by Rose Pressey
“Wanna bet?”
“Not really.” I laughed.
She remained quiet.
“Okay. All right, I confess. I’ve been snooping around again. I figured I could do my own detective work.”
She snorted. “Don’t you think the police are trying to find the killer? After all, it is their job. They want to find the person responsible as much as you do. If they don’t, it’ll look like they’re not doing their job.”
I snorted.
“I’m not sure they know how to do their job, but I guess you’re right,” I said reluctantly. “But it seems as if they’re not very concerned. They aren’t taking me seriously.” I pulled onto Maple Hill Road.
“Just be careful, all right? I gotta go, Rob’s calling.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
I clicked off the phone as I pulled in the driveway. Men navigated the roof, but I didn’t see Reed. His truck wasn’t in his driveway, either. Who kisses a girl like that and then disappears? I retrieved my cleaning supplies from the trunk and headed into the house. I nodded at the men on the roof as they watched me pass.
My old broom had seen better days, but I swept the parlor floor with it anyway. Half the bristles were missing and the loose handle wiggled with each sweep. The dustpan didn’t look much better with its cracked surface. Regardless what my tools looked like though, I needed to clean the hardwood before the room was painted. The cloud of dust danced upward as I worked and fought the urge to sneeze.
As I swept dirt into a pile, the click of the front door made me jump. As if I thought I were the last human on earth and I’d just discovered I might not be alone, after all.
I propped the broom against the wall and moved toward the door. Was it Reed? I eased around the corner in case I needed to run for my life.
“Mama,” I mouthed, then groaned.
My mother stood in front of me. She wore a cropped gold leather jacket with matching pants and purple killer-heels to finish off the ensemble. 1983 was missing an outfit. I had a flashback to the days when my mother would drop me off at school. Needless to say, she was nothing like the rest of the mothers. While they dressed in khakis and turtlenecks, my mother wore mini-skirts with mesh shirts with appropriate matching bra. I was pretty sure she envisioned herself as Madonna, but I’d never asked. I didn’t truly want to know.
She trudged through the door with my dad trailing along faithfully behind.
“Mama, what are you doing here? Nice outfit by the way. Are you channeling Joan Collins from her Dynasty years?”
She didn’t even bat an eye at my comment.
“Hi, sugar.”
“Daddy, I’m glad you’re here.” I hugged him. Daddy worked in Louisville a lot, selling supplies to stores, so I didn’t get to see him as much as I wanted. He’d retire soon and I was thankful. He needed to relax and spend his days fishing.
“Hi, sweetheart. The house needs a lot of work, huh?” he asked, then grinned.
“Yes, it still needs a lot of sprucing up, but I’m working on it.” I wiped my brow to give an indication of my hard labor.
“Don’t work yourself too hard.” He smiled.
“So, Mama, you didn’t tell me why y’all are here?”
“You’re father and I decided to go see a movie.” She stood with her hands on her hips. Her gaze scanning my appearance.
“She decided.” He moaned.
My mother shot him an evil glare.
“You came all the way to Rosewood to see a movie? There’s a theater in Northridge.”
“Oh, you know they never have anything good playing in there,” she said, waving her hand.
She had a point.
“We just thought we’d stop by and say hello,” she said, as she looked around the room. She was snooping. That’s why she’d stopped by. She hated not being a part of this project.
“You want to grab lunch?” I asked. Anything to get them away from the house.
“We really don’t have time if we want to make the movie before the previews. You know how your Daddy loves to watch the previews.”
He shook his head. “I do love the previews.”
“Well, how about I show you the house, Daddy? Do you have time for that?” A quick tour and they’d be out of there.
“I suppose we have time. Vern, you want to turn the car off?” she asked my father.
He nodded and looked at me with sympathy before heading out. His blue eyes sparkled like the afternoon sky when he smiled at me.
A loud bang echoed from the other room.
“Oh my good heavens, what was that?” Mama held her chest.
I darted into the parlor.
“It’s just the broom. It fell over.” I lifted it from the floor.
My mother followed me, swooshing every step of the way in those tacky leather pants. My dad moved through the house, probably checking the plumbing. Mama leaned against the wall, looking like an extra-large golden Christmas tree ornament, all round and shiny.
“Mama, your suit is blinding me.”
Once again, she ignored my comments. I guess if she was enjoying the outfits, it was no harm to me. Flashbacks from childhood embarrassment still lingered, though.
“Your mother loves being the center of attention,” Daddy said, stepping back in the room.
“When will the house be complete?” my mother nudged.
“I’ll show myself around outside.” Dad slipped off around the corner.
He knew when to escape and I wished I could go with him. I knew why she’d stopped by—to drill me about the house. I suspected that was the entire reason for the trip and now I had proof. She never wanted to go to the movies in Rosewood before, and she hadn’t wanted to go now. I listened as my mother chirped out questions.
“Have you picked out colors for paint?” She reached over and smoothed down my hair.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Did you plan on new fixtures in the bathrooms?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“What about the kitchen cabinets? You said you’re painting them?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Daddy slipped back in the room and stood beside me. My mouth twitched, and my nerves were shot. He listened quietly, as usual.
“Have you talked to the police lately?”
No way was I answering that question.
“Nope.” I lied.
“Are they still watching out for you, like you promised?”
“Yes, Mama.” Not a lie. They were probably watching me.
I made the mistake of mentioning my meeting with Owen Baird. I had to tell her every detail. Finally, after she’d asked every question under the sun, my father came to my rescue.
“Come along, Janice, we’re going to miss the previews.” He grabbed her arm and eased her up from the floor where she’d taken a seat. A loud swoosh escaped from the leather pants as she stood.
“Bye-bye.” She stumbled over and wrapped her arms around me. Spellbound by Estee Lauder swathed me. Mama’s favorite scent. “Call me.”
“I will.”
I didn’t say when.
“Bye, Daddy.”
He nodded on his way out the door. The expression in his eyes seemed to say sorry for not stopping her from coming and sorry for not stopping her from the game of twenty questions. I gave a half-grin that I hope said: I’m used to it. No big deal.
After my parents left, I decided to be brave once again and venture back down to the basement. Call me crazy. I may have been asking for trouble, but I’d give it one last attempt. Maybe there was a hidden meaning to why the ghost was luring me down there. I walked over to my purse and pulled out the flashlight—I smiled to myself for remembering it. Even in the daylight, it was dark down there.
I made my way through the house, listening for any unexplained noises. Walking through the hallway, a ghost of a breeze zipped past. With my hand grasping the handrail, I crept back down the stairs. Thankfully, I reached the bottom step without killing myself, and
I flicked on the flashlight. I walked over to the bulb and pulled the flimsy string. The light gave off a faint glow, as much as it could for its size and lit up the area. I glanced around, praying once again a rat wouldn’t scurry over my feet. I stood over to the left of the middle of the room, clueless as to why I was even down there. My mind was void of rational thinking. And a ghost was communicating with me? Surely, he could have picked a better person to chat with.
The stress really was getting to me. I must be nuts. With that thought, I moved toward the stairs. I’d put the silly notion of connecting with the spirit world out of my head, once and for all. Heck, maybe I hadn’t seen a ghost at all. It could have been a figment of my imagination. I prayed I wasn’t truly losing it.
As I moved up on the first step, something caught my eye. Across the room, sticking up from the dirt was what appeared to be the edge of a book. I ran over and kneeled down. With my hands, I scooped up handfuls of dirt and pulled at the book, struggling to unearth it.
Finally, with my fingers covered in soil, I gave one more yank and held the treasure in my hands. It was a brown leather-bound book with faded gold writing on the cover—a diary. Covered in dust, I blew on the book, coughing from the dust stirred up into my face. Tears formed and trickled down my cheeks. What had I found? I looked back to the dirt, but didn’t see anything else. With the little book secure in my dirty hands, I scrambled up, almost tripping as I stood.
Hurrying to the stairs, in one hand I grasped the flashlight, and clutched the book to my chest with the other. When I reached the top step, I stumbled. Taking in a deep breath, I righted myself, my goods still clutched firmly in my hands.
I stepped outside and positioned myself on the porch steps. My fingers itched to open the book. Right away, I knew it was old by its weathered leather cover. Placing it on my lap, I brushed off the dust and inspected it more closely. There was no sign of a title, not on the front, back, or side. I eased the cover open, careful not to damage the fragile yellowed pages. Martha Mitchell was written on the inside—the former owner. I gasped. The name had been etched in my mind from the moment Mr. Baird shared the history.
I scanned the pages of elegant handwriting and one entry sent shivers down my spine.
Chapter Forty-One
May 13, 1875
When the gunshot rang out, I feared the worst. I ordered the children to stay put and when I reached the door, I truly never expected what I saw. James stood with the gun grasped in his hand. Smoke seeped from the barrel and his hand shook. He had murdered Corbin Berger. Never in all my days had I thought James was capable of such a horrendous sin. The day had started so beautifully, cool for this time of year, but ended with sorrow.
Corbin had ridden up. The children had been playing, and I ran inside with them, as James confronted Corbin. After the gunfire, I made my way down the hallway, but I stopped abruptly. My heart sank when I saw Corbin lying in front of the house, blood pooled under his body. I mustered up every ounce of courage I owned and joined my husband on the veranda. I stared in shock at the lifeless body. The Lord knows I tried to comfort James, but the look in his eyes let me know it was impossible. I knew in an instant this wasn’t the man I had married.
Things had changed forever. Corbin had a gun and threatened James, or so I thought at first. Corbin had been angry because he had felt we had stolen his business. I reckon he was partly correct. We did move to town and take his customers, something I hadn’t seen until now. James said he had no choice, that Corbin would have killed him. But James lied to me. I begged him to do the morally right thing and fetch the sheriff. James refused. He ordered me to help him rid the body. I’ve cried so much today. I don’t know if any tears are left to shed. I must be strong for the children. However, I fear my husband. Evil glows in his eyes. The devil has possessed his soul. Never again will happiness be mine. We buried Corbin in the back yard near the pine trees. James hid his belongings, I think in our home.
News spread quickly of Corbin’s disappearance. However, no one will think it odd. The whole town believes Corbin had lost his mind. Rumor has it he took off for Texas. However, I know differently.
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I felt the woman’s pain. She’d obviously discovered the man she loved, the father of her children, was a monster. He hadn’t killed Corbin in self-defense, he had murdered him. I flipped through more entries. My stomach churned at what I read. Apparently, Corbin hadn’t been the only person James Mitchell had murdered.
When they moved to Kentucky from Tennessee, she’d suspected he had murdered another man. That was why they’d packed up and moved from their home state. As James showed more of his evil side, he confessed he’d murdered both men. Time slipped by and I read more, turning page after page. The entries at the back grew sadder and sadder. Martha wrote how Corbin had discovered James was a murderer and had come to confront him that fateful day. If James left town, Corbin wouldn’t tell anyone, but he wanted his home back, too. Corbin Berger ran a store in town and owned the house on Maple Hill Road. The Mitchell family had moved to town and opened a store of their own, stealing Corbin’s customers. Corbin was no longer able to afford his home and had to sell. The Mitchells bought it and Corbin couldn’t live with that. So when Corbin demanded his home back, James shot him.
I closed the book, tears streaked my cheeks. I couldn’t believe what a treasure I’d found. The diary was the reason the ghost wanted me in the basement. All those years, and no one had discovered the diary. He must have been in such anguish. And poor Martha. The things she dealt with were terrible.
As I sat on the step, the familiar cold enveloped me. Goose bumps rose on my arms. I glanced up and before me stood the ghost—Corbin. He reached out to me with his expression. His face was different. A smile spread across it, well, a half-smile. He seemed happy, as happy as anyone could be when dead. At least maybe he’d move on to another dimension and free himself from this limbo. I watched as his spirit faded away—into the white light, I hoped. He was gone and free to move away from his tragic demise. I knew I’d never see Corbin again and I prayed he found peace at last. He had reached across the years and sought help. That was what I called one heck of a paranormal encounter.
I needed to call the police. There could be a body in the backyard—according to the diary—and a man had been murdered. But the last person the police department wanted to hear from was me. They’d had their fill of me. Sheriff Bass wouldn’t miss me if I left town and never returned. As far as he was concerned, trouble followed me like stink followed a skunk.
“You all right, Ma’am?” A man asked as he stepped off the ladder.
“I’m fine.” I wiped my tears. “Thank you.”
With the adrenaline from the ghostly encounter still swimming inside me, I jumped up. I needed to look for Corbin’s belongings. Were they in the basement, too? How had the diary ended up buried? Those were questions I’d probably never get the answers to.
Navigating the stairs, I trudged over to the broken dirt where I’d unearthed the diary. I kneeled and dug. After a couple of minutes, I found a man’s old gold pocket watch. The initials C.R.B. were engraved on the back. My eyes widened. I’d found Corbin’s watch.
With my emotions drained, I rushed home. I tried Carolyn again, but still no answer. Although I didn’t know her well, I didn’t think she’d disappear without telling anyone. Was Reed looking for her? Is that why I hadn’t seen him? With my mind crammed full of thoughts worse than Uncle Oscar’s garage full of junk, I barely remembered the drive home.
***
My comforter called to me like a siren beckons a sailor. Since Payne Cooper’s murder, I’d been too upset to sleep much, and I prayed tonight would be different. I fell into bed and flopped around from side to side. I pounded the pillow and changed positions too many times to count. When I did sleep, I wrestled with nightmares. With very little sleep, I woke early the next morning in a sea of twisted sheets.
The sun shone through the window. I perched
myself on the edge of the bed and studied the floor for a few seconds, trying to will myself to stand. It was hard to keep my pessimism at bay. Something calamitous was rising, climbing up and about to reach the peak. How bad, I didn’t know. I had no way of knowing. I hoisted myself off the bed and slid into my slippers, then grabbed my robe. I ambled over to the window and drew back the curtain.
Not a single cloud was in the sky. Studying the colorful fall leaves, I stared out the window. Bright yellow shafts of sunlight covered the lawn, buttering the landscape and everything surrounding. A couple of squirrels skipped between the two pear orchard trees that flanked the sidewalk leading to my front door. They jumped around like the thoughts in my mind. Thoughts of Carolyn, Corbin Berger, Nick Patterson, Ron Spencer, and Julia Cooper whirled. Details played over and over in my head. I massaged my temples with my hands. It was so much to think about so early in the morning.
As soon I finished my coffee, I called Sheriff Bass.
“I have something that may interest you,” I said as soon as he picked up.
“Is that right?” he snorted.
“Yes, that’s right. I found an old diary in the house.”
“Plenty of people find old things in old houses, Ms. Hargrove. Why would I be interested?”
“Because it says someone was murdered in the house and their body was buried out back.”
My statement was met with silence. That really threw him for a loop.
Finally he choked out, “Another murder.”
“Hey, just like the other one, I had nothing to do with it. It happened in the 1800s, for heaven’s sake.”
“I’ll come check it out. I’ll be right over,” he said without further questions.
Although, still not exactly Mr. Nice Guy, his icy demeanor thawed. Would he want the diary? Of course he would, it was evidence. I worried about handing over my treasure, but it was the right thing to do. Maybe he’d return it after everything was said and done.
Sheriff Bass kept his word and showed up. In record time, for him. And to my delight, the scowl normally on his face was lessened.
