "Might be something on it."

"Probably not."

I narrowed my eyes. "Well, whatever, I'm keeping it." I pulled the leather album, labeled "Photographs" in half-scratched-off gold paint, into my lap. Matt moved over and sat beside me. I pulled the cover open and slid half the book into his lap. The first page only had one picture.

Just a man and a woman, both older, but not quite elderly, standing in front of a small house. On the page underneath it were the words "Mom and Pop," in faded pencil. An old yellowed card with a picture of flowers on the front rested beside the picture, the envelope long gone. I reached for it. A note in neat black writing took up only a little of the inside, the words so tiny they were almost hard to read.

Elijah,

My parents had this picture of your mother and father at their house. I thought you might like to have it. Please let me know if you find anything else concerning some of the things we discussed. I'll be happy to answer anymore questions if you have them.

Hope to see you soon.

Best,

Mildred Barnes

"Do you know who Elijah is?" Matt lifted the card for a moment, then closed it.

"My great-grandaddy. His name was Elijah." I lifted the corner of the picture. It might be him. "Think it'll come off?"

"Give it a try."

I tugged at the corner of the picture, and it came off the page with a soft pop. I flipped it over. Words scribbled on the back identified the people.

Gavin and Maggie, 1923.

The thumping in my chest sped up. Gavin. Gavin Dupree. My great-grandaddy's father.

Then...my Granny's grandfather.

Seeing the man in the sepia-toned picture, his smile wide and his eyes squinted up, made the story sharply concrete. Maybe he was laughing here, in front of that house. Could this guy have killed someone? Self-defense, maybe. Or he was a psychopathic murderer. My scalp prickled. "I hope there are more here."