Madison Johns - Agnes Barton 02 - Grannies, Guns and Ghosts

by Madison Johns

  The woman walked toward me and stopped just where the driveway pavement started on her side.

  “Why you stare so? You no see a Romanian before?” She stomped her foot for emphasis.

  I shook my head in response as a large dog I hadn’t even noticed came bounding toward me. It was one of those hellhounds, I think.

  I couldn’t move and held my breath, shutting my eyes. I went to trembling and my teeth were nearly chattering in fright. I could almost feel the hellhound’s breath upon me!

  “HISSSSSSSS!”

  I snapped open my eyes. Duchess stood at the ready, her gray back arched in perfect cat whipping dog’s ass mode. She must have gotten out when Eleanor ran inside.

  Now for some dang reason not only did that dang hellhound stop, he turned about and yelped in his retreat.

  “Huh?” I spoke aloud. “That hellhound is afraid of cats?” I said to Duchess.

  She looked up at me and I swear she smiled. Duchess ran to me, and I scooped her up and gave her a good scratch under the chin, as she liked so much. I was so grateful she had saved my life that I promised to give her an ample amount of catnip later.

  “Quit looking at me you old crone,” the woman said. “Leotyne Williams will—”

  I didn’t stick around to listen to more of what she had to say. Truth be known, I didn’t want to know. I rattled the door to the Winnebago until Eleanor opened the door.

  I ambled inside and sat down on the couch and exhaled so loud you’d have thought a whirlwind was inside.

  “Thanks, El, what a pal you are.” I finally said in exasperation.

  “W-well I-I th-thought you came inside with me.” Her eyes fixed on the stove, apparently willing to look anywhere except directly in my eyes.

  I gasped. “You know dang well I didn’t. You deserted me.” I huffed. “I was almost killed out there by a hellhound.” I waved my arms about in the biggest display of body language I could muster.

  Eleanor chewed her fingernail. “Hellhound?” She giggled. “Really, Aggie?”

  I wanted to choke Eleanor.

  “Oh, God, please don’t let me go to jail for killing Eleanor.”

  She chuckled at that. “Aggie, if you were in that much danger how come you’re not dead?”

  “Because Duchess saved me, if you need to know.”

  “Hellhounds are afraid of a cat? That’s rich, Aggie.” She smirked.

  My eyes widened. “I think she was about to put a curse on me. I think you’re right, she’s a gypsy.”

  “Did she mention her name or were you too busy crapping yourself?”

  “Leotyne something.” I moved to pour a cup of coffee and popped it into the microwave to reheat it.

  As the microwave dinged, “A potential client called while you were outside battling hellhounds,” Eleanor said.

  I whirled around. “Really, what did they say?”

  “She sounded kinda upset really, we might want to hightail it over to the Butler Mansion right quick. There has been a murder. The woman was quite insistent on the phone we come before they go hauling off the body.”

  I stared at her thinking about the last time we’d been on a case. It revolved around Robinson’s Manor, a bed and breakfast where in 1968 an entire family was murdered. A cold case that El and I had solved by default a few months ago.

  I drank down my brew fast-like and we ambled out the door and into Eleanor’s Caddy that was parked nearby.

  Chapter Three

  I screwed up my face. “Butler Mansion, El?”

  “You remember about the Butlers don’t you? Clarence Butler was in the shipping business. He did quite well for himself and built a three-story mansion north of East Tawas.”

  “I haven’t lived here as long as you, El.”

  “Well to listen to yourself talk you certainly act as you have.”

  I merged onto US 23 which was busy like always, but it seemed even more so today.

  “I wonder why it’s so busy today, El. It’s not even the weekend.”

  She clucked her tongue. “I told you there has been a ghost ship spotted on Lake Huron.” She continued before I could get a word in. “It appears on the lake when it’s foggy.”

  “Seriously? A ghost ship?” I acted interested even though I doubted the validity of her claims.

  She coughed, “I tried telling you that before. It’s the Erie Board of Trade or so the story goes.”

  “Tell me more, Eleanor, as this is oh so interesting,” I mocked her.

  Eleanor screwed up her face with menacing intent. “They say that the Captain sent a crewman up to the lookout chair during a storm and he fell to his death!”

  “Really? You mean this is kinda like an urban legend?”

  She continued on with her story. “Later they spotted the ghostly figure of the crew member in different areas of the ship. When they came to port, the crew told the eerie tale and when they went back out onto the Lake Huron the next day,” Eleanor clapped her hands with a resounding slap, “the ship sank! Never to be seen again.”

  “Except as a ghost ship?” I asked.

  “Yes, she sank in 1883.”

  I shook my head, always a doubting Thomas. “That sounds believable,” I chuckled. “I hope they didn’t bring Blackbeard the Pirate with them.” I continued to laugh. “I bet their sister ship was the Flying Dutchman.”

  “Keep laughing all you want, just wait until you see it and you’ll change your tune real quick.”

  “St-Stop it, El, you’re gonna make me pee my pants.”

  I passed a car. “Whoever saw the ghost ship must have better eyesight than me because I can’t see a dang thing when the lake is foggy.”

  “Humph.” El turned to look out the window, sneaking a peek in my direction. “You’ll see it soon enough and when you do, I’m gonna tell you I told you so!”

  I drove down the road that led to the Butler Mansion and chill crept through me. Damn El and all her ghost ship talk!

  “What are you shivering for, Aggie? I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Nope, sure don’t, unless I meet one first hand that is.”

  “You are just swinging the pendulum in your direction now, Aggie.”

  I rolled my eyes; following Eleanor’s directions, and drove up a drive that led to a well-manicured lawn of the Butler Mansion. I braked hard as I saw a group of seniors surrounding a man lying on the ground.

  I narrowed my eyes. “They called us before the sheriff or the state police?”

  “Yup, I told them to wait a spell,” El said.

  “You do know that this is potentially a crime scene, right? The law should be here before everybody else is called.”

  Eleanor fidgeted with her fingers. “They’ll shoe everyone off and we’ll never get to find out what happened. It’s not my fault folks trust us more than that lame-brained sheriff.”

  I didn’t much care for Sheriff Peterson myself, but I do have some respect for law enforcement. Of course, I much preferred Trooper Sales to him, but it didn’t matter who I liked or didn’t like. I need to be a law-abiding citizen, and that means securing the crime scene at this point.

  El and I got out real quick and approached the hysterical crowd.

  “Oh my God, my poor husband is dead!” a woman’s voice wailed. It belonged to fiery redhead poured into a tight, strumpet-red dress, her breasts nearly popping out. “I can’t b-believe this, oh God why did you have to take my husband on our wedding day.”

  “Wedding day!” Eleanor shouted and shuffled her feet as the woman turned to look at her.

  “I’m Agnes Baron P.I. and this here is my assistant, Watson.” I thumbed in El’s direction.

  El’s eyes narrowed. “That’s fine, Watson is way smarter than Sherlock Holmes ever was.”

  “Have you ever read Sherlock Holmes dear? If you had… oh forget it. We’re here to investigate.”

  “Are you Miss Marple?” a woman dressed in a maid uniform asked me inquisitively.

&nb
sp; I smoothed my hair back. “I fancy myself more of a Jessica Fletcher.”

  “She’s such a know-it-all, Aggie, you don’t want to be her,” Eleanor laughed.

  “I’m certainly not trying to be Miss Marple or any other fictional character. I’m the real deal.” I took an elegant stance like I was posing for a magazine. “I have never even read an Agatha Christie book before,” I insisted.

  I walked toward the body, knelt to check for a pulse, but found none. I glanced at an open window on the third floor, and then back at the maid. “How long has he been laying out here?”

  “Thing is,” the redhead started, “we’re just not sure. You see, we moved here yesterday and—”

  “I thought you just were muttering that this was your wedding day.”

  “I heard her too, Aggie,” Eleanor affirmed with a bob of her head.

  The woman’s eyes shifted slightly. “Like I was saying if you’d quit interrupting me. We were married yesterday and had a reception celebrating the event late into the night,” She giggled. “Of course, we did manage to consummate our marriage.”

  “Why would I think anything else?” I asked.

  Red glared at me, but continued. “He left momentarily and—”

  “Needed to take another Viagra,” Eleanor slipped in.

  “Point is, I must have fallen asleep, and when I awoke this morning, I realized he was missing. We then tore the place apart looking for him.” She started bawling something awful now.

  “What did you say your name was?” I asked. It had occurred to me that I should tell somebody to call the sheriff’s department, but I wanted the rest of this woman’s story.

  “I didn’t,” the woman snapped. “My name is Betty Lou Butler, but don’t you dare call me just plain Betty ever.”

  “Okay, Betty, and your husband’s name is?”

  She glared at me and tightened her lips, not saying a word. I had struck a nerve.

  “His name was Herman,” the maid said. “Herman Butler.” She nodded. “I’m Teresa,” the maid shook my hand vigorously. “I knew right away that I should call you.” She smiled just then. “I know you can find out what really happened to Mr. Butler.” Her black uniform with ruffed white collar flapped in the wind. Her round cheeks blushed slightly in a show of a possible sunburn. I guessed her to be about thirty.

  “And Herman just moved here. Is that right?”

  “He just inherited the house since the latest Butler died unexpectedly a few months past,” the maid said.

  “I see, and how did the last Butler die?”

  “Hunting accident.”

  “I see. Herman inherited the house and got married to this Betty Lou and now he’s dead.”

  “Yes, quite,” the maid replied.

  “Gee, these Butlers sure are accident prone,” El said. “Presuming he fell out the window up there,” she observed.

  Betty Lou pushed the maid aside, “I don’t know what you’re implying here, but I had nothing to do with—”

  El interrupted her with, “Marrying a guy and then him kicking the bucket soon after?”

  “And after he just inherited a mansion, quite coincidental if you ask me,” I added.

  I stared at the body that was face down on the lawn. My eyes drifted upward toward the open window on the third floor again. It was a tiny window though; too tiny for this man to squeeze through, or so it seemed.

  Herman’s arms were both bent at the elbows and his legs were at an odd angle.

  “His legs look broken,” Eleanor observed.

  I nodded. “Somebody call the sheriff’s department and please move away from the body.”

  “It was just an accident,” Betty Lou said. “He must have gotten confused last night and fell out the window is all.”

  “So now he was confused?” I countered. “But not too confused to get married just yesterday?”

  “I just know that I didn’t have nothing to do with this, and when the sheriff shows up he’ll tell you so.”

  “Will he now?” I couldn’t help but stare at that open upstairs window. “Mind if I go inside?”

  Betty Lou huffed in the background and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her cleavage complete with lighter and lit up while we made our way toward the house.

  Chapter Four

  El and I maneuvered the few steps that led inside the Butler Mansion—goosebumps immediately appeared on my arms. I shrugged it off. Too much ghost talk from Eleanor. I brushed the thought away focused on doing a good once over before the sheriff and state police showed up like a bat outta hell.

  “You know, El, the thought that a murder might just have happened here… is a bit unnerving.” I laughed nervously.

  “Why, a person would be wacky if they didn’t feel that way,” El replied.

  Inside was a drawing room. I think that was what rich folks call it. The walls were covered with textured eggshell-white wallpaper that looked quite lovely. There was also a white stone fireplace along one wall, quite ornamental. It was complete with carvings of ghastly figures, but I didn’t want to say anything that would sound impolite. On the mantle above was a series of urns. I shudder to think that they contained ashes, but as curious as I was, I had to ask the maid who followed us inside. “I sure hope there aren’t any ashes in those urns.”

  “Oh my,” Eleanor wheezed.

  The maid laughed. “No, they’re just for decoration. Most of the Butler descendants were buried up on the hill at the back of the property.”

  “Cemetery?” Eleanor exclaimed, grabbing my arm in a tight grasp, her fingernails cutting into the flesh of my arm.

  “It’s a family cemetery to be exact, all the Butler descendants were buried up there.” She hushed up just then like she wanted to say more but thought better of it. Her eyes cut to the door.

  “If you could direct us upstairs, I’d sure love to have a look at that room. You know, the one that Herman might have fallen from.”

  Just then, a breeze blew the hair at the nape of my neck and I turned. Sheriff Peterson’s frame had filled the doorway. His hair and tan uniform clinging to his bulky body, as unfit as ever. He stood there for a moment, possibly attempting to regain his composure. We were not what you’d call friends or even allies.

  “What are you doing here,” he bellowed, ejecting spittle from his large mouth. “I can’t imagine who might have called you down here.”

  I stood quite erect and said, “Then don’t ask.”

  “Yup, don’t ask the questions if you can’t handle the truth,” Eleanor piped in. Her fingers picking nervously at her shirt as Peterson stared at her. She then shrugged. “I told Aggie it was a bad idea.”

  “You what?”

  “Oh come on, Aggie. You know we should have called in the guns sooner.”

  The sheriff motioned us outside with a thumb. “Out, ladies, and I’m using the word ladies lightly.”

  El gasped and I just glared at the man, wishing for another election sooner rather than later, but we walked outside where the state police and an ambulance waited. Trooper Sales was in fine form, his slim body poured into his slick blue Michigan State Police attire. If only I was five years younger. I can’t help such thoughts, but I was married to a trooper after all. I had been a widow for thirty-plus years now.

  Sales was standing next to Betty Lou, who was bawling again. “My poor husband is dead and on our wedding day.”

  “We heard that part before,” I said.

  “Well they haven’t, Mrs. Snoopy pants.” Betty Lou’s cheeks turned fire-engine red. She turned back to the trooper. “I believe something supernatural is at hand.” She nodded profusely. “This house is haunted and I believe,” she paused, pounding her chest, “that a ghost killed my husband, pushed him out that window.” She pointed upward to the third floor window.

  That sure got everybody’s attention. “Ghost?” I laughed.

  “Yes, ever since we came to town we have heard strange noises and sounds. I even saw a ghostly apparition on one
occasion.”

  “That’s a bit hard to swallow,” I said.

  I could see from the facial expressions of the sheriff and trooper that for once we might be in agreement.

  “I hate to agree with, Aggie,” Peterson said, “but that is more than a mouthful of nonsense.”

  Sales facial expression remained stoic. “Ghosts are not real. Those ghost hunter shows have folks all in an uproar over nothing, way too much hype these days.”

  I listened in silence until Sales and Peterson finished asking Betty Lou all the same questions I had.

  “So we have a dead guy who happened to just inherit this mansion, and a brand new bride,” I said. “Did any of your guests hear anything last night?”

  “I’m sure they did,” Betty Lou replied suggestively.

  I pursed my lips. “Was that before or after your husband fell to his death?”

  Betty Lou folded her arms tightly. “I told you that when you showed up here unannounced.”

  “We are here in regards to a case,” I reminded her.

  “We received a strange phone call, I hope not from the ghost.” Eleanor bit her finger.

  “There has also been a ghost ship reported in the area,” Betty Lou reaffirmed. “It might be related.”

  “Thank you ladies for your input,” Trooper Sales finally cut in. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “What? I’m on a case here.”

  “We are,” Eleanor reminded me. “This isn’t a one woman operation here, Aggie.”

  “It’s also a crime scene,” Trooper Sales reminded me. “It’s best if you two move on out. We can handle it from here.”

  “That’s not fair,” Eleanor pouted. “Tell them they can’t do that, Aggie!”

  “Actually I think they can. They’re the law remember.”

  “I know you two are gonna dig up clues like you always do, but crime scenes are off limits, hear?” Sales said. “You’re not just jeopardizing the crime scene but the investigation as well.”

  “I believe it was already compromised,” I informed him. “There was a whole group of seniors gawking at the body when we got here.”

  “Like who?” Sales looked around.

  “They must have left when you showed up.”