It’s impossible to believe that the three of them were involved in such a notorious scandal yet still managed to escape the internet’s prying minds and posters. It appears that not a single blogger came upon their sorted tale with the hopes of getting a little traffic to their site for writing about it, and that’s just sad for me. Somehow this bitter love story has managed to stay buried and forever forgotten just like Argus’ poor head.
“What now?” I ask the wolfdog, who gave up on the squirrels after they ran up the trees. I can almost hear his wise wolf words: When all leads turn out to be dead ends, it’s time to visit the dead. I couldn’t agree more.
After flipping through my notepad, I find the information from Argus’ obituary and google St. Mark’s Cemetery. It’s ten miles out of town, and I feel like I’m on my way to Disneyland. Morbid but true. Mojo’s equally excited. There are few places he’d rather go than the graveyard.
Eton Bluff may be a small town, but it’s not lacking in dead people. One look at the size of the place as we come over a hill above the entrance, and my excitement takes a nosedive. I see a building nestled on one end of the property and hope and pray someone is on duty.
“Cross your toes,” I tell the wolfdog, “or we’ll be searching for Argus all week.”
The one story building is solid but weathered and surrounded by plants of all shapes and colors as if it’s trying hard not to be seen. I climb the steps and knock on the door while not looking in the window where an old woman with cotton candy hair is peeking at me from behind the curtain.
I hear shuffling feet and voices. The door knob clanks and an old man with thick glasses stands in the open doorway.
“Help ya?” he says. He’s tilting his head like he can’t really see me while trying hard to look around me.
“I was hoping you could point me in the direction of a couple of graves,” I say.
“What for?” Now he’s got his head tilted back and his chin jetted.
Odd question for a caretaker. One of the mind readers, I suspect. “I’m a history writer,” I say.
“A history writer.” This comes from the woman who’s gone from the curtain to peeking around the man while pushing him away. “Come in, come in. I’m Louise and this is Fred.” Fred’s moved to the side of the door. He nods respectfully and I feel guilty. “A history writer. How wonderful.” Louise is beaming.
“Write for the newspaper?” the man asks. Another odd question.
“No, just books.” I cringe and launch into the story of my barn book and my search for Argus and Edith Pudge. I’m right in the middle of a pretty good version of this story when Louise turns away mumbling that it could be worse just before walking out of the room.
Fred cuts me off and says he’ll get his coat and meet me outside. I think I’ve hit the jackpot, but I know neither of these two will be forking over my winnings.
I’m waiting by the jeep when Fred flies by yelling for me to follow. He’s in a golf cart and he knows how to drive it fast and dangerously. He points to a parking area and I hurry down a skinny path to catch up with him. I’m out of breath when the golf cart jerks to a stop.
“Second row at the end,” he says, “Clean up after the dog before you leave.”
“Wait. How did you know exactly where they’re buried? Did you know the Pudges?”
“It’s my job, and no, I didn’t know them. Couldn’t tell you nothing about them if I did. That’s the way it works. Professionalism not gossip mongering is what they pay me for.” He floors the golf cart and is gone.
I have goosebumps as I make my way down the rows. As I get to the end, my heart leaps. George, Hattie, and George Jr., are side by side. Then I’m standing in front of the grave of Argus Philip Pudge. Lord, he was a sinner. Try to forgive him. Apparently, the living couldn’t.
Edith isn’t next to him, but I do find an Edith Kay Hopping farther down the row: born 1937, died 2002. She would have been twenty one in 1958. If this is my Edith, it appears she went on to love again. I sit down and place my fingers over her headstone.
“Hello, Edith. I was wondering if your last name was once Pudge. I’m here to help Argus who I know you have forgiven in spirit for his cheating ways. Please make your presence known.”
After a few minutes, the wind brushes against me. I’d like to believe it was Edith, but she’s silent and maybe still isn’t all that forgiving.
I move back to Argus’ grave and sit at the headstone. “Argus Pudge. I’m here to help you. If you are still wandering this earth, it’s time to continue your soul’s journey. You are forgiven for your sins. Let me help you go to the light. Give me a message so I can do that.”
I feel myself sinking into the ground and jerk up. This is not a place to feel that sensation. I check the time and see that I’ve been out here almost an hour.
Just when I’m thinking graveyards don’t always live up to my expectations, I hear whispering behind me. When I turn around, no one’s there but I see Mojo lying at the other end of the row, looking dead. I hurry in his direction and call to him. He jumps up and I catch my breath. He’s looking around, looking confused.
“Why are you all the way down here?”
He’s sitting on a grave, staring at me like he doesn’t know me. “Come on,” I say. “The dead are toying with me, and we don’t have time for their games.”
I head to the jeep and am a couple of rows over when I notice he hasn’t followed. He’s still sitting on the grave, looking at me. I go back to find out what’s on his mind. As soon as I’m standing in front of him, he moves away.
I’m staring at the headstone and trying to figure out what it means. April 3, 1944 ~ March 18, 1958. Beloved Daughter in Heaven. Grace Marie Parker.
Chapter Twenty Four
§
“What? My Grace Parker? Argus’ Grace Parker?” No one is answering so I stop asking because I’m staring at the answer. Three, one, eight. The woman died on the same date Argus died and she’d be seventy three if alive today.
I sit down because my legs don’t want to hold me up. I copy the information from the headstone into my notepad then move closer to the very ornate marble.
When I go to put my hand on the cold marker, I can’t. I’m too confused to make any kind of connection with the living or the dead. If Grace Parker is in the ground, who’s the woman in the blue mansion? And why the cover up? Well, this changes everything.
I go back to the jeep and knowing I won’t find it, I search on my laptop for Grace Marie Parker’s obituary. There isn’t one so I search for Edith Hopping. There’s nothing on her or any other Hopping in Eton Bluff. Of course, her and her new husband could have lived anywhere and she was buried in the family plot. I’d noticed a few Hoppings buried near her. No wonder Louise and Fred were wary of the history writer.
There’s enough time to go back to the barn before my meeting with Russ. I’m hoping the Silvers haven’t left yet. I’m not interested in how their insurance meeting went, unless it ended with their arrest for Morgan’s murder. Otherwise, I’d just like to talk to them about how they came to purchase the barn and find out what they know about the place. I’m desperate.
When I see a boat size Chrysler in front of the barn, I think I’m in luck. When I walk inside, I know I’m not. Todd’s rushing my direction and calling me Beth.
I’m looking over his shoulder at, I assume, the Silvers– an older couple who are sitting with Owen and Zeda. They pay me no attention. My stomach is churning.
“How’s the research going?” Todd asks. His eyes are buggy and his lip is quivering.
“Insightful. What’s going on?”
Todd’s grinning with his jaw clamped tight. “Sure, I’ve got a minute.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and pushes me to the door while yelling that he’ll be back in a few minutes.
When we get outside, he starts beating his chest and waving his other hand. “We didn’t think you would be back this soon.”
“Okay?”
�
��We may have forgotten to mention that we didn’t exactly tell Rice and Alice about you being here.”
“Because?”
“Are you kidding? They’re our managing partners. We don’t want them to think we’re crazy. It was bad enough what happened to Morgan.” Todd’s hugging himself now and walking in a circle.
“We’re afraid they’ll shut down the operation if everything gets out. You know, bad publicity. No one is going to invest in a startup that’s been hit with one scandal after another. Charlie, Morgan, the Spirit Searchers, that head you found.” He practically spits these last words out. “We can’t let on that we have a psychic medium under our roof too. No offense, but how much worse can it get?”
I start to tell him, but I don’t think the kid could take much more. “And you didn’t tell me this because?”
“You know, just trying to keep a lid on things. Rice called yesterday about their meeting today. They’ll be gone soon. Probably tomorrow. Can we just speed up getting rid of Charlie?”
“It’s complicated,” I say. “I ran into Detective Coleman earlier. What did she have to say?”
Todd kicks a rock and shrugs. He’s wiggling around and scratching like he’s got fleas. “She said she was just making sure people weren’t coming out to bother us over that head you found. That’s what she said anyway. The woman’s nosy and weird.”
I’m about to agree when the door of the barn opens slightly and we hear the Silvers and the others talking. Todd’s waving me to the jeep then giving me prayer hands. I wave goodbye and am pulling onto the dirt road when I see the Silvers in my rearview mirror. They’ve got used car salespeople vibes.
One last stop at the library then I’m giving up my search on the barn and the murder or murders of March 18, 1958, as well as anything at all on the Parker family. I may need to start from scratch in researching this job.
I skip the computer terminals and go straight back to the cabinet where the librarian got Argus’ obituary. I’ve got an entire end of the library to myself, so I grab a handful of folders and spread them out on a back table for a more careful review.
If I was a history writer, the documents I’m looking through would be a goldmine. There are dozens of old articles on business openings, elections, petty arrests, births, marriages, and deaths. There’s still nothing on anyone named Parker or Pudge or a barn where one or both were murdered. After two more trips to the cabinet, I’m done with my bogus writing gig and it’s time to go meet Russ.
As I’m pulling onto the road, I realize that in all the documents I just went through, I didn’t see Argus’ obituary that I previously reviewed. I’m sure of where the librarian retrieved it and where I returned it that day. I also know I was too careful in searching the documents to have overlooked it. Either it was removed and not yet re-filed or it was removed permanently. The way things are going, I have my suspicions that it won’t make it back into the cabinet until I leave town.
It’s a few minutes after four when I get to the diner. Russ already has a table. When he sees me, he heads my way.
“I thought you stood me up,” he says, with a big grin.
“That’s the last thing I’d do.” I follow him to the table and get a menu and my coffee cup filled before I have a chance to sit down. Russ is relaxing with a half empty mug of beer. I study the menu and wait until he’s sipping on that beer.
“So, I went out to St. Mark’s Cemetery today. Guess whose grave I came across?”
I don’t get sprayed with beer, but close to it. Russ’ eyeballs are darting around the room. He wipes his mouth and smiles. “Don’t tell me it was my own.”
“I can confirm it wasn’t yours, but your concern is curious. Do many people still living in this town have graves out there?”
The waitress returns and I order a sandwich while Russ gets a steak and deep fried cheese curds and another beer. He’s working hard at rearranging his silverware.
“You’re on my dime. Why is Grace Parker six feet under? And who’s the rather colorful character in the big, blue mansion on Dolton Road?”
He hangs his head and laughs, but not for long. “Well, that’s a long story,” he says.
“Let’s see if you can wrap it up before you order dessert. Start by telling me how you seem to be the only person in town who knows what happened that night in the barn.”
“First off, I don’t have a clue what happened that night.” He moves the salt and pepper shakers from one place to another and back. “My mother used to work for Grace Parker—
“Which Grace Parker?”
“The one in the blue mansion. The only one– in this town anyway. Now second, tell me who you really are.”
“I’m the one paying for your steak and beer.”
Russ shakes his head and tells me to try again.
I hesitate. He seems to be the only one with the information I need who is also willing to talk to me. I suspect though that he will also be willing to talk to anyone who asks about me. While I don’t like disclosing what I do for a living to the vast majority of nonbelievers, I’m more concerned that it will get back to the Silvers and hurt my clients.
When I don’t answer, Russ says, “You’re an investigator of some sorts.”
“Exactly, and I can’t disclose more than that. My work is confidential.”
“I heard you found that skull in the field. Must be good at what you do.”
“That was just luck. When did your mother work for Ms. Parker?”
“Many, many years ago. My dad left when I was a kid. Housekeeping was the only job my mom could get. Grace was… interesting, according to my mom. I was too young to know one way or the other, but I’ve kept in touch with her over the years. She’s a special woman.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I say, trying to relax the guy. I barely get a smile.
“I’ve lived in Eton Bluff all my life. There’s a bunch of good stories in this town and I could tell you them, but they’re just for entertainment. Nothing anyone says could change what happened in that barn. I’ve known Calvin Harper for years. He said he told you some about the barn, but not all of it. He left the parts out about Ms. Gracie.”
The waitress brings our food and Russ gets down to eating like the conversation is over.
“What parts about Grace did he leave out? The parts you are too?”
He laughs and looks around to see if anyone is watching or listening. “Calvin’s a good guy. When he heard about the kid that lost his life out there, he wondered and worried that he was partially responsible since he sold the barn instead of burning it down. I want you to know that’s the only reason we’re willing to talk to you. No offense, but a heavy load on the conscience is a powerful motivator.”
Russ is looking around again. I feel like he’s considering whether he wants to leave. I’m not sure guilt is all that’s motivating him, and I know for certain that’s not what prompted Calvin to talk to me.
“You’re getting close to ordering dessert, so tell me if what Calvin and you are leaving out of this story is that Argus Pudge is the ghost that’s haunting the barn off Hedge Road.”
Chapter Twenty Five
§
Russ chokes on his food and clears his throat with a long drink of beer. He holds up the empty glass for the waitress. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he says.
“You’re losing me.”
“The barn is old. It should have been torn down long ago. It’s got some rotting wood and a bunch of rats and bats along with a foundation that’s about to send it crashing to the ground. It’s got memories too. Lies, fear, sorrow, and blood. I believe in God and his grace. I believe in evil just as much. In that barn, there’s evil.”
I feel a knot in my stomach. I start to tell him that he’s partially right. All those things are in that barn, but those things were once very human. I’m not here to debate philosophies though. “Tell me the rest of the story,” I say.
Russ shrugs. “Okay, now understand some of this i
s what a much younger Grace Parker remembered or at least wanted my mom to think she remembered, and the other parts of it are just small town gossip and tall tales. You’re going to have to figure out which is which for yourself.”
“Mind if I take a few notes?”
The man cringes then tells me not to include his name anywhere in that notebook of mine. I don’t tell him it’s too late for that.
“All right, I’m giving you the condensed version. Three people went out to the Parker barn that night—
“Wait. Grace Parker’s family owned the barn?”
He nods. “Back then they did. They sold it after the murder and it’s been passed around to more folks than a street hook…. Been sold off to a few others.” He grins and stabs his steak.
“Grace admitted to my mom about going out to meet Argus Pudge that night. Argus was a ladies’ man, or so the story goes. He took a liking to Grace. Something he’d go to prison for these days. Story is that Edith, his wife, got wind of their little rendezvous and followed him out there to shoot the man. That much people can agree on. What nobody knows is who cut off his head.”
“Calvin said Edith did. Do others say it was Grace who swung the ax?”
“Some do because what would gossip be if they didn’t? What I think is that she wasn’t strong enough to chop a man’s head off.”
“Was Edith strong enough?”
Russ thinks this is hilarious. He stops to study the dessert menu. If it wasn’t for his continued ordering, I’d think he was charging me by the minute.
“Never met the woman. She was long gone before Argus’ body was discovered. They never found her. Some say they never looked.”
I ask about Edith Hopping’s grave that I found at the cemetery. Russ shrugs and says he doesn’t know anyone by that name. That’s curious since he said he’s lived in this town his whole life. “So was there a third person in the barn that night?”
“Calm down,” Russ says, signaling the waitress. “This is an old story that should be told respectfully.” He orders pistachio pudding salad with marshmallows.
The Eton Bluff Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 4) Page 12
