Ghosts Beneath Us: A Third Spookie Town Murder Mystery (Spookie Town Murder Mysteries Book 3) (9 page)

Before they parted ways, Abigail requested, “Can you keep me up to date on what happens to those old people and their situations? And let me know what else you find out after you interview them? Give me a call?”

“Sure. But you’ll be able to read about it in next week’s edition. Now it’s beginning to look as if it’ll be a front page story as well an editorial. There’s been so many incidents reported.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I got to run, but I’ll call you later and we’ll catch up more. Let’s have lunch one day soon?”

“We can do that. I’ll talk to you later.”

Samantha scurried down the sidewalk towards her appointment and Abigail, her mind still on what Samantha had disclosed, entered the bakery.

Kate, in dusty jeans and sleeveless shirt, came up to her. “I saw you out there chatting to the town reporter. I’ve yet to meet her but someone pointed her out to me the other day so I know who she is.”

“Samantha Westerly. You will be meeting her soon enough. She’ll be in to do a story on you and your business when you open the doors. She always does a nice spread with photos and it also goes up on the Internet. It could really help kick off your business.”

“Free publicity. My favorite kind. She knows we’re opening around the beginning of June?”

“She knows. Now…wait until you see the plans I drew up last night for the bakery.”

Abigail spread out her drawings on the counter and they spent time discussing them. Kate liked two of them, but loved the third one where the room was painted in shades of red and pink and milk chocolate. “I incorporated the colors of those donut pictures you showed me.

“And here,” she gestured to the area behind them, “there will be small round tables with wire-backed chairs for people to sit and drink coffee at with their pastries. I know you said you were keeping this counter, but we can spruce it up with warmer colors. I can paint the menu or donuts on it and we can cover it with a layer of clear coat. And the donut theme will continue on the table tops and along that back wall. That’s where one of the murals will be. I also know where you can get some beautiful glass display cases for your pastries dirt cheap. A store down the road here has had them in their storage room for ages and the owner will be so glad to get rid of them you’ll be able to get them for almost nothing. I will give you the guy’s name and telephone number before I leave.”

“I love it!” Kate was grinning. “The layout and color scheme looks so cozy. Intimate and welcoming.”

“That’s what I was aiming for,” Abigail said, pleased Kate had liked her designs.

“Well, then I’d better get working. I still have a lot of clean up to do before the construction crew get here and we can start ordering our furnishings.”

“I thought they were coming today?”

“I put them off until Monday. I couldn’t get enough done fast enough. I’m a little slow. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

It didn’t take Abigail but a moment to think about it and offer, “I’m going to help you.”

“You don’t have to do that. You’re the decorator, the artist; I’m the cleaner and the baker. Besides,” Kate’s voice took on a thoughtful note, “I can’t afford to pay you for clean-up. Just for decorating ideas and the paintings. The prices we agreed upon. That’s all I have in my meager budget. But thanks anyway for offering.”

“Nonsense. I know your mother Clementine, so you’re already part of this town and we help each other out here. You’ll see. And I have nothing else to do today.”

“How do you know my mother is Clementine?”

“Myrtle Schmitt, our resident eccentric and an old friend of your mother’s, told me.”

“Oh, so you know Myrtle, huh?”

“I know Myrtle.” The women traded a knowing glance. “She’s a little on the eccentric side sometimes but she’s my friend, as well. She’s got a good heart.”

“That she does.”

“She can’t wait until you open your bakery,” Abigail added.

“I bet. She’s a sweetheart all right, but she sure is a moocher. My mom says she’s always showing up at her house begging for a meal or a snack. Mom doesn’t mind, though. They’re old friends as you said. Myrtle especially likes to mooch sweets.”

“Don’t I know it? She’ll be visiting your business a lot then.” They both laughed.

“Okay, so it’s decided,” Abigail affirmed. “I’m going to help. So hand me a broom and a dustpan, or some rags and cleaning fluids and I’ll get to work. Because the sooner we get this cleaned out, the sooner the remodeling can start; I can get to the paintings and you can begin baking those delicious donuts of yours and open up.”

Kate handed her a broom, a bucket and a bundle of rags.

The day passed quickly and by the time Abigail left the room was completely cleaned out and the real work could begin.

“Tomorrow I’ll go have a look at those glass cases,” Kate assured her right before she closed the door, “and I’ll visit that carpet store you recommended. I think I know where I can purchase the perfect tables and chairs. It won’t be long now before you can get in here to do your art. I’ll call you or you can drop by anytime and see how it’s coming.”

“I’ll do that. Drop by anytime. I’m in town often enough.”

Abigail made her way to her car and at the last moment decided to stop by Stella’s Diner to see if anyone she knew was there. The kids were at their friends’ houses and a cup of Stella’s coffee was just what she needed to perk her up after an afternoon of sweeping and scrubbing.

She was nearly to the diner, passing the Tattered Corner’s display window full of bunnies and books when she glanced at her reflection. There behind her on the sidewalk mirrored in the glass, watching her, was a man. He might have been tall, but his body was slouched so she couldn’t be sure. He was wearing dark clothes with a battered hat pulled low over his shadowed face. He looked homeless. Dirty. There was an air of sadness about him. Speeding up her steps, she swung around to look at him…but
no one was there
. The sidewalk around her was
empty
.
What the–!
Pivoting around to stare again into the glass she was even more shocked to see he was
still there
staring at her. His face, white and faded out like an old photograph, tilted up until the hat’s brim was no longer hiding it and for a heartbeat she almost saw his features. It was his eyes that mesmerized her, though, and were all she could see. There was an intensity in his gaze directed at her as if he were trying to tell her something important. He lifted a stick of a finger, pointed at her and his lips curved up into a rictus grin. There was something familiar about him, yet her mind wouldn’t or couldn’t place him. With a gasp she once more turned around to look behind her. Again
there was no one there
.

That’s it. I’m out of here!

Stella’s door was flung wide as she yanked it open and raced through. She was still trembling when she dropped into a booth, dropping her purse and portfolio on the table. The anxiety the apparition had produced in her had nauseated her stomach and made her hands shake.

“Abigail, my, my girl, you look as if you just saw a ghost! You’re all chalky looking and vibrating like an earthquake victim.” Stella was at her side. “Are you okay? Can I get you a glass of water or something, sweetie?” The waitress held her order book and pencil in her hands, yet her expression was concerned.

“No, no water, thanks. I need coffee,” Abigail muttered. “And I’m fine. I’ve just had a little shock, but I’ll be okay in a minute.”

Stella studied her. “Uh, huh. What kind of shock?”

Abigail asked herself later why she fibbed, but at the time, it seemed the thing to do. There was no way she was going to talk about disappearing shadow men to Stella. The woman didn’t do the supernatural. “Nothing big. I, er, stumbled outside on the sidewalk on an uneven patch of concrete and though I didn’t fall or anything, it gave me a fright. You know how it is?”

“Uh, huh. It must have been a hell of a fright. You should see your face, girl. White as mashed potatoes.”

Abigail’s trembling hand made a glib gesture. “It would have been a lot worse if I’d taken that tumble. I might have sprained or broken something. I don’t need a trip to the emergency room. I consider myself lucky.”

“You sure were. You need to be careful walking on those sidewalks. I keep telling the city council we need to fix them. Cracks and broken sections make for real safety violations. First time someone does take a fall and breaks something, sues the city, it’ll be too late. Do you want anything else besides that coffee?”

Abigail avoided her eyes. “Just the coffee, please.”

After Stella had bustled off to get it for her, she took a deep breath. What had happened and what did it mean? Was she seeing things now like Beatrice and Myrtle?

What had the thing wanted with her? All she was sure of was it had been an old man and he’d somehow looked familiar. She had an inkling he’d wanted something and that something was related to the case she and Frank were working on. Their case. What exactly was their case anyway? Was it teenage hoodlums making grief for the old ones, just pranks–or was there more to it?

There was more to it.

“Earth to Abigail. Earth to Abigail,” a deep voice woke her from her reverie.

She looked up. “Frank. I was just thinking of you. What are you doing here?” Her lips smiled and her mind calmed.

“I’m flattered you were thinking of me, makes me believe you might truly care for me or something.” He flashed her a quick mischievous smile. “I was at the IGA picking up some last minute things for supper and I saw you through the window. Since I needed to see you anyway, here I am.” 

He slipped into the booth and gave her a hasty hug and kiss. She thought they were too mature to be showing unbounded affection in public and though he didn’t agree he respected the way she felt about it and kept it to a minimum. “But I recognize that uneasy expression of yours. What’s happened?”

“If I tell you you’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”

“You mean you had one to begin with?” he teased and she jostled him good naturedly.

Still smiling she shook her head and told him about the man in the window glass, the way he’d made her feel and how he’d vanished.

He didn’t make fun of her. He knew better. “You know it is strange that happened to you after what I learned from Beatrice. A couple hours after we left she called me. Again.”

Stella had been hovering at another table and picked that moment to come in for a landing in front of them. “Hi there Frank. What can I get ya?”

“Coffee will do it, thanks Stella.”

When she was gone, Abigail pressed, “So Beatrice called you
after
we’d been there this morning? So soon? Now what’s happened?”

“Someone got into her basement and trashed it again.”

“Again? But–wait a minute–when we were there the basement was fine. It’d been cleaned up, twice, and everything.” Beatrice had been friendly to them and had given them coffee in the kitchen. It wasn’t bad. The old lady had been talkative, much more than the previous time they’d visited her. She’d taken a shine to Frank and never lost a chance to touch his arm or shoulder or smile at him, calling him
Sonny
whenever she addressed him. It was easy to see he’d become her substitute son because her own son wasn’t around.

“Well, she said she took a short nap after we left, and then went down there when she heard the commotion and it was once more a disaster area. Windows shattered, the objects not smashed the last time now smashed; the whole shebang. Except this time there were words painted on the walls:
Get Out!
in red. She wasn’t sure if it was paint or blood. It looked like blood to me, though. The lab will confirm or disprove that. The sheriff promised to send a sample and find out.”

Abigail stared at him as Stella placed his cup of coffee on the table, he thanked the waitress, and she hurried off. “That’s bizarre all right. And this occurred when she was upstairs sleeping?”

“Apparently. And she also spoke about other odd happenings she had forgotten to mention when we were there earlier. Her furnace and her gas stove keep turning themselves on. There are banging noises upstairs in the bedrooms when she’s downstairs and noises downstairs when she’s upstairs. She’s really frightened now and talks about selling the house because it’s so haunted.”

“Does she still believe it’s her dead husband?”

“At first she did. Now she’s not so sure. He hasn’t visited her again and she thinks the other more malevolent spirits have chased him away. She’s afraid of them because they’re extremely angry spirits, or so she says.”

“What would they be angry about?”

“Now that’s a good question.” Frank put sugar and cream in his coffee, stirred it, and drank some. “Beatrice hasn’t got a clue. There have been no recent deaths, murders or anything in the house that would trigger violent hauntings, so it’s a mystery.” His expression was grim. “But I’d predict it somehow might tie in with Alfred’s problems.”

“And, I’m afraid,” Abigail paused, “it’s not just Beatrice and Alfred’s problems any longer. I saw Samantha this morning and she was going off to interview for a news story three other victims who have reported similar incidents in their homes lately. The same as what Beatrice and Alfred have experienced.”

“You don’t say? There’s more? Do you have their names and where they live?”

“Sorry, no. Samantha had yet to talk to them. She was in a hurry. I was in a hurry. But she said I could call her later and she’d confess all.”

“I’m going to save you that phone call,” Frank said. “I’m going over to the newspaper as soon as I leave here. I have a hunch about all this and want to see if I’m right. Would you like to come along?”

“Sorry, I can’t. The children will be getting home soon and they’ll expect me to be there. You can call me or come by the house after you interrogate Samantha if you’d like. I’m also curious to find out what she’s uncovered.”

“I’ll come by the house. It’s on my way.” Another mischievous smile. It wasn’t on his way but he’d come by anyway.

They drank their coffee, paid Stella, and parted company. Frank drove to the newspaper office and Abigail drove home. The day had turned cloudy and chillier as early April could sometimes do on a whim. The winds blew spring blossoms off the trees and across the roads and had a sting to it. It looked like a storm was brewing.