The Ghost in Mr. Pepper's Bed

by Sigrid Vansandt

  “Such a drama king, Fritz,” Sonya said and tapped the horn to give him a start. The moped hummed to life and the three friends zipped down the street with Fritz as acting moped mascot.

  Once back home, Sonya flung her helmet, purse, and keys down on the wooden bench in the kitchen. She told Willard and Fritz to leave her alone for a while. It was time to do some digging into Willow Valley’s missing persons’ past. She needed to find out more about the past than what Deputy Kirchner shared earlier at breakfast.

  It took some time to dig through the library’s online site and Willow Valley’s local paper’s online archive. The town had the usual crimes for one of its size, but no one had gone missing during the last year. The Whispering Pines’ ghost must be from another situation. Good thing they’d scheduled the séance. This would be the best way to try to learn more about the unhappy soul looking for love in all the wrong places.

  The phone rang, and Sonya saw it was Marnie calling.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Sonya said into the receiver.

  “Have you looked outside?” Marnie’s voice said with a hint of concern in it.

  Sonya peeked out her office window. Massive cauliflower-shaped thunderclouds were beginning to roll in from the West. This time of year, the weather could get nasty. She frowned and said, “Doesn’t look good for a séance at your place tonight, Marnie. Let’s do it over here. I’ve got lots of room.”

  “Sonya, I don’t leave the boys during thunderstorms. It’s too upsetting for them. Would you mind if I bring them with me?”

  “Absolutely, bring them. Willard will love it. Let’s pray there isn’t any thunder when the séance gets going. Might give us all the willies,” Sonya said with a laugh.

  “I’m getting so excited. Mr. Pepper, Julia, Dale, and Noah all are coming. We had another visit this morning from the ghost. This time, it was Noah. I’d like to get this resolved before someone has a heart attack or hurts themselves fleeing from their ghoulish experience.”

  “Oh, boy, she’s been back? Anything new to report, such as, did she say anything? Did she materialize?”

  “Sorry, but nothing new to tell you. It was the same scenario as before, except this time she snuggled up to Noah. Good thing the weather is getting warmer. He was in his undershorts when he came bolting out of his camper,” Marnie said laughing.

  The two women had a good giggle at the poor man’s expense.

  “I’m going to make a dessert that will put color back in his cheeks,” Sonya said and realizing the pun, both women laughed naughtily. “You know what I meant,” Sonya added after a few seconds. “We can begin at eight o’clock if that works for all of you?”

  “We’ll be there and thanks about me bringing Lewis and Clark. I’ll see you this evening.”

  Marnie hung up and Sonya hopped up from her desk. She hustled downstairs to the kitchen and pulled ingredients out of her cupboard. While at Puggly’s, she’d bought a few things to make a lemon cream pie, so no time like the present.

  Willard meandered into the room. He had a knack for knowing when food was being prepared in the kitchen. A few whines later, he padded back out of the room with a crunchy bone to chew on as he sat in the window seat.

  Sonya first made the piecrust. After years of baking, she didn’t exactly measure anymore. This much flour, a scoop of lard, a pinch of salt, and some ice-cold water went together in an ample ceramic bowl. Soon the dough was being put into the refrigerator for a short stint to firm up. After a quick trip outside to water roses, newly planted geraniums and a bed of impatiens, she went back inside and washed her hands.

  Taking out the dough, she sprinkled flour on an area of her countertop and rolled out a nice round circle. Carefully laying it across a tin pie pan that had been her grandmother’s, Sonya worked it into place and gave it a pretty fluting along the rim. She popped it into the oven to cook.

  It was time to do the filling. Egg yolks were lightly beaten in a bowl and then cream and sugar were added. A few nice lemons were squeezed for their juice, as well. The timer on the oven went off telling her the piecrust was done. Taking it out, she sat it on a wire rack to cool. The pie filling ingredients were finished and mixed until smooth. Taking the cooled shell, she poured in the filling and gently placed the pie in the oven.

  Sonya took cream, sugar, gelatin, and vanilla and whipped it in a stainless steel bowl till it made soft, fluffy peaks and put it into the fridge.

  “There are a couple of things I miss about life,” Fritz said close to Sonya’s ear.

  “Food?” Sonya asked turning around to see if Fritz was in his material form. He was standing right behind her looking down into her eyes.

  “Ah, yes. I’m looking forward to the time I’m whisked up into the heavens and my final reward is revealed to me, but man does not live by bread alone, Sunny.”

  “Quit getting all lovey-dovey with me, Fritz,” she gave him a kiss on his cheek. “You know your dead wife doesn’t like it when you flirt with other women.”

  “Sea hag, she was!” Fritz bellowed at the mention of his wife. “The bane of my existence, Mary MacGregor. A black heart and a blacker tongue. If she shows her brooding, wickedness in this home of blessed gentility, I will rout her with my own riding crop and shoo her like a nasty pestilence from our home.”

  “Are you done? You’re a bit worked up over Mary today! Did you see her at the castle?” Sonya said offering Fritz a place to sit beside her at the table. She needed to keep an eye on the pie, so it was best to stay close.

  “Well, since you asked, lass. Yes, Mary was about the place when I was trying to dissuade my fool of a great-great-great-grandson from turning the crypt into a place for toffs to swig wine. She ran me out of my home. Such a lot of fuss. That woman is a crazed banshee and will have it only her way.”

  Sonya smiled. She knew better than to get in between Fritz and his dead wife, Mary. Fritz liked to live in America because, secretly, he was a bit afraid of her. Two hundred years ago, she had ruled the roost at home and she wasn’t about to give up her command so many years later. Fritz would keep trying to breach the ancestral walls of his old estate, but with Mary in residence, he wouldn’t have much success.

  “I think it best you try taking something nice to Mary. Make amends and do it up right, Fritz. If you both work together, you might be able to help your great-great-grandchildren save the place financially without bringing the walls down around all of you.”

  Fritz considered Sonya’s wise advice. He stood up and announced he’d give it a try. With the sound of the oven beeping, Fritz said his adieu and Sonya retrieved the delicious smelling pie from the oven. Willard popped his head around the corner, his round, black eyes searching for Fritz’s presence. Satisfied that Sonya was alone in the kitchen, he toddled in and sat looking up at her with a beseeching gaze.

  “Go play outside, Willard. The boys, Lewis and Clark, will be here later. No more treats this afternoon. I’m busy.”

  With a fresh, renewed vigor at the mention of Lewis and Clark’s names, Willard went out to the garden and found his favorite place to watch for squirrels. With any luck, a foolish one would come along and give him a good chase. That was nature’s way of keeping things tight.

  Chapter 13

  Sheriff Zeb Walker lounged in a reclining position in his overstuffed office chair. The morning was going well, mainly due to the delivery of two useful things: first, someone’s wife had brought in a huge coffee cake for one of the officers’ birthday and secondly, Pineville had already finished with some of the preliminary forensic results brought in that morning by Deputy Kirchner.

  With a nice-sized portion of cinnamon and brown sugar-drizzled cake and a cup of black coffee, the Sheriff sat and munched while studying the papers in front of him. The age of the dead woman made the deeply grooved creases of the Sheriff’s forehead become more pronounced. It was the first thing Kirchner mentioned that morning when he handed Zeb the file.

  “Something doesn’t add up, Sheriff. S
he’s definitely a murder victim, but who?” Tommy had asked before leaving to visit with an elderly lady in the old part of town about being ogled by possible aliens through her windows. Zeb shook his head with a paternal smile on his face. People get odd ideas, he thought.

  But Tommy was right, things didn’t add up. The female’s age was between twenty-five and thirty years. She’d been stripped of clothing, jewelry and any identifying items that might have helped the investigation. According to the forensic report, the body had been in the pit for at least a year, maybe less, making the female’s remains incompletely decomposed.

  What he needed was a promising match from the missing women’s file. Problem was, he didn’t have a match. No one had gone missing at that time from Willow Valley. He shook his head. This would mean looking at all missing persons from the region, state and probably the nation as well.

  Poppy Turner Mitchell would have been a perfect candidate, but she’d never been reported missing. At the time, Ricky, her husband, went on about how Poppy had run off with another man. Not everyone believed the story, and Ryan Houseman, Poppy’s lover, was one of them. He was distraught when Poppy left.

  They’d been high school sweethearts, but when Poppy found out Ryan’s previous girlfriend was pregnant with his baby, she left him and got married to Ricky. The rest was history. For months, people were sorry for Ricky because Poppy left him, so when he took up with Melanie Bailey, everyone was happy to see him pick his life back up and go on. Soon after, Ricky went around saying Poppy signed the divorce papers and he was marrying Melanie. The gossip fervor died down and no one brought it up again. That is, until now.

  He’d been working at Pineville at the time. The Sheriff, Harry Dalby, was within a year of retirement and Harry had passed away since then. Something about that body showing up so close to the Turner house, well, it didn’t add up. With the eraser end of his pencil, Zeb tapped his forehead trying to work out the story line regarding Poppy, Ricky, Melanie, and, of course, Ryan Houseman.

  Putting down the pencil, he took a drink of his coffee. Good police work meant knowing when to separate the facts from the fiction. The truth was, Poppy Turner Mitchell needed to be looked up and the best place to begin was with Ricky and Ryan, her former husband and lover.

  Zeb sighed. He didn’t enjoy going over to the Mitchell residence. Melanie always did the flirty vixen routine with him, while Ricky got defensive and acted like a puffed-up horse’s back end.

  Picking up his hat, his holster, and his gun, Zeb told the officer at the front desk he was headed over to Mitchell’s Fertilizer Farm and to get a message to Deputy Kirchner to contact both dentists in town when he was done with the alien situation.

  Within ten minutes, Zeb was driving down the road to the opposite side of town from The Whispering Pines RV Park. He didn’t relish this visit. Only yesterday, he’d been on the phone with Ricky about the old Turner house burning down. Ricky had been pugnacious and querulous, saying that the Sheriff’s department must be letting thieves and pyromaniacs run free on the streets of Willow Valley.

  Asking Ricky where his ex-wife was currently residing made the Sheriff chuckle to himself. He imagined the banty rooster of a man huffing and pawing at the ground after that question. Thinking about what went on at Mitchell’s Fertilizer Farm and his own eminent task of visiting with Ricky and Melanie, Zeb realized both were dirty jobs, but someone had to do them.

  Deputy Kirchner was finishing up his task of talking with Mrs. Townsend. He’d been forced to spend over an hour and a half following her from one corner of the house to another, being shown places she was convinced someone hid and spied on her. The patient deputy explained to her that most likely it wasn’t alien life watching her through the windows. She took his attempt at a sane explanation as a direct insult and that’s when the not-so-pleasant visit took a decided downturn. With an indignant stamp of her foot, Mrs. Townsend declared that she was dead certain something or someone had been fiddling with her things, making faces at her in mirrors, puffing air at the top of her head, and that unseen eyes followed her through her house.

  Kirchner stifled a grin at the comment about scary faces in the mirrors. Sheriff Walker wanted all his officers always to perform their jobs with great respect for the public. With that in mind, the deputy didn’t let the thought of Mrs. Townsend’s overly powdered face or her dyed, flaming-red hair and cobalt blue-shadowed eyelids sink too deeply into his brain for fear his true feelings would be written all over his face.

  “You may have some kids messing about your place, Mrs. Townsend,” Deputy Kirchner said soothingly. “Have you considered a security alarm and maybe some well-placed cameras?”

  The petite yet severe-looking woman peered up at him with an intense, wasp-like gaze. “Yes, I like that idea, Deputy. I’ll invest in a system and when I have proof of their games, I expect your office to prosecute the ruffians to the full extent of the law or bring in the men in black if it’s an alien.”

  A quick burst of laughter tried to explode from Kirchner’s mouth, but with great control, he immediately suppressed it and forced a cough instead in a respectful attempt to cover his momentary slip in professionalism.

  “Of course, ma’am, give us a call if anything causes you concern and especially if you catch someone prowling about the place.”

  Kirchner stepped out of the front door and tipped his hat at the two beady eyes glaring up at him from the barely opened, cracked door.

  “Have a good day, ma’am,” he scarcely was able to say before the door was shut and the sound of locks were heard being secured.

  Once back at his police vehicle, he checked the messages on his laptop. Sheriff Walker needed him to contact both of the dental offices operating within the time frame of the woman’s murder. It was likely this investigation would need to be expanded to include the wider regional area, if not the state and beyond. They simply didn’t have any missing persons within their jurisdiction from which to pick. He knew the two dentists to call, so with a quick internet reference for their numbers, he dialed Dr. Dempster, the same dentist he’d gone to as a kid.

  The receptionist answered the phone.

  “Dr. Dempster’s office, Laney speaking. How may I help you?”

  Deputy Kirchner thought he recognized the winsome voice of a girl he’d gone to high school with only a few years ago.

  “Laney? Laney Bodwell, is that you?” Kirchner asked in a friendly, upbeat way.

  “Sure is. Who’s this?”

  “Tommy Kirchner,” he responded, the excitement evident in his voice.

  “Tommy!” she exclaimed. “I saw your picture in the paper a few months ago. You looked so handsome in your uniform.”

  Her tone was warm and flirty. Kirchner’s heart took a leap into his throat. He’d had a huge crush on Laney Bodwell all four years of high school. Long, auburn hair and dark eyes, he’d lost his bearings every time he’d tried to ask her out back then. Even now, his mouth went dry, but he had a job to do, so he pushed on.

  “Laney, I’ve got an investigation into a missing person and wondered if Dr. Dempster would be able to help us out?”

  “Sure,” she answered, drawing out the word into two syllables.

  Encouraged, Tommy quickly tried to finagle an opportunity to go by the dentist’s office.

  “Would it be okay if I came by and left some paperwork with you and talked with Dr. Dempster?”

  “May I put you on hold for a minute, Tommy?” Laney asked sweetly.

  “Sure, I’ll wait.”

  His mind was doing all sorts of nervous calculations, none of which had anything to do with the actual investigation. Would she still look like she did in high school? What if she had a boyfriend? She might even be married. The last thought put a real damper on his high hopes.

  Her voice came back on the line. “Tommy, you can come over. I’ve asked Dr. D. if he had some time to see you and he’s happy to help in any way he can. If you would be here about four o’clock, he’s
sure to have some time to talk.”

  “Thanks, Laney. I’ll be there.”

  Deputy Kirchner ended his call and, for a minute or two, stared out the windshield of his police vehicle. His mind snapped back to his morning coffee with Mrs. Caruthers. What was it she’d said about someone with a gentle soul coming into his life soon? Was she right? Kirchner quickly shook the idea of Mrs. Caruthers being able to foresee the future out of his head. That psychic stuff was good timing or character reading. Wasn’t it?

  But even a hardened cynic, will have his moments of doubt when hope blows a mistral wind whispering promises of love. A freeing leap of faith was the small thing being asked, so Tommy grinned broadly, checked his reflection in the rearview mirror and kept his fingers crossed about his visit to Dr. Dempster’s.

  Chapter 14

  Out Highway 59, the landscape became rolling pastures, a few farmhouses scattered about, and the occasional bridge spanning clear-flowing creeks. Mainly rural, with the parcels of land being between fifty and a hundred acres, this neck-of-the-woods summed up southern Missouri. The families who owned these farms knew each other well, protected each other’s property, and helped out with the emergencies of farm life such as broken fences and wandering cow herds until everyone worked together to get them back in their rightful pasture.

  Zeb understood the customs and manners of these farmers simply because he was one of them, but people like Ricky and Melanie were different. They were the kind of people who always made you feel like you owed them something or they were quick to point out the things they thought you weren’t doing right. Both of them always had either a sneer or a look on their face like something smelled bad. But, Zeb thought to himself, things usually did smell pretty bad at Mitchell Farm, mainly like chicken and pig manure.

  The dirt road down to their farm was rough and full of potholes. Wafting up in the heat of the day was the pungent aroma of fresh manure. Zeb saw the old ranch style house come into view. The grass in the yard was high and looked like they hadn’t bothered to mow it in weeks. No flowers of any kind were in evidence anywhere and one window screen sagged out of the casement giving the eyes of the house a sadness to their expression. One depressed dog was chained to a post, and when Zeb stopped his car, the poor dog lifted her head and let her tail beat out a sullen welcome.