The Cats that Stalked a Ghost

by Karen Anne Golden

  “Move closer,” Stevie said.

  Katherine leaned over the bed rail.

  Stevie whispered, “A giant crow swooped in and carried off the gun.”

  Katherine looked at Stevie and furrowed her brow. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s true.”

  “That’s impossible. A crow can’t carry a gun. It would be too heavy.”

  “A lightweight handgun could weigh as little as a pound.”

  “Stevie, please be serious.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “I swear on a stack of Bibles that what I’m about to say is the whole truth — ”

  “Okay, I get it,” Katherine said impatiently.

  “Three of the biggest raccoons I’ve ever seen in my life came waddling down the trail. Paul screamed at them to get away. Two of them fled into the brush, but one came over and started messin’ with the gun —”

  “This is even more ridiculous than the other story. Stevie, stop! Why are you not taking this seriously? You can be sent back to prison. If the chief has the gun, with your prints and mine on it, chances are you won’t.”

  “Let me finish,” he said firmly. “If the chief wants the gun, he can go back to where I was sittin’, which was about two feet from a ravine. When I yelled at the damn raccoon, he got startled, started to scramble away, and pushed the gun over the edge. That’s the honest-to-God truth. Take it or leave it,” he said, his face clouding.

  “I’ll call the chief and let him know this information. Plus, the little ditty about Ted.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be mad at ya. Come closer,” Stevie enticed, then he kissed Katherine on the ear. “Thanks for comin’. You’re a good friend to me.”

  The police officer stepped in, and called time. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll have to leave.”

  “Thanks, Officer,” then to Stevie, “I’ll try and come back tomorrow to see you.”

  “I’ll be here.” He winked.

  “And expect a visit from an attorney.”

  “Thanks,” Stevie mouthed the word.

  Katherine left the room, and looked up and down the hall for Jake. He was standing several feet from the door, leaning up against the wall.

  “There you are,” she said, smiling.

  “I thought you needed some time with Stevie,” he said with a glint of curiosity in his eyes.

  Katherine hugged him. “Can we go home now?”

  Jake kissed her on the forehead. “Yes, Sweet Pea, but we’ve got to hit a department store and buy a few things for the Foursquare.”

  Katherine giggled. “Let’s see, first thing on the list, sheets that don’t feel like sleeping on a burlap bag.”

  “Yeah, Aunt Margie can have her sheets back.”

  “We also need to go to the pet store. The cats want cozy beds and not folded towels. They’re very particular.”

  “How about lunch first? I’m starving,” Jake suggested.

  “Okay, but I need to make some calls while we wait for our food. But while we’re heading to the Jeep, I need to text Evan.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to know if a crow can carry a gun.”

  Jake stopped and looked at her in amused disbelief. “I think I can answer that one — not so much.”

  “How about a raccoon?”

  “Nuts!”

  “Raccoons, not squirrels,” Katherine joked. She proceeded to tell Jake everything she’d discussed with Stevie.

  Jake commented, “There is a hint of truth in what Stevie said. Sometimes the most ridiculous thing is actually true.” He hugged Katherine, and helped her climb up into the Jeep.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Katherine and Jake sat cross-legged on the floor of the Foursquare. Jake’s laptop was positioned on a cardboard box. Chief London sat on a folding chair close by. Jake inserted the flash drive in his laptop’s port.

  “I found this on the floor of the carriage house,” Jake began. “It belongs to Russell Krow. Russell must have lost it after he’d taken our wedding pictures.”

  “So how’d it get in the carriage house?”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said, then looked knowingly at Katherine. They both suspected Abra had fetched it from the basement minutes before the explosion. They shuddered to think their Siamese could have been seriously injured.

  The chief asked, “Are your wedding pictures on it?”

  “No, I don’t think Russell had time to download all the pics on his camera onto his laptop. Give my computer a sec to pull up everything on this flash drive; there are a lot of photos and videos on it.”

  Katherine quietly sat holding Lilac on her lap. The lilac point had become clingy, and was upset by the change in her routine. Abby sat underneath the chief’s chair.

  “Here we are. Take a look at this last video. It was shot in the mansion’s basement. Russell must have set his camera on a tripod or something.”

  The chief leaned in. Katherine looked away. She didn’t want to watch it again. “Oh, what a sick bastard,” the chief said disgustedly. “Is there audio?”

  “No, can’t explain why. Chief, the video shows the last moments of Judge Hartman’s life.”

  The video ended with a short flash and a black screen.

  “Is that it?”

  “There’s more, but this is the only thing on here regarding the judge.”

  “So, here’s how I see it,” the chief said, running his fingers on top of his buzz cut. “The judge was fighting him off. He lifted her into an uncompromising position, threw her against the wall, which forced her neck into a six-inch nail. The nail punctured her brain stem. Probably paralyzed and killed her instantly.”

  Jake asked, “Did he know the nail was there, and do this intentionally?”

  “When the EMT found her, she was wrapped in a rug. I think Russell was horrified that he’d killed her, and covered her to prevent others from seeing her that way.”

  “Sort of like respect for the dead,” Katherine added.

  “Looks likes involuntary manslaughter or reckless homicide to me. Can I trust you two to not say anything? This is official police business. A warrant has been issued for Russell’s arrest, but he hasn’t been apprehended yet.”

  “Contrary to everyone else in Erie, Jake and I do not have loose lips. So your secret is safe with us,” Katherine laughed uneasily, then continued, “Actually, I feel I have an interest in this because I was involved.”

  “Fair enough,” the chief said, then said loudly, “Gimme that.” Iris had appeared out of nowhere and had stolen the chief’s cruiser’s keys. She dropped them, looked guilty, then fled to the other room. He tipped his head back and laughed. “Stress relief,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to show disrespect for poor Judge Hartman, but sometimes it helps clear the air, even if it’s temporary.”

  Jake explained, “Chief, there are several videos of Paul Taylor setting fires, and Russell Krow filming them.”

  “I should have been suspicious when Russell was always the first one on the scene. Of course, he was, because he was right there when the fires were started!”

  “What about Paul Taylor?” Katherine asked. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “He’s being charged with the murder of Ava Franklin. I was there when he was interrogated. Can you believe he said he shot Ava because of her ‘quote’ big mouth?” The chief shook his head. “Also, attempted murder, arson, and kidnapping, to name a few.”

  Jake asked, “What was the realtor’s role in this?”

  “She was one of Russell’s lovers. Several of the properties that burned were her listings —”

  Katherine interrupted, “She wanted to be my agent on this house. I’m so glad I said no, or else this place might have been torched. She had access to the keys to those homes that were burned.”

  “Yep,” the chief agreed. “She’d give the key or lockbox code to Paul, and he did his arson thing. Russell was an arsonist by proxy. Quite the threesome, that trio.”
/>   Katherine asked, “I’m still not clear on their motives.”

  The chief answered, “Paul Taylor’s son was going to be tried for arson in Judge Hartman’s court. He didn’t want her as the presiding judge, so with Ava, he concocted the kidnapping of the judge, who would be held against her will, until another judge was found to continue the trial. He said that Russell gave him money to torch the pink mansion, but when he came to the house, he chickened out, and snatched you instead.”

  Katherine shook her head ruefully. “I could have been in the storm cellar forever.”

  “Paul said Ava told him to torch it,” the chief said. “Katz, I’m happy you escaped.”

  Jake added, “Paul was setting fires so everyone would think the police had caught the wrong arsonist.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “So, Chief, this exonerates Stevie Sanders,” Katherine said hopefully.

  “I wondered when you’d get to that. Yes, Stevie Sanders is no longer a person of interest. We found the gun, thanks to Officer Shepherd.”

  “Riley?”

  “Yes, Officer Riley Shepherd,” the chief winked. “It was stuck in a mass of tree roots, in the ravine where Stevie said it was. Riley didn’t find it the first time, but the second time we went back, he was all over it like a bad case of poison ivy.”

  “Are you going to tell Stevie’s Probation Board that?”

  “You mean, you want to know if I’m going to the hearing. Yep, I’ll be there. I think this boy is tryin’ to go clean, and I want to help him.”

  Katherine got up, and went over and hugged the chief. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

  “Well, that about sums things up,” he said, slightly embarrassed. “I need that USB.” He pulled an evidence bag out of his jacket. Jake took the flash drive out of the laptop and dropped it in the bag. The chief zipped the bag, and returned it to his pocket. “Oh, by the way, I’ll try my best to get your wedding photos.”

  “Thanks. Katz and I appreciate it,” Jake said, getting up. “Hope you catch Russell soon.”

  “I’ll text you,” the chief said, rising. “I know you haven’t had time to look out the window, with me being here and all, but Officer Troy is sittin’ out in his cruiser, and will be keeping watch on your house until we do make an arrest.”

  “That’s good to know,” Katherine said, following the chief to the door.

  The chief turned and said, “Goodbye, cats.”

  “Me-yowl,” Lilac belted.

  The chief’s cell phone pinged. He moved to read the text. “Speak of the devil,” he said. “Well, folks, no need to worry. Russell Krow was just arrested at the Indy airport. He’s being transported back to Erie. Alrighty, then,” he said, opening the door. “Take care.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Katherine drove her Subaru off the highway, onto the long lane of the former county insane asylum. Slowing down to a snail’s pace, she powered her window down and leaned out, searching for something on her side of the road.

  Jake, riding shotgun, asked, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m looking for my shoes.”

  “Is this where you lost them?”

  “I didn’t lose them. They were slowing me down, so I took them off. Oh, never mind,” she said, speeding up. “The weeds are so tall, I wouldn’t be able to see them anyway. Maybe on the way back, we can get out and look.”

  “Sure, but do you think Stevie’s raccoon got them?” Jake asked, tongue-in-cheek, deliberately trying to calm Katherine down.

  Katherine made a face. “Oh, possibly, or maybe Evan’s crow took them.”

  “Just messin’ with ya.”

  Katherine drove farther down the lane, around the dilapidated building, and parked behind it.

  Scout sat in her carrier on the back seat. “Waugh,” she protested for the fiftieth time since they left Erie.

  Jake climbed out and opened the door to extract the noisy Siamese from the carrier.

  Katherine came around and inserted the leash into Scout’s harness. She picked up the cat, and set her on the ground.

  “Okay, sweet girl, let’s take a walk.”

  Jake reached into the glove compartment and removed his Glock. He turned and placed it in his back holster.

  “I didn’t see you put your gun in there,” Katherine said, surprised.

  “I’m making sure my two girls are safe,” he smiled. “Sweet Pea, these days I’m always packin’.”

  Scout trotted toward the storm cellar, then stopped. A clump of grass caught her feline attention. She pulled several blades, and began to munch on them.

  Katherine pointed. “Jake, that’s the infamous cellar where that nutcase Paul Taylor took me.”

  “Looks like the storm cellar in the Wizard of Oz.”

  “I know. That’s what I thought. I think I’ll skip giving you the grand tour.”

  “Well, with the official crime scene tape closing it off, I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to go down there.”

  “It’s hard to believe a county-owned building would have such a small cellar. It’s a very small space. It wouldn’t accommodate many people.”

  “It could have served other purposes as well, but I think it would be too ghoulish to imagine for what,” Jake noted. “Is that the cemetery?”

  Scout cried, “Ma-waugh,” and tugged at the leash.

  “Take us there, sweet girl.”

  The couple walked through tall grass until they got to a rusted, barbed wire fence. Scout scooted underneath it, but Katherine stopped. “Wait a minute, Scout.”

  “Hang on,” Jake said, walking over. He grabbed the wire. “I’ll hold it up until you clear.” After Katherine had crawled to the other side, he easily stepped over it.

  Katherine and Scout made their way to the neglected cemetery. Scout began sniffing the air. She stood on her hind legs, and partially opened her jaw.

  “According to my research,” Jake began, “the State closed the asylum in 1962.”

  “Is that when it became the home for unwed mothers? Stevie called it the hush-hush place.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Back in the 1940s, 50s, and early 60s, having a child out-of-wedlock carried a negative social stigma.”

  “When Scout rescued me from the cellar, we both saw the same apparition that has been haunting the Foursquare. At first, the spirit pointed toward the cemetery. I think she died here, either in the fire, or for some other reason.”

  “Since we don’t know her name, let’s concentrate on tombstones from the 1960s.”

  “I don’t understand why anyone would be buried here, and not at the Ethel cemetery?”

  “I suspect that many were very poor, and wards of the State.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  Scout led Katherine around the perimeter of the gravesite, then zeroed in on a row of flat stone markers on the ground. Katherine kneeled down next to one, and pulled away the vines that partially covered it. Scout helped. “1965,” she said excitedly. She quickly counted the number of tombstones in the row. “Seven,” she said.

  “Read off the names, and I’ll write them down,” Jake said, taking out a small notebook.

  “Marsha Goodman, died October 3, 1965.”

  “I think we’re on to something. Isn’t that the date of the fire?”

  “Yes, according to the newspaper article. The marker doesn’t show a birth date, just the year she died.”

  Jake shrugged. “Keep going.”

  “Lesley Adams, died October 3, 1965.”

  “The folks who ran the home must have saved money by not engraving the birthdates.”

  “Susan Deeds. This is crazy,” Katherine said. “Where were these girls’ families?”

  Scout was interested in the next marker. She rubbed her face on the stone, and then began furiously digging.

  “Stop that,” Katherine scolded, moving in to pick her up.

  Scout straddled a white object.

  “What do you have there?”
she asked, leaning in.

  Scout kicked the object with her back leg. It tumbled a few inches, and landed on the toe of Katherine’s sneaker.

  “Whoa, Jake, it’s one of my wedding shoes! What’s it doing here?”

  “Where’s the other one?” he asked.

  “It’s on top of the grave marker,” Katherine said, surprised. She reached down and lifted up the other shoe.

  “That’s strange. Whose grave is it?”

  “I can’t make out the name,” she said, then shuddered. She looked up at Jake with a shocked expression on her face. “Katrina Doe. Died October 3, 1965.”

  “Katrina? Didn’t you say that was the name of Evelyn Clay’s daughter?”

  Katherine nodded. “I’ve heard of Jane Doe or John Doe.”

  “Yeah, it’s usually the name of a patient or a deceased person whose identity is unknown.”

  “Could this be Katrina Clay’s grave?” Katherine asked, hopefully.

  “Ma-waugh,” Scout agreed.

  Jake leaned down, and removed the vines covering the lower part of the marker. “This gravestone has a birthdate. January 15, 1951.”

  Katherine gasped, doing the math in her head. “She was only fourteen-years-old.”

  “Is this Katrina Clay’s birthdate?”

  “Don’t know. I’ll have your great-uncle, down at the courthouse, help me.” Katherine sat down, and held Scout on her lap. “Jake, my gut instinct tells me this is Katrina’s grave. She was fourteen-years-old, unmarried, and pregnant. She wanted to keep her baby.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because the first time I saw her, she was clutching a baby blanket,” Katherine said, then continued, “Her mother didn’t want her daughter shamed by people in town — ”

  “Or Evelyn Clay didn’t want to be shamed,” Jake finished.

  “She banished her only child to this horrific place for unwed mothers, so Katrina could have the baby, and put the child up for adoption. Then, Katrina could go back home, and carry on like nothing ever happened. What kind of parent would do such a thing to her own child?”

  “I’m sorry to say, it was the cultural norm back then,” Jake said, shaking his head. “It’s a mystery why Katrina was buried here without the town knowing about it.”