Ghosts Beneath Us: A Third Spookie Town Murder Mystery (Spookie Town Murder Mysteries Book 3) (18 page)

Frank left Martha’s office and walked towards the bakery a couple of block away.

A giant furry Easter bunny strode past him and waved a furry paw at him. It had a pink body and a white stomach, long floppy ears, two human eyes and a huge beribboned Easter basket full of candy. Its gait was an energetic bounce.

“Hi there John Cranston!” Frank bellowed and gave the rabbit a salute.

The hare halted in its tracks. “Hi Frank. How did you know it was me beneath this disguise?”

“Because every year around this time you don that same costume and entertain the kids at the library when the librarian reads Peter Cottontail and other Easter stories. I’d know that pair of long ears and cotton tail anywhere.”

The rabbit laughed. “And that’s exactly where I’m going now…to the library. It’s storytelling day and the children are expecting me–and the goodies in this basket. See you later.” Its big furry paw dipped into the basket and handed Frank a paw full of jelly beans. “Happy Easter, neighbor.” And the fake bunny hopped away from him.

“Thanks,” Frank’s voice chased the bunny. He dropped a few of the jelly beans into his mouth and kept walking.

He was looking in the windows of the book store, eating the jelly beans, admiring the Easter display and thinking about how much fun Easter would be the following weekend with Abigail, Laura and Nick. They’d made baskets for both of the children.

Laura claimed she was too old for a basket but Abigail was going to give her one anyway because she and Nick hadn’t had many baskets as kids. Their family had been too poor. Yet the baskets wouldn’t only be filled with candy. Nick’s would have miniature toys and puzzles in it and Laura’s basket would hold a golden bracelet and necklace among the Easter candy and the biggest chocolate bunnies they could find. On Sunday Abigail was baking a ham and he was making the side dishes. It was going to be a great Easter.

Standing there looking at the books through the window and thinking that in about six months another one of his murder mysteries would be prominently displayed among them, he was taken by surprise. He could have sworn he’d seen someone mirrored in the window’s glass.

It looked like Alfred.

So Alfred was here in town and doing one of his lurking around excursions. He wasn’t missing at all.

Frank experienced a sense of relief until he spun around…and no one was there. The space behind him was empty, yet he could have sworn he’d seen someone. It’d been a man in drab clothes similar to what Alfred had been wearing when he’d seen him last. But there was no one there.

Frank was moving away when he caught the image again out of the corner of his eye. He examined the murky figure, but this time didn’t take his eyes off the refection in the glass.

“Alfred?” Frank whispered.

The reflection wavered and spoke, “
You’re looking in the wrong place, Frank. It’s the land they want. The land. More are going to disappear, to die, before they get all they want. Warn them before it’s too late. Warn them!
”

“Warn who?”

“
The others.
”

“What others? Warn them of what?”

“
No is not enough.
”

“Not enough of what? What others? Alfred, what are you trying to tell me–” Frank swung around to face him but, once more, the space behind and around him was vacant. That Alfred and his games. Popping up and popping out like that. Frank didn’t find them funny at all, not after the missing persons and deaths they’d already had.

“Alfred? Was that you? Alfred? This isn’t funny. Come back! Show yourself. Who am I supposed to warn and about what?”

No one answered and no one reappeared to him as he glared into the glass.

Had that even been Alfred? He wasn’t sure. It had looked like the old man, but then it could have been anyone it’d been so blurry. Perhaps it’d only been his imagination or wishful thinking. He’d really liked the old derelict when he’d met him at his house, felt an instant bond with the veteran as if he’d known him better than he had, and he wanted to believe he was somewhere. Somewhere alive and not dead like Beatrice, Clementine and, most likely, Tina. Was it lack of sleep? Had he imagined it? That was it. Not enough sleep.

Perplexed and shaking his head, his hand clutching the bag with the food, he continued his journey to the donut shop. He couldn’t wait to see Abigail and tell her what he’d learned from Martha and what he had thought he’d just seen in the window. Could be she’d have an explanation for it because he sure didn’t. Unless he was finally losing the last of his sanity and seeing apparitions like Myrtle? No, he was simply tired and worried, that’s all. Just tired and worried.

*****

“This place is coming along beautifully.” Frank had entered The Delicious Circle bakery, hugged Abigail, and looked around. “It’s going to be a perfect place to savor coffee, devour donuts and coffee klatch.”

“Coffee klatch? I haven’t heard that term in ages.” Kate had been weeping. Her face was puffy and her smile forced. “Hopefully you’re right, though. It’d be good if this was a place people could come to socialize as well as buy my donuts. My mother was so proud I was opening a business here in town. She loved Spookie and its quaint shops, or she did when she was well enough to come into town.” The tears escaped and trickled down her face before she could say another word.

Abigail laid a hand comfortingly on the woman’s shoulder. “There, there, let it out. You’ll feel better.” The look she gave Frank said it all. It’d been a tough day.

“Hey, you two, since you didn’t make it to our supper date, I brought the supper to you. Stella’s famous meatloaf and potato salad. And I brought coffee.” Frank laid the white boxes on the counter. He really felt sorry for Kate. It was heart-wrenching to lose a parent and the heart grieved for each one in its own way; nothing anyone could say could ease the pain. Time was all that helped, and often even time wasn’t enough.

“That was sweet of you. You and Abigail have been so kind to me, I don’t know what to say.” Kate smiled at them. “But I have plenty of coffee.” She nodded her head to the brand new coffee machine on the shiny new counter. “I had the machines put in yesterday. I couldn’t go one more day without coffee here.” Another tentative smile.

“Well, sit down and eat,” Frank urged the women, “while the meatloaf is still warm.”

“I’ll get us some napkins.” Kate went off to get them.

“Abby,” Frank confessed, “I just had something weird happen to me. I thought I saw Alfred out there on the street, saw his reflection in a shop window, but when I turned around there was no one there. It was sort of…unnerving. The figure spoke to me before it disappeared.”

“Now that is weird, Frank. I saw something like that, too, the other day. I glimpsed a reflection, in a window, that wasn’t there when I looked behind me. And it was a man as well, I think. But the features were hard to make out it was so indistinct. I couldn’t tell who it was.”

“Did it speak to you?”

“No it didn’t. It appeared, I saw it, and it simply vanished. I thought I’d been working too hard or something and had imagined it.”

“Same here. I chalked it up to worry and exhaustion.”

“Well, what did it say to you?”

He told her.

“
Warn the others, huh? No isn’t enough
,” she let the phrases roll slowly off her tongue. “Hmm…that’s cryptic all right.”

“What do you think those words meant?”

“I’m not sure. You’re the writer. Words are your thing, right? What do you think they meant?”

“I’m not sure, either, but I’m thinking about it.”

“I know,” Abigail spoke hesitantly and he could almost hear her mind working as she mulled the ambiguities over. “Perhaps you’re supposed to
warn
the other home owners in the area where our victims lived…and the part about
the land
and
no isn’t enough
? That could mean the people who don’t want to sell their homes or land, their saying no to selling isn’t enough and it could put them in danger? Something like that?”

Frank’s head nodded. “I think you might be right. The man in the glass, and I still think it was Alfred playing tricks on me and he’s in town somewhere chuckling it up over it, was telling me to warn the home owners in Beatrice and Clementine’s neighborhood that they might be in
danger
if they
don’t
sell and to be careful. That could be it. So what are we going to do about it?”

“Warn them,” Abigail supplied for him.

Their eyes met and Frank sighed. “That’ll be fun, won’t it? Sell your house, you old ones, because some man in a window glass said you’ll be in danger if you don’t. They’ll all think we are bonkers.”

“Maybe we are. We did both see him. And if it was Alfred, why would he be playing games with both of us like that? Appearing and disappearing like a demented magician, unless he, as Clementine, isn’t in his right mind. Maybe he has a touch of Alzheimer’s, too?”

“You know that’s entirely possible, but I don’t think so. He was a little unbalanced, all right, but not totally unbalanced.” Frank fell silent for a moment, thinking. “Oh, I didn’t tell you I ran into Martha at Stella’s and she revealed something else of interest. Some shadowy entity, a company with very deep pockets, wants to buy up the land for some unknown reason our old people live on. Martha and her realtor friends don’t know why but there is a lot of speculation on it.”

“Ah, perhaps there is our connection–and the mystery deepens,” Abigail imparted as Kate returned with the napkins.   

The three talked of other subjects less distressing as the women ate their food. Kate was distraught enough over her mother’s death and they were careful of what they spoke of. They tried to keep the topics on happier things, like when the bakery was going to open and how nice it already looked. They wanted to cheer her up, not make her feel worse.

Making jovial chitchat wasn’t easy because Frank had other things on his mind.

After lunch he drove Abby home. The women had been in Kate’s car and Kate had decided to sleep over at the bakery. She had more work she had to do. Frank thought she was afraid to step through the door of her mother’s house that night after all that had happened. He didn’t blame her.

On the way to Abby’s he had the feeling more than once that someone was following them, which in his experience wasn’t a good sign. Not a good sign at all. So he speeded up.

Chapter 8

Kate

It was odd being in her mother’s house without her mother. Kate lingered in the open doorway, hand on the knob, and surveyed the yard. The grass needed cutting because it was tall and full of weeds and dandelions. It’d be the first cut of the year. She’d have to haul the mower out, get it running, and cut it. If she waited much longer the mower wouldn’t stand a chance. The rusty blades would choke on the thick grass. But it had begun to rain…so she’d cut the grass tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.

It was Easter morning and a light rain moved around on a gentle wind. It was warm, though; not chilly like the last two days had been. In her mother’s house she hadn’t needed the furnace on for the first time. At night the small gas fireplace in the living room, flames down low, had been enough.

Her eyes gathered in the wet world outside. The yard, the bushes and trees just beginning to bloom and the gray sky dampened her spirits even more. Oh, how she wished the sun would come out and shine away her misery. Sunlight always cheered her up and she needed cheering up something awful. She was so damn sad and she wondered how long she’d feel this way. Possibly she’d never be happy again.

Her mother was two days in her grave and Kate was relieved the funeral was over and behind her but, oh, how she missed her. With one last deep breathe of the spring air, she shut the door and went back inside. She looked around at the stacks of dusty books, grimy ceramic and glass collectibles, nicked furniture, dirty floors and curtains. She’d have to buckle down and give everything in the house a good scrubbing. Her mother had let it fall into disrepair and filth the last couple years. It wasn’t her mother’s fault because she’d been ill. But now, now she had to take better care of it. Now it was her home.

Yet for today she’d only do a basic cleaning, the real work would have to wait until The Delicious Circle was finished and bringing in customers. She still had to open at the end of May. Now without her mother’s social security check every month the house’s expenses were also on her shoulders, and extras for the funeral had taken more of her savings. She’d had to buy funeral flowers and food for the guests. More people, mostly townies, than she had planned on had showed up at the house afterwards to show their respect for a dead neighbor. Of course Frank, Myrtle, Abigail and the kids had been there. It had touched Kate, their caring. And they’d brought so much food. Silly her. She hadn’t even needed the food she’d provided. At least now her freezer and refrigerator were full. She wouldn’t have to go grocery shopping for a month.

She’d moved into the house after the funeral. Someone had to live in it and protect it. It had to be her. She’d made the decision, too, that the loft above her bakery could be better used for baking supplies instead of her living quarters or eventually she could expand it into another section of the shop. It’d hold four or five tables. More space for her business couldn’t be bad.

She spent the day cleaning and arranging the house to be more her home. She cried often when some item or memory triggered her mother’s presence. To her, in every corner of the house, there were ghosts. She saw her mother everywhere. The way she’d looked when she was young, with her long crimson hair and flashing jade eyes, and when she was older with her slumped shoulders and wrinkled face. Her enigmatic smile. And from many years past she sometimes glimpsed her brother, Jason, or her sisters, Irene and Jessica, and their father, hiding in the shadows of the rooms; or heard their faint voices and laughter. They were all as young as when they’d died. Their paler ghosts roamed the rooms as much as her mother’s. Kate was the last one left. She felt so alone. A ghost among ghosts.