I started at the bookshelf closest to me, just looking at first. The dust lay thick on the shelves and tops of the books, but otherwise, most of the volumes seemed to be in good condition. Most were leather-bound, which would add to the value.
Walking down the row of bookcases, I could see the previous owner had varied tastes. My heart thudded with excitement as I walked past volumes of poems, history books and some of the popular novels from the 1950s and ‘60s. A polished mahogany ladder ran on a track around the room allowing access to the books on the higher shelves, but I didn’t need to venture up there yet—I had plenty to occupy me within reach.
At the end of the row, I noticed a large section devoted to books on the occult, including some rare books from the 1700s, and a later edition of Leonardo Vairo’s Major Treatise of Demonology: Three Books of Charms, Spells & Sorceries. I knew the original had been printed in the 1500s, but this book` surely couldn’t be that old. If it was, it was worth thousands.
Glancing around the room, I realized the books in here could be worth tens of thousands … maybe even more. I had yet to crack one of them open and was itching to find out if any were first editions.
I moved away from the occult section. Call me superstitious, but I felt creeped out looking at books on the occult in a haunted, abandoned house, outside of which, a murder had just happened. I stopped in front of an early edition of Poe’s The Raven, its spine bound in tan leather with stamped gold lettering. I reached out, pulling the spine toward me gently with my index finger to reveal the gold-leaf tops of the pages inside. A cloud of dust floated out, causing me to sneeze and dislodge more dust, causing more sneezing.
After the sneezing stopped, I pulled the book out and opened it carefully. A slightly spicy mildew aroma wafted out and I closed my eyes, savoring the smell. Inside, the yellowed paper was of high quality, almost silky to the touch. I thumbed through the book, engrossed in looking at the fine print and wonderful illustrations.
"Hands off the books!"
I spun around, the rapid movement causing a sharp pain in my leg. Fumbling the book, I dove forward, catching it just in time. My heart thudded against my ribcage and I sucked in a deep breath, cradling the book to my chest.
"Who are you?" I demanded of the swirling mist before me, which I figured was the ghost I’d seen in the window earlier.
At first, I’d just assumed it would be the ghost of the recently deceased, but now that he was in front of me, I could see it wasn’t. The face and hair looked different, though it was hard to tell through all the swirling mist. This gentleman was dressed in formal-wear and was somewhat old-fashioned looking, with a large mustache and a regal air about him.
"I’m Charles Van Dorn." The ghost bristled at me. "Who might you be and what are you doing with my books?"
"I’m Willa Chance. I own the bookstore downtown." I resisted the urge to extend my hand out for a handshake.
"Last Chance Books?" Van Dorn cocked an eyebrow at me, referring to the bookstore I’d inherited from my grandmother.
I nodded, glancing uneasily toward the door. Could Ophelia hear us? Hopefully, she was too busy with the china and silver to come looking for me down here.
"You must be Anna’s granddaughter, then. She was a nice woman." Van Dorn leaned in toward me as if sharing a secret. "She parted the curtain to the other side a while ago."
I nodded, waiting patiently for him to get to what he wanted.
Van Dorn glanced out the window, where the crime scene techs were still taking pictures and searching for evidence. "What is going on here? It’s like Grand Central Station. I really just want to be left alone in my own home … like I have been for all these years."
"There was a murder out there." I jerked my chin toward the window.
"Oh dear … again?"
My radar perked up. "What do you mean, again?"
Van Dorn looked contrite. "There was a bit of a scandal back in my day … I guess that just added to my brother’s dislike of me, but I imagine it’s also what’s allowed me to keep living here alone. Which I like very much … so if you don’t mind, I’ll have to ask you to leave."
"Well, I hate to tell you, even if I leave you won’t be alone for long. Your house is being sold."
"Sold?" Van Dorn’s eyebrows shot up and his mustache twitched. "I thought Joshua would never sell it due to the controversy."
"By controversy do you mean the murder?" I made a mental note to look up the history of Van Dorn and the murder.
"That, and also my brother thought I was a fraud."
"Why would he think that?" I looked at him quizzically, my curiosity piqued. For the first time, I wondered how Van Dorn had come about the money that allowed him to afford this big house and expensive book collection. "What did you do?"
"Why, I was a spiritual medium. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the great Charles Van Dorn?"
"Sorry, no."
"Harrumph! I was quite well-known. Of course, there were those that resisted believing as they always do, and my brother Joshua was one of them." He peered at me closely. "You believe in mediums, though, don’t you, Willa?"
I tilted my head to the side. I could hardly doubt that people could talk to the dead, since I was doing it myself right now.
"Well … I don’t deny people can communicate with ghosts."
Van Dorn’s booming laugh surprised me. "I should say not! Oh, I was the real deal just like you … but then things went wrong and … well, I ended up on the other side, as you see me now. I’ve been content to stay here, and was hoping things could just continue as they have. I figured Joshua would rather see this house rot than sell it, because he hated everything I represented."
"Well, you’re probably right about that. I heard something to that effect, actually. But I’m sorry to tell you, your brother has passed on and your nephew is putting the house up for sale."
"Oh, dear. That means people will be moving in." Van Dorn wrung his hands. "And my stuff will be sold?"
"I guess so."
"I guess I really need to move on then, so it’s a good thing you are here."
"Why haven’t you moved on before this?" Ghosts always had a reason why they were still lingering around. I didn’t have a lot of experience with them at this point, but near as I could tell, they all wanted to ‘move on’ to whatever was next, but some of them couldn’t do it on their own.
That’s where I came in.
After my accident, I’d apparently become some sort of mediator that could help them do what needed to be done. I didn’t really know how that had happened. Maybe my near death had caused me to make some sort of deal with the guy upstairs … or downstairs.
Van Dorn sighed and plopped down on the couch, causing a round wet area on the sheet. "Unresolved issues."
"Let me guess. You want me to help you."
He brightened. "How did you know?"
"Let’s just say, it’s happened before."
Van Dorn twirled the end of his mustache between his index finger and thumb. "Back when I was alive, I had many clients come here for readings and séances."
I remembered the curtained room with the round table I’d passed and nodded. "Go on."
"We had smashing parties. Celebrities flocked here. I was the toast of the town." He smiled, apparently remembering all his séances and parties.
"And …" I drew out the word.
His face turned sad. "Unfortunately, there were a few untimely deaths."
"And that’s why you took your own life?"
Van Dorn speared me with a glare. "No, you see, and that’s why I can’t move on."
"I’m sorry, but I don’t understand."
"I didn’t take my own life … I was murdered."
Chapter Four
The first thing I discovered after I’d inherited the bookstore from Gram is that it came with a crew of regulars. The four of them had been congregating at the store first thing in the morning for decades, and they figured my grandmother’s p
assing was no reason to stop the tradition.
So, when I pulled in an hour late, I was met by four senior citizens standing impatiently with coffees in hand.
"Willa! You got a dog?" Cordelia Deering’s inquisitive, bright blue eyes flitted from Ranger to me.
"Well, sort of." I looked down at the Golden Retriever whose tail was tucked down low, his head hanging and his ears flopping. He looked depressed. "There was some trouble up at the Van Dorn mansion."
"Oh, is that why you are late?" Bing Thorndike raised a bushy white eyebrow at me.
"Yes. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you all about it."
They parted to let me open the door and I pulled the unenthusiastic Ranger into the shop. Once inside, Josiah Barrows, the retired postmaster, handed me a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee. I accepted it gratefully.
"So, what’s all the mystery? What’s going on?" Hattie Deering, Cordelia’s twin sister, asked. Her blue eyes had the same sparkle as her sister’s and I noticed they were wearing almost identical outfits—something they did quite frequently as they had for the entire eighty-five years of their lives.
Four sets of eyes stared at me expectantly. I wasn’t sure how to tell them about the murder. I hoped it wouldn’t spook them since they were, after all, senior citizens and might be disturbed to learn a murderer was on the loose. I decided the best way was to just blurt it out.
"Someone was murdered up there."
"Oh, how exciting!" Hattie’s eyes were as big as saucers.
"And you found the body?" Bing asked.
"That seems to happen with you a lot," Cordelia said. "Why, it was not even six months ago you stumbled over Lavinia Babbage dead in the library."
"Who was it this time?" Josiah asked.
They were taking it a lot better than I expected.
"Gus said it was someone named Bruce …" My voice trailed off. I’d forgotten his last name.
Bing snapped his fingers. "Bruce Norton! He had a Golden Retriever just like that one."
"Yes, that’s it," I said.
"Oh, dear, not Bruce," Cordelia said. "Why, I haven’t seen him around in ages."
The four of them found seats on the purple microsuede sofa and chairs I had bought for customers to read books on while I untied the rope from Ranger’s collar and let him loose. He seemed disinterested in the shop and simply plopped down in a patch of sun, curling up in a tight ball. I felt a tinge of uneasiness. My cat, Pandora, was not going to be happy when she saw a dog lying in her sunny spot. I glanced around the shop nervously for the persnickety feline who I’d dropped off when I’d come in at the crack of dawn to catalogue some inventory before meeting Ophelia. She was nowhere to be seen.
"What happened?" Josiah asked. "Are you sure it was murder?"
"Oh, it was murder all right. There was something really weird, too."
"Do tell," Cordelia and Hattie said at the same time, then clinked their Styrofoam cups together.
I opened the tab on my coffee lid and took a sip. "There was a strange mark on his forehead. It looked like a triangle with a dot inside it."
Hattie gasped. "I’d forgotten all about that."
"What?"
Cordelia leaned forward in her chair, her face as serious as a heart attack. "The Van Dorn Curse."
Hattie nodded solemnly beside her. "Back when Charles Van Dorn was alive there was a strange death connected with him."
"Some say he was a devil worshiper," Cordelia added.
"He had séances and all kinds of things going on up there." Hattie said. "Some said he was a fake, but I don’t think so. Do you, Bing?"
"Yeah, didn’t you know him pretty good?" Josiah turned to Bing.
Bing had been a magician all his life—and a good one, too. He’d toured the world with his magic act and even taught me a few tricks when I was a little girl. It made sense he’d probably have known Van Dorn, as they would have been about the same age.
Bing took a deck of cards out of his pocket and started shuffling them. "I did know him. He was pretty good at what he did. And he was a first class magician, too. But whether he was a real medium or not, I have no idea. Either way, it was a terrible thing that happened to that girl."
My brows shot upwards. "What girl?"
"Well, back then, a lot of young Hollywood types liked to hang around with Van Dorn. He had a lot of parties. There was one girl in particular—Lily Johanson." Bing’s eyes took on a faraway look as he worked the cards. "She was a real beauty."
"And what happened to her?" I watched him work the cards, mesmerized on the movements of his hands.
"She died under mysterious circumstances. Some say there was a love triangle involved. Others say it had to do with the occult." Bing paused.
"Tell her the weird part," Josiah prompted and I leaned forward, eager to hear ‘the weird part’.
"When her body was discovered, she had a strange mark on her forehead … just like the one you described Bruce as having."
"What?" I straightened back up. "No way, that’s just too strange."
"It’s the Van Dorn curse, I tell you." Cordelia nodded.
"Tell me about the curse," I said over the top of my Styrofoam cup.
Bing shrugged. "Some say Van Dorn conjured up an evil spirit that killed Lily. The thing was, that symbol—the triangle with a dot in it—is very similar to the symbol Van Dorn used as his logo. His was a triangle with an eye in the middle."
"So naturally, everyone thought Van Dorn killed her," Hattie said.
"And he killed himself out of guilt," Cordelia added.
That’s what you think.
"Was there ever a trial or anything?"
Josiah shook his head. "Nope. No need, really. His suicide note spelled it all out."
Suicide note?
That was strange. Van Dorn didn’t mention any note to me. Which made me wonder—did he kill Lily and then himself? Did his ghost kill Bruce? Why would he lie to me? And, if all that was true, what exactly did he think I could do to help him?
Years of being a crime journalist had instilled a natural curiosity in me and I felt it kick in. I started to make a mental checklist of how to go about investigating the circumstances surrounding Lily Johanson and Charles Van Dorn’s deaths. Gus had warned me not to get involved in Bruce’s murder, but she never said anything about investigating the fifty-year-old cases.
"I’m curious, Willa. Why were you up there in the first place?" Bing asked.
"Van Dorn had a huge library filled with books. They are all still in the house."
Bing stopped shuffling the cards. "I didn’t realize there was anything still in the house after all these years."
"It looks like everything is still there. I guess the sale of the estate was held up by Van Dorn’s brother or something and it seems like people were afraid to go near it, so, thankfully no one looted it. I remember when I was a kid there were rumors about it being haunted," I said. "Anyway, it’s being sold now and the seller wants the contents sold off. I was there to appraise the books."
"I remember reading that Joshua died. He and Charles didn’t see eye-to-eye," Josiah said.
"Then why’d he leave the house to him?" Hattie asked.
Josiah shrugged. "Joshua was his only family. I guess he had no one else."
"So did you get a chance to look at the books?" Bing asked.
I nodded. "He had a wonderful library. Huge. But I didn’t get to look in-depth because most of the time I had allotted was spent waiting for Gus to investigate the house."
"Was anything amiss in there? Any clues from the killer?" Cordelia dipped her tea bag in and out of the Styrofoam cup.
"No. It looked like no one had been in there in decades."
"So what’s going to happen to all the stuff? Will you have a sale?" Hattie asked.
"Ophelia Withington said the nephew who inherited it all is planning on selling the contents and then putting the house up for sale. She wanted me to appraise the books to get an idea of their va
lue."
Bing started shuffling the cards again. "Well, I hope you will let me take a crack at buying any unusual books."
I remembered that Bing had taken to collecting books. A vague memory of selling him a special and rare antique book floated to the surface of my brain, but I couldn’t recall exactly what the book was, though I did seem to get the feeling that it was very important. I tried to focus on the memory, but it was too fuzzy. My mother had always said that my steel-trap of a memory would start to fade once I hit forty-five. I didn’t believe her when I was younger, but now that I was a few birthdays past the forty-five mark, I realized she’d been right.
We all fell silent, watching Bing shuffle the cards. The repetitive movements he used were mesmerizing—I felt relaxed, almost like I was in a trance.
"I’d be particularly interested in any journals or notes you find from Van Dorn," Bing said while continuing to shuffle. "He had some special magic tricks that he might have written the secrets to."
"I’ll let you know if I find any," I said.
Bing stopped shuffling and put the cards back in his pocket, then stood up. "Well, I best be going."
"Me, too," Josiah said. "But I wonder. Who would have wanted to kill Bruce Norton? He was practically a recluse. I can’t imagine anyone having a beef with him."
"It looked like he might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time," I said. "Maybe he stumbled across someone who didn’t want to be stumbled across."
"Yeah, but what was he doing at the Van Dorn mansion?" Hattie picked up the Styrofoam cups and walked to the trash.
"I heard that he had dementia. Maybe he just wandered off," Cordelia offered.
"Okay, well, if that’s the case, then who else was at the mansion and what were they doing that was so secret that they’d kill him just for being there?" Hattie raised her brows at her sister.
"Good question," Cordelia answered. "And why would they put that creepy symbol on his forehead?"
"Another good question, sister." Hattie took Cordelia’s arm. "I think this begs further investigation."
"Meow!" Pandora came racing around the corner in a ball of gray fur. She skidded to a halt when she noticed Ranger lying on the floor. Her back arched and she let out an unwelcoming hiss. She glared at me, her greenish-gold eyes shooting daggers across the room.
A Spirited Tail #2 Mystic Notch Series Page 3
