The Ghost and the Haunted Mansion

by Alice Kimberly

  "How did Miss Todd respond to this offer?" Seymour asked.

  "As you know, Timothea was getting on in years and was not in the best of health. I tried to convince her to take the deal, move to a beautiful seaside retirement home in Newport, but she refused."

  Stoddard placed his palms down on the desk and leaned forward. "In fact, it was shortly after this letter arrived that Miss Todd altered the will in your favor."

  "Who was to inherit the house before the amendment?" I asked.

  Mr. Stoddard's gaze shifted to me. "Miss Todd has a surviving sister, who was originally named in the will"

  "A sister?" I said. I turned to my aunt. "Did you know Miss Todd had a living sister?"

  Aunt Sadie shook her head. "She never mentioned one."

  I recalled the well-dressed older woman we'd passed on our way into Stoddard's office—the one with the Mercedes, the chauffeur, and the chilly attitude. I leaned toward the lawyer.

  "Who is this sister? What's her name? Was it the older woman who had the appointment before ours?"

  Mr. Stoddard frowned. "For now, at her request, the identity of Miss Todd's sister is to remain a private matter." He turned to Seymour. "Of course, the terms of Miss Todd's will are quite restrictive, and quite clear. You are not to sell or lease the house, lest you risk losing the monies from the trust fund. However..The lawyer paused. "If you actually did wish to sell the property for the million-dollar offer, the money from the trust fund would become moot, anyway. Clearly, you would no longer need it."

  "Yeah," Seymour said, nodding. "I understand."

  "So, although Miss Todd wanted you to keep the house, it's really up to you, Mr. Tarnish. Once the title is legally transferred—as I mentioned, in six to eight weeks—you are free to ignore Miss Todd's wishes and dispose of the property in any way you see fit. And, of course, I'm in a position to expedite the tangle of legal issues and paperwork. I am at your service."

  "Thanks, Mr. Stoddard," Seymour said. "I mean, if I decide to sell, you'll be the guy I call—seeing as how you're the only lawyer I know!" He laughed. "But like I said, there's no way I'm going to pass up this chance to be part of the Larchmont set."

  A gust of chilly air tickled the nape of my neck.

  Just like a slip-and-fall school graduate to talk out of both sides of his mouth.

  "It does sound like Mr. Stoddard is pushing Seymour to sell," I quietiy told the ghost. "And with Seymour knowing nothing about how to broker a sale, he'd obviously hire Stoddard to handle the Lindsey-Tilton bunch—for a sizeable commission."

  Didn't I warn you? Lawyers are always figuring the angles. And by the look of this dump, I'd say Mr. Stoddard isn't exactly prosperous, which probably rankles him plenty, seeing as how he's dressed for success.

  "I think he was at one time. Successful, I mean. Look at the expensive leather chairs in this room, the framed paintings. He obviously brought these from another location. And did you notice there isn't any signage with his name on it? The building is just marked with a numbered street address. I'm sure this is some sort of hastily thrown-together office."

  I think you're on to something there, honey. I mean, Girl in Black out front—does she strike you as your average legal secretary? "Not even close."

  Well, his downgrade in digs was pretty recent. That's clear.

  "What's not so clear is whether the man was desperate enough for money to commit murder."

  Keep your peepers open, doll. And find out one more thing. "What?"

  If Seymour's getting the property, then someone else is getting the shaft.

  My eyes opened wider at that. "Of course—Miss Todd's sister."

  I cleared my throat. "Mr. Stoddard, I have a question. Isn't Miss Todd's sister upset about not being left the Larchmont property? I mean, can't she contest the will?"

  Stoddard nodded. "The woman could take legal action, but I doubt she will. You see, Miss Todd and her sister were estranged for decades—and the sister has told me she wants nothing to do with the house. Although if Seymour were to die before the title is legally transferred, the property would automatically revert to Miss Todd's closest living relative, which would be her sister."

  "Why doesn't the woman want anything to do with Todd Mansion?" Sadie asked.

  "It's quite silly, really. You see, she believes that Todd Mansion is, well..."

  "Yeah," Seymour piped up. 'Todd mansion is what?’

  "Cursed."

  "What do you mean 'cursed'?" Seymour asked.

  "Haunted would be more accurate," Stoddard said. "Haunted by evil spirits."

  For a few seconds no one made a sound. Then I watched Aunt Sadie's eyebrows lift and Seymour's jaw literally drop open. My own mind raced back to the expression of mortal dread on the face of Miss Todd's corpse, along with that chilly cold spot.

  Seymour cleared his throat. "Look, Mr. Stoddard, I know you're a smart guy and all, but I have a suggestion for you. Don't ever take up real estate as a profession, 'cause you don't know the first thing about pumping up the property to a prospective owner!"

  Stoddard sat back in his leather chair and folded his hands over his belly. "You must understand that I don't put much stock in Timothea's sister's opinion. I merely mentioned the woman's theory in answer to your question. Remember, Mr. Tarnish, the sisters were estranged for many years. Why, I doubt that Mrs."—Stoddard caught himself—"excuse me, that Miss Todd's sister has set foot in the mansion for decades."

  Get her name, baby.

  "Excuse me," I interrupted. "I'm just so curious ... Can't you tell us the woman's name? We'll keep it confidential."

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. McClure. It's a matter of trust. Miss Todd's sister insists on privacy. Of course, once I've finished executing the will, it shall enter the public record—"

  "When will you finish executing the will?" I asked, maybe a little too urgently. Mr. Stoddard's neutral expression changed.

  "Hard to estimate at this time," he replied, his eyes narrowing on me with open suspicion. "Could be three months, maybe six. There's quite a bit of paperwork; transfers; and, of course, federal, state, and local taxes to be handled."

  Seymour loosened his Mighty Mouse tie. "What makes Miss Todd's sister think the mansion is haunted?"

  "I really couldn't say." Stoddard shrugged. "I mean, Miss Todd dwelled in that house for years without complaint."

  I frowned. "But Chief Ciders told me that Miss Todd summoned officers to her home a number of times in recent weeks. He said she was complaining of hearing strange noises."

  Stoddard sighed. "Miss Todd discussed the matter with me, as well. She seemed genuinely frightened, though I did my best to soothe her fears. And I believe fears were all they ever were. You see, Timothea's behavior had become increasingly erratic since a trivial incident that occurred last summer."

  "What incident?" I asked.

  Stoddard waved his hand as if dismissing the subject. "It doesn't much matter now."

  Jump on that, doll. Push him for more. But don't make him nervous. Keep it conversational.

  I cleared my throat, wrinkled my brow. "But I'd like to know," I said. "Wouldn't you, Aunt Sadie?"

  "Well, yes," said Sadie. "I suppose so—"

  "It was just a problem with the gas main on Larchmont," Stoddard said. ·

  "Oh, I remember that!" Seymour turned to me and Sadie. "That Wolfe Construction crew resurfacing Larchmont dug a little too deep. A backhoe ruptured the gas main—" . "Yes, I remember, too," Sadie said. She shook her head. "That's the same construction company that's been blocking Bud's hardware store."

  "They win a lot of the bids for the city," said Seymour.

  Sadie turned to Stoddard. "Weren't some of those big houses on the avenue evacuated when that gas main was broken?"

  "Only one, I'm afraid," Stoddard replied. "The damaged gas main was right in front of Miss Todd's gate, so she was forced to leave her home for almost ten days while the leak was capped and the pipes repaired."

  "That would have
been a terrible inconvenience," I conceded. "But why would that have affected Miss Todd?"

  "She had a psychological attachment to the mansion," Stoddard said. "Leaving caused her distress." Stoddard sighed and looked down, studying the nicked desk. "At first she wouldn't leave, despite the danger. Volunteer firemen literally had to drag her out. I convinced Timothea not to return for her own safety."

  "Where did you take her?" Sadie asked.

  "The Finch Inn was booked, so I found a nice room at a hotel in Newport. But the drive there was difficult. Timothea hadn't been inside a car in decades, and the farther from Quindicott we traveled, the more agitated she became."

  Sadie sighed. "The poor woman."

  "When we arrived at the hotel, I did my best to make Timothea comfortable, but she nearly suffered a nervous breakdown. I finally called in a physician. He thought it best to sedate her. Miss Todd spent most of that time in bed." Stoddard shrugged. "But once we got Miss Todd back home, things returned to normal."

  "Except that she began to hear strange noises," I said.

  "Actually, that was many months later, Mrs. McClure."

  "What kind of noises did she hear?" I pressed. "At what time of day or night did she hear them? In what part of the house?"

  Easy, baby! Slow down! You're spooking him!

  Annoyance flashed across Stoddard's face. "I really don't know."

  "Surely Miss Todd must have mentioned—"

  Stoddard shifted in his chair, glanced at his watch. "I do apologize, but we're going to have to cut this short. Mr. Tarnish and I still have plenty of work to do."

  I gritted my teeth.

  "Don't worry, Pen," Seymour said. "I know just what I'm going to do about those 'strange' noises."

  Stoddard leaned forward. "What's that, Mr. Tarnish? Sell?"

  "Heck, no! I'm going to call the Spirit Zappers!"

  Sadie and I exchanged glances. "Who?" I asked.

  "The Spirit Zappers!" Seymour repeated. "Oh, come on! Don't tell me you never saw their cable TV reality show?"

  I glanced at Stoddard. He shrugged. I turned to Seymour. "We need more."

  Seymour rolled his eyes. "Spirit Zappers is a hit prime-time show on the Alternative Universe network."

  "Oh, yes!" Sadie said. "You remember, Pen. Spencer had us watch the Secrets of Pompeii last week on that network. Very interesting."

  "Not half as interesting as their other programs,"

  Seymour said, "like Big Bill Big-Foot Hunter, U.F.O. Sightings: We Believe You!, and, of course, Medium at the Mall—a psychic reads the minds of random shoppers at gallerias across America. But my all-time favorite has to be Exorcise My Child"

  "What's that show about," I asked, "fighting childhood obesity?"

  "No, Pen, not exercise. Exorcise! It's kind of like Super-Nanny but with demonic possession."

  Sadie appeared horrified. I was still confused: "So what do the Spirit Zappers do exactly?"

  "They pretty much zap spirits like an exterminator zaps bugs. They de-haunt houses, Pen! I'll call them up tonight and make an appointment for them to zap Miss Todd's mansion. Hey, you know what? While I'm at it, I'll ask them to zap the entire town of Quindicott! Fiona says Finch Inn is haunted and your bookstore is supposed to be haunted, too, right?"

  "NO!" I said, a little too forcefully.

  Seymour stared. "Why the heck not? Listen, after they banish the 'spirits' from your bookstore on national television, you'll be swamped with new customers!"

  Jack's chilly presence was getting colder by the second. Will somebody tell this Alvin to put a sock in it.

  As if he'd heard Jack, too, Stoddard loudly cleared his throat. "Yes, well, let's move on, shall we?" He reached for a second file and handed it to Sadie. "This is a list of the books Miss Todd has bequeathed you. There are several hundred first-edition mystery novels and true-crime volumes dating back to the 1950s. I've made arrangements to have them boxed and delivered to your store by the close of business this Friday."

  Sadie placed the file in her lap. "Thank you."

  "I see no reason to dally, do you? Miss Todd's wishes were clear."

  "Funny," I told Jack. "Her wishes were clear about the disposition of the house, too, but Mr. Stoddard seems willing to forgo that."

  Yeah, baby. He does.

  "It's obvious Miss Todd didn't want her house sold to strangers. Yet Stoddard's ready, willing, and able to broker a deal for Seymour."

  There's a lot less bucks in old books than in hot real estate.

  "And Stoddard keeps pretending the mansion isn't haunted. But I felt that cold spot myself. Do you think it's possible for a living person to manipulate a ghost into scaring someone to death?"

  Jack didn't answer.

  Emory Stoddard checked his watch again. "That concludes my business with you ladies," he said, punctuating the point by rising from his executive chair. "I think it would be best if you both departed now and allowed Mr. Tarnish and I to finalize the paperwork. We have several documents, title, and transfers to review, sign, and notarize."

  "But we came with Seymour," Aunt Sadie said. "He gave us a ride over."

  "Oh, in that case, let me call you a cab," Stoddard said, reaching for the phone.

  "Don't bother," Seymour said, rising, too. "This time of night, you can't get a car service out here in under an hour." Seymour dug into his pocket for car keys and began to work one key off of it. "Here, Pen, take my extra key and drive the bus back to the bookstore. Just park it by a curb on Cranberry. I'll take the cab and pick it up when I'm done here."

  "That won't be necessary, Mr. Tarnish," Stoddard insisted. "I'd be happy to drive you back to Quindicott once we're finished here."

  "Great," Seymour said. "It's settled then."

  I took the keys. "Okay, Seymour, if you're sure?"

  Seymour nodded and Stoddard extended his hand. I shook, feeling the hard square of his reversed gold ring pressing into my palm.

  "Good evening, Mrs. McClure, Ms. Thornton."

  Seymour sat back down and smiled up at us. "Listen, you two, keep this Saturday night open, okay?" "Why?" I asked.

  "I'm holding a wake in honor of Miss Timothea, that's why! I'm not a guy who likes to waste time. I'm moving in ASAP. You're invited, too, Mr. Stoddard. And so is that cutie secretary of yours!"

  "Thank you, I'm sure, Mr. Tarnish," Stoddard said. "Saturday evening, you say? I'll see what my schedule is like."

  CHAPTER 8

  Road Trouble

  Trouble. Like the smoke over a cake of dry ice. You can't smell it but you can see it and know that soon something's going to crack and shatter.

  —Detective Mike Hammer in Kiss Me, Deadly, Mickey Spillane, 1952

  LEAVING MILLSTONE'S DEPRESSED business district was like emerging out of a godforsaken mausoleum. Aunt Sadie and I didn't say much as I started up Seymour's VW bus and rolled through the town's shadowy lanes. I was still processing everything I'd heard in the lawyer's office, and I could see my aunt was engrossed in thoughts of her own. Even Jack had gone quiet. After a few minutes, however, my aunt broke the silence.

  "That young woman," she said, her voice sounding almost disembodied in the large, dark vehicle. "She was acting oddly, don't you think?"

  "Who?"

  "Mr. Stoddard's receptionist, or assistant, or whatever she was. You know who I mean: the girl in the black dress." "Miss Turtle?"

  "I can't get over how she stared right at you and said there was a man with you."

  Behind the van's big steering wheel, I shifted uneasily. "Oh, she probably just noticed Seymour dropping us off."

  "No, that can't be it. She was engrossed in her book when we walked in. And she was very specific about her description. She said a man in a fedora and double-breasted suit was with you. She was extremely clear about that point."

  I forced a laugh—which sounded only slightly less phony than it actually was. "Probably just has an active imagination."

  "You know, I hope she does come to Seymour'
s party. I'd like to ask her about that."

  "I wish you wouldn't, Aunt Sadie. Tonight I found something a lot more disturbing than Miss Tuttle's confusion."

  "You did?"

  I nodded. "Mr. Stoddard's behavior."

  "Mr. Stoddard was a perfect gentleman, dear. What are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about Stoddard pressuring Seymour into selling Miss Todd's home."

  "You call that pressuring?" In the dim light of the car, I could see my aunt shaking her head. "It sounded to me like Stoddard was simply explaining that option to Seymour— and he rejected it pretty firmly, too. But, you know... maybe Seymour should sell."

  "Why? Do you think Miss Todd's house really is haunted?"

  "Heavens, no." Sadie waved her hand. "But even if it were, that's nothing to cause alarm. My word! Look at Finch Inn. It's supposed to be haunted, yet Fiona and Barney have never seen an apparition. And half the inns in Newport have ghost stories attached to them, not to mention the landmark buildings. Fiona tells me the stories are good for business. And you know that's one reason we started our occult book section."

  "I know."

  Sadie laughed. "Why, I've heard stories that parts of this very road are haunted. Some phantom car, which was run off Buckeye Lane years ago, supposedly comes back to haunt random drivers. And don't you remember, dear, what Seymour said about our very own bookshop? It's supposed to be haunted, too!"

  "Ah, yes. I do seem to recall something like that—"