The Eton Bluff Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 4)

by Robin G. Austin

  I get chills hoping Charlie’s real identity is seconds away. “Why’s that?” I ask real slow.

  More silence then he says, “Time is money. Bet you don’t plan on giving that book away. Do you, now?”

  “How much for a meeting with you?” I ask.

  “Hundred dollars for thirty minutes.”

  “Twenty five bucks for an hour,” I say.

  “Sixty for an hour.”

  “Deal.”

  “Okay, but there ain’t no refund, no matter what I tell you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  §

  Calvin says I can come right now or at six thirty so I don’t interrupt the dinner hour and set off the misses. I get his address and agree to be there in twenty minutes.

  A few miles before I get to the place, the Harper Herbs signs start popping up. When I get close to the two story farmhouse, I see four greenhouses behind it. I wonder what kind of herbs old Calvin is growing.

  I step out of the jeep and a German Shepherd stands on the porch ready to greet me. I can see an old man watching from behind the screen door. I stick close to the jeep and wave.

  “Mr. Harper?” I say, as the screen door opens.

  “Call me Calvin,” he says. He ducks back inside the house and yells to bring us some drinks then he points to a chair. He groans as he sits. “Arthritis.”

  I hand him the money and his groan turns into a smile.

  “Got yourself a publisher?” he says, with a devilish grin and laugh.

  “Don’t need one these days,” I say. He thinks this is really funny. I get the feeling he isn’t buying my barn book or my story.

  The front door opens and a woman steps out with a tray of ice tea and cookies. “This is my wife, Maggie. This here’s the woman who’s writing a story about the old barn– the one off Hedge Road,” he says, and his eyebrows narrow. “Jack? You say it is?”

  “Yes, Jack Raven.”

  I was smiling at Maggie when Calvin mentioned the barn. She nearly dropped the tray that she was unloading onto a table. She shakes her head and looks real sad at me. “Why on earth would you want to do something like that?”

  “History buff,” I say.

  “Well, it could be worse. Nice to have met you.” She shakes her head again and goes back inside.

  Calvin takes a long drink of ice tea as I get out my notepad. At this rate, I’m glad I got the extra half hour.

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “As far back as you know about the barn. Who built it, what it was used for, everything about its history.”

  “Can’t say nothing about those things. It was about five years ago that I acquired the barn in question. It was willed to me by my Uncle. Nash Harper.” He waits, I guess to see if I know of the man.

  “Was he the original owner?”

  Calvin’s been studying me like I’m a spy on an espionage mission. I’ve never been good at lying and I’m reconsidering my story, but I don’t have a better one.

  “Naw, he wasn’t the first owner. Can’t say that I even knew he owned the place before he died.” He raises his eyebrows and takes another drink. “Came as a surprise when they read the will.”

  I’m thinking I overpaid for this interview by about fifty bucks. “Okay, so tell me about the five years you owned the place.” He seems good with this and I fear a long and boring story is on its way.

  “Well, let’s see. So after Nash was in the ground and winter passed, I went to assess my windfall. Figured I’d clean the place up, maybe use it for storage.” He stops to see if I want to write that down. I’m tapping my pen.

  “Decided against that plan.”

  “Why so?” I ask.

  “Well, now because, huh, stuff started happening right from the get-go. I thought I was losing my mind because I was losing everything else. I’d set something down and it’d take off. I’d turn on my kerosene lamp and it’d go out as soon as I stepped even a foot away.”

  He wiggles around like he can’t get comfortable then scratches his head. I’ve got tingles knowing that he’s met Charlie.

  He leans in and his eyes shift right and left. “Heard voices there too. Not conversations, mind you. A word or two, a shout. Wasn’t anyone in there but me. I’d go outside and look around. Nobody ever there.” He’s waiting and staring at me.

  “Any words you can remember?”

  “Naw. Can’t say I understood any of them. More like mumbling.”

  “So you put the barn up for sale?”

  “Not right off. It was family property. I planned on keeping it. What ended up happening is I went to the barber shop.”

  “The barber shop?”

  “That’s right. Russ Howard over on Downer Street. He’s the man you want to talk to. I was shook up when I went in for a haircut one day. Been at the barn a few times by then. Told him I thought I was losing my mind. Then I mentioned that old barn.”

  I’m wishing I was in that shop right now talking to the man who told the story I’m wanting for the price of a haircut. “So what did he say?”

  “He said folks didn’t like to talk about it, but since I was the only one in the shop that afternoon, he agreed to tell me.”

  Just when I think Calvin is finally ready to reveal my ghost, Maggie comes out the door with a potted plant. She tells me its spearmint and rosemary; the mint is to attract goodness, the rosemary to chase off evil. I thank her and Calvin tells her not to be giving away the farm. The man’s got a nice forest green glow that has nothing to do with his herbs. His aura’s sparkling in dollar signs.

  “Where were we?” he asks, once his wife is back inside. I remind him.

  “Right, so Russ tells me to keep out of the barn if I know what’s good for me. I do know what’s good for me, but I want to know exactly why he’s telling me such a thing.”

  The German Shepherd has come over to sniff me or rather the wolfdog’s scent. When he gets a good whiff, he backs away and this gets Calvin’s attention. The man sits up a little straighter. “How long were you in the barn?” he asks.

  I never told him I was ever in the barn, but I launch into my bogus barn research that even impresses me. Then I tell him I made arrangements to see the barn through the Dolus Corporation just to see how he reacts to the name.

  Calvin nods without much interest. He’s deep in thought and I try to eavesdrop on some of those thoughts because I know he knows more than he’s telling. He’s either still spooked or wondering if he can trust me.

  “So what did Russ say?”

  “About what I already knew, if I wanted to believe the old rumors, which I never did. And I sure didn’t know it was that barn, if you know what I mean.”

  I tell him I don’t know what he means, but he keeps on talking.

  “Russ knows me and knows I’m not afraid of much of anything. He said the story as he knows it was told to him by his mother. It all happened long before I moved here from Richfield, way back in 1958, according to Russ.” Calvin raises an eyebrow then stops to drink his tea and eat a cookie.

  “A young farmer met his sweetheart out in that barn one night. They planned on running away together to get married, but there were some serious problems with that plan. The girl was too young to be marrying anybody, and the young man already had himself a wife.”

  I was right about the heartbreak in that old barn, and I have a feeling I know where this sad love story ended. “And the girl’s father showed up?”

  “Nope. Man’s wife did and with a shotgun. Shot him dead.”

  “And the girl? What happened to her?”

  Calvin shrugs. “Well, seems everyone’s got their own opinion on that. Russ’ opinion is that she got away. Ran through the field all the way home. Came from a rich family. The law was in the hands of the rich and powerful back then. But the rumors still flew so palms were greased and mouths were shut up tight.”

  I ask for the names of the young man, his wife, and the girl. I’ve got my pen posed ready for the big reveal.


  “Can’t say. Like I said, palms were greased, mouths were shut.” Calvin throws up his hands then points a finger at me. “You paid me good money for this story and this is all you need to know from me: you don’t want to be writing about that barn or going out there. Other folks don’t need to read a book to get ideas about going out there either. If I’d known those kids would be in there working….” Calvin shrugs his shoulders.

  “I don’t believe in haunted houses or barns either, and don’t you be telling anybody that I do. Leave my name out of this. Something’s wrong out there is all. Man did his wife wrong, but that was no reason to do what she did to him.”

  “Shot him dead,” I confirm.

  “Shot him dead all right. Then she picked up an ax and chopped the man’s head clean off.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  §

  Before I left Calvin to his herbs and ice tea and my sixty bucks, I tried to get more information about the head chopping wife. All he would say was that palms were greased, mouths were shut. I also asked him if he’d noticed any spiders in the place. He said I’d be hard pressed to find any barn in the whole state of Minnesota that didn’t have spiders, but this year was an especially bad one for the critters.

  A few miles from his house, I pull over to search for a barber shop on Downer Street. Lucky for me, there’s only one. I call and make an appointment with Russ.

  My plan isn’t to get anything cut or shaved, but I’ll be in his chair at two o’clock tomorrow. That will give me time in the morning to go to the barn and see if the kids know anything about a 1958 murder and decapitation in their barn.

  I hate to fill them in on the gruesome details, but it has to be done. I also have to let them know that their ghost has more than a little unfinished business that I’ll need to resolve before more spiders pay the price. Although I already suspected Morgan’s and Zeda’s relationship contributed to this heartbreak haunting, I’m now almost certain Morgan’s death stirred up unhappy memories for the headless man.

  When Calvin said the girl went running home through the field, it got my attention. Mojo didn’t seem to sense any spirits in the barn, but I have a feeling he was hot on the girl’s trail when he took off from me earlier.

  I don’t know how far we’re going to have to run, but I plan on following as far as the ghost tracker wants to go. She would be seventy three years old now and if still alive, I hope the wolfdog leads me straight to the door of the once young and in love girl.

  Before I go back to the hotel, I swing by the library to check if any of the terminals are empty. It’s the dinner hour and the place is nearly empty. I enter my search terms: 1958, murder, decapitation, barn, and Hedge Road then I wait for the magic. There’s no magic and not a single murder turns up in 1958. Interesting.

  One by one, I eliminate my keywords and end up with only one– murder. There are plenty of those, but none with my ghost’s sad story. I sure hope Calvin’s story was more than a bogus and expensive tale.

  I give up to go in search of a wise and wonderful librarian. I see gray hair at the front desk and am thrilled. I loathe the day we’re all replaced by computers and true wisdom is lost forever.

  The place is nearly empty and she greets me with a warm smile that only slack hours afford. “I’m doing some research on old barns,” I say. This makes her happy, excited even. A true historian and more luck for me.

  “There’s a barn off Hedge Road.…” Her eyes get buggy and she takes a step back. “I was wondering about its construction, but can’t find anything online.” She relaxes, but not by much.

  “They’d have that information over at the county building,” she says.

  “I’ve been there, but I’m looking more for the personal history of the construction.”

  She’s standing and staring at me now like she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. She looks away and sighs. You can lie, but you can’t fool the wise and wonderful. She nods and tells me to follow her. I’m thinking I may not have to keep my barber appointment after all.

  “This is what you’re looking for,” she says, pulling a faded envelope from the back of a bottom drawer. She holds it tight in both hands before handing it to me. “That’s all there is. All there ever will be.” She’s gone before I have a chance to ask why.

  I get a table and lift the metal tabs on the envelope. I can tell there isn’t much inside. There’s a single obituary encased in a plastic cover that’s dated March 18, 1958. Three, one, eight– a sign from the spirit gods, or Charlie himself? This is my ghost all right.

  Pudge, Argus Philip, age 23, died Wednesday, 18 March 1958. He is survived by his wife, Mrs. Edith Pudge, his parents George and Hattie Pudge, and his brother George Pudge Jr. The funeral services will be held on Saturday at the Episcopal Church with interment at St. Mark’s Cemetery.

  Well now that’s sad, for me and Argus. Dead at twenty three and not a single word about how he died. I guess decapitation wasn’t considered a proper thing to put in print sixty years ago. These days, they’d publish a close-up of the severed head.

  I put my hand over the obituary of poor headless Argus Pudge. After a few minutes, I get a vision of a tall man wearing a heavy work jacket and smiling at me with hypnotic eyes. He doesn’t seem even a little happy. Must have been psychic himself– or riddled with guilt over his cheating ways.

  I thumb through the cabinet looking for anything on Edith Pudge, the parents, and brother George. There’s nothing on any of them. After I copy the details and names of the innocent and the guilty into my notepad, I go back to the computer terminal.

  There’s nothing on anyone in Eton Bluff with the Pudge family name– not living or dead. How did Edith manage to kill the man, chop off his head, and not get a single news story written about her? Maybe the girl’s father bought the woman a ticket out of town to stop the rumors, and for doing the dirty work he probably would have done himself if he’d caught the man that night.

  I’ve been getting sideway glances from the librarian. Now she’s getting a look from me as I head straight towards her. She checks around the walls for an escape hatch. There isn’t one. I don’t need a psychic nerve in my body to know that she knows more than she’s ever going to tell me, but that won’t keep me from asking.

  “So what happened to Edith Pudge?” I say. I’m hoping the blunt truth will get her talking seeing as she didn’t seem to buy my barn book cover story.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Probably wouldn’t be asking the questions I am if I was. Isn’t it illegal in Eton Bluff to decapitate a man, even if you’re married to him?”

  This she thinks is very funny, and I think I’m close to making a friend. “Well it shouldn’t be, but these days it is. And back then too. I know you’re wanting the sordid story on Mr. Pudge so you can sell the scandal, but like I said, that article’s all there is. All there ever will be.”

  “Why’s that?” She doesn’t answer. “Because money and power made sure the whole story never got told?”

  She smiles. “And the guilty were never punished? Who knows? I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew, which I don’t. Some stories shouldn’t get told. You’ll find as many versions of what happened in that barn that night as there are folks to tell them, and that’s plenty enough to confuse you.”

  “The girl’s family was powerful enough to keep a murderer out of prison?”

  “Back then people were more respectful of folks’ dirty laundry and their bank rolls.”

  She tells me she has work to do and I thank her for the information, all the while doubting half of it. I drive back to the hotel and me and Mojo walk through the lot next to the building.

  A love triangle and cover-up, and a woman who got away with murder. Or did she? Now this is what makes ghost stories exciting.

  Before I left, I’d pressed the librarian on who she thought the girl was that stole another woman’s man. She said she respected people’s privacy, but I could tell by
her wobbling gray aura that something else was slamming around in her brain. Fear? I’m not sure. Nearly sixty years is a long time for anyone to stay silently afraid.

  When we go back to the room, I eat cold fast food and search online for the mystery players in this little drama. There are plenty of hits for Edith Pudge, but I can’t find any who are alive or who once lived in Minnesota. If she was around Argus’ age, I suspect the woman’s dead or too senile to remember what happened that night, even if she wanted to.

  Surprisingly, or maybe not, there isn’t a single hit for anyone named Argus Pudge. Headless and forever forgotten. Not to mention the loss of his sweet young lover who I hope is alive and still living in Eton Bluff.

  I should be so lucky to find and convince her to ask Argus to stop haunting Spider Central with one last kiss, figuratively of course.

  Chapter Fifteen

  §

  Early the next morning, I drive out to the barn so I can introduce myself to Argus Pudge and tell the Spider crew who I’m ninety-nine percent sure is haunting their tech palace.

  I’m also going to do my best to convince them that Argus had nothing to do with Morgan’s death, and hopefully de-escalate the tension in the place. After more thought about my fall yesterday, I’m certain Argus didn’t push me off that ladder. I’m sure I would have sensed some energy around me and since I didn’t, I’m going to blame it on a wobbly rung.

  The kids are already hard at work when I knock on the oversized door and go inside. True to her word, Zeda has a basket of treats for Mojo. He’s impressed. He grabs a rawhide and retreats to a corner. The four of us crowd around the card table, and I decline one of the many colorful sugary treats.

  I start out by asking if they’ve ever heard of the murder in their barn that occurred in the late fifties. They exchange looks like I’m talking about one that happened yesterday. Zeda and Todd said they moved here from Banforth where Loren lives and know nothing of the town’s history. Owen’s got a sheepish look on his face.