Ghost Memory (3 page)

Peter Swanson was also already in
the room, sitting comfortably in what was probably “his” chair. An
overstuffed armchair that looked very comfortable. I gave him a
surreptitious nod, which he returned with a smile.

Mr. Quinn was dressed casually in a
heavy knit sweater and jeans. He moved carefully and deliberately,
as someone does who has arthritis and lives alone.

I’d forgotten to ask Mr. Swanson
how long he’d been dead. Since the dead were so notoriously
unreliable with time, I usually made sure to get a date. They did
much better with those.

“You said you knew Peter,” said Mr.
Quinn.

“Yes,” said Thulu, “we’ve only seen
him twice.”

“I see. And when was that?” Mr.
Quinn asked.

I looked over at Mr. Swanson. It
was time to decide whether we would tell Mr. Quinn the truth or try
to cover it up with a believable story. Mr. Swanson gave me an
encouraging nod.

Turning to Mr. Quinn, I looked
straight into his eyes, trying to decipher what he believed. I took
a deep breath and hoped for the best.

“That would be yesterday.” I said
evenly. “And today. Right now.”

Mr. Quinn sat back in his chair,
taking a sip of his hot tea. He watched me steadily over the top of
his cup, his expression giving away nothing of his thoughts. My
heart sank a bit at the lack of reaction.

“I see,” he said again. “So, now am
I supposed to pay you to tell me whatever it is that Peter wants me
to know?”

While I was disappointed that he
didn’t immediately accept my statement as true, I was also very
pleased to learn the old man wouldn’t be easy prey for scammers and
con artists. I shook my head while Thulu took over.

“No, sir. Mr. Swanson hired us.
We’re here to find the money that Mr. Swanson has been stashing in
this house for the last forty years. He left you a will, he left
you a letter, and he left you cash. But when he had Alzheimer’s, he
was moving everything around for safekeeping. He doesn’t remember
all of the hiding places and has asked me to find them for
you.”

Mr. Quinn’s eyebrows moved steadily
upward as he took all of that in. “And what exactly do you get out
of this?”

“That will be something we work out
with Mr. Swanson.”

“So, you don’t want a portion of
this money that is supposedly here?”

“No, sir, that would defeat the
purpose of the job we’ve been hired to do. That job is to find and
give you the things that Mr. Swanson left for you.”

“So, you expect me to believe that
Peter has been in touch with you since his death?” His gaze moved
back and forth between me and Thulu.

I shook my head. “No, sir, we
rarely expect anyone to believe anything we do. The fact remains,
I’m able to see and speak with the dead. Mr. Swanson is here now
and if you have questions that only he can answer, I’ll be happy to
translate those answers for you.”

“So, you claim that Peter is here
now?” So quiet, so calm.

I nodded and looked at the chair
where Peter Swanson sat. “He’s sitting right there. His expression
is a bit bemused and he’s tugging on his right ear lobe.”

Mr. Quinn continued to take small
sips of his tea as he watched me.

“Did you have any questions you
wanted me to ask him to prove that I can see him?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

My heart sank even further. Mr.
Quinn seemed unflappable, and if he wasn’t willing to let me prove
I could see Peter Swanson, I had no idea how we were going to
complete the job. I looked at Thulu questioningly and he gave me a
small shrug.

“Well, then, I guess we won’t take
up any more of your time. Thank you for the tea and cookies,” I
said politely, gathering my purse. My grandmother would be proud of
me for showing good manners.

“Aren’t you going to complete the
job Peter hired you to do?”

I was at a loss. “You’ll let us do
the job? You believe us?”

“Of course, I do. Do you honestly
think I could live with a man for fifty years and not know when he
was in the same room with me? Living or dead, I know when Peter is
here. He’s come to visit me many times over the last few
weeks.”

I looked between Mr. Quinn and Mr.
Swanson, who was chuckling quietly to himself.

“I told you he was more open to
things than I was,” said Mr. Swanson.

“I guess so,” I said, looking at
Mr. Swanson.

Mr. Quinn smiled. “I bet he just
told you I was the one who believed in a spiritual realm.”

I nodded. “Something like that.” I
repeated what Mr. Swanson had said for Mr. Quinn and for Thulu who
hadn’t been watching Mr. Swanson.

“So, how do you work exactly?”
asked Mr. Quinn, with a twinkle in his eye. I breathed a sigh of
relief that at least he seemed curious about our abilities.

Thulu took over, explaining about
his abilities, before he stood and indicated the chair where Mr.
Swanson sat. “If I may?”

Mr. Quinn nodded and Mr. Swanson
floated out of the chair. Thulu went over to the easy chair and
tilted it to the side. A fat manila envelope had been duct taped to
the bottom. He motioned for me to remove it, and I handed it to Mr.
Quinn. Thulu gently eased the heavy chair back down, with a gentle
thump.

Mr. Quinn held the envelope for a
long minute before he pulled the duct tape off the edges. I could
see that his name was on the outside. He opened the envelope and
withdrew a thick stack of bills. His mouth dropped open and tears
sprang to his eyes. Thulu went over to him and put a hand on his
shoulder.

“Just think of it as an Easter egg
hunt, sir. That might make it easier.”

Mr. Quinn and I spent the next two
hours trailing Thulu from room to room as he recovered envelope
after envelope of cash.

The kitchen was especially lovely.
Completely modern, with new appliances. A built-in booth was set
into a bay window, overlooking the back yard. A large island took
up the middle of the room and there was lots of cupboard space. It
was a cook’s kitchen, and I wished our tiny kitchen was even half
the size of this one. I complimented Mr. Quinn on the kitchen
design.

With a smile, he said, “Thank you,
my dear. This was our favorite room. Peter was quite the cook and
we designed this to be very cook-friendly.”

“Well, I love it! You did an
awesome job on it.” I said sincerely, as I looked around.

The top two floors hadn’t made it
into the cosmetic renovation and made me feel a bit sad. The walls
on the top floor had old, torn and stained wallpaper. The paint was
chipped and the wood was scarred and scuffed. Boxes were stored
neatly here and there in different rooms, but the air of neglect
was palpable.

The second story was in much better
shape than the top floor, but still hadn’t seen any renovation in a
very long time. Wallpaper with designs from another century covered
the walls. Still, it was a house with a lot of potential, and I
loved it.

“We hadn’t gotten this far, when we
decided we needed to conserve our money. We took care of updating
the things that were necessary, but not the decoration.” Mr. Quinn
gave a small sigh of regret.

“It’s a wonderful old house, Mr.
Quinn. I think it’s awesome.” I said with a smile.

The will turned up in the attic in
the bottom of a box, buried beneath other boxes. The letter was
taped underneath an old bureau on the second floor.

Mr. Quinn gave up tagging along
after Thulu presented him with the letter. He simply waved us on
and made his way slowly downstairs. I asked him if he needed my
help, but he smiled sadly and shook his head. I kept an eye on him
anyway, until he was back in the parlor.

Even the basement was neat, with a
workshop area that showed no signs of what had been made there, but
held some tools on a pegboard attached to the wall.

Once Thulu was sure he had
recovered everything in the house, we made our way back downstairs
to Mr. Quinn. Thulu gave him the last of the envelopes.

“He kept track of everything he set
aside,” said Mr. Quinn. “Even at the end, he was recording his
‘little deposits.’ That’s what he called them.” He looked up at us.
“Could you please help me count it?”

He handed us several sheets of
paper, spreadsheets carefully documenting all of Mr. Swanson’s
deposits over the years. I was impressed that he had kept that up
in spite of his Alzheimer’s. Especially since the last entry was
made the month before. According to the figures, there should have
been a little over a hundred thousand dollars.

We counted each envelope separately
and noted the amount on the outside. I pulled out my phone and
accessed the calculator, adding up the totals of each envelope. We
went through every envelope twice more, double checking the
numbers. Every time we came out to eighty-four thousand dollars and
change.

“That means there’s about sixteen
thousand dollars missing,” Thulu said after the third time resulted
in the same numbers.

“Still, this is more than enough
for me to live on the rest of my life,” said Mr. Quinn.

Thulu sat back, his fingers
steepled as he thought. He closed his eyes to concentrate as he did
when a job required a little more effort than what he’d expended so
far. I felt the familiar energy gather around him. It went out in
waves and pulses, with him at the center. No one else ever seemed
to notice it, except my grandmother, who was an empath, but it was
obvious to me.

Thulu had tried to explain what it
felt like when he was in finder mode, but I think it was one of
those “you had to be there” things. Certainly, I never really
understood what he meant.

I looked at Mr. Quinn and smiled
encouragingly while we waited. He had refreshed the tea, and I
sipped at a lovely spicy blend and nibbled on homemade cinnamon
cookies. We stayed silent, so as not to disturb Thulu, who opened
his eyes after about five minutes.

His face bore his familiar grin, as
he dimpled at the two of us.

“Okay, the bad news is that it’s
scattered all over the place. Part of it is in several banks. The
good news is that there were several stops when it was still
together before that.” He stared at me thoughtfully for a moment.
“Let’s go home, Fi, so I can do some more research and check these
locations.”

“Before we do, Mr. Quinn, would you
like us to go with you to the bank? I really don’t think you should
keep that money here.” I said to him gently.

The old man was staring at the easy
chair where Peter Swanson had once more settled. “But it’s been
here all this time with no problem,” he protested.

“That was before someone realized
there was money in this house. Who knows when they might decide to
come back and look for more? Do you really want to take that
chance?” I asked gently.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Quinn, but Fi is
right. You should have your money in a bank.” Thulu immediately
backed me up.

Mr. Quinn sighed heavily, “I
suppose you’re right. I have a small savings account, but mostly I
use my checking account. Peter and I always saved up for whatever
we needed and usually paid cash.” He paused thoughtfully. “Won’t
the bank want to know where I got this money?”

“Yeah, probably. The documentation
should help, but I have an idea,” I said. I explained about Thulu’s
cousin, Evan, the family accountant, and said he might be able to
smooth the way. Mr. Quinn and Thulu agreed it would probably help
things. A large deposit of that kind of cash had to have some kind
of red tape. I pulled out my cell phone and called Thulu’s cousin,
Evan, our family accountant.

Evan knew exactly what Thulu and I
could do as far as our abilities were concerned. He was used to odd
requests from us. A huge chunk of cash certainly wasn’t the oddest
thing we’d asked for help with over the years. It was reassuring
when Evan had our backs, and his excellent reputation would make
explaining the situation a lot easier. I quickly gave him a rundown
of our case.

“Evan, is there a way to handle
that kind of money with as little attention and fuss as possible?”
I asked.

Evan asked me if Mr. Quinn would
consider using our family’s bank as he knew people there and could
get things handled with a minimum of attention. I relayed the
question.

Mr. Quinn thought for a moment.
“That will be fine. I’m not exactly attached to my bank
anyway.”

We made arrangements to meet Evan
twenty minutes later at the bank where all of our large family kept
our numerous accounts.

We helped Mr. Quinn get all of the
money into a few envelopes.

“Do the two of you mind helping me
lock up?” asked Mr. Quinn.

“We’re happy to,” I replied. I went
down a long hallway to secure the back door. It led to a
screened-in porch. Stepping out onto the porch, I saw a lovely
garden in the backyard. I didn’t take the time to admire it,
though. I made sure the porch door was latched, and bolted the back
door on my way back in.

I met the other two at the front
door, where the three of us donned our coats and made our way
outside. The sun was weak and did little to warm us up as we walked
to our car. Traffic was starting to get heavy as we drove to the
bank, which wasn’t very far, but we still made it there before Evan
did.

He arrived a few minutes after we
did and met us in the lobby. Thulu and I waited while Evan took Mr.
Quinn to see the bank manager.

I figured we’d be there a while, so
I made myself comfortable in the lobby. I pulled out my tablet and
read a book while we waited. Thulu watched the people coming and
going, something he liked to do. He found people interesting and
liked to guess about their lives. I humored him and played the
people game sometimes, but I wasn’t as fond of it as he was.

I hadn’t always been stand-offish.
Before my parents died, I was very outgoing. After the fiery crash
that killed them and their subsequent appearance to me at age ten,
I withdrew from people. The looks of pity from other kids when they
found out my folks were dead had only irritated me. I didn’t want
pity. I wanted my mom and dad back.