by Libby Howard
None of this had anything to do with my sideboard or the ghost I was assuming was Eleonore Poffenberger, but I was too far down the rabbit hole to stop now, so I dug around further, curious about this Mabel who’d snagged the town’s most eligible bachelor from the early part of the last century.
Harlen had been born in 1872, and from the town records, hadn’t married Mabel until 1926, the same year their daughter and only child had been born. Fifty-four seemed a bit old to be tying the knot for the first time. I’d imagined by then the guy would have been pretty entrenched in bachelorhood and reluctant to marry, but once I found a picture of Mabel, I understood his sudden change of heart. She’d been nineteen at the time of their marriage, and by the picture in the newspaper, the woman had been a stunning beauty.
Mabel had the iconic 1920’s short bob of dark hair that curled at the ends around the cheekbones of her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were doe-like, her mouth the perfect cupid’s bow. Her figure was made for the drop-waist, straight and loose dresses and she looked positively adorable in a cloche hat with a curved brim.
Just as the paper had been filled with mentions of Harlen Hansen and his store, his social activities, and his charitable donations, there were just as many mentions of Mabel Stevens and her sister Lucille. Both were quite in demand at parties and society events, and their names seemed to be mentioned everywhere. They were twins, and from the old pictures I could find, they were nearly indistinguishable from each other.
Of course, none of this was helping me with my ghost identification. One specter in my house was enough. I’d come to enjoy the ghost I associated with Eli, but didn’t particularly want a second one hanging around.
I’d needed to call Matt Poffenberger to return the moving blankets. If we were going to have a cup of coffee together, then it would be the perfect time to ask him some questions about his mother. It might be a bit rude to ask him point blank how she’d passed away, but maybe if I got him talking about her and her life, I could find out why she was haunting my sideboard. Of course, there was no guarantee that my figuring out if she was murdered and if so, who was responsible, would result in the ghost heading toward the light and leaving my house and furniture alone, but it was worth a try. If it didn’t work, and Eleonore proved to be too much of a pain, I guess I could always sell the sideboard.
But I didn’t want to do that. I already loved that piece of furniture and hated the thought of having to part with it. Honestly, I could understand how Eleonore could haunt the sideboard. I’d had it for less than twenty-four hours and I was already becoming attached to it.
Calling it a day, I packed a box full of files that would have rivaled the ones Judge Beck had been spreading across my dining room table, and made my way home. It was June, and the kids had been out of school for a few weeks. I’d gotten used to them being there, lounging on the sofa with their headphones and laptops, or out in the hot tub, or playing video games. It felt weird to come home to a silent house—well, silent except for a very upset cat.
Taco wasn’t happy about being cooped up in the house, but at least with the kids here he got slipped snacks and was showered with affection. He’d nearly snuck out the door on my way to the office this morning, and I was half expecting to find that he’d knocked over a lamp or shredded some upholstery. Luckily, he hadn’t done either, and his mood improved considerably once I poured some Happy Cat into his food bowl.
I’d made dinner, eaten it, put the leftovers away, and was halfway through knitting a baby cap to add to the growing stack of hats I was planning to take to the hospital this month when Judge Beck finally came through the door. He was energetic and cheerful, lugging his bag of golf clubs behind him.
“Ready for the PGA?” I asked, pausing in my knitting.
He laughed. “I’m the next Jack Nicklaus. By the way, there’s a storm moving in,” he warned me. “Might want to roll the windows up in your car.”
I jumped to my feet, wishing for the days when we actually did roll the windows up and I didn’t need a car key to do so. “I cooked instead of getting take-out. There’s leftover pork chops in the fridge along with a salad I made. Help yourself,” I told him, digging in my purse for my keys.
The judge vanished into the dining room and I dashed out the door, eyeing the sky with alarm. How had those dark clouds moved in without my noticing? It was close to dusk. It would have been hard to tell without a clock as the line of dark to the west completely blocked out the sun. I ran to the car and put up my windows, feeling the first few huge drops as I finished.
I was going to get completely soaked, but I needed to make sure the tarp was secure over Henry’s entertainment console before the wind and rain picked up. Lightning flashed as I ran, the thunder directly afterward. I adjusted the tarp on the console, securing it tighter as the wind began to rush through the trees. Within seconds, the sky had opened up and I stood, watching the streaks of lightning and shivering as the cold rain blew sideways into the gazebo.
Lights came on in the house. The back door opened. Just as I was about to make a run for it, I saw a figure emerge, carrying a giant golf umbrella. Judge Beck to the rescue.
He was wet from the sideways rain by the time he joined me in the gazebo.
“Taxi service?” I teased as he extended the umbrella over my head.
“I’m afraid my knight in shining armor impulse was better in idea than it was in action,” he confessed. “You’re probably going to be just as wet as you would have been without the umbrella.”
“I still appreciate it,” I told him. “Are you ready to run for it?”
“One. Two. Three.” We both ran, the judge wrapping an arm around my shoulder to hold me close enough to get the maximum benefit of the umbrella. It didn’t matter. Ten feet from the stairs, a huge gust of wind came up, turning the umbrella inside out and drenching both of us with icy rain. I squealed, abandoning my knight in a mad dash for the door.
He was right behind me, and we both stood dripping puddles of water onto the kitchen floor, laughing. The judge waved his destroyed umbrella, spraying additional water around the room and causing me to laugh even harder. Then I caught sight of the plate on the counter with the warmed-up pork chop and salad, as well as the glass of iced tea. He’d been reheating his dinner and seen me out in the gazebo, then come to my rescue. It was so sweet, and something no one besides my father or Eli would have done for me.
“Go change out of your wet clothes,” he told me. “I’ll clean up here.”
He truly was a knight in shining armor. I thanked him and raced up the stairs. And by the time I came back down wearing my fuzzy pajamas and slippers, I had an idea. Judge Beck’s birthday was next week. Both kids had carefully wrapped presents upstairs for their father, and Madison was planning on cooking an elaborate dinner as well as a special cake with my help, but I wanted to do something in addition to that.
I’d been thinking about having a neighborhood barbeque for a while now and it was far past time I put those plans into action. I was long overdue on introducing him to the neighborhood. We could make it adults-only, hold it this coming weekend before the kids returned from Heather’s, and if anyone overindulged, they could easily stagger home. It would be my sort-of birthday gift to the man who’d really become like family to me.
“What are you doing this weekend?” I asked as I walked into the dining room. Judge Beck had changed into his own pair of pajama pants and t-shirt, and was, as usual, at the table with papers spread out in front of him. This time, though, a ghostly shadow stood just a few feet to the side of him near the edge of the sideboard. It was weird seeing her there. It was even weirder that Judge Beck was completely oblivious to her presence.
“This weekend? Uh….”
I realized by the expression on his face that I’d made another faux pas just like the one I’d made with Matt Poffenberger. The judge’s brain had clearly gone into “she’s-asking-me-on-a date mode”.
“No. I mean, not like that. I’m pl
anning a neighborhood get together, and wanted to make sure you’d be there to meet everyone. Plus, your birthday is next week, so I thought it would be fun to do a barbeque-and-meet-the-neighbors thing.”
“Oh.” He smiled. “That sounds great. I’m playing golf Saturday, but our tee time is early, so any time after two should be okay. Or Sunday, although the kids are coming over around five.”
“Saturday then. I’ll arrange it for the evening, like around six?”
“That would be good. Thanks.”
He returned to his work and I went back to the other room, putting aside my knitting and pulling out my laptop and my Creditcorp files. After a few hours, I gave up and retreated back to the sofa and my knitting once more. It seemed weird for us to be in two different rooms, just one wall away, but I didn’t want to interrupt his work. And having a ghost standing in the corner of the room would have been a bit disconcerting, so I stayed in the parlor, acutely aware of the creak of the dining room chair, and the noise of papers being moved around. Around midnight, I heard the judge packing up his files, and sitting the box by the door. He paused by the parlor, looking in at me, but by the time I’d reached the end of the row and looked up, he’d gone—up to bed presumably.
But no. A minute later he returned, carrying a book. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” I told him.
So, there we sat, the only sound the ticking of my grandfather clock and Taco’s purring. I knitted. He read his book. And around one in the morning, we both rose and headed up the stairs—the judge to his room and I to mine. The rain started up again, drumming on the roof and tapping on the windows as I lay in bed, Taco curled up next to me and the shadowy ghost of my husband in the corner. I didn’t feel lonely. And this house didn’t feel too big, even with the kids gone. No, it felt just right. Everything felt just right.
Chapter 4
There were additional files on my desk when I got in Monday morning along with a note from J.T. saying he was at the courthouse and would be back in the afternoon. I dug right in, clearing out three cases, then I pulled Matt Poffenberger’s business card out of my purse.
The number on the back was written in a sharp, bold hand. I stared at it a minute, then flipped it over, wondering where the man worked.
It turned out that Matthew Poffenberger was a retired Master Sergeant with the US. Air Force and was on the board of directors for a non-profit called Stand Strong.
I was stalling, so I Googled the organization, which funded a hotline and a variety of suicide prevention programs aimed at veterans as well as first responders. Matt was indeed on the board of directors, and ran local therapy groups as well. Curious, I did a search on Matt and found that he was active at the local VFW and ran several fundraisers for the volunteer fire department, and an at-risk youth program in Milford. It seemed that Matt had inherited his grandfather’s community action bent, although I got the idea Harlen had done it more as a form of PR for his business, where Matt was doing all of this fairly under the radar. He wasn’t in the paper beyond a tiny mention every year or so, and it took some digging to uncover all his charitable work.
Unable to put it off any longer, I dialed the number on the back of the card and nearly hung up when the man answered, barking out his name like he was going to follow it up with a command for me to drop and give him twenty.
“Hi, Matt. It’s Kay Carrera from the auction? You helped me load the sideboard and entertainment console into my truck? And loaned me some moving blankets? I wanted to see if you were free in the next few days so I could return them.”
“Kay!” His voice changed, becoming softer and warmer. “I was hoping you’d call, and not just because of the moving blankets. Are you free for lunch today?”
I suddenly felt like I wanted to run and hide under a bush, like a spooked rabbit. He had misunderstood me at the auction, and now I had to figure out how to let him know I wasn’t interested without hurting his feelings.
“I really can’t do lunch, but maybe a cup of coffee?” Coffee was not like a date, right?
“When? I’m down at the VFW right now helping get set up for bingo night tonight. Do you want to just swing by?”
Now that didn’t sound at all like a date. I sighed in relief. “Perfect. How about eleven?”
“It’s a date,” he said, sending me back into panic-land. “See you then.”
I stared at my cell phone for a moment, wondering how I should proceed. He’d helped me load my furniture, loaned me blankets. He seemed like a really nice guy, a good person, someone that I wouldn’t have minded meeting for lunch or even dinner had my situation been different. But as nice and attractive as Matt Poffenberger was, nothing stirred in my heart when I thought of him. Actually, the thought of dating any man made me feel numb inside. I’d loved Eli. We’d built an amazing life together. After his accident when he hadn’t been the same, I’d still loved him and built a life with him—a different one, but one I still missed deeply. I didn’t have it in me to love another that way. My well was dry when it came to that particular kind of love, and I wasn’t sure it would ever be refilled again.
But I was being silly. This was just a cup of coffee in a VFW hall with a kind man who’d helped me out. I’d ask him about his mother and the sideboard, give him back his blankets, and if he asked me out, I’d very nicely tell him that I was a recent widow and not ready for dating.
I wasn’t sure I ever would be ready for dating. And that was fine with me. Some people go through their whole lives without finding a love like Eli and I had. We’d been blessed, and I wasn’t about to spend my time trying to recreate what we had. My love was for my friends, for Daisy and Madison and Henry and Taco. And Judge Beck, in a friendly roommate kind of way.
But as I got ready to head out to the VFW, I thought of Matt loading the furniture in the truck with Henry, and his charming smile. I wasn’t ready for romance, but there was plenty of room in my heart for more friends.
Matt was unfolding tables and setting them in rows when I arrived with the moving blankets neatly folded in my arms. He looked up, smiled, then turned to the other men and said a few words before walking toward me with a purposeful stride.
I couldn’t help but scrutinize him anew, looking for a resemblance to the pictures I’d seen yesterday of his grandparents. He had a lively expression that was a faint echo of his beautiful grandmother, but beyond that, I couldn’t see any strong likeness. He definitely didn’t look anything like his grandfather who’d had a potbelly, a mustache, and a perceptive gaze. The perceptive gaze was there, but that could just as easily have come from his military career. No, he was nothing at all like the pictures of Harlen Hansen. Matt was just shy of six feet tall, clean shaven and built like a man who had spent his prime years of life hitting the gym hard. I guess he must have resembled his father’s instead of his mother’s side of the family.
“I’m glad you called.” He smiled and the corners of his dark brown eyes creased in deep lines. “Are you enjoying the sideboard? I’m thrilled that it went to a good home. Like I said, I’m pretty sure that Mom would haunt me if it hadn’t.”
That was amazingly close to the topic I’d wanted to discuss. “I’m thrilled that I managed to buy it. It’s a beautiful piece of furniture, obviously well taken care of and loved. I was actually hoping you could give me more information on it, as well as talk with me about your mother.”
He took that in stride, and motioned me over to a table that looked like it was already set up for tonight’s bingo activities. “I’m all yours. How do you take your coffee?”
I took a seat, setting the blankets on the table in front of me. The ‘all yours’ comment knocked me off balance, but I managed to reply that I drank my coffee black, no sugar. Then I watched him head off through a swinging door to the kitchen. The other two guys setting up tables were watching me on the sly, shifting their work closer, no doubt so they could overhear. I heard the squawk of the swinging door and saw Matt returning, two steaming
mugs in his hands.
“It’s not that horrible,” he told me as he handed me a mug. “I made it myself so it’s fresh and stronger than the brown water those guys like to make.” His voice raised in volume as he mentioned the other men, who shouted back a friendly criticism of Matt’s brewing ability, advising me that I’d probably need a spoon to drink my beverage.
“So, the sideboard.” Matt took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair, tilting it up on two legs. “I’m not really an antique-head, so I don’t know much about what it is or how old it is, but I’m happy to share what I do know. Dad would have more information on how long it had been in Mom’s family and the history of it, but it’s hit or miss with him nowadays.”
I nodded sympathetically, assuming that the elder Mr. Poffenberger most likely suffered from dementia or Alzheimer’s.
“You said that the sideboard was one of your mother’s favorite pieces?” I asked.
“Let’s just say that in a fire, I’m sure she would have dragged that sideboard out before the photo albums. Mom came from a wealthy family, but Dad was from the other side of the tracks, so to speak. The sideboard had been a wedding gift to Mom from her mother, and it was a high-quality piece of furniture. The rest of our stuff was thrift-store or yard-sale. Mom cherished that sideboard. I’m pretty sure it had been Grandma’s before, because Mom had mentioned that the sideboard was supposed to go to me, and then on to my daughter at her wedding. I don’t have any kids, and as much as I loved my mother, it’s not exactly my style of furniture.” He laughed. “I’m glad she didn’t give it to me as a wedding gift, or one of my exes would have probably taken it in the divorce.”
