The Ghost and The Haunted Mansion (27 page)

A nature trail circled the pond, stretched into the backwoods, and branched off to paths that led all the way to the shoreline. The inn rented bicycles for the trail and rowboats for the pond, which was usually pretty well stocked with fish. A dozen or so local fisherman even docked small boats here and used the inlet to reach the open ocean.

The inn’s French restaurant was housed in a separate, smaller building, which featured a large dining room partially built right over the pond. Chez Finch was a little too pricey for most of the town’s residents, but the raves from papers in Providence and Newport were bringing in plenty of foodie tourists with deep pockets.

As I climbed out of my car, the June sun felt warm on my face. Seymour joined me and we walked across the small parking lot, feeling the breeze off the pond—brisk and fresh with the tang of brine. We ascended the Queen Anne’s six long steps, moved across the wide, wraparound porch, and through the open stained-glass doors.

Fiona noticed us strolling past her palm trees in her dark-paneled entranceway and waved us over to the inn’s hospitality table. “Morning, you two! Care for a snack?” She was just transfering the last breakfast pastries from the white bakery box to a decorative plate. “I stopped by Cooper’s after church.”

Without a word, Seymour dropped his suitcase and stuffed a hot glazed circle of fried dough into his maw. “Thannns, Finnna,” he mumbled between chews.

Unfortunately, my stomach wasn’t up for Milner Logan’s lighter-than-air doughnuts, mouthwatering maple-glazed banana muffins, or any of the delicious-looking fare from Cooper Family Bakery. Coffee was about all I could handle. So I moved to the urn on the table and helped myself.

Have two, baby,
the ghost advised.
Between last night’s drinking and your funhouse scares, I’m surprised you’re still walking upright.

“Me, too,” I whispered, stifling a yawn.

“Now, tell me exactly what this is all about,” Fiona said, pointing to Seymour’s suitcase.

“I told you over the phone. I need a place to stay for a little while,” Seymour said, his thick fingers selecting an apple turnover even before he’d swallowed the last of the doughnut.

“Seymour and I had an experience last night,” I said quietly. “It started in the bedroom.”

Fiona’s eyebrow arched. “You and Seymour?”

I could already hear the ghost laughing.

“
Listen,
Fiona. Todd Mansion really is haunted.” I pulled out my cell phone and showed her the digital photo of the old portrait. “Seymour and I saw the ghost of this man. Miss Todd must have seen him, too. That’s what scared her to death.”

Fiona’s jaw dropped as I went through the entire tale, including the audiotapes we’d uncovered. “. . . and I want to find out more about this dead man. Do you recognize him?”

Fiona shook her head. “He’s likely a Todd patriarch, don’t you think? Miss Todd’s father or grandfather?”

“Would you look into the history of Todd Mansion for me? I know you have the connections with the historical society.”

“Of course.”

“Find out everything you can. Who built the house, who lived there before Miss Todd, everything. And while you’re at it, ask around. See if you can find anyone who knows or remembers Miss Todd’s sister.”

“I promise I’ll find out what I can.” She eyed me. “Stick around a few minutes, okay?”

I nodded, downing another cup of java as Fiona showed Seymour to his room upstairs. When she came down, a few of the inn’s guests were eating pastries and drinking coffee. She smiled, greeted them warmly, and took me by the arm.

“Let’s step outside,” she whispered.

We moved through the stained-glass doors, clomping across the floorboards, and stopped in the far corner of the wide wraparound porch. The day was growing warmer but the awning kept us well shaded.

“Tell me the truth, Pen,” Fiona said quietly. “What’s going on with Seymour? Has he been spooked enough to give up the mansion? Is he going to sell to that vampire who crashed his party with the councilwoman last night?”

“You mean Charlene Fabian?”

“
Lindsey
-Fabian,” Fiona noted. “Of the Lindsey-Tilton group; let’s not forget that.”

“The McBed-and-Breakfasts, I know.”

“You should also know that I don’t buy that ridiculous story Marjorie Binder-Smith told about Charlene being an old friend staying with her for a visit. That woman might be a college chum, but she was there last night to get a good look around. Probably would have greased the wheels with Seymour, too, if I hadn’t been there to run interference.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“Of course I am! And I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that there’s a financial reason Marjorie’s involved—probably a political contribution or even a quiet kickback under the table if the councilwoman agrees to steamroll through re-zoning of Larchmont for a B and B.”

I nodded.

Fiona shook her head. “You know, I saw her again this morning.”

“Who? Marjorie?”

“No, Charlene Lindsey-Fabian. She was going into Cooper’s as I was heading out. It took every ounce of willpower for me to bite my tongue and not tell her off again.”

“Listen, Fiona, after last night, you better prepare yourself for the possibility. Seymour may decide to sell. He’s pretty upset about the whole haunting business. Even before we witnessed the manifestation, he contacted the Spirit Zappers.” I explained who they were and what they did. “But they’re backed up for months. And right now I’m more worried about someone trying to hurt him—even kill him—over that property. Eddie Franzetti confirmed what Ben Kesey found: The brakes on Seymour’s VW bus were sabotaged.”

Fiona’s eyes bugged a moment. Then she folded her arms and tapped her foot in thought. A cool breeze off the pond blew the line of Shaker rockers back and forth as if a group of ghostly guests were taking it easy, biding their time till midnight when they’d rise up and haunt the town.

“What the Todd house needs is a séance,” Fiona finally said. “An authentic medium might be able find out some key information from the spirit or spirits lodged there.”

“A séance . . .” I thought it over. “That’s not a bad idea. The house is very old, yet the manifestations began only recently. Why? What’s behind it? What made the activity start?”

“If a medium can help Seymour answer those questions, maybe even exorcise those spirits and prevent him from selling, then I’m going to introduce him to one.”

“
You
know a medium?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. She’s going to be leading a séance in my restaurant tonight at midnight.”

“Chez Finch?”

Fiona nodded. “She belongs to a spiritualist group based out of town. A small number of them are coming to stay the night at the inn.” She glanced at her watch. “They’re all due to check in before sunset.”

“But why hold a séance at Chez Finch? It’s too new to be haunted, isn’t it?”

“It’s not the restaurant they’re interested in. It’s the pond, which the dining room is partially built right over.”

“Why is that significant?”

“Apparently they’re going to try to reach the spirit of a man who may have drowned in the ocean waters connected to the pond.”

“I see. And what’s the name of this group?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s all very secretive. The reservations and arrangement were made by the medium herself: Rachel Delve. I actually know Rachel from another business transaction. She’s very nice and quite trustworthy. She’s the real thing, Pen. Maybe she can help Seymour.”

I nodded. “Introduce the two then, okay?”

“I will. I’m sure once Seymour explains his situation, Rachel will find a way to help.”

I stifled a yawn. “When is this Chez Finch séance due to start?”

“Midnight tonight. Would you like to come?”

“I’ll be there.”

Better get some shut-eye first,
Jack warned in my head.
Or you’ll be dead to the world long before that broad starts trying to raise them.

 

JACK WASN’T WRONG about my needing sleep. The drive to my bookshop was a short one, but I nearly nodded off behind the wheel. One passing glimpse along a sidewalk, however, quickly woke me up again.

“Jack!” I whispered. “Do you see what I see?”

Strolling out of Cooper Family Bakery looking chummy as can be were Charlene Lindsey-Fabian and an older, heavier woman in a tailored gray suit.

“That’s her! That’s the woman Aunt Sadie and I ran into coming out of Mr. Stoddard’s office!”

I well remembered the fleshy face with patrician features, the short brown curls shot with gray, the chilly blue eyes, and the haughty expression. I even recalled the expensive handbag of quilted leather, which seemed out of place when I first saw her carrying it in Millstone.

I immediately slowed my car and just as quickly heard a horn honk behind me. Sunday mornings were far from sleepy in Quindicott. Two churches near the commons brought plenty of traffic onto Cranberry, and Cooper’s always had a line around the block for Milner’s legendary doughnuts. No surprise, there wasn’t a parking place in sight.

“Darnit!”

I checked my rearview mirror. Charlene and the mystery woman were walking right up to a parked sedan. I remembered in Millstone, the older woman had gotten into a silver Mercedes with a driver. But this car was white and appeared to be Charlene’s, because she was the one who unlocked the doors and helped the older woman inside.

The driver behind me beeped again.

I raced my motor, quickly turning off Cranberry. I pulled over a few seconds later, illegally blocking the first driveway I saw. Grabbing my handbag (and Jack’s nickel), I popped the door and ran full speed down the sidewalk. But it was too late. Charlene’s car had already pulled out. It was blocks away now and turning out of sight. The mystery woman was gone again—and I was illegally parked!

Wheeling abruptly, I took a blind, frustrated step, right into a brick wall.

“Whoa, there, Mrs. McClure!”

I looked up to see Jim Wolfe standing there—all six-foot-three of him. The blond-haired, dimpled-chin Viking smiled down at me, a Cooper’s bakery box dangling from his work-callused fingers.

“Jim! You came from the bakery? Just now?”

He laughed. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that? You afraid I’ll get fat eating too many of Milner’s doughnuts?”

I almost didn’t recognize the man. Most days around Quindicott, the head of Wolfe Construction was wearing dusty jeans, a denim shirt, and a hard hat. Today he was cleaned up and sharply tailored in a Sunday blue suit.

“Sorry, Jim.” I shook my head clear, feeling like an idiot. “I was just wondering if you’d happened to bump into Charlene Fabian.”

“Yeah, I did. You know Charlene?” He reached out then and touched my hair. “Your hair looks nice like that.”

“Like what?”

“Down around your shoulders. Whenever I see you, it’s always tied back.”

Jim’s eyes were blue but I’d never noticed just what shade—this close they looked cobalt, like an early autumn sky. It was distracting. I swallowed, trying to remember what I was going to ask the man.

“Uh . . .”

Jim smiled. “You trying to ask me something, Mrs. McClure?”

“Yes!”

“Let me make it easy for you, okay? You want to go to dinner or a movie with me sometime? Is that what you want to ask?”

“No, no! You’re misunderstanding—”

“Hi, Jim!”

“Hey, there, Bob.”

It was then I noticed a few passersby were glancing our way with more than a little curiosity. The whispering women on the street seemed especially interested in what Jim and I were discussing so intensely. I closed my eyes took a breath.

“I’m not trying to ask you out, Jim,” I whispered. “What I’d like to know is if you knew the name of the older woman with Charlene Fabian.”

“Oh, I see . . . Uh, yeah, actually I do. Her name’s Mrs. Beatrice Ingram. I just had a short meet-and-greet with those two inside.”

“Meet-and-greet?”

“Uh-huh. We had coffee together. Mrs. Ingram’s planning to invest in a property with Charlene, turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. They need some work on the place and I’ve done work for Charlene in the past.” He shrugged.

“Where is this place?”

“Newport.”

“You have an address?”

Jim shook his head. “No. They said they’re not ready for me to see it yet, but in a few weeks they’ll have me take a look. Like I said, this was just a meet-and-greet. I’m sure they’re talking to other construction guys, you know?” He shrugged. “I did my best to charm them. What else can I do? You win some, you lose some.”

“But you hardly ever lose.”

Jim smiled. “Thanks for saying that. I’m good at under-bidding. It’s true.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for the name.” I was about to walk away when Jim lightly touched my arm.

“Wait.”

“What?” I said.

“That’s it?” He laughed. “Use me and toss me aside?”

“It’s nothing personal, Jim. I just wanted the woman’s name because there’s a very good chance she’s Miss Todd’s sister.”

“Miss Todd? The old woman who was—” He glanced around. “You know what the rumor is, right? That she was frightened to death.”

“I know what the rumor is. But I have my suspicions that the frights were manufactured.”

Jim’s blond eyebrows rose. “You sound like a private eye.” He smiled. “But then, that’s what they say about you around here. You do more than just sell those detective books. You like investigating, too. It’s kind of a hobby of yours, right?”