7 Never Haunt a Historian (22 page)

Harvey knows.

“Why?” Leigh asked softly. “Why are you worried about Harvey, Lester?”

Lester closed his eyes again, and Leigh knew she could harass the poor man no further. At least not today.

His voice drifted into a mumble. “Too smart by half, that old man. Can’t have… I don’t want anybody hurt…”

Leigh slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Neither do I, Lester,
she thought to herself grimly.
Neither do I.

Chapter 17

Leigh was pulling into the elementary school parking lot when her cell phone rang. She swung the van into the nearest spot, threw it into park, and picked up. She had a special ringtone for calls from Maura’s office… a wailing siren.

“Hello, Maura?” she said anxiously, wondering if her friend had news from the obstetrician. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” the policewoman answered. “At least not with… the results. They’re saying midafternoon now. But I didn’t call about that. I called to let you know that the guys in General Investigations now officially have a fire lit under them. I’m sorry, Koslow—it was worse than I thought. The chumps hadn’t done jack. Archie’s description hadn’t even been loaded in the databases yet—whole damn thing was stuck in clerical.”

Leigh’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

“I got it moving again,” Maura assured. “Shouldn’t take long to hear back if there’s a match in the system.”

Leigh didn’t want to think about a match with what.

“At least they’re open to seeing the obvious now,” Maura continued. “They’re planning to interview Lester again sometime today. You think he’ll level with them this time?”

“I certainly hope so,” Leigh said earnestly, rubbing her face with her hands. “But I don’t know. Lester’s loyal to a fault, and he swore to Archie that he’d keep the whole thing a secret.”

Maura did some swearing herself. “That won’t help either of them now.”

“I know,” Leigh agreed. “I’ll keep trying.” She got out of the van and walked toward the school office, summarizing for Maura on the way her conversation with Adith and her suspicions about Archie’s having made a recent breakthrough. But when she reached the office and saw Allison waiting for her, she promptly cut the call short. “I have to go now,” she explained. “Orthodontia calls. Allison has an early dismissal.”

“Gotcha,” Maura responded.

“Was that Aunt Mo?” Allison said innocently as she skipped alongside her mother out the front door and across the parking lot toward the van.

“What makes you think that?” Leigh asked, quite positive she hadn’t identified her caller.

Allison shrugged. “I just thought maybe you’d be talking to her. Any developments on the case?”

Leigh tensed. It was going to be a very long orthodontist appointment.

***

It was a very long orthodontist appointment. The only thing saving Leigh from Allison’s continual peppering of questions was the fact that the waiting room was packed and Leigh insisted that discussing the issue in public would be inappropriate. At least the van ride over had been short. Short enough for Leigh to get away with divulging only the merest highlights of her day, focusing on her finding the mother dog and the delivery of the excavator—which she was certain Allison was bound to hear about anyway.

To Leigh’s surprise, her daughter did not immediately resume the interrogation when the appointment was over. As they got back into the van Allison appeared thoughtful, and asked only if the orthodontist’s office was anywhere near the driving range.

The driving range?
“It’s about a mile that way. Why?”

“Can we go home that way?”

“Whatever for?”

Allison fidgeted in her seat. “Well, the truth is, Mom… I was really hoping you would take me to see Dora Klinger again.”

Leigh steadied herself.
Of course.
The driving range was right across the highway from the assisted living facility. Allison might not be savvy with driving directions, per se, but she did have a near-photographic memory.

Leigh asked the obvious question. “Why do you want to see Mrs. Klinger?”

Allison fidgeted again. “Because… well, I want to ask her exactly where Theodore’s grave is. We have to know for sure in order to read the map right. It’s not like I’m going to the actual grave or anything. There’s no danger involved. And you know she would love to see us again. She practically begged us to come back! Please, Mom?”

Leigh’s jaw clenched. She had, in fact, been planning to return to Dora’s just as soon as Ethan got home from school and she could safely stash both children at their Aunt Cara’s. But she knew her daughter well enough to know that when it came to ferreting out information, frustration only bred more frighteningly bright ideas. If the orthodontist trip hadn’t presented itself, the child would probably have spent the evening convincing her father she needed to work on her tee shot.

Twenty minutes later, Leigh and her daughter were once again settled into uncomfortable chairs, politely declining more hard candy. Their hostess, as promised, was delighted to see them. Yet even as she sat smiling pleasantly, all hunched over in a baby-pink cardigan sweater, it was clear she sensed the urgency behind their visit. “I’ve been thinking quite a bit about poor Mr. Pratt,” she said sympathetically. “I hope you don’t have bad news about him.”

“Oh, no,” Leigh said quickly. “We don’t have any news, I’m afraid. But the police are working on finding him even as we speak.”

Dora’s crooked fingers fussed with the hem of her sweater. “I’ve got to say, of all the hauntings I’ve heard tell of, I can’t remember a person ever just
disappearing.
Meeting their maker in mysterious ways, unfortunately, yes. Going missing for a spell, absolutely. But people go missing because they get frightened off. I’d think if that were the case with Mr. Pratt, he would have come home by now. Sweet, friendly man like that—he must know that people are worried about him. I don’t understand it.”

Given that no suggestion Leigh could offer was fit for her daughter’s ears, she decided to change the subject. “We’re trying to help the police however we can,” she began, starting the speech she had constructed during the car ride over. If it hadn’t occurred to Dora in the sixty some-odd years since she’d lived at the farm that she and her husband had been the victim of fortune-hunters rather than ghosts, it was probably best not to enlighten her now. It was also best, for any number of reasons, not to increase the number of interested individuals who actually laid eyes on Archie’s map. “We think it was only a short time after Archie talked to you that he started making plans. He rented some equipment… as if he were going to make some changes to the farm. We just aren’t sure what. I was hoping, if you thought back on your conversation with him, maybe you might have some idea? Was there something in particular about the farm that he seemed interested in? Kept asking you about in more detail?”

Dora’s lips twisted in thought. She was silent for a long moment. “Well, he mainly wanted to know about the haunting, of course. We compared orbs—what paths they took, the seasonal patterns. He was particularly interested in the physical manifestations of the poltergeists.”

I’ll bet,
Leigh thought to herself.
He wanted to know where everyone else had been looking.

“Did he ask,” she posed carefully, “about any ‘manifestations’ in the area of the tool shed?”

Dora’s eyebrows rose. “Well, yes, actually. Now that you mention it. We talked quite a bit about that shed. It was my Bert that built it, you know.”

Leigh remembered Lydie saying that the shed looked newer than the cellar underneath it; she had thought as much herself. “He built it on top of the root cellar?” she asked.

The wrinkles in Dora’s brow deepened. “Oh no, that wasn’t a root cellar. There used to be a root cellar dug into the hill over by the barn, but it had long since caved in when we got there. No, the cellar you’re talking about was built for the old house. Bert and I tore that awful mess down ourselves, and he put up the shed in its place. Ew, Lordy!” Dora’s face screwed up into a pucker. “Was that place ever foul!”

Leigh found herself perched on the edge of her seat. In her peripheral vision, she could see her daughter responding likewise. “The
old
house?” Leigh squeaked. “You mean there was more than one?”

Dora looked at her quizzically. “Mr. Pratt said the same thing. I don’t see what’s so shocking about it. The cabin was built way back—late 1800s, maybe earlier, I don’t know. If Theodore and Tom Carr built the farmhouse you see now, where do you think they were living at the time? You can’t build something like that overnight, especially not with a farm to run.”

Leigh caught her breath. “Of course,” she forced out, the wheels in her brain turning madly. “We never thought about that.”

Dora shook her head. “Well, I don’t know why not. Mr. Pratt was quite fascinated—wanted to hear all about how Bert built the shed. How he tore down the cabin. Whether we found anything unusual in it.”

“And did you?”

Dora sniffed. “If you’d call it unusual for a crazy man in his eighties to live in a falling-down shack with rotten timbers and no plumbing, then yes—the whole thing was unusual.”

Leigh swallowed. “Theodore lived there? I mean…
after
the new house was built?”

“I’ll tell you what I told Mr. Pratt,” Dora answered. “When we bought the land, the old cabin was a nasty, dirty wreck that reeked to high heaven. Reeked of what, I won’t tell you, but I suppose you can guess. Mr. Trout—the nephew—he was very apologetic. Said as far as he could tell, his grandfather and his uncle hadn’t gotten along too well at the end, and his grandfather had taken to spending time at the cabin. There had been a bed in there, and clothes and even some foodstuffs. His uncle never bothered to clean out the place after the old man died—just left it all to go to pot. For thirty years! Mess just sat there until Mr. Trout took over. He paid somebody to empty out the trash, but the cabin was too far gone to be of any use. So Bert and a couple of his buddies took mallets to the walls, and that was that. Foundation was solid enough, though, so Bert laid new floorboards and put up a nice, sturdy tool shed for himself. He’d be pleased to know it’s still standing!”

“Mrs. Klinger,” Allison said politely, “could I ask you a question?”

Dora smiled. “Of course, dear.”

Allison rose, pulled a paper from her back pocket, and began to unfold it. Leigh opened her mouth to speak, but Allison, seeming to anticipate her concern, held the paper out for her mother to see. It was not
the
map, but a drawing of the area Allison had made herself, with the current landmarks in their appropriate places.

I’m not stupid, Mom!
The girl’s eyes said defensively.

Leigh cleared her throat.

Allison walked to the side of Dora’s chair and held out the map. Dora reached for a pair of glasses on the table beside her and put them on. She studied the map a moment, then smiled. “Oh, yes. This looks familiar! That’s my Bert’s shed,” she said proudly, pointing with a crooked finger. “Right there.”

“I was hoping you could show me where Theodore Carr is buried,” Allison continued. “We looked for the tombstone you mentioned, but it definitely isn’t there anymore.”

Dora nodded. “Mr. Pratt wasn’t aware of the grave, either. I suppose the marker must have been gone a while now.”

Leigh’s ears perked. “Archie didn’t know that Theodore was buried on the property? You’re sure? You told him that when he visited?”

Dora looked up from the map, lowered her glasses, and studied Leigh. “He seemed surprised to me, yes. Though I still don’t understand such a fuss over one old grave. Why, people used to be buried on their own land all the time. Not everyone was a churchgoer, you know.”

Allison was becoming antsy. “Now, exactly where on here… could you point to it, please, Mrs. Klinger?”

Dora put her glasses back on and bowed her head. “Yes, well, it was a long time ago, you know, honey. But if the creek runs like this, down past the shed…” her finger trailed over the paper, trembling slightly as it went. “I’d say right here,” she announced, tapping the paper with a fingernail. “The stone didn’t stick up. It was flat.”

“And what way did the writing face?” Allison pressed. “I mean, which way would you say the body is lying?”

Leigh cringed. Dora shot Allison a look of puzzlement. “Oh, my, child. I don’t remember exactly. I suppose if you were walking toward the grave from the farmhouse, you’d read the stone head on.” Her thin lips hitched up into a sideways smile. “Weren’t planning on digging him up, were you?”

Allison’s eyes flickered toward her mother. “Oh, no… I mean, I don’t think so.”

Saints preserve us.

Dora chuckled. “Oh, my. Such a delight, you are. Maybe Adith can bring you to one of our
phasma victus
parties sometime. You might find you have The Sight!”

“She doesn’t,” Leigh said quickly.

“Phasma victus?” Allison asked.

Dora laughed again. “We made it up. A couple of us here at the home. It’s supposed to be Latin for ‘living ghosts.’ You know, like a seance, but with a festive touch. Your friend Adith seems very excited to join us.”

No doubt,
Leigh thought.

“But I told her the dog can’t come,” Dora added sternly.

Leigh rose. “Thank you so much for answering more of our questions.” She gestured for Allison to join her. “But I’m afraid we have to be leaving now—my son will be getting home from school soon. But I’ll tell Adith that any time she needs a ride over here, I’ll be happy to bring her.”

Dora smiled. “That would be lovely. Thank you. And bring your daughter, too!”

Over my dead body.

“Thank you for the invitation!” Leigh called, hustling Allison toward the door. After a few more exchanged pleasantries, they exited and made their way toward the van. Allison uttered not a word, but buckled her seatbelt, pulled the map she had showed Dora back out of her pocket, extracted a copy of Archie’s map from a zippered compartment in her backpack, and commenced studying them side by side.