He’s been growing more and more agitated as he’s been speaking. He releases a series of coughs and tries to calm himself. “Then, my grandfather reached under the mattress of his bed, pulled out an envelope, and stuffed it down my shirt. He told me to hide it, but never spend it. That it was cursed. He said she was coming to him in his dreams and that she couldn’t sleep. I tried to get out of the room, but he grabbed me and told me that she’s still in that house and that she can’t sleep. I started shouting and crying. My parents came running. They hauled my grandfather off to the asylum right then and there. That was the last time I ever saw him. Later that night, when I was alone, I opened the envelope. It was full of money. I hid it and my parents never knew. At the time, I didn’t know what he was talking about, but that night stayed with me. Nothing ruins a childhood like holding on to a dark secret. Years later, I started looking into what he meant. That’s when I put it together. Thomas Carrington did something to his daughter and paid my grandfather to be his alibi. The guilt drove my grandfather crazy.”

By the time he’s done with his story, he’s gasping for breath. I can understand why he didn’t want his granddaughter in the room for this. I would have been escorted out long ago.

His breathing returns to what passes as normal and he looks at me. “The clock is ticking, Mr. Price.”

“Did your grandfather tell you what happened?”

“No.”

“What do you think happened?”

“Probably the same as you; Thomas Carrington killed his daughter. She never left that house.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

He’s seized by another fit of coughing. “What good would it have done? By the time I put it all together, everyone was gone. I hated my grandfather for telling me. I wish he would have taken it to his grave.”

“So, after all this time, why are you telling me?”

“Eighty-two years is a long time to hold on to something. You’re not a child and it sounds like you need to know.”

“One last question, Mr. Whitlock: do you have any proof of this?”

He motions just enough to indicate the closet. “Top shelf. Leather suitcase. My granddaughter doesn’t know.”