by Patricia Fry
Miriam popped the can open, took a gulp of soda, then looked around the room at the others. “Well, I remembered helping that mean cat with his job,” she said, rather glumly.
When everyone looked confused, she said, “You know, during Grandmother’s readings, I crawled under the chairs in the dark to find things the guests had put there. That was the cat’s job, too—he was supposed to take money and trinkets. I helped the cat put them where Grandmother wanted them. Sometimes he dropped things just any ole place. I had to make sure everything went into the basket.” She cowered. “If I missed something, I’d get the whoopin… not the cat.”
“How in the world could you move around under the chairs without being noticed?” Arthur asked.
“Oh, Grandmother had all these excuses. She’d tell everyone before the lights went out, ‘If you feel something touching you or brushing up against you, it could be the cat, but it is probably your loved one communicating with you.’ She’d tell them that spirits can be clumsy once they lose their… what is it… human form. She’d say, ‘Do not to disturb the spirits.’” Miriam stared down at the carpet. “That’s what she’d tell them and all the time it was me bumping against them on accident… know what I mean? … taking their stuff.”
“What did your grandmother do with all that stuff?” Savannah asked.
Miriam shrugged and made a face. “I don’t know. I never saw it again. And if someone brought their papers, I never saw that person again—no one did.”
“What do you mean you never saw them again—they stopped coming here?” Craig asked.
“I guess so,” Miriam said, shrugging again. “Hey, I remembered something else tonight,” she said smiling. “I remember how my grandmother used to like helping strangers who wandered onto the property. She had the kitchen help feed them and she’d sometimes bring one in to keep.”
“To keep?” Craig asked,
“Yeah, if she liked him good enough,” Miriam said, matter-of-factly.
“What strangers came out here?” Craig asked.
“They lived in the swamp. They’d come by train and camp in the swamp out there… you know, the marsh. I watched them sometimes from the upstairs windows. Grandmother especially liked those who lived all by themselves. She felt sorry for them.”
“Did she help them to get on their feet?” Michael asked
“Huh?” Miriam said, frowning.
“You know, give them jobs, help them to take care of themselves?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. She just fed them, and sometimes gave them clothes.”
“She went out and bought clothes for them?”
Miriam laughed. “No. She always had clothes here for them—other people’s clothes, you know—that they left here. She could be mean to me, but she was generous to others. She had a very generous heart.”
“Do you remember your grandfather? What was his name?” Craig asked.
“Gordon,” she said. “Gordon and Pamela.” She narrowed her eyes and squinted into space. “Grandfather Randall… ” she said slowly. “He was here one day and gone the next.” She tilted her head as if trying to remember something. She shook her head. “I don’t remember what happened to him.” She started to cry. “I missed him, though. When he left, I cried and cried.”
“How old were you?” Michael asked.
“I think about eight. After he left, Stanley and Jeffry became my playmates.” She looked around at the others. “I had no playmates here, you know. Only my grandfather. He and I played whenever he wasn’t needed. It was the same with Stanley and Jeffry. They kept me company, except when they were needed.” She cocked her head and closed her eyes. “They went away, too—first Stanley and then Jeffry, then there was only Winston. He didn’t have much time for me. My grandmother had too many things for him to do all the time.” She pouted. “Winston was not a good playmate.”
Miriam yawned, leaned back in her chair, and asked Rochelle. “Can we go now? I didn’t get much sleep last night with the screaming dreams and all that noise the guys in the tent across the way were making.”
“Sure,” Rochelle stood. “Thanks for accommodating us,” she said, nodding to Arthur and Suzette. She glanced at Miriam. “I’d like Miriam to agree to one more session here, if it’s okay with you.”
“Uh, Miriam,” Arthur said, “What do you know about the pit out near the incinerator?”
“Huh?” she asked, frowning.
“We found some jewelry out there. Do you remember how it might have gotten there?” he asked.
She looked confused—as if she were trying to remember. Finally, she said, “No. Maybe if you show it to me.”
“How about during the day next time we come?” Rochelle suggested. “Let’s take you home so you can get some sleep.” Suddenly she said, “Wait. Miriam, you mentioned a tunnel.” She looked at Arthur. “Is that what you mean? Did you find something in a tunnel?”
Arthur looked confused. He shook his head. “No. It’s a pit.”
Miriam frowned. Her eyes darted around the room and she seemed to be thinking… trying to remember something. Finally, she let out a big sigh and slumped. “I don’t know. I just don’t know about that right now.”
Rochelle put her arm across the woman’s shoulders. “That’s okay, Miriam. We’ll think about that another day,” she said, ushering her out through the door.
Once they had left, Craig glanced around the room. “You’ve presented me with quite a puzzle. There seems to have been criminal activity going on here, but there’s not enough uncontaminated evidence to wrap your brain around.”
“Was the wicked Madam Randall luring lonely people into her lair and robbing them?” Iris said, wringing her hands and speaking in an eerie tone. “… perhaps murdering them?”
The laughter was strained—some in the room were feeling this could be close to some awful truth.
Craig rolled his eyes at his wife. “I’m going to have the names on these documents published in the local newspaper, asking anyone who knew these people to come forward.” He grimaced. “A lot of time has passed, but maybe there’s someone out there who remembers them. I’ll also search police records. There might be something there.” He looked at the others. “Does anyone have contact information for Abe’s friend?” he asked. “… the guy who came looking for Abe?”
“I’ll ask Gail,” Savannah offered.
“Well, I hope we can uncover the mystery,” Arthur said. He thought for a moment before adding, “I don’t want to sell or donate a corrupted or haunted mansion.”
“Yeah, you might want to do a cleansing of sorts,” Iris said. “… you know, burn sage, sprinkle salt, and do an exorcism, if you find that the place has evil spirits.”
“Maybe there’s a way we could shortcut the search process,” Suzette said.
“How’s that?” Craig asked.
“The computer, of course,” she said, smiling. “Most cities have sites where people gather to discuss local history—things they remember from the past. There are also missing persons sites. I’ll see what I can find using some of these sites.”
“Sure,” Craig said, smiling. “We need all the help we can get.”
Chapter 6
The next evening during dinner, the conversation was lively with the discoveries of the day.
Suzette barely picked up her fork, she was so excited to share what she had learned on the social media sites she’d visited. “One of the names we found supposedly belonged to someone who worked here at the mansion in the 1970s. Some guy named Danny contacted me and said he used to deliver newspapers to a man named Stanley Curtis when he was a kid and he sometimes did odd jobs for the guy. Stanley told him he was going to work at the Randall place—evidently, everyone knew about the Randall Mansion in those days. One Saturday, this kid showed up to mow Stanley’s lawn and he wasn’t home. Danny thought it was odd—evidently, this guy was always prompt—so he waited for him. He never showed up. Then Danny noticed the newspapers
piling up on his customer’s porch. A few weeks later, someone new moved into the house and he never saw Stanley again. As Danny got older, he just figured the guy had died.” She looked around at the others. “Gads, maybe he did—but why did we find his private papers in that pit?”
Suzette paused before continuing. “A woman contacted me because one of the names on our list was so unusual. She said that was her maiden name and her parents had told her they were probably related to anyone with that name. She said she didn’t know her great-grandfather’s given name, but the family used to talk about how he was a drinker and one day he just disappeared. They figured he was living on the streets—like a hobo, you know.”
“Good job,” Craig said. “Ever consider being a cop?”
Suzette grinned and shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Her face brightened. “But the research was kinda fun. We may still find out more—there’s been a lot of interest in my questions.”
“I have someone you might want to talk to, Detective,” Laura said. “She came here this morning. Her name is Rosalie. She said she forced herself to come out here to see if she could feel her mother’s spirit.”
“What?” Craig said. “What does that mean?”
“As she explained it to me, years ago, her mother Jocelyn left her two small children with her husband in order to live a more exciting life in the big city. As an adult, Rosalie went in search of her mother, and in 1973, found her living in poverty. She tried to help her get back on her feet, but all Jocelyn was interested in was the spirit world.” Laura took a sip of coffee then glanced around at the others. “This woman was so distraught. I guess she wanted a connection with her mother, but her mother was kind of living in another world—there was nothing to connect with. Evidently, her mother disappeared a few weeks after Rosalie found her. When it was obvious that she wasn’t coming back, Rosalie and her brother went in and cleaned out her belongings for the property manager. They found many references to various local psychics and spiritual centers, including the Randall Mansion.”
Laura addressed Craig. “She said there was one thing she thought odd—there were no identifying documents in her mother’s place—no ID card, driver license, social security, insurance—nothing. Even her rental agreement was missing. She said her mother was mentally unstable, but she didn’t think she’d throw away all of her important papers.”
“Yeah, that does seem odd,” Craig agreed.
Laura’s eyes flashed as she said, “Oh, one more thing. When the daughter had been in the apartment earlier, her mother showed her a ring that had been passed down in the family. It was something she treasured, but was afraid to wear for fear someone in her rough neighborhood would kill her for it. She said her mother kept it in a little tortoise shell box in the back of a closet. Well, it was gone.”
“Her mother had disappeared before,” Arthur said, “why did they think it was odd for her to do it again? She may have taken her papers and the ring with her.” He glanced at Michael and Craig. “We didn’t find her papers, did we?”
They both shook their head.
“What did the ring look like?” Savannah asked, hesitantly.
“She described it as a heart-shaped emerald with diamonds in a circle around it, set in gold.”
Suzette and Savannah looked at each other.
“Do we have a ring like that?” Craig asked.
Both women nodded.
“Really?” Iris said, her eyes wide.
Craig stared down at his hands.
“What did you find, Craig?” Arthur asked.
Before he could speak, the door chimes rang. “I’ll get it,” Rupert offered.
When he returned, he looked pale. He spoke quietly, “That street woman’s here. She’s upset—says she wants to talk to… ”
Before he could finish, Miriam crashed into the room. “Julian!” she shouted. “His name was Julian Fletcher. I remembered and came here to tell you. He helped Grandmother a lot. He could tell you stories. He probably remembers.”
Seeing that Miriam was near tears, Savannah rose and approached her. She put her hands on the woman’s shoulders and looked down into her face. “It’s okay, Miriam. It’s nothing to be upset about. We appreciate you bringing us this information.” She led the woman toward a wicker chair. “Here, why don’t you sit down. Can we bring you a glass of water or something?”
Miriam took a few deep breaths. She looked around at the others and pointed toward a cart off to the side of the room. “Can I have some of that cake and a canned soda, please?”
“Sure,” Suzette said, as she started to get up.
Just then the server stepped in. Alton took a double-take at Miriam and frowned in her direction. “Can I get you something more?” he asked the others.
Suzette nodded. “Yes, please cut this woman a large piece of cake and bring her a soda, would you, Alton?”
“What can you tell us about this… Julian?” Craig asked.
“Well,” Miriam hesitated, “he was always around my grandmother like some spooky little leprechaun. He was our butler. He loved that awful cat. He and the cat were the same—creeping around all the time. His eyes were… ” she shook her head vigorously. “They could see right through you. He was always there for the readings in the shadows, watching.”
“Do you know where he is now?” Craig asked.
She shook her head.
“What about your grandmother? What happened to her?” he asked.
She looked blank. “I don’t know. She probably died in one of those nursing homes.”
When the server appeared with Miriam’s cake and soda on a tray, she began eating hungrily. Once she’d finished the cake, she opened the soda and took a few gulps. She then sat back and said, “When I left this place, my grandmother and my father were still here. So was that creepy Julian. My father told me he was moving out of the country and I don’t know what happened to my grandmother.”
She looked off into space before saying, “I came back only once and everyone was all upset. My grandmother, my father and the… ” she giggled, “leprechaun. Sissy, told me the police had been here and everyone was planning to leave; everyone but my grandmother. She didn’t want to leave.”
“Who’s Sissy?” Craig asked.
“She was one of the cooks and my best friend. She was my age. She came when we were both eighteen. I loved her,” she said, weeping.
“What happened to her, Miriam?” Savannah asked gently.
“I don’t know. I never saw her after that day.”
“So do you think the police arrested your grandmother?” Craig asked.
She looked up, surprised. “I don’t think so. She could hide where no one could find her. They would never find her.”
“She had a hiding place?” Craig asked.
Miriam nodded.
“Do you know where?” he asked.
Suddenly Miriam became agitated. She jumped up from her chair. “No!” she shouted. “I don’t know. I can’t know. I’m not allowed.” She glanced around at everyone. Breathlessly, she said, “I have to go.” She turned and sprinted through the dining room, across the expansive living room, and out the front door. She jumped into her friend’s waiting cab and they sped off.
“Holy moly,” Michael said. “What an evening.”
Suzette was quiet for a moment, then said, “Several people who contacted me through the website spoke of this place being haunted.”
Michael chuckled. “Aren’t many older homes—especially unique homes like this one?”
“Yeah, it’s a stigma, for sure,” Suzette said.
Iris leaned forward. “Did anyone share stories of hauntings?”
Suzette rolled her eyes. “Well, there were a few—they were pretty much all second- and third-hand, ‘as-told-to’ stories, but yeah. There were stories of weird noises and thumps going on during readings.” She looked cynical. “I figure that stuff can be staged—and probably usually is for effect, don’t you think?”
Everyone nodded.
Suzette continued, “One gal contacted me and said she knew the people who moved in after the Randalls left. She said they didn’t stay long. Friends told her later it was because the place was haunted.” She turned to Arthur. “What do you think? Is this place haunted?”
Arthur sat unsmiling. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “Staff sometimes talked about hearing strange noises and seeing visions. Some of them actually left because of what they were experiencing here.”
“You heard them talking? I thought they didn’t know about you,” Craig said.
“Right—but, living in the basement, I found places where I could sit and listen to staff talk to one another. I’d sit at vents for hours and just listen.” He looked around at the others. “No, I never saw anything until… ”
“Until what?” Savannah asked.
“Until one night. I was alone down there. I was almost asleep when something caught my attention. When I opened my eyes, there was this floating figure above my bed. It looked like it was created from smoke—kind of see-through. I could see eyes. The eyes were very clear and spooky. They stared down at me. I remember being scared, but I couldn’t scream. Nothing would come out. All I could do was close my eyes and hope it would go away before hurting me or killing me. I put my pillow over my head. When I had the courage to open my eyes again, it was gone. But it never happened again and I had actually forgotten about it until recently. It was most likely a figment of my imagination.” He shook his head. “But dang, it was sure real to me that night.”
“Well, Rochelle sensed something down in your quarters, Arthur,” Savannah said. “It appears that there is something to the rumors.”
“Ohhh, I want to go down there and see if I feel anything,” Iris said excitedly. “I’ve always thought of myself as an open door to the spirit world. This would be a good test.”
“You’re not afraid?” Laura asked.
“No,” Iris said, confidently. “I know how to protect myself.”
Savannah grinned at Iris then addressed Ruth. “You experienced something here and it sounds like it wasn’t pleasant.”
