Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove

by Janet McNulty

  I threw the covers off and hopped in the shower relishing the warm water and my watermelon scented body wash. Okay, okay, I broke down and bought a bottle after Elise introduced me to it. But it smelled really good, like real watermelons.

  Jackie had breakfast prepared when I finally arrived in the kitchen all dressed, my hair still dripping wet. I spread cream cheese on a bagel and poured myself an orange juice.

  “Ready for work?” asked Jackie, cheerily.

  “Kind of,” I yawned. “Can’t I just play hooky?”

  “No,” said Jackie, pulling me from my chair. “Come on or we’ll be late.”

  Intense, sticky heat slammed into us the moment we exited the building and stepped into the parking lot. Guess I was wrong in thinking that the heat wave was ending.

  “Think it can get any hotter?” asked Jackie.

  “Probably,” I mumbled.

  We arrived at the Candle Shoppe just in time to open the doors to a crowd of people waiting to escape the oven that the outdoors had turned into. I had a feeling it was going to be one of those days where we were crowded, but had no sales. Luckily, Tammy wasn’t working today. I don’t think I could have handled her perkiness.

  The day dragged and I found myself looking forward to two o’clock rolling by. The second hand on the clock crept along the clock face taking its time, as though it knew I wanted time to speed up. Tearing myself away from my wishes, I grabbed a box of votive candles and placed them neatly on a shelf. Soon we would be switching over to our Fall collection.

  A customer placed a bunch of items on the counter. I carefully rang up the assortment of candle holders, incense, and scented oil that went in our warmers. “$22.69,” I said.

  The lady handed over the money, “Keep the change.”

  “Thank you.” I handed her the bag and she smiled sweetly as she left.

  The door jingled as another customer walked in: Kyle. What was he doing here? He didn’t strike me as the candle type. I watched as he strode over to a display rubbing his chin as though he were deeply interested in it. A part of me knew he only pretended. Casually, Kyle browsed the line of shelves slowly working his way towards me.

  “Why, Mel,” he said; I caught the mock surprise in his voice, “fancy seeing you here.”

  “I work here,” I replied, keeping my voice even.

  “Oh, yes, there’s your nametag,” he said.

  I studied him closely trying to discern what he was up to. “Can I help you find something?’

  “Well, I’m not sure,” he replied. “Funny thing happened yesterday.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, my aunt threw a party—her usual end of the summer type get together—and I would have sworn that I saw you there.”

  Okay, so he was fishing and he had recognized me. “Really,” I said, keeping my voice and expression unreadable. “That would be interesting considering I had never received an invitation.”

  “Yes, it would,” Kyle’s voice took a darker turn.

  “Mr. Kellmore,” I said, “I don’t know who you saw yesterday, but I can assure you that it wasn’t me. I’m here almost every day. And I have better things to do than to crash some party.”

  Kyle’s face indicated that he didn’t completely believe me. I didn’t care. He had no real proof and I knew Jackie and Greg would back me up. And Tiny was always willing to provide me an alibi.

  “Are you certain?” asked Kyle, leaning in closer.

  I pulled away. “Why don’t you ask Tiny? He’ll tell you exactly where I was.”

  That had some effect. Kyle immediately backed away, his demeanor changing. “My mistake,” he said, “Good day.”

  I watched him leave. My story may not have convinced him entirely, but for now he was off my back.

  “Mel,” said Jackie, “what was that all about?”

  “Kyle recognized me at the party yesterday,” I said.

  “Is he going to do something about it?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, but my original impression that the man was a scumbag held. “Jackie, do you mind getting a ride home today?”

  “Why?”

  “I need to take my car in. It crapped out on me again yesterday. I had to call Detective Shorts for a ride.”

  Jackie put her hand over her mouth snickering.

  “It’s not funny!”

  “Yeah, it is,” she laughed, “But, yeah, I can get a ride home. You go get your car fixed.”

  The moment I signed out at work, I headed straight to Tiny’s “Mel,” he greeted, “What’s wrong?”

  My frustration must have shown as his face turned to concern. “I have never had so much car trouble before in my life,” I said, slamming the car door, “For the third time this week it has just stopped working.”

  “Stopped?”

  “The engine either shuts off and I can’t get it started again, or yesterday, it overheated and the battery was suddenly drained of all power.”

  “That’s a brand new battery,” said Tiny.

  “And it always happens in the same spot!”

  “What?”

  Well, I had just let the cat out of the bag. Tiny had forbidden me from going up to Joseph Bourtonson’s place, so naturally I went up there. “Uh, yeah, about that.”

  “Where exactly?” asked Tiny.

  I knew he was onto me. “You know that fork in the road up near where Smiley’s Ghost is usually seen?”

  “You didn’t! I told you not to go up there. That place is haunted!”

  “I had to. Something strange is going on up there.”

  “Yeah, because there’s a ghost that lives up there.”

  “No, this is something else. There are people up there.”

  Tiny folded his arms. “Tell you what, we’ll take your car up there. I’m driving.”

  I tossed Tiny my car keys and climbed into the passenger seat. Tiny’s bulky size allowed him little wiggle room in my car. He popped the seat back, though his head still brushed the ceiling. “I will prove to you that there is nothing wrong with your car.”

  I snorted.

  In about an hour we neared the old, haunted inn and the fork in the road. Sure enough, the engine whined and the car lost power. Tiny steered it as best he could and parked it on the shoulder. “What the—”

  “Told you,” I said.

  He turned the key. The engine whirred, but refused to turn over. “This is ridiculous.”

  Tiny opened the door and jumped out after popping the hood. He rummaged around in the engine checking the oil, brake and radiator fluid, and the battery. Nothing.

  “Well, I just don’t understand it,” he said, perplexed. “There is no reason for your car to be doing this. It’s like the damn thing has a mind of its own.”

  “I’m telling you, Tiny, this happens every time I come out here.”

  “This place is cursed,” said Tiny.

  “It is not! It’s—”

  A flicker of movement caught my eye. I peered at it more closely. Without warning, I took off after the thing I saw moving as it attempted to shrink back into the woods. This time I would catch that ghost.

  “Mel!” Tiny crashed through the trees after me.

  I ignored him. “Joseph Bourtonson, get out here!” I shouted. I continued running through the undergrowth. I knew he was here. He had to be. “Joseph! I know you’re out here! Why do you keep messing with my car?”

  “Mel, what foolishness,” Tiny said as he caught up with me.

  “Do you have to shout?” said a voice.

  Tiny stopped cold. “Did you hear that?”

  “Joseph, there’s no use in hiding,” I said.

  “You are the most stubborn person I have ever met,” said the same voice as a man materialized before us, dressed as though he belonged in Colonial Days. “How many times do I have to upset that contraption of yours for you to get the hint?”

  “I knew it was you,” I said.

  Tiny just stood there watching the entire excha
nge. I don’t think he had ever seen a ghost materialize before. For me, it was old stuff.

  “Why do you keep stopping my car?” I asked. “Do you not like company?”

  “Oh, no, I love company. It’s gets so lonely here. Wish people would quit being so afraid of me. Cursed legend. I don’t know how it got started, but everyone is afraid of ‘Smiley’s Ghost’.”

  “So why do you keep stopping my car?” I asked again.

  “Because of the men that keep coming up here,” replied Joseph, “I tried scaring them away, but they either don’t believe in ghosts or are as stubborn as you are.”

  “I thought you wanted company,” I said.

  “But those men don’t come here to be sociable,” replied Joseph, “They’ve turned my inn into some sort of textile mill. I’m not sure what they are doing, but they are very secretive about it. And that one man, dressing up as me and riding around on a horse scaring everyone. Tarnishing my good name he is.”

  “So there really is something strange going on up here?” asked Tiny, finally finding his voice.

  “Who is this dimwitted character?” demanded Joseph.

  “Who are you calling dimwitted?” Tiny growled.

  “I should think it would be obvious,” said Joseph.

  “Cool it,” I said to Tiny as he raised his fist, “You’re not going to win a fist fight with a ghost.”

  Tiny nodded his head as he slowly lowered his fist.

  “Joseph, we don’t mean to intrude—”

  “Well, you do a good job of it.”

  “—but your place is connected to a man’s death. That is why I keep coming out here. But you gumming up my car isn’t helping.”

  “The men that keep coming here are bad men,” said Joseph, “I just didn’t want you to get hurt. But you are so persistent.”

  “You can say that again,” mumbled Tiny.

  “Will you help us?” I asked.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?” demanded Joseph. “It was me who kept those two criminals from entering the inn while you were snooping around.”

  “For which I am very thankful,” I said, “but don’t you want to get them off your property and help solve a murder?”

  That got Joseph’s attention. “How can you get rid of them if I have been unable to?”

  “Well, I’m willing to bet that they are committing some sort of illegal activity up here. Something that has to do with making fake ivory and selling it. But I need evidence to take to the police.”

  Joseph mused over that a bit. “Well, you’ll have to come back later for that.”

  “Why?” asked Tiny.

  “Because those men aren’t here today. There are four that come up regularly, and then a fifth who only visits once in a while. You want to catch them in the act don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Besides, I set a few traps around the inn to get my message across and, uh, you don’t want to run into any of them.”

  Now the truth comes out.

  “I’ll contact you in a few days,” said Joseph.

  “You don’t know where I live,” I said.

  “Everyone knows where you live,” replied Joseph.

  I didn’t know how I felt about that statement. I guess I had Rachel to thank for that.

  “Oh, and when you come again, bring me some ice cream,” said Joseph, “I love ice cream. Mint chocolate chip is my favorite, especially with caramel. That Stacy always brings me some.”

  “How can you—”

  I jabbed Tiny with my elbow to shut him up. “Mint chocolate chip. Will do. Oh, and my car—”

  “It will work,” said Joseph. “I promise never to stop it again.”

  “Thanks, Joseph,” I said.

  Tiny and I walked back to my car. I had finally gotten to talk with the ghost; I just hoped he kept his promise.

  “So now what?” asked Tiny.

  “We go back to town,” I replied. “Hey, what have you found out about that guy from the flea market?”

  “Oh, the boys have been following him, but so far he hasn’t done anything unusual. But there have been a couple of strange fellas who make regular visits.”

  I had a sudden thought. Yanking out my phone, I pulled up the photo I had taken the day before. “Did they look like them?”

  Tiny squinted at the photo. “Yeah, they did.”

  I knew they were connected. “We need to go—”

  “Home,” interrupted Tiny.

  “But—”

  “You promised the ghost.”

  I sat back in my seat with my arms folded pouting. I just had to make a promise to the ghost.

  Chapter 11

  Two days passed without incident and with no word from Joseph. I hadn’t heard from Detective Shorts either, though that wasn’t too unusual. He rarely called me anyway. But I couldn’t help feeling that something was wrong. Maybe it was just my imagination.

  “You all ready for classes?” asked Greg as he walked in.

  “Huh? Not really.”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Yeah, and I’m already burnt out from my class load,” I said.

  “Oh, it won’t be that bad,” said Greg, pulling me closer. “I brought us take out. And since Jackie is off someplace, I thought we could have a nice evening in.”

  “You read my mind,” I said.

  We had just opened the boxes of food when my phone rang. “Mel,” I said, answering.

  “Hey, it’s Jack.”

  Jack? That was twice in one week that he called me. A record. “What can I do for you, Jack?”

  Greg looked at me mouthing Jack’s name with the same astonishment I had.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Detective Shorts?” Jack asked.

  “No, I haven’t seen or heard from him in a couple of days. Why?”

  “No one at the station has seen him either. He seems to have disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” the concern came through in my voice.

  “Yeah. Anyway, since I know he helped you with your car a couple days ago, I just thought—well, never mind.”

  “Jack, did he ever bring that picture to you?” I asked.

  “Picture?”

  “Yeah, I took a picture of some strange activity up at the Bourtonson place and Detective Shorts was supposed to get it enhanced.”

  “No, he never stopped by.”

  “Are you at your office now?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be right over.” I snapped my phone closed. “Sorry, Greg, I’ll have to take a rain check on supper.”

  “As long as we get to have dessert first.”

  I smiled. “I need to see Jack. There’s a photo I want enhanced. And Detective Shorts is missing. I need to know what’s going on.”

  “Missing?” asked Greg.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  We took my car to the station. It was only a fifteen minute drive, especially since I broke every traffic law in the book to get there; my mind focused on the missing detective.

  “Should I be driving?” asked Greg as he held onto the door handle.

  “No need. We’re here.”

  “You need driving lessons,” he teased.

  “Shut up.”

  We breezed past the lobby area and down the stairs. Luckily the building was fairly empty. “Jack,” I called as we entered his basement office.

  “That was quick,” he said.

  “So no one has seen Detective Shorts?”

  “No,” replied Jack, “He’s not answering his cell. His car is parked on Lurner Road, but no sign of him—not even at his home.”

  “That’s not like him. Here.” I handed Jack my phone with the photo already pulled up.

  Jack took it, plugging an usb cord into it and downloaded the photo into the computer. “Just give me a minute.” With several clacks of the keys on the keyboard, I watched, mesmerized, as he blew up and digitally enhanced
the picture so that it was crystal clear.

  “I’ve seen those two before,” I said.

  “So have I,” said Greg leaning over my shoulder, “at that party.”

  “You’re right,” I said.

  Jack ran their pictures through the police database. Within moments, something popped up. “Charles and Dick Ferguson,” said Jack, “Both with priors—minor stuff—and both have two other siblings, Howard and Jason. They’ve been living at the Kellmore house since their aunt adopted them after their parents died in a car crash. And that’s about it, aside from a few traffic violations.”

  Greg’s phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered, “Sure, I’ll be right there.”

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Jimmy called in sick and I need to go in,” said Greg.

  “All right,” I said giving him a kiss, “you can take me out later.”

  “Deal. And you stay out of trouble.”

  “I always do.”

  Greg gave me an “I don’t believe you” look.

  “I promise I won’t go looking for it,” I said.

  “You don’t have to,” replied Greg, “Trouble always finds you.”

  “Want me to give you a ride?”

  “No, I’ll take a cab.”

  Greg left and I turned back to Jack. “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” said Jack. “Mel, are you sure Detective Shorts didn’t say where he was going when you last saw him?”

  “He never said anything.”

  “Well, this isn’t like him.”

  “Keep me posted,” I said as I left.

  Deciding a little snooping was in order, I hiked up to where the detective’s office was. Most of the officers and other detectives had gone home for the night so my presence went unnoticed. I tested the door to Detective Shorts’ office. Open. Good.

  I latched the door and closed the blinds so no one could peek in. Flicking on a lamp, I scanned the area. Nothing popped out at me right away. I opened a drawer on the desk. File folders lay inside. Hoping I would get lucky, I pulled them out and laid them on the desk. One contained photos of Kyle and his cousins. Another contained photos of the cousins talking to the antique guy at the flea market. Was Detective Shorts tailing them? Could it be that he actually took my claim that Philip Kellmore was murdered to heart?