“Kyle, darling,” said a woman in a scantily clad summer dress. She hooked her arm around his and steered him away.
Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. My eyes finally noticed the interior of the house with its walls covered in art. Remembering Stacy had said that her mother was usually kept confined on the upper floor, I headed for the stairs. I had promised her that I would check up on her mother. No one noticed me.
Carefully, but quickly, I hurried up the carpeted stairs thankful that they didn’t creak. Voices sounded below me. Before anyone spotted me, I raced down the hallway and found the second flight of stairs that led to the top floor. These stairs were not as wide as the others, but just as noiseless.
I peeked around the corner. Footsteps sounded from the other end of the hall. Ducking behind another corner, I watched as a maid with a tray of food approached a door. She punched a keypad and went in. Knowing that this had to be where Mrs. Kellmore was kept, I waited. Within minutes, the maid exited the room and left.
Cautiously, I left my hiding place and crept to the door. Locked. I studied the keypad wondering how you cracked its code. I knew how to pick locks, but this was more complicated. Remembering something I had seen on TV, I breathed on the keypad allowing my hot breath to moisten it; figuring that I had nothing to lose. Finger prints appeared on the pad. It worked! I pressed each number that had a fresh print. The light turned green and the lock clicked. I wrenched it open and slipped inside.
The sparsely decorated room looked more like a prison cell than anything else. A hospital bed rested in a corner complete with all of the equipment. I moved around the darkened room.
Cough. Cough.
I whirled around. In a chair, barely visible, sat an old woman hunched over. She coughed some more before acknowledging my presence. “Hello, Linda,” she said in a hoarse voice.
Linda? Who was Linda? I glanced at a row of pictures and then it clicked. Stacy had said her mother had Alzheimer’s. I must have looked like someone from her past; or maybe she thought I was the maid.
“Mrs. Kellmore,” I said.
“Remember the time we went swimming near the Bourtonson place?”
Well, this was interesting.
“Barely,” I said, hoping she would keep talking. Sometimes those with Alzheimer’s could remember events from thirty or fifty years ago, but the present was a different story.
“Oh, of course you do.” She waved a bony hand around and for the first time I realized just how thin she was. Were they even feeding her enough?
“We had gone there on a dare. You were so frightened at first, but that all changed when you saw George. Oh, those were good times and the ghost was so friendly.”
“Ghost?”
“Joseph Bourtonson. I don’t know why everyone calls him Smiley, but he is such a lonely thing. He greeted us you remember. But, oh, how things have changed. Now people go there just to taunt him.”
“That’s not nice,” I said.
“No it’s not—why, dear, you haven’t aged a day!”
Mrs. Kellmore reached toward me touching my face. “You’re still the prettiest thing.”
“Thank you,” I said, letting the old woman believe what she wanted. “Mrs. Kellmore, Aunt Alicia—”
“Oh, that wretched woman! A most vile creature if there ever was one. Poor Philip never could get rid of her. She forced her way into our lives and hounded Philip to no end. Our son is just like her. Greedy. Selfish. And cold-hearted. And those boys!”
“Boys?”
“Why my nephews, of course,” said Mrs. Kellmore as though I should have known what she was talking about, “They were my sister’s sons, but she died a long time ago. I had wanted to raise them, but Alicia took over. Turned them into the most lawless bunch of thugs I ever did see. Now they spend all their time at the Bourtonson place. Poor Smiley. Do you know Smiley?”
“No,” I replied.
“Oh, of course you do. Remember when we went up there?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Such a lovely time. You were scared,” said Mrs. Kellmore.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to go.”
“Very well, dear. Do bring me another sandwich. I like sandwiches especially if they have mayonnaise.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kellmore.”
The old woman turned back to the wall and stared at it with a vacant expression. Poor thing. I felt sorry for her.
I opened the door making certain the hallway was clear. Quietly, I latched it behind me. Voices sounded from down the hall. My heart pounding from the possibility of being caught, I hid in the shadows, holding my breath. Aunt Alicia and some guy I didn’t recognize stormed down the hallway.
“I’m telling you to be more careful next time,” raged Aunt Alicia.
“Yes, Aunt Alicia,” mumbled the man. “But that detective has been snooping around. He seems to think that uncle’s death was not an accident.”
“That’s because you fools were too quick in selling the merchandise. Now get up in that attic and get that box out of here.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now!” Aunt Alicia stormed down the hallway and to the stairs.
Shuffling, the man walked to a door and opened it. It must have led to the attic. He hiked up the narrow stairs and brought down a bulging box. Once gone, I scurried over to the attic door and opened it taking the steps two at a time.
The attic seemed mostly ordinary. Just a storage area. My foot bumped something. I leaned over and picked it up. It was a pipe that looked exactly like the one that Mrs. Dayton had given Jackie and me. Knowing I was on borrowed time, I shoved it in my pants bunching my shirt around it so as to disguise it. Unfortunately, it looked a bit obvious that I was hiding something, but it would have to do.
I raced down the steps, shutting the attic door. Since I seemed to be alone, I hurried down to the second floor and finally to the main one. Before anyone could yell at me, I snatched an empty tray and snuck back outside with it as though I belonged. Jackie and Greg were by the table serving drinks. I made my way to them.
“Where’ve you been?” asked Greg.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said, “We need to leave.”
Jackie and Greg both dropped what they were doing. Together we snaked our way through the crowd hoping to go unnoticed until we reached the car. I ripped off my uniform shirt revealing the cami I wore underneath. Once in the car, Greg wasted no time leaving the Kellmore residence.
“Now where did you go?” he asked.
“I snuck upstairs to see Mrs. Kellmore,” I said, “like I promised Stacy I would.”
“And?”
“They keep her locked up in a room. She is so thin. Anyway, Aunt Alicia seems to be the one in charge of the family and she, Kyle, and his four cousins are all involved in something that has to do with the Bourtonson place. I also found this.” I pulled out the pipe.
“Hey, that looks just like the one Mrs. Dayton gave us,” said Jackie, taking the pipe.
“The very same and made to look like real ivory.”
“Do you think they have a smuggling ring going on?” asked Greg.
“It’s possible.”
I needed to go back up to that abandoned inn. Somehow, I had to find the ghost and get him to talk to me. Chances were he knew what was going on.
Greg took us straight home and then had to run to work. “You stay out of trouble,” he told me as she left.
“Hey, it’s me,” I teased.
Greg’s look told me he didn’t trust me. He knew me too well, but work kept him from babysitting me. “Don’t worry about me,” I said, giving him a kiss, “Now have a good time at work.”
Chapter 9
Jackie was too tired to consider going back up to the Bourtonson place again, so I went alone. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I was an idiot for doing that and you wouldn’t be too far from the truth, but I had to go. Something wasn’t right and I was determined to find it.
O
nce again when I reached the fork in the road I experienced car trouble. Smoke crept out from under the hood of the car as the engine made a knocking noise and then shut off. Annoyed, I parked the car and popped the hood. Carefully, I lifted it allowing the smoke and steam to escape without burning myself. I swear! I had never had so much car trouble before in my life. Coughing, I allowed the overheated engine to sit.
“Call for help,” said a tiny voice in my head.
Probably my conscience or something. At first I considered not calling anyone. When the engine had cooled, I was certain the car would start. On second thought, I pulled out my phone. First, I called Jackie. No answer. Then I called Greg. No answer. Finally, I called Tiny; he almost always answered his phone. Nothing. What was going on? The one time I needed help and no one would answer their phone.
Detective Shorts’ number popped up my screen. I really didn’t want to call him. How would I explain my being up here? Dreading what he would say, and knowing I had little choice, I dialed his number. No answer. Big surprise. Luckily, his voice messaging system picked up so I left a message.
“Detective Shorts, this is Mel. You know that thing you told me not to do? Well…I did. My car broke down at the fork in the road and I can’t get it started.”
I hung up. Figuring it would take a while for him to show up, or even check his messages; I walked the rest of the way to the Bourtonson Inn. It was only about a mile and the walk felt good. A cool breeze caressed my skin. Could it be that this heat wave was finally coming to an end? I wish.
Once again, the place looked completely abandoned like it should. Knowing that that guy on the horse could still be lurking about, I kept a wary eye out for him. But everything seemed so calm. I pushed my way through the slightly open gate and walked briskly down the lane to the Inn. On closer inspection of the building, it certainly looked like some of the inns you see in period movies or paintings. It also bore telltale signs of having additions made to it.
I tested the front door. It opened easily. Once again, I remarked at the well-oiled hinges. Not one squeak. Inside, the place seemed just as lifeless as the grounds. Dust balls swept across the wood floorboards. Cobwebs lay everywhere hanging from the ceiling and every nook and cranny. I was suddenly reminded of my time at the Pen Mills Estate. Why is it I keep finding myself in haunted buildings? The floor creaked slightly when I took a step. Going to have to watch out for that.
The place certainly had that inn look. A counter to my right was obviously where patrons checked in. A dusty, old book rested on it. Being very careful not to damage it, I turned the pages. In handwritten ink were a list of names and dates ranging from 1685-1689. Could this be the original registry? The spelling certainly seemed to fit the time period. People just spelled words how they saw fit, or used Y instead of I. There was a John Smythe, Burt Adams, Isaac G., and a Wilma Thurgunson all in different handwriting. This belonged in a museum!
I left the counter and scanned the room. A giant hearth sat in the center and must have been a great place to sit in the winter. A door on the far end caught my attention. I moseyed over to it opening it carefully. A real, old time kitchen lay there. Pots and pans with long handles lay by the giant hearth in the wall. Barrels lined the wall and a wide table sat in the center. The place looked as though the cook had just left; aside from all the dust and cobwebs. I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pictures. What are the chances of me being in this place again?
Deciding I should go upstairs, I left the kitchen and hurried up the steps. They didn’t creak too badly, for which I was thankful. A long hallway greeted me; each door leading into a room. I poked my head in one. The bed was positioned in the center with a side table, wash basin, and pitcher. No wallpaper or anything. The walls looked to be just plain wood. Maybe that was just the way they built things back then.
A crash sounded from one of the other rooms further down the hall. I thought I was alone. Quickly, I hurried in to the hall and made my way to where the noise had come from. An open door greeted me. Wasn’t it closed when I came up here?
I stepped into the room taking careful steps so as not to make a sound. Broken pieces of a floral pitcher lay on the floor. I reached down and picked up a shard. I knew no one else was in the building meaning only one person could have done this.
“Smiley,” I called.
No answer.
“Joseph Bourtonson, I know it’s you. I know you’re here. Come out and talk to me.”
Still nothing.
The roar of an engine attracted my attention. I peered out the foggy glass of the window. What was a van doing here? I watched as a black, unmarked van pulled up to the house. A couple of guys got out; one carried a box bulging from its contents. Could it be the same box I had seen taken out of the Kellmore house? I took a picture with my phone.
“What was that?” said one of the men.
“What was what?” asked another.
“I saw a flash coming from that window.”
Damn! I had forgotten to turn the flash off on my camera phone. I backed away from the window.
“There’s someone up here!”
Just then my phone rang. Why is it I never remembered to put it on vibrate? I answered it immediately.
“I heard a phone,” said one of the men below.
“Hello?” I whispered.
“Mel, where are you?” came Detective Shorts’ worried voice.
“Uh—”
“I’m halfway there,” he said, “Please tell me you did not go to that inn.”
“Actually, I’m inside,” I said. What was the point in lying? “There’s a couple of guys here and I think they know I’m here.”
“There is a back door to that place in the kitchen. Make your way through there and get back to your car.”
“How—” My phone died. Guess I needed to also remember to charge the battery.
“Let’s go in and check it out,” said one of the guys.
They headed for the front door which I had naturally forgotten to close. Good one, Mel. Just as they reached it, a huge gust of wind attacked them and the door slammed shut, sending echoes of its fury throughout the inn. Shocked, I just stood in the window and watched. At the same instant, pounding hooves of a horse raced for them, but I couldn’t see the horse that the hooves belonged to. The two men fell over crashing into the dirt as though something had knocked them over as the hooves reached them and then galloped away.
“What was that?” demanded one.
“I don’t know,” said the other, “but I don’t want to find out.”
They jumped to their feet and ran back to the van. The engine roared to life and the tires squealed in the zeal to get away.
Not wanting to remain in that place any longer, I ran out of the room. My feet carried me down the stairs not caring how much noise they made. Something had just arrived and I had no desire to find out what. I rushed into the kitchen finding the door Detective Shorts had told me about easily. Fresh air greeted me as I burst outside. Making certain I was alone, I took off down the property and to the gate. It hung open—wide open. I raced through it knowing that it had been left open on purpose. The moment I exited the gate, it swung shut latching itself.
I turned around and paused. In the distance stood a horse with its rider; the ghost I had seen earlier with Jackie. Smiley’s Ghost. I knew it was him. He eyed me a moment before riding off and vanishing into thin air.
Too shaken to stay a minute longer, I ran down the road and to my car. I ran the entire mile, my lungs burning for air. Detective Shorts had just pulled up by the time I arrived out of breath.
“Mel!” He leapt out of his car leaving the engine running. “Mel, you all right?”
“Ghost,” I said.
“Shouldn’t you be used to that by now?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. “I just saw Smiley’s Ghost. He scared those two guys away.”
“What were you doing there anyway? Didn’t I tell you to stay away f
rom this place?”
“I have their picture on my phone, but the battery is dead.”
That piqued Detective Shorts’ interest. “Give it to me.”
I handed him my phone. He plugged it into his car charger. After a few minutes it had charged enough to turn on. Then, he took a cord and connected it to his phone. I watched as he downloaded the picture to his cell phone. Once done, he handed mine back to me.
“Now, what’s with your car?” he asked.
I looked at my car and realized that I had forgotten to put the hood down. Brilliant, Mel. “It overheated or something,” I said, “but I couldn’t get the engine started.”
Detective Shorts got in the driver’s seat and turned the key. “Seems the battery’s dead too.” Without another word, he positioned his car in front of mine and pulled out some jumper cables. He hooked them up. “Wait,” he said as I moved to turn on the car.
Detective Shorts pulled something out of his trunk and carried it to the front of my car. “Just like I thought. You radiator fluid is low.”
Low? Tiny had just checked it a couple of days ago.
“Now try it,” said the detective.
I turned the key and my car started. Good thing too. I really did not want to leave it parked here.
Detective Shorts closed the hood of my car. “Now, go straight home.”
“I’m not—”
“I mean it,” the stern look on his face told me not to argue. “And don’t think about taking any detours because I’ll be right behind you.”
Of course he would. I guessed I had had enough of an adventure for one day. I got in my car and put it in gear steering it towards home. A quick glance in my rearview mirror showed Detective Shorts was right behind me determined to see to it that I went home and stayed out of trouble.
Chapter 10
My alarm clock blaring in my ear pulled me from the strangest dream I had ever had. I had dreamt that Greg and I were dressed as Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum jumping from pink cloud to pink cloud until we came upon the haunted inn. Then it took a dark turn as Ichabod Crane and a headless horseman charged us with Rachel running behind him wearing a yellow and white apron and brandishing a rolling pin.
Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove Page 8
