Town Haunts
An Anna Nolan Mystery
by Cathy Spencer
Published by Comely Press at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Cathy Spencer
This book is also available in print at most online retailers.
Other titles in the Anna Nolan series:
Framed For Murder (Book 1)
Winner of the 2014 Bony Blithe Mystery Award
Discover other titles by Cathy Spencer:
The Dating Do-Over
The Affairs of Harriet Walters, Spinster
Tall Tales Twin-Pack, Mysteries
Tall Tales Twin-Pack, Science Fiction and Fantasy
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes.
Thank you to a great team of beta readers ‒ Alexandra Gall, Barbara Ledger, Ann Pappert, Diana Patterson, and Debbie Welland ‒ and to my copy editor, Kate Spencer.
Cover photo by RDS Photography.
To Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, and Robert B. Parker,
whose wonderful stories inspired me to write mysteries.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
About the Author
Connect with Cathy Spencer
Chapter One
It was the middle of the night, but Sherman couldn’t sleep. Too many old demons whirling around his brain and pricking at his conscience. Frustrated, he threw back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed, the soles of his feet chilled by the bare floor boards. Running his hands through his clipped, grizzled hair, he pushed himself up off the bed, jammed his feet into slippers, and limped downstairs in his shorts and undershirt.
The kitchen was dark, but Sherman didn’t bother with the lights. He fumbled for a water glass from the cupboard and took the vodka bottle out of the freezer. The blue light from the stove’s digital clock was enough to see by as he poured two fingers of Stoli into the glass and put the bottle back. Leaning against the counter by the kitchen sink, he took his first sip. Ahh. The alcohol was cold and smooth going down the back of his throat.
Meaning to count to twenty before taking a second sip, he rested the glass on the sink and looked out the window past the dingy curtains. The house was set up high on a hill next to the Crane municipal cemetery, allowing him to see over the wall into the grounds. For a moment, he thought he caught a flicker of light through the trees. He rubbed his eyes and stared, straining to see it again, but the wind was up and the trees were thrashing. There! He saw the light again, briefly. Maybe it was one of those damned kids up to no good. They had no respect for the dead, knocking over tombstones, spray painting ugly messages on the walls, and leaving empty beer cans right on top of the graves. He’d better take a look, or else he might have a mess to clean up tomorrow.
Forgetting to savour his drink, Sherman downed the rest and hurried upstairs to put on his pants and a warm jacket. It was mid-October in the Alberta Foothills, and the nights were getting frosty. He grabbed his cemetery keys and hobbled down the stairs as fast as his sore knee would allow. Letting himself out of the house, he slid down the damp grass heading for the gate in the cemetery wall. The door screeched as he opened it, and he cursed himself for not keeping the hinges oiled. Easing the door shut behind him, he paused in the flat orange light beneath a security lamp on the ring road.
Everything was still except for the gusting wind. He could see his breath coming out in excited puffs and smelled the sharp wood smoke from the houses on the far side of the church. He shivered as the wind penetrated his clothes. It was too cold to stand still for long, so Sherman crossed the road and set off across the frosty grass. The sky was enshrouded in thick, grey cloud, and it was inky black among the plots. He got his bearings from the familiar tombstones, running his hands over their chilled, smooth surfaces as he hobbled past them. Pausing by a stone angel, Sherman peered to the left, toward the older part of the cemetery. That was the direction the light had been coming from when he had seen it from the kitchen window.
There it was, blinking through a stand of twisting evergreens. He crept toward the trees, taking his time so as not to snap a twig along the way. Was that whispering he heard? He paused to listen, but the branches were creaking too much to be sure, so he kept on. Reaching the evergreens, he edged around them carefully, trailing his hands over their rough bark.
He knew exactly where he was. There was a bench on the other side of the trees with a plot directly in front of it. The words inscribed on the black tombstone read, “Evelyn Mason, Beloved Wife and Mother, November 2, 1954 – March 10, 2012.” Evie’s grave. He rounded the trees and burst out of hiding.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” he hollered. But there was no one there, just the dim outline of the tombstone. He hesitated, sure that this was where he had seen the light.
“Sherman . . .” a voice sighed plaintively on the wind. He jerked his head sideways, trying to follow the sound, but it was impossible to tell where it came from. His hands clutched the bench for support, the metal cold and hard beneath his fingers.
“Who’s there?” he yelled, straining to see in the dark.
“Sherman . . .” the voice moaned, emanating from the heart of the plot deep in front of him. His breath came in short gasps, and his legs were shaking.
“Sherman!” the voice shrieked, piercing his ears and squeezing the breath from his lungs. He turned to run and tripped. Clawing at the ground, he staggered to his feet, terrified of skeletal fingers clutching at his shoulder. He tore across the grass and ran between the plots, barking his shins on more than one tombstone. He found the ring road and pushed himself down it, running and hopping as fast as he could. Reaching the door in the wall, he flung it open and staggered up the slope for home.
Thank God he had left the front door unlocked. Once inside, he shot the bolt home and ran upstairs to cower in bed with the ceiling light on. He lay there, his heart thumping erratically in his chest, and willed it to calm down. Mental imaging the people at the hospital had called it after his heart attack five years ago. He swallowed hard and tried to think. Was he crazy, or had his wife just called to him from the other side of the grave?
Her photograph was on his bedside table in a polished silver frame, the only valuable thing still left. Staring at the beautiful young woman with shining blue eyes smiling into the camera, a snort of laughter burst from his lips. He laughed and laughed until his eyes ran, a
nd he was gasping for breath. The laughter subsided, and he picked up the picture and clutched it to his chest.
“I’m sorry, Evie,” he said, his voice cracking.
Chapter Two
Anna Nolan strode down Main Street in pursuit of breakfast. It was a glorious autumn morning, the air fresh and crisp, the sky a cloudless robin’s-egg blue. The leaves on the trees lining the street had turned sunshine-yellow and were dry and crunchy underfoot. Anna stopped outside The Diner and grinned at the scarecrow sitting on a straw bale beside the door. The Crane Chamber of Commerce was holding its annual Halloween contest, and most of the businesses were festooned with cobwebs, spiders, scarecrows, and jack-o’-lanterns. Frank Crow, the restaurant’s owner, was a big Elvis fan ‒ he even had one of the King’s Vegas costumes mounted in a display case inside the restaurant ‒ so his scarecrow was wearing a black wig, leather jacket, and holding a plywood guitar. Stooping, she kissed its scratchy cheek and went inside.
Mary, The Diner’s full-time waitress, was wiping down a vacant spot at the front counter. Thirtyish, she wore her trademark skin-tight jeans, the strings of her white apron tied twice around her pencil-thin waist. Four of the five stools were occupied by truckers dressed alike in flannel shirts, jeans, and baseball caps, their forks scraping on their plates as they concentrated on shovelling food into their mouths as efficiently as possible.
A long, low wolf whistle pierced the silence. Glancing over her shoulder, Anna spied RCMP Constable Steve Walker grinning at her from a table at the back of the room. The rangy, darkly-handsome, twenty-eight-year-old had just finished his shift and was still in uniform, eating his supper before going home to get some rest. Anna beamed as she headed back to join him, a little sashay in her walk.
“Anna Nolan, you are looking fine this morning. Love must truly agree with you,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair to look her up and down as she paused beside his table. She was wearing a midnight-blue silk blouse over jeans that cupped her curvy hips, her long, brunette hair flowing over the shoulders of a soft black leather jacket. Anna was forty with a grown son, Ben, in university, and long walks with her dog helped to keep her fit and youthful.
“Thank you, sir, you are too kind,” she said with mock gentility, plunking down into the chair across from him. The men at the counter stopped following Anna with their eyes and turned back to their plates.
“Taking a vacation day?” Steve asked. It was Tuesday, and normally she would be on her way to work at eight o’clock in the morning. Work was at the Chinook University in Calgary, where Anna was employed as the administrative assistant for the Kinesiology Department. She had held the position for four years, driving the twenty minutes north to Calgary each day. Her ex-husband, Jack, a handsome charmer who had cheated on her throughout their marriage, had been an actor, and the family had settled in the small town of Crane when he had landed a role in a movie being filmed nearby. Anna had begun divorce proceedings before the shoot was over, however, and when Jack left town at the film’s wrap, she and Ben stayed on.
“Uh huh. I had to take a friend to the airport,” she replied.
“That’s right. I heard that Sergeant Tremaine was back in town last week,” Steve said around a piece of toast. “The guys and I were really disappointed when he didn’t drop by the station to see us. Here we thought that we had really bonded with Tremaine over your ex-husband’s murder investigation, but he didn’t take the time to visit his old buddies. I wonder who or what could have been keeping him so busy?”
Anna rolled her eyes. Charles Tremaine was a sergeant with a national RCMP unit that investigated high-profile homicides throughout Western Canada. She and Tremaine had become personally involved during the investigation the previous spring, an investigation in which Anna had figured as the prime suspect. She thought that looking into her ex-husband’s personal life would help to find the murderer, and had made it her mission to meet the women Jack had been romancing. Tremaine had discovered the real killer despite Anna’s interference, and now they were conducting a long-distance romance.
Mary bustled over to the table to take Anna’s order. “We missed you at breakfast on Saturday. Did you sleep in or something?” Anna often met her friends for breakfast at The Diner on Saturday mornings.
Anna braced herself for some extra teasing and said, “I’m sure everyone has heard that Charlie was taking a seminar in Calgary last week.”
“Uh huh,” Mary and Steve said in unison.
“So, he stayed over for Thanksgiving weekend when it was done.”
“And?” Mary asked with rapt attention.
“And, nothing. It’s none of your business,” Anna said, smiling to soften the sharpness of her retort.
Mary smirked at Steve, who winked back. “How’s he getting along with Ben?” the waitress asked. Ben was nineteen, and had moved out of the house just over a year ago to attend Chinook University’s computer science program. He was in his second year, sharing a house in Calgary with four other roommates and holding down a part-time job at a building supply store. He still came home every Friday night to have supper with his mom, however.
“They sure got off to a rocky start,” Steve added. “First Ben dragged his feet on providing an alibi for his father’s murder . . .”
“Ben just got his back up about that,” Anna interrupted.
“And then Tremaine brought him in for questioning,” Steve said with a grin.
“Yeah, that didn’t help.” Anna shrugged and smiled. “Ben had Thanksgiving supper with Charlie and me, and no blood was drawn, so I’d say their relationship is improving.”
Frank Crow, who was both The Diner’s owner and cook, rang the pass-through bell, signalling that there was food for Mary to pick up. The waitress got down to business. “What’ll you have, Anna – the usual?”
“No, I made pancakes and bacon at home this weekend. What are you having, Steve?” she asked, peering at his bowl beside the stack of whole wheat toast. He was eating oatmeal topped with raisins and raw apple slices. Anna wrinkled her nose; it didn’t look very appealing to her. Steve must be on one of his health kicks.
“I think I need a little more protein than that,” she said. “I’ll have the Tex-Mex Scramble. And a glass of apple juice, please.”
“Coming right up,” Mary said, spinning on her heels and walking away.
“So, how’s it really going with Tremaine? Are you happy?” Steve asked, scooping up some oatmeal with his spoon.
Anna leaned her elbows on the table. “It’s going really well. Charlie’s a great guy. I trust him, even though we’re apart so much. Not like my ex-husband, that dog. And the long-distance thing is working for me. It keeps us in the honeymoon phase of our relationship all the time.”
“Yeah, but how much time have you actually spent together since he left last spring?”
“Well, he had to come back for the trial, so that was four days in July. Then we had his two weeks’ vacation in August, plus this past week for the course. That’s three and a half weeks. But we talk all the time on the phone. Well, as much as we can when he’s not tied up with a case.” Anna sighed. “Problem is, every time he leaves, I have to get used to being alone all over again. It’s funny. I was fine with not having a man in my life for four years, but now that there’s one back again ‒ well, it’s hard when he leaves.” Anna toyed with the packages of sugar in the bowl on the table while Steve watched.
The restaurant door opened. Anna looked up as a young woman paused in the doorway. Backlit by the morning sun, she was striking in a purple velvet jacket worn over a snippet of floral skirt and high-heeled, scarlet pumps. Her most exotic feature, however, was the smooth cap of flaming-red hair that framed her oval face. The young woman sauntered over to the counter and claimed the empty stool, laying a sheet of paper on the counter top before sliding onto the cushioned seat. The men on either side of her looked up in surprise. Removing smoky sunglasses, she swivelled on the stool to check out the rest of the restaurant
, crossing her shapely legs as she did so. Her skirt rode up high enough to revive a dead man’s heart, and the truckers gaped at her over their shoulders. The young woman spotted Steve and gave him a half-wave with her fingertips. Steve waved back and beckoned for her to join him and Anna.
“Who’s that?” Anna asked, her eyebrows arching as the woman undulated her way through the tables.
“That’s Tiernay Rae, the owner of the new store that’s going in where Henry’s old restaurant used to be,” Steve said, mesmerized by Tiernay’s progress.
Anna managed to whisper, “You know her? You sure work fast,” before the young woman arrived at their table.
Steve rose to greet her. “Tiernay, you are the perfect ending to an uninspired day,” he said, whisking out a chair for her. Tiernay smiled at him, and he seemed to lose himself in her eyes. Feeling like a chewed-up dog toy spat out for a meaty bone, Anna cleared her throat. Steve glanced at her before adding, “Let me introduce you to a good friend of mine, Anna Nolan.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Tiernay said, leaning forward to offer her hand. As Anna took it, she noticed that the younger woman had unusually light blue eyes. Those cool eyes were assessing her. Obviously, Tiernay was sizing up the competition. She needn’t have bothered, though; with twelve years between them, Anna had dismissed Steve as potential boyfriend material years ago even though he had demonstrated some interest. Besides, she had Charlie to keep her happy. Releasing Anna’s hand, Tiernay sank into her chair and turned her attention back to Steve.
“‘Tiernay.’ That’s an unusual name,” Anna said.
“Tiernay is a Celtic name that means ‘noble.’”
“Oh. Do you have a Celtic background?”
“No, I’m French-Canadian.”
Anna nodded as if she understood, even though she didn’t. “Steve tells me that you’re opening a new business in Henry Fellow’s old restaurant.”
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