Charity Shop Haunted Mysteries

by Katherine Hayton

  “Why’s Fred here?” Gladys demanded. “What stopped him going home?”

  She reached out for the ghost, her hand disappearing into his insubstantial flesh. When she tried for a second time, her fingers plunged into his chest.

  “Where’d you go?” The elderly woman panted, distress contorting her face. “I can see you, why can’t I touch?”

  Emily caught Gladys’s hand before she could reach out again. “How long have you been watching Fred?”

  “Since they—” The lady turned and waved at the evidence tents. “When the plumber took an axe to the pipes, he popped up.”

  “An axe?” Emily frowned. “Why would the plumber do that?”

  “Not the plumber, then.” Gladys swayed on her feet, grabbing hold of the window frame to steady herself. “The other one. He wanted to chop down the tree.”

  “You mean the headmaster? Samuel Leuf?”

  “No, the other other one.” Gladys leaned into the window, pressing every inch of her body against the glass. Her mouth formed a seal, puffing her cheeks out. “Blowfish,” she announced happily, pulling back.

  “Who was the other person with an axe, Gladys?” When the woman didn’t respond, Emily tried a different tack. “Do you know who killed Fred?”

  “The man with the axe.” Gladys turned a deep frown toward her, stamping her foot. “I told you. He tried to chop down the tree.”

  Emily felt the conversation sailing away from her. She tried one last time to grab it back. “Who had the axe? Apart from the headmaster, who else chopped the tree?”

  “The gardener, of course. It’s his job, isn’t it? He was meant to fell the oak to make room for the patio, and he chopped down Freddie instead.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Even with the head nurse sitting with Gladys, and an ample rest period, the woman wouldn’t share her story again. She sat, lower lip protruding like a sulking toddler. After the sergeant spent an hour using his powers of persuasion, he gave up the effort and quizzed Emily again.

  “I’m sure of what she said. What she meant by it is less clear.” Emily had already recited the conversation verbatim and found the repetition from the sergeant a tad insulting.

  “We’re just trying to ensure we don’t waste time chasing up a false lead,” Winchester said. The detective inspector from Christchurch stood outside, every glance at his watch winding the sergeant one notch further along the chain.

  “Sure,” Emily agreed. “I wouldn’t want you to spent time with a potential eyewitness when you could be following up with—” She broke off and placed a finger on her cheek. “Remind me about those other leads?”

  The sergeant’s stern gaze warned her she might have gone one step too far. Emily didn’t really care. The day had wrung out her emotions and the sooner it was over with, the better.

  “Fine. But with this gibberish, I’m not even sure what the lead is meant to be.”

  “Eli Jamieson is the lead. The gardener.”

  “Who chopped up Frederick Wilmott with an axe?”

  At his deadpan summary, Emily cast a worried look at Fred’s ghost. He stood, staring out Gladys’s window, impervious to the conversation going on just behind him.

  “There’ll be records, won’t there?” she asked, suddenly thinking through the standard terms of employment for a retirement facility. “Most of these homes don’t have a gardener on salary. They set up work orders for everything that needs to be done.”

  The sergeant tipped his head to one side, eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, and Emily felt a small thrill run through her. That would be the closest she got to recognition, so she took the gesture to heart.

  “We’ll need to get access to the old records,” the sergeant said. “If they’re locked on the computer, that’ll take until we break the password.”

  Emily frowned. “Can’t you just ask Margaret or Allain?”

  “Oh!” The sergeant smacked a hand to his forehead in mock surprise. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

  “All right. There’s no need to make fun of me. Have you asked the night porter, Erik?”

  “That man has the memory of a goldfish.”

  Emily crossed her arms, tiredness making her angrier than the situation warranted. She remembered Erik having to call through to Margaret back when the ghost first uttered his own name. A pity he didn’t have the call on a loudspeaker.

  Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “He wrote it down.”

  “What’s that?”

  “On the night he phoned up the receptionist for the password.” Emily hooked her hand through the sergeant’s elbow, dragging him to the front of the home. “He scribbled something on the blotter while he was talking to her. Or doodled,” she added as another possibility struck her.

  The current temp they’d hauled in to work the front desk seemed relieved to have something to do, even if it was just stand off to one side. “What’re you looking for?” he asked. “I might be able to help.”

  “Is this the desk pad that was here when you started?” The sergeant tapped a finger on the completely clean sheet.

  With a worried expression, the temp nodded. “I haven’t changed around anything. All I did was tear off the top sheet.”

  While Emily’s heart sank, Sergeant Winchester hooked the rubbish tin out from under the desk with a cry of triumph. He picked the large, screwed-up piece of paper from the trash and spread it out on the desk. “Bingo!”

  “Shh!” Emily gave him a stern look. “Say things like that around here and you might cause a stampede.”

  The sergeant stared at her, dumbfounded, for a second, then snorted with laughter. “Do you mind if I sit here for a minute?” he asked the hovering temp, who shook his head.

  “Go right ahead, mate. My whare is your whare and all that.”

  Armed with the password, it wasn’t long before the printer sprang into life. “You were right,” Sergeant Winchester said, inclining his head towards Emily. “One work order for the felling of two oak trees and the laying of a barbeque patio.”

  “Amended?”

  He turned back to the computer. “Yeah. There’s another printout on the file, for a quote from a bigger tree-felling company. Never acted on.” The sergeant gave a low whistle. “Three-man job and at that price, I’d learn to love my old oak tree, too.”

  “He gave it a go, though.” Emily pointed to the offending tree, now steeped in more innocent blood. “I noticed two sets of marks on the trunk. One old and healed, one much more recent.” She clasped her hands together. “Is it enough?”

  “It’s nothing but should be good enough for a chat. Informal at this stage if you want to tag along. Just remember…”

  He held up a finger and Emily finished the sentence for him, “Don’t say anything unless you say so.”

  For all the rule made her feel like a child, it was with a lighter heart that she followed along behind the sergeant. He knocked on the door to the outside shed and Emily held her breath as they waited for a response.

  From across the field, the inspector waved to them, deep in conversation with one of the new nurses on duty. The sergeant waved back, not giving any outward sign that he might have an interest in what they were about to do.

  Just as Winchester raised his hand to knock again, the door pulled open. A man with unruly hair and bloodshot eyes stared out, yawning widely. “Yeah, what’d you want?”

  “Eli Jamison?”

  The man nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s me.” He yawned again. “Sorry, you woke me up from my afternoon nap.”

  “Do you live here?”

  Emily stood on tiptoe to gaze over the sergeant’s shoulder. The old potting shed held a multitude of tools, seeds, and chemicals, along with a recliner chair complete with a pillow and a throw.

  “No.” Eli took a step out of the shed, pulling the door to behind him. “That’d be against the rules. I have the chair set up so I can nap when I need to. Sometimes I don’t get a lot of sleep a
t home.” When the sergeant didn’t respond, he tilted up his chin and crossed his arms. “The boss doesn’t mind.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t. He also doesn’t mind us asking you a few questions about the patio over there.”

  The sergeant pointed, as though there might be some doubt what he was talking about. The broken-up slabs of concrete wouldn’t have illuminated someone who didn’t know already what the area had once been.

  “What about it? If he wants to put it back to rights, it’ll cost him the same as the first time. S’not my fault a pipe burst under it.”

  The sergeant frowned and leaned in closer. “You do realise a body was discovered underneath the barbeque area. Several bodies, in fact.”

  “Yeah.” Eli tugged at his earlobe. “But they were old, weren’t they? Nothing to do with me.”

  “Only a few of them were old. One of them was far more recent. Do you mind explaining the work you had to do originally to get this concrete laid?”

  “Was there a dead body lying in the way, do you mean?” Eli laughed at his own joke. “I might be getting on a bit, but I reckon I’d have noticed.” He nodded toward the side of the building. “There used to be an oak tree growing right up against the wall of that building. I chopped that down, then cut out the shape for the patio. I levelled it out nicely and used wood around the outside to keep it nice and tidy.”

  Eli’s back straightened as he explained the workmanship, his chest puffing out. “It was a right sod to get most of it right. The dirt over there is mostly clay. I had to take a pick to most of it.” He held out his hands, the palms a shade darker than the surrounding skin. “That’s from the blisters. Didn’t matter how many pairs of gloves I had on, they just kept bubbling up.”

  “Do you remember where the residents were during this time?”

  Eli screwed his face up, shaking his head. “Nuh. Not my job to keep tabs on them.” He went very still, folding his arms even tighter. “Why? You think one of them wandered off?”

  “No.” Sergeant Winchester gave a smile that showed off his eye-teeth. “I don’t think that at all.”

  For long minutes, Eli held the sergeant’s gaze, then he turned to one side and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Whatever. I don’t keep tabs on them unless they walk into my field of work. If they do that, I chase them back out again.”

  “Were you using an axe to cut the tree down?” Emily asked, stepping back to avoid the heat from the sergeant’s glare. “The one up by the house.”

  “Yeah, to start with. I used a saw as well. Why? You want to see?”

  As the sergeant said no, Emily agreed and pushed forward, forcing Eli to step back and open the door wide again. “Is that the one?” she asked, pointing to the tool hanging on the wall.

  “Yup.” Eli pulled at his earlobe again, his eyes flicking to the sergeant as though to ask for permission before answering more fully, “That’s it.”

  She moved closer, seeing some white sticker residue halfway up the handle. Not the sort of thing that would last for long, even with casual usage. The dust would adhere and turn it grey or brown.

  “It looks new.”

  “I keep my tools in good nick.” Eli shouldered his way past her and pulled the axe down from the wall. He turned it back and forth, letting the sun catch it and shine off the thick blade. After hefting it once, twice, he put it back in its place. The outline made in black marker didn’t quite fit.

  “We could get this tested at the lab,” Emily said, watching Eli break into a smile out of the corner of her eye. “They’d be able to tell for sure what it’s been used for.”

  “Go right ahead, lady. I don’t have any jobs that need it coming up, so it’s no skin off my nose.”

  Emily reached out, then let her hand fall back to her side. “Or we could just let the lab test the marks in that old tree.” She jerked her head at the oak, centre framed in the window.

  “Eh?” Eli took a step back, his eyebrows coming together as his frown deepened.

  “They can take the samples they have from the bones and match it to the axe marks in the oak tree.” She examined Eli closely. “It’s like matching bullets to guns, every axe has a unique signature. Why, if they can get a hit on those two samples, it doesn’t matter what you have hanging on your wall.”

  The gardener took a step back, his arms flying up in defence when his foot landed on the sergeant’s. “Careful,” Winchester said in a deep growl. “You don’t want to do anything right now that could be labelled as assault.”

  “The lab should also swab this area,” Emily continued. “That’s the great thing about DNA. It gets in everywhere and once it does, it’s almost impossible to get out.” She smiled at Eli, letting it broaden until her teeth showed. “The lab can get samples off metal or glass”—she swept her hand across the old, stained floorboards—“let alone something as porous as wood.”

  Once again, the gardener stepped back. This time, when he bumped up against the sergeant, he turned and pushed against him, gaining a moment of freedom to lunge out the door.

  As the sergeant gave chase, yelling out behind him, Emily shuffled out of the dank shed to stand in the vibrant daylight. She had no idea what forensics could do with old axe marks—at a guess, probably nothing. But old bloodstains? Taken from the only logical place a man could hide a body he killed during the day?

  The inspector cut Eli off before he could sprint halfway across the lawn. A second later, Sergeant Winchester tackled him from behind.

  Emily blocked the sun with her hand as she stared at the play acting out. When she turned to see if the ghost Freddie had any reaction, he was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was a joy for Emily to walk into the charity shop later that afternoon, stuffed full of interesting tales to tell.

  Gregory had been hard at work, filling in for her, so she only had to scan the items of interest to pick out the selections that would be suitable for auction. While she did so, she filled him in on all the latest happenings. Since he’d already experienced a ghost first-hand, she didn’t need to hide any part of her story.

  Pete received an expurgated version, focused more on the events in the shed than the resultant effect.

  “Weren’t you scared he’d attack you?” he demanded as Emily wound up her story. “If I was standing next to a killer with a wall full of tools at the ready, I think I’d just run away to be safe.”

  “I didn’t really think of that,” Emily admitted, ducking her head. “I suppose with the sergeant standing right there, it didn’t seem a likely scenario.”

  “Maybe next time, it should. My troubled youth might be behind me, but I remember well enough that a police presence sometimes amplifies trouble rather than calming it.”

  “How was the funeral?” Gregory sat down near the counter, his cheeks flushed from the activity of the day. “Did the boys get a good send-off?”

  “Good enough in the circumstances. It was weird not to have anyone except the priest and Gladys speaking. Even the few others who’d known them didn’t step up—so many years had passed.”

  “I certainly hope my remains are found in a timely manner if I go too early.” Gregory reached out and tapped his knuckles on the counter. “Touch wood.”

  “How about you just stay out of trouble and avoid the situation altogether?” Pete narrowed his eyes at the young man and Emily frowned.

  “Is there something I should know that you’re not telling me?”

  “There’ve been a few suspicious types hanging around after work,” Pete said, pointing a finger at Gregory. “And they’re not out there to sell to me.”

  “They’re not selling and I’m not buying.” The young man’s face flushed, a slow creep of colour moving at the same languorous pace as everything else he did. “When I asked around town to see if there was any other volunteer work, the police asked me to be a big brother type figure for them.”

  “Is that true?” Pete frowned, his face still registering
suspicion. “They looked the same age as you.”

  Gregory scowled. “They’re only fifteen. How old do you think I am?” He shifted on his seat. “It’s really hard to find activities to do with them. Everything is either geared towards younger kids or older adults.”

  “How are you at skating?”

  Now it was Gregory’s turn to narrow his eyes. “On a board?”

  “No. On roller skates. There’s a derby set up down at Pinetar Beach at the old hall. We’ve got a few teams together. You’ll be welcome to join if you can keep up.”

  Emily laughed in surprise. “We’ve got a roller derby?”

  “We do and since the average age of the competitors is mid-thirties, everyone is far too careful right now.” Pete flashed his gap-toothed smile. “It might be fun to inject some young blood into the event. A lack of fear is a great advantage.”

  “I’d love to come down.” When Pete laughed, Emily punched him on the arm. “I meant as a spectator, not a competitor. You allow those, don’t you?”

  When she left the shop for the day, Gregory had a new sport to practice and she had a front row seat at the derby for the following week.

  The smile on Emily’s face fell away as soon as she walked through the front door at home. Cynthia stood in the kitchen with her arms folded and her lower lip poking out. Beside her, arms and mouth hanging loosely, was Fred Wilmott’s ghost.

  “I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Cynthia said as Emily burst into tears of despair. “You’re not the one who has to keep him occupied all day long.”

  “I really thought he’d moved on this time,” Emily managed between sobs. “There’s nothing more I can think to do. We’ve found his killer, we’ve laid his friends to rest. If those didn’t help him move on, what’s left?”

  “Have you tried asking him?”

  A spurt of rage rose up in Emily. “Of course, I’ve tried. He never answers. Do you?” She spun around to stare at the ghost, head-on. “You never say anything.”

  “He told you his name,” Cynthia pointed out. “And he spelled out Astrid on the keyboard. I don’t suppose you have something else he could use to communicate?”