Good Buy Girls 05 - All Sales Final

by Josie Belle

  “There was something there,” she said. She knew she sounded defensive but she couldn’t help it. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck prickling and she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching them.

  “You do realize this is a perfect backdrop for a horror movie, don’t you?” she asked.

  She didn’t resist when he pulled the flashlight out of her hands.

  “Stay close,” he said. “I promise I won’t let any masked slasher leap out of the shadows and shank us.”

  “Not helping,” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  Given that Sam’s attention was completely on the fuse box, Maggie felt that his apology was a half effort at best. She pressed closer to him, trying to absorb some of his warmth. Despite the fact that it was June in Virginia, the basement was cold.

  “Well, that’s weird,” Sam said.

  “What? Did you see something?” Maggie asked.

  “Yeah, someone switched off the electricity to the living room,” he said. He flipped a switch and looked at Maggie. “That should do it.”

  “Wait, hold up,” Maggie said. “What do you mean someone switched it off?”

  Sam began to walk toward the cellar storm doors. “Do you remember if these doors had a lock?”

  “No,” Maggie said. “I don’t think I spent much time thinking about the basement. Why? What do you think happened?”

  Sam moved back by the stairs where the lone light in the basement was located. He pulled the string and the environmentally friendly lightbulb shone brightly in the darkness. He switched off the flashlight.

  “It could be we had a squatter using the basement,” Sam said. He crossed back over to the storm doors and examined them and the steps leading up and out of the basement into the side yard.

  “A squatter?” Maggie asked.

  “Could be. If these doors were kept unlocked, it would give a vagrant access to the house,” Sam said.

  He pushed one of the doors open and popped his head outside. Then he reappeared, letting the door bang shut behind him.

  “The place has been empty for five years. It could be that someone or maybe a couple of someones have been staying in the house while it was vacant.”

  “Do you think they’re the ones who switched off the lights to the living room?”

  “Could be,” he said. “If there is more than one of them, one could have been downstairs tampering with the lights while the other one made the noise upstairs that scared you and the girls earlier.”

  “Well, that’s just mean,” Maggie said. She was feeling more irritated by the minute.

  Sam shrugged. “They haven’t done any damage and this place has given them shelter. It’s hard to blame them for not wanting to give up their home.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. But we’re going to lock the storm doors, right?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “I don’t want you getting scared again. Here. Let’s see if we can find a board or something to put through the handles to keep the doors shut.”

  Maggie went one way and Sam the other. With the light on, the basement was still dank and musty but no longer scary. Sam found a rake handle but it was too long to fit. Maggie found some rope but it was too rotten to use.

  While Sam dug through the rusty pile of tools, Maggie looked at the boards holding up the canning jars. Surely one of those would fit. She took the jars off the top shelf and put them along the wall to the side of the makeshift shelving unit. She tried to lift off the top board but it had been nailed to the two side boards. The only way to take it apart was to pull down all of the canning jars.

  “Any luck?” she asked Sam.

  “Not yet,” he answered.

  Maggie turned back to the jars covered in dirt and grime. With a sigh, she continued moving them. At last the stubby shelf was free and she pulled it clear of the wall.

  “If we can break this apart,” she called to Sam, “it might work.”

  He had the head of an axe in his hand and he grinned. “I think I found just the tool for that. Stand clear.”

  Maggie moved back to the wall while Sam banged at the shelves with the axe head. She had thought the canning jars were up against the wall but as she looked more closely she realized that they had been propped up in front of a small wooden door.

  The handle on the door was old and rusty. Maggie pushed the thumb lever down and put some pressure on the door. To her surprise it moved. She shoved it wide and jumped back just in case any nasties such as snakes, rats, bats or spiders had made their home in the tiny root cellar and were unhappy at being disturbed.

  Nothing leapt out of the dark hole but she wasn’t about to go in without light. She hurried across the cellar and grabbed the flashlight Sam had left by the circuit breaker box. She switched it on and shined the beam into the root cellar. It looked empty, which she supposed was a blessing given that she didn’t want to be the proud owner of a bunch of old jars full of botulism.

  She pointed the beam down to the floor and swept it across the small space. The light winked off of something shiny and she paused. She moved the beam over the floor again and gasped.

  “Sam!” she cried. He was still banging on the wooden shelves and she was forced to shout. “Sam!”

  He paused. Something in her tone must have alerted him to her upset.

  “What is it, darling?”

  “I think I found our ghost,” she said.

  Chapter 8

  “What?” Sam raced to her side. He glanced at where she pointed the beam of light. “Is that a—”

  “Skeleton?” Maggie asked. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “Stay here,” Sam said. He took the flashlight and climbed into the small root cellar. Maggie followed. He gave her a quick glance and she shrugged.

  “I found it,” she said.

  “Fine, but don’t touch anything,” he said.

  The tiny root cellar was too small for them to stand in so they crouched low. Sam ran the beam of light over the body and Maggie saw that what had glinted in the light before was a medal. It was pinned to the olive drab jacket that the skeleton was still wearing. So, he had been a soldier.

  Maggie leaned over the body, trying to see where there might be a name stitched onto the uniform. The material was rotten and full of holes; the only thing holding it together was the medal pinned to the remnants of the fabric.

  The white gleam of the skeleton’s bones shone through the ratty fabric of the old uniform. Maggie forced herself to look at the head. The skull with its vacant eye sockets and leering grin made her shiver.

  “You okay?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Maggie lied. She didn’t want to be wimpy but her imagination was running overtime. “Do you think he was murdered?”

  Sam glanced around the room and then at Maggie. “Well, I don’t imagine he chose to die in here.”

  “No, I suppose not,” she said. She had been hoping he’d have an alternate idea but there really was no arguing with the fact that the soldier was in a root cellar and had been for a mighty long time.

  “Come on,” Sam said. “I think this is going to take a special skill set and I know just the person to call.”

  “Who?” Maggie asked as she took Sam’s hand and let him lead her out of the tiny space.

  “A colleague of mine: Andy Lowenstein, a forensic pathologist I worked with in Richmond.”

  “Excellent. So, do you think we found our ghost?” Maggie asked.

  “We don’t have a ghost,” Sam said. He looked grumpy.

  As they approached the stairs, Maggie heard the sound of creaking floorboards above and she turned to look at Sam as if this proved her case.

  “You sure about that?” she asked.

  Sam pushed around her and took the stairs at a run.

  “If there is someone up there, this time I’m going to catch them.”

  He took the stairs two at a time. Maggie scurried up behind him, having no desire to stay downstairs in
the cellar with the skeleton.

  Sam was jogging through the house and Maggie was hot on his heels. A door slammed upstairs and Sam flicked on the lights, which worked, and ran up the staircase.

  Again, Maggie had no desire to be left behind so she followed him up to the second floor. The only door that was shut was the one to the master bedroom. Sam pushed it open and snapped on the overhead light. The room was empty.

  A stiff breeze blew in through an open window. Sam crossed the room and peered out through the old casement to the ground below.

  Maggie squeezed in beside him to look outside. There was nothing but a bare expanse of lawn. The large mulberry tree was set far enough away from the house that no one except Spiderman could have jumped for it and made it.

  “Ghost,” she said to Sam. “It has to be.”

  “There are no such things as ghosts,” he argued. “I know the idea is fun and spooky but there has never been any evidence to indicate that ghosts are real.”

  “Really?” Maggie asked. “Then how do you explain all of this?”

  “The wind, a vagrant, a large stray cat or maybe our cat,” Sam said. He closed the window and latched it. He turned to look at her when he was finished. “It was not a ghost.”

  “But we have a skeleton,” Maggie protested. “Surely, if we have a skeleton, we could have a ghost.”

  “Is this opinion based on scientific evidence?” Sam asked. He crossed the room, scanning it as he went. “’Cause I’m pretty sure Doc Franklin would agree with me and say there is no such thing as ghosts.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Maggie said. “That man has sat at the bedside of a lot of patients who have crossed over and he has a pretty unique perspective on death.”

  “Does he now?” Sam said. “Well, I hate to break it to him and you, but ghosts don’t exist. Period.”

  The thundering sound of footsteps running on hardwood sounded below and Maggie jumped. Sam frowned.

  “That’ll be Marshall Dillon chasing a mouse,” Sam said.

  “Mouse?” Maggie cried. “I’d rather have a ghost.”

  Sam grinned and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  “Come on, ghost hunter, I have some calls to make,” he said.

  When they entered the living room, sure enough, Marshall Dillon was scampering around the room, looking as if he was having the time of his life. There was no hair up on his back and he wasn’t hissing or spitting. Instead he was chasing a string from one of the sleeping bags across the floor.

  “See?” Sam asked. “No ghost.”

  “Maybe,” Maggie said. “Or maybe Marshall just made friends with it. I mean it must be lonely, haunting an abandoned house for the past five years with no one to keep it company.”

  Sam made a face palm and Maggie hid her smile. Why did she enjoy needling him so much? Oh yeah, ’cause she loved him.

  Sam peeked at her between his fingers. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “It’s keeping me calm as opposed to freaking out because the house we just bought, that we are planning to spend the rest of our lives in, has a dead body in the basement,” she said.

  “It’s a skeleton,” he corrected. “The body is long gone.”

  “And that makes it better how?” she asked.

  “Rotting flesh versus bleached bones,” Sam said. “Bones win every time, mostly because of the lack of an odor.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m sorry I asked,” she said. “What do we do now?”

  “I’m going to stay with Bones,” he said. “And you’re going to go home and get some rest.”

  “Bones? Really?” she asked.

  “He needs a name,” he said. “John Doe seems unimaginative given the situation.”

  “How about Captain Bones, since he was clearly a military pilot,” Maggie said. “As he had the appropriate wings on the front of his jacket. Well, what was left of it.”

  “You noticed?” Sam asked in approval. “Good eye. Captain Bones it is. I’m going to call the county medical examiner in the morning and have him meet me here. There’s not much point in rousing him tonight, but I’ll stay and keep an eye on things.”

  “You’re going to stay here all alone?” Maggie asked.

  “Captain Bones will keep me company,” he said.

  “But it’s so creepy,” Maggie protested. “I don’t like the idea of you here alone at night. I’ll stay and we can take turns keeping watch.”

  “What if you see the ghost?” Sam asked. His tone was teasing but Maggie pretended it wasn’t.

  “I will scream my fool head off,” she said. “But since you’re so sure there’s no such thing as ghosts, I should be just fine and not ruin your sleep.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re mocking me?” he asked.

  Maggie gave him her most innocent look. He frowned. Clearly he was not buying what she was selling.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said. “Like camping out in a graveyard.”

  “I thought you were afraid,” he said.

  “That’s before I knew what we were dealing with,” Maggie said. “Obviously, our ghost is the soldier in the basement and I think if we identify him and give him a proper send-off, he will abandon the premises and our house will be all clear of spectral phenomena.”

  Sam looked at her. “You know you sound nuts, right?”

  “Listen,” Maggie said. Sam looked at her, and she shook her head. “No, not to me, listen to the house.” They both did. There was nothing but silence. “See? Since we found the body and have decided to figure out who he is, there’s been no creaking, moaning or door slamming.”

  “So, you still want to live here?” Sam asked.

  “Now more than ever,” Maggie said. “It’ll be like doing a good deed before we move in. Excellent karma.”

  “And if it was the wind?” Sam asked.

  “We’ll fix the drafts,” she said.

  Sam pulled her close, gave her a solid squeeze and kissed the top of her head.

  “All right,” he said. “You want first watch?”

  Maggie glanced around the room to where Marshall Dillon lay curled up in her sleeping bag.

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” she said.

  Sam climbed into his sleeping bag, and the cat—the traitor—got up, stretched and climbed in with him. Maggie positioned herself so she could see the cellar door. She wasn’t sure why, since Sam had blocked off the storm doors in the basement so no one could get in, and it wasn’t likely that Captain Bones was going to jog up the stairs to join them. Still, she felt better with her eyes on that door just in case.

  The mere thought of the skeleton coming upstairs made her shiver.

  “You all right?” Sam asked.

  “Just fine,” Maggie lied. “Go to sleep.”

  “Come here,” he said. He lifted his arm and pulled Maggie close. “We can do the first watch together.”

  Maggie didn’t want to admit how much better this made her feel, but it did. She wasn’t ready to face the ghost that inhabited their house by herself. And yes, even though she had told Sam she thought it was at peace now that they’d found its skeleton, she wasn’t 100% sure it wouldn’t rouse itself to scare them again. From what she’d heard and read ghosts were mercurial beings—or nonbeings as it were.

  She nestled close to Sam and listened to his heartbeat. It was slow and steady without a hint of anxiety. Before Maggie knew it, she was lulled to sleep like a puppy cozied up to the ticktock of a clock.

  * * *

  Morning brought the arrival of the county medical examiner along with Deputy Dot Wilson, who was Sam’s favorite St. Stanley police department employee, although he never admitted it.

  Maggie and Marshall Dillon were sitting on the back porch of the house, trying to stay out of the way, when Dot poked her head out the back door.

  “Morning, Maggie,” Dot greeted her.

  A short, well-endowed black woman with a badge, Dot walked into every room like she owned it. Proba
bly it was the shoes. She had a thing for shoes and had a standing order with Maggie that anything Maggie got in the shop that was Italian in a size seven was to be put aside for her. Maggie noted that Sam had never called Dot on her non-regulation footwear, which sort of proved the whole favoritism thing.

  “Morning, Dot,” Maggie said. She waved toward the kitchen. “There’s coffee on if you want.”

  “Thanks but I had the night shift,” Dot said. “I’m actually on my way home to sleep.”

  “Oh, that sounds good,” Maggie said.

  She had conked out early during the first watch but had woken up in the middle of the night and pulled a shift all by herself. Of course, she had been on the alert for ghosts, while Sam had been looking for squatters. Either way, neither of them had gotten much shut-eye given the discomfort of the hard floor coupled with the anxiety of finding a skeleton in their basement.

  Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how the poor soldier had gotten down there. Could it have had something to do with his military career? Maybe he had gone AWOL and gotten trapped in the root cellar and died. Or maybe it had been an accident? Maybe he got drunk and crawled in there to sleep it off but then a poisonous snake bit him and he died.

  Or maybe it had been murder. But who would kill a soldier—a captain, no less—and hide his body in a root cellar? The questions had spun around in Maggie’s head all night long and she knew Sam had suffered the same.

  Dot sat down on the top step beside Maggie. With her uniform, she was wearing a pair of dark gray Donald J Pliner booties that had chunky heels and Maggie was quite certain had not come from her shop.

  “Tell me you did not pay retail for those,” Maggie said.

  “No, they were on sale,” Dot said. “Now about—”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Maggie said. “Where were they on sale?”

  “Aw, what?” Dot asked. “You’re quizzing me about shoes now?”

  “Where’d you get them, Dot?”

  “SecondTimeAround,” Dot mumbled the words together as if Maggie couldn’t decipher her rival’s shop name.

  “You bought them from Summer?” Maggie cried. “Ah, the betrayal!”

  “She gave me 70% off,” Dot said. “You cannot hold that against me.”