by Glen Ebisch
Ashley nodded absentmindedly, focused on her work. Clarissa smiled to herself, thinking how fortunate she was to have such an intelligent and hard working administrative assistant.
Ashley looked up and caught her smiling. “What’s up?” she asked.
“I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you working here.”
Ashley made a face. “This isn’t going to be one of those girls’ bonding moments, is it?”
“Would that be so bad?”
“I’ve only worked here about five months. Reserve your judgment until I’ve been here longer and really hit my stride. You might change your mind.”
Clarissa smiled and shook her head as she went into her office.
Chapter Nine
Clarissa worked on her sermon for the week, and then made a few phone calls to members of the congregation to set up home visits. The visits were turning out to be a good way to check on the welfare of members of the congregation, especially those who lived alone. It was also part of Clarissa’s research for the history she was writing on the last fifty years of the Shore Side Community Church. By the time she was done with her calls, it was almost three o’clock and time for her to leave for her appointment with Ted Sullivan.
As she drove up to North Shore Side, Clarissa was thinking about the fact that although Sam had, according to Tyler, been anxious for a couple of days before his death, he had called Tyler suddenly that evening and said he couldn’t wait until tomorrow to speak to him. This indicated that something had happened that day or evening which had spooked him. But how could she find out what that something was?
Clarissa went into the main building of the educational center, where a different young woman with the same casual attitude as the one they had met in the morning extended a languid arm and pointed to the left in answer to Clarissa request for directions.
“Ted is in the first trailer you’ll come to. He’s preparing,” she said as if the very effort to speak were almost too much for her.
Clarissa went outside and over to the first trailer. She knocked on the door. A man’s voice told her to come in. As she opened the door, a large desk crowded into the small space immediately confronted Clarissa. A tall, thin man of around her age quickly stood up.
“Reverend Abbot?” he asked in a puzzled voice as he put out his hand.
“Yes,” Clarissa said, taking his hand and smiling. “Is something wrong?”
“No, of course not,” he said, recovering himself. “I guess I was just expecting someone . . . different.”
“A bit more mature.”
He blushed to the roots of his light brown hair.
“I suppose that’s it. And you’re more attractive than I expected; not that ministers can’t be attractive.” He paused and grinned. “I guess I just keep digging myself deeper and deeper in the hole here, don’t I?”
“A bit. But thanks for the compliment.”
He blushed again and motioned for her to sit down. Clarissa squeezed into a chair next to the desk. It was a classroom chair with a study arm, obviously intended for a student who was being tutored.
“Since I know we don’t have much time before you begin work, let me get right to my questions. What was your general impression of Sam Cryer?”
“I’m afraid it’s pretty rudimentary. We only met together three times and mostly talked about algebra. He was struggling with some of the concepts, not because he wasn’t bright enough, but because he wasn’t applying himself to the homework. He wasn’t naturally strong at math, but with a bit more effort, he would have done fine.”
“His working on some nights must have gotten in the way of that,” said Clarissa.
“To be sure. Plus not having a parent at home in the evenings allowed him to spend the nights when he was home on more entertaining pursuits than algebra. Things like computer games. He was into them.”
“I guess lots of things are more fun than algebra,” Clarissa said, and then blushed. “I guess I’m not naturally strong at math either.”
Ted grinned. “No need to apologize. It can be something of an acquired taste.”
“When did you see Sam last, Mr. Sullivan?”
“Please call me Ted.”
“I’m Clarissa.”
“Do you come from around here, Clarissa?”
“No, I’m from northern New Jersey.”
“Me, too. From Passaic.”
“And you last saw Sam?” Clarissa asked, bringing him back to the subject.
“I saw him the afternoon of the day that he died. I remember, of course, because I was shocked to think that I had just met with him and a few hours later he was dead.”
“Did Sam indicate that anything was bothering him?”
Ted shook his head. “He may have been a bit more quiet than the other two times I met with him. But I really didn’t ask him about his personal life much. I left that side of things to Tyler.” He paused as if slightly embarrassed at mentioning Tyler’s name. “By the way, I spoke with Tyler a couple of times since he’s been here and had a very positive opinion of him. I don’t think there’s any way he killed Sam, and I hope you can get him off.”
“We’ll do our best. So you have no idea what was on Sam’s mind that afternoon?”
Before Ted could answer, the door to the trailer opened and a young woman with long blond hair walked in. She froze when she saw Clarissa there. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“I’m afraid this is my first pupil,” Sam said, waving the young woman in.
Clarissa stood and put out her hand. “Thanks for your time, Ted.”
“I wish I could have been of more help.”
Clarissa nodded and smiled at the student, who was staring at them as if fascinated at overhearing an adult conversation.
*****
Clarissa returned to the parsonage. It was late in the day to start any new projects back in the office, so she decided to spend some time cleaning her bedroom, which was the one room she didn’t allow Mrs. Gunn to touch. It somehow seemed just too lazy to have someone clean her bedroom for her. Actually, Mrs. Gunn focused most of her attention on the downstairs public areas where informal meeting were sometimes held. The three bedrooms upstairs, aside from Clarissa’s, were guestrooms. Mrs. Gunn cleaned them about once a month, and they had been unused since Clarissa had been pastor. Reverend Hollingsworth, who apparently had a lot of male friends from his time in the seminary, had frequently put them to use, especially for golfing weekends. According to Mrs. Gunn this had usually required her to cook two large meals a day and make numerous beds.
Clarissa hoped that at some time in the future her parents or one of her brothers would come down to Shore Side for a visit and stay there. She planned to invite them as soon as she felt fully comfortable in her new position. She thought about this as she was dusting and mopping. She’d always enjoyed cleaning. It forced her mind to focus on what she was doing, and if she was lucky, it became a kind of meditative practice. When the cleaning was finally done to her satisfaction, she settled into the upholstered chair by her front bedroom window where she liked to sit for prayer, reading, and meditation. As she relaxed, she began to think slowly about all the events of the last couple of days. Rather than attempting to review the events in a chronological or logical sequence, she simply let her mind relax to see what would pop into her awareness. In the past, this had sometimes led to new insights.
Unfortunately, this time nothing new came into her mind regarding either Sam Cryer’s death or the strange events at the Shipwreck Inn. All she became aware of is that she needed more information. Hopefully, their interview tomorrow with Sam’s mother would give them some insights into what might have led to the boy’s murder, although the evidence so far suggested that the mother was so busy supporting the family that she might not have been very aware of what was happening in her son’s life. If a conversation with the mother didn’t help, there was always the hope that returning to the scene of the crime would unearth new facts. Talking with
the employees who worked with Sam might give some idea of what had happened that night. If they learned nothing valuable from either source, Clarissa thought gloomily, things would be looking pretty bad for Tyler.
Clarissa’s mind shifted to the Shipwreck Inn. She suddenly began to wonder why Ed Schyler, apparently a prosperous businessman, would be interested in purchasing the barely profitable inn. As far as Clarissa could tell, there was nothing to distinguish it from a dozen other similar enterprises in Shore Side, which often represented the triumph of hope over economic reality. There was certainly nothing about the Shipwreck that would motivate someone to engage in an elaborate scheme to put Sylvia out of business. Once again her thinking had reached a roadblock.
A glance out the window told her that the sun had set a while ago and that it was time for dinner. Putting her concerns behind her for the moment, she headed down to the kitchen to see which casserole, from Mrs. Gunn’s seemingly unending repertoire of recipes, was to be her dinner for tonight.
Chapter Ten
As she got dressed the next morning, Clarissa reviewed her calendar for the day. She was meeting Andrew for an interview with Sam’s mother in the early afternoon. Immediately following that was a visit to the home of one of the members of her congregation who was just home after surgery. And in the early evening she was meeting with Andrew again, this time to talk with employees of the Slipped Anchor Bar about what they had observed the night of Sam’s murder. That left her only this morning to finish work on her sermon for the week. She had finished writing it, but Clarissa needed to rehearse it out loud—although somewhat softly—in her office. She felt more confident on Sundays if she’d had a live practice the week before.
She continued thinking about her schedule as she rushed through a small breakfast under Mrs. Gunn’s disapproving eye. The housekeeper was still a bit miffed to find that Clarissa had eaten only a small portion of the sausage casserole left for her the evening before. For her part, Clarissa wondered how she would ever convince the woman to prepare only about a quarter of the amount of food she usually left for dinner. Deciding that this was a battle to be fought at another time, Clarissa rushed across to her office, arriving well before Ashley, and she was soon ensconced in Hollingsworth’s mahogany bunker reciting her sermon in a soft but impassioned voice. She had just reached the point when she was presenting what she thought to be an insightful analogy between the changes in nature during the fall and the changes we all experience as we age when the phone rang. She considered letting it ring, but then decided that such an early call might well be an emergency.
“It’s Sylvia,” the breathless caller said. “You have to get over here right away.”
“Good morning,” Clarissa said in a calm voice, hoping to settle the woman down. “What’s happened?”
“Captain Boudreau slapped Monica Becker in the face last night,” Sylvia announced.
Clarissa stared at the wood paneling and barely kept from rolling her eyes.
“She was slapped by a ghost?” she asked weakly.
“She had been sitting down in the parlor until around midnight because she couldn’t sleep. When Monica headed up to bed, he marched right down the hall towards her, as bold as brass, wearing his uniform, and slapped her in the face.”
“Was she hurt?”
“No, I guess it wasn’t a very hard slap. But it was enough to frighten her. Monica and her husband want to leave the inn, and they’re demanding their money back.” Sylvia took a deep breath and almost wailed, “I can’t afford all this turmoil.”
“Are the police investigating?” asked Clarissa.
“Lieutenant Baker will be here in half an hour. I don’t know why he couldn’t come right away. This is serious. Can you come over now?”
Clarissa looked with longing at the text of her sermon. “Sure, I’ll be right over.”
Clarissa walked out of her office into the front office. Ashley, who was sitting at her computer jumped. “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you? I didn’t even know you were in there.”
“I was rehearsing my sermon until Sylvia called. Captain Boudreau’s ghost slapped Monica Becker last night.”
Ashley obviously struggled to keep a straight face. “If she’s telling the truth, I’m sure something slapped her, but it was no ghost.”
“Okay, I hear what you’re saying, but it was somebody dressed up like the captain. Somebody clearly determined to put Sylvia out of business.”
“Wow, a crook who really likes to play dress up.”
“Lieutenant Baker will be there in a few minutes. I’m heading over there now. Put any important messages on my desk.”
“Will do, Boss.”
Clarissa hurried to the back parking lot and got into her car. She wasn’t sure what help she would be to Sylvia, but the woman was clearly very upset. If nothing else, Clarissa might be able to calm her.
When she arrived at the inn, Sylvia immediately opened the door at her knock. She was wearing a purple caftan with lines of silver thread running through it, and she enveloped Clarissa in an all-encompassing hug.
Finally, she released the minister. “This is terrible, just terrible,” Sylvia said, her large chest heaving with emotion. “Someone is trying to destroy me.”
“Is Monica Becker available for me to talk to?”
“She’s upstairs in her room with her husband.” Sylvia blushed. “We had a bit of an argument a little while ago when I tried to talk her out of leaving. So I’d rather not talk with her right now. Maybe you could go up to her room and see if she will speak with you. She’s in Room Five.”
Clarissa nodded. She walked up the stairs to the right of the lobby, and went down the main hall. She stopped in front of Room Five and was about to knock when a door behind her opened and Denise Lambson stepped out into the hall.
“Good morning,” she said with a pleasant smile. “I overslept. I hope I can still get some breakfast.”
“Did you hear anything unusual in the night?” asked Clarissa.
“No, I went to bed early and slept like a top.” Suddenly her face clouded. “Why? Has something else happened?”
“Probably you should go downstairs and ask Sylvia.”
Nodding, Denise hurried toward the stairwell. Clarissa turned and knocked on the Beckers’ door. There was no response.
“Hello, it’s Pastor Abbot. May I speak with you for a moment?”
Mumbled voices could be heard from inside the room. After a few seconds the door opened, and George Becker stood there.
“If you’ve come to ask us to remain at the inn, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Monica is simply too upset to stay.”
“I’m sure she is; that was a very disturbing experience. But I was hoping that she might be willing to tell me exactly what happened before the police arrive.”
“I’ll talk to her, George,” a voice said behind him.
Although appearing rather unhappy about it, George stepped out of the doorway and motioned for Clarissa to enter. The bedroom held what appeared to be a king-sized bed. Next to it was an upholstered chair, and along one wall was a dresser on the top of which was a flat screen television. Monica was sitting in the chair looking rather small. She gestured toward the bed, so Clarissa went over and perched on the edge.
“How are you feeling?” Clarissa asked.
“Shocked, stunned, violated. I can’t begin to explain.”
“Yes, a physical assault can be a very disturbing thing.”
“Oh, it’s not that. The slap was actually very mild. It’s the shock of discovering that what I’ve believed about ghosts all these years has been wrong. They actually have a physical presence and can be quite violent.”
Clarissa smiled to herself at the thought that Monica had no trouble with a worldview that included ghosts as long as they remained ethereal and peaceful.
“Are you sure it was a ghost?” she asked gently.
The woman’s eyes opened wide. “What else could it have been? It w
as wearing Captain Boudreau’s clothing and walking the same hall where I’ve seen him before.”
“Did you get a good look at his face?”
Monica paused. “He walked very fast, and the hallway is rather shadowy. I know he was wearing a naval officer’s cap and a long blue coat with gold buttons. He had a full, bushy beard that covered most of his face, and when he . . . when he hit me, his expression was very stern.”
“Did he say anything?”
The woman shook her head and tears filled her eyes. “Why would he hit me? I hadn’t done anything to him, and I’ve always gotten along so well with ghosts in the past.”
“It probably had nothing to do with you personally,” said Clarissa.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. It was probably some kind of disturbance in the force of the next world that disrupted him and caused him to strike out.”
Clarissa reached over and patted her hand. “I’m sure it’s something like that. Well, I wish you the best of luck for the rest of your vacation.”
“We’ll be heading back home now,” George said with a grim smile. “We’ve had enough excitement for one vacation.”
Clarissa left the room after saying her goodbyes and headed back toward the stairs. She got there just as the Lieutenant and Officer Rudinski reached the top. Rudinski gave her a warm smile, while Lieutenant Baker looked as stern as Captain Boudreau.
“What did you find out?” he asked her.
“She’s shocked that a ghost would slap her,” said Clarissa.
“So am I,” said Baker.
“But not quite for the same reason.”
“Does she really think it was a ghost?”
“Captain Boudreau, in the flesh—literally.”
The Lieutenant shook his head. “Where do these people come from?”
“Everywhere. I read that forty-five percent of Americans believe in ghosts.”
