Ghosts Beneath Us: A Third Spookie Town Murder Mystery (Spookie Town Murder Mysteries Book 3) (6 page)

“I do.” Kate sat down in a chair and gestured Abigail to take one beside her. “But I had a lot more in mind than that. I have a different sort of proposition for you. A bit unusual from what you’ve done so far, but I believe you could tackle it. I saw those murals you did for city hall and the library–they were great, so creative, by the way–and I had this idea.” The woman seemed excited.

“Go ahead then and tell me what it is. I’ll listen.”

“I know donuts. I know how to bake and sell them. I worked for twenty-years at a bakery in Waterloo, that’s about thirty miles from here, and I learned the business from bottom to top. I always wanted my own place, though. So for years I saved every dollar I earned and here I am.”  Kate’s arms spread and included where they were and her gaze traveled around the room. “I got this place dirt cheap but it is so run down it’s going to take a lot of work to decorate and open it. I need more than pictures or a mural. I thought that being a creative person, as well as an artist, you might be able to help me with that, too.”

“You mean you want me to help you decorate and put together the whole place?” Now Abigail was looking around.

“Yes. Everything it will need. I might be an expert at baking, but I know absolutely nothing about design, fabrics for curtains, carpets, the right furniture and color combinations for the walls and floors. I want the shop when it’s done to look beautiful. Then after the place is furnished I’d like you to paint pictures of my donuts on the walls. What do you think?”

“But I’m not a professional decorator, Kate.”

“I don’t think you’d need to be. You know color and what looks good. I’m awful with that remodeling stuff and I’m basically color blind. The person, I don’t know who it was because I didn’t catch their name, who told me about you mentioned that besides your usual artwork and those stunning murals you’ve painted all over town, they’d seen your house and what you’ve done with it. They said you completely renovated it yourself and you have a real eye for that sort of thing. They were sure you could handle this project.

“Now don’t worry. You won’t have to actually do the labor, merely advise me on how to decorate, what type of furniture and stuff would look good in here…and paint the donut wall pictures. I think I’d like them somewhat large, but realistic looking, you know? Good enough to eat.

“I’ll be truthful with you. I can’t afford to pay you a lot. I’m on a tight budget. But, besides what I can pay you,” and here she smiled, “you could have free donuts for the rest of your life.”

Abigail laughed. “Well, that’s a real deal breaker for me. Donuts are as good as money, sometimes better. And my monetary fee? We can work that out. I like the idea of designing a bakery so I’ll cut you a break. When do you plan on opening?”

“I hope in two months around the end of May or early June. I have workmen coming in tomorrow to begin the construction. I’m having them tear out all the old counters, rugs and that wall over there.” She pointed to a section of wall along the rear of the room. “It’ll open up this space here so there’s more room. If you’d like you could come by tomorrow morning any time after nine if you want to be here for that. You don’t have to. For the first part, the renovations, I could pay you per hour but the paintings we’ll discuss further and set a flat price for. I calculate the walls will be ready for those pictures around the middle of May.”

Abigail had decided. The thought of renovating the bakery intrigued her. And it was work. Work was good. Free donuts for life! That alone was worth it, though donuts wouldn’t pay the electric or water bill, but the cash would.

“All right, I accept.” Abigail put her hand out for the other woman to shake and she did. “I already have some notions on what you might do in here to make it a showplace. I have ideas on color combinations, too. Did you want people to simply come and buy your donuts and leave or would you want to have a counter, barstools, table and chairs for them to stay and eat here as well?”

“Oh, I want them to stay if they’d want to. Sit at the counter or a table and linger over my donuts and coffee. Visit and chat with everyone. Like they do at Stella’s Diner. I want this to be a welcoming, social place. I like people.” She was smiling wider now, her expression enthusiastic.

“I’ll do my best to help you make it such a communal oasis. I’ll start mulling over possible renovations right away and let you know what I come up with. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow. I’ll also be here in the morning to watch construction begin. I can’t wait.” And she couldn’t. Studying the room in her mind she could already see its possibilities and how charming it could look when it was done. It was a new adventure. Imagine that. She was going to try her hand at being a decorator.

The women swapped proposals about colors, tables, floors, barstools and counters. What might look good and what might not. Abigail took pictures on her new cell phone–expensive or not, because of the children, she’d finally gotten one–of the space so she could plan the remodeling layout. The women exchanged telephone and email numbers.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Abigail said before she left.

“Tomorrow,” Kate replied.

Abigail was walking away from the shop, shading her eyes from the glaring sun, when Myrtle came around the corner, her rusty red wagon bumping along behind her. She was wearing the same exact clothes as two days before and a tattered straw hat on her head. The wagon was full of junk, or it looked like junk to Abigail. The old woman nearly ran into her. No apologies, though. That wasn’t Myrtle’s way.

“Why good morning Abigail.” The old woman’s eyes looked at where Abigail had just exited. “I see you met Kate Greenway, the newest addition to our town?”

“I have. In fact she’s asked me to help her remodel the new bakery and paint some pictures on its walls. She’s opening the donut shop before June and she’d going to live above it.”

Myrtle’s face cheered up at the mention of donuts and she licked her lips. “Another bakery and more donuts. There can’t never be enough pastries for me. Yippie. By June, you say?”

“By June.”

Myrtle glanced once more at the shop. Kate had resumed her sweeping. She stopped for a moment and waved at them through the window’s glass. It looked as if she was waving directly at Myrtle.

“You know Kate?” Abigail walked beside her friend in the direction of her car.

“I know the girl. I know her mother far better, you could say. We’re old classmates and sometime friends. Clementine Kitteridge. She lives out there in that haunted cul-de-sac where Beatrice lives.”

Abigail was surprised. “Kate is Clementine’s daughter?” She knew of Clementine Kitteridge. Everyone in town did. The woman had such a tragic past. Frank had told her about it. Clementine had had a happy family forty years ago until her beloved husband, Abe, and three of her four children had died in a terrible auto accident. A snowy, icy January night and the car had run off the bridge into Turner’s Creek. There’d only be one survivor from that crash and the child, about five years old, had been badly injured.

“Yep, Kate is the one that lived. But she does have some chronic medical problems and a bum leg. She still walks with a limp. Clementine said she was moving back here from another town to help take care of her. Clementine’s really up there in years, awful lonely these days, and not feeling so well. The daughter’s returned to help her out. I’ve met Kate a few times. I’ll have to go in and see her. Though I didn’t know she was opening a bakery. Great news all around then.”

“I would say it is. Kate seems like a nice person. A hard worker. I look forward to collaborating with her and making the bakery a place people will love to gather and eat what Kate bakes.” Abigail hadn’t noticed any of Kate’s chronic conditions or her limp, but then she hadn’t seen her moving around. They’d both sat on stools most of the time. Then again Myrtle didn’t always get things straight. She liked to embellish her stories, whether they were true or not.

They were at Abigail’s car. She was anxious to get home and draw out remodeling ideas for Kate and the bakery. She didn’t want to hurt Myrtle’s feelings, but she had to get going. She had so much to do before the kids came home from school. Then there’d be super to make and time with the children.

“Are you up to going to Stella’s for a piece of her pie of the day?” Myrtle suggested hopefully. “I think today it’s chocolate. My favorite.”

Yeah, any kind of pie was Myrtle’s favorite and Abigail would end up paying for it as she always did. She was about to turn the old lady down, too busy she’d use as an excuse, then glimpsed the loneliness in the old woman’s face she tried so hard to hide and Abigail gave in.

“Sure, I have a half hour or so I can waste…for chocolate pie. Let’s go.”

“Good. I can fill you in on all the heartbreaking details of Clementine’s life. It’s quite the story. And tell you about the cruise I’m going on.”

The two aimed themselves towards Stella’s Diner, Myrtle chattering all the way like a magpie and Abigail listening. Well, half-listening. Her mind was already busy with the donut shop makeover.

They sat in a booth at Stella’s and over pieces of pie Myrtle told her what she knew about Clementine, her life, and her daughter. It was a sad story and it made Abigail look at Kate in a different way. Kate was a true survivor. All that tragedy so early in her life could have turned the woman bitter, but, as far as Abigail could see, it hadn’t.

When the sad story was over Myrtle gushed about her cruise and the fun she was going to have.

“So, Myrtle, you’re going on a sea trip?” Stella had brought them their pie and coffee and Abigail was spying on the other diners around them. There were a couple of locals and several people who must just be passing through town because she didn’t recognize them. “When and where are you going?’

“Leaving tomorrow morning with my friend Tina and we’re going to the Bahamas. It won’t be a long cruise, only seven days, but I’m looking forward to it. You sure can have fun on one of those fancy boats. There are activities and entertainments galore. Singers and dancers. Every night. Gambling even. As you know I do love cards. You stop at these ports and get to stretch your legs in an exotic town you’ve never been to where you can buy souvenirs to your heart’s content. The best thing? The food, exquisite and never ending buffets of it, is
free
and it’s fantastic.” Her mouth went up into a grin as her fork dug into the pie.

“Well, the food isn’t exactly free. You pay for it with your ticket fee.”

Myrtle ignored that comment and yammered on, “I stay up every night and play dominos, pinochle or rummy with all sorts of fascinating people and eat all the scrumptious buffet food. They have crab legs and shrimp every night! And in the mornings, whoa, those breakfast spreads are out of this world.

“Did I ever tell you about the last cruise I went on? Oh, back a couple years me and Tina went to the Caribbean. On a gigantic ship called The Princess. I bet there were a hundred thousand people on that tour. Now that was a hoot.”

“A hundred thousand?” Abigail tried not to smile but it was hard not to.

“Yep. Maybe more. Let me tell you what happened on our first island stopover….”

Soon she had Abigail laughing over her on-board antics and hilarious anecdotes.

And, before they parted ways, she revealed another case of a haunting she’d uncovered in town. “My friend Alfred–that’s Alfred Loring who lives on Doris Street in what I’d call a run-down shack with holes for windows–like Beatrice is being haunted by ghosts. He relayed to me this morning when I bumped into him at the IGA that spooks have been knocking at his windows and breaking in, taking and moving stuff, the last week. He’s heard them. I told him to come and talk to you and Frank. That you already are on the case and you’d help him get to the bottom of it.”

Oh great, what were they now, the town’s new ghost investigators?

“Truth is,” she leaned over the table and gave Abigail a penetrating look, “that’s the main reason I’m taking off on the cruise. Too damn many spirits floating around for my liking. I’m hoping that by the time I return, things will have calmed down and gotten back to normal. The spooks will be gone. Moved on as they always do. They don’t like staying in one place too long. You know I’m sick of them bothering me and my friends. They need to shove off.” Myrtle made a shooing gesture with her hands.

“Alfred Loring is being haunted, too?” Abigail couldn’t believe the problem was spreading.

“So he says. But he hasn’t been right in the head, either, since the early nineteen-seventies. He’s smoked too much of that marijuana weed, you know?” She winked. “I always take everything he says with a grain of salt, a big one, as I believe he’s still smoking it quite regularly. That could be why he thinks he’s seeing apparitions. It’s most likely that crazy smoke.”

“But you see ghosts all the time?”

Myrtle gave her a piercing look. “That’s because I’m like one of those mediums, you’d call it. I’ve seen dead souls since I was a child. It’s rare. Now these other two don’t have the calling like I do. You know ghosts just don’t show themselves to anybody. You got to be special to see them.” Myrtle cocked her head and her expression was one of smugness.

“You and Frank got any leads yet? I haven’t been to see Beatrice lately so I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

“No, not yet. We’re working on it, though.” Frank was anyway. Abigail had almost forgotten about the incident, what with the new job and everyday life. “Frank and I might drop in on Beatrice and see how she’s doing, though.”

“Good. She needs looking after. Then go see Alfred.” Myrtle scribbled something down on her napkin with a pencil she pulled from her pocket and pushed it across the table at her. “That’s his address. I already told him you were coming to see him. Soon.”

“Thanks a lot.” But it did strike Abigail as strange that now a second elderly person was claiming to be haunted. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? 

An hour later they parted ways, Abigail paid for both their pie and coffee, and drove home to begin Kate’s sketches.

*****