Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove (5 page)

They talked for several minutes before the man on the horse rode off disappearing in the darkness. The two on the ground passed insults before parting. Well that confirmed it. The guy on the horse was no ghost.

The faint glow attracted my attention again. That had to be the ghost, but why would a ghost spy on a couple of guys having an argument? This was just too weird for me so I did what any self-respecting sleuth would do: I headed for it.

“Mel,” hissed Greg.

“See that faint light up there?”

Greg nodded.

“That is the ghost, but I don’t think he’s cursed like the legend says.”

I continued running across the field. Greg chased after me annoyed at my lack of caution. I flew over the landscape with my boots crashing through the grass. Just I reached the ridge where the ghost was, the light vanished. Great. A shy ghost.

“Mel,” huffed Greg as he caught up.

“He vanished,” I said annoyed.

“Maybe you only thought you saw something.”

I glared at Greg, not that he could see me since it had gotten really dark.

“Mel!” hissed Jackie.

I whipped my head in her direction. She and Jack had apparently decided to explore the ridge. She pointed below us. I watched as the figure on the horse pranced about in a circle before riding off again. What was the deal with the black figure on the horse?

Jackie and Jack hurried over to Greg and I. “Did you see that?” asked Jackie. “I think you’re right. He’s no ghost.”

“Yeah, so why is he pretending to be one?” I asked. “Did you see a faint light around here?”

“Yeah,” said Jack, “That was weird.”

“I think that was the real ghost,” I replied, “and I think he was spying on the two guys that I saw talking to the man on the horse.”

“Now this is getting really strange,” said Jackie.

Strange was right. Mr. Kellmore stumbled upon something. “Jackie, I think we need to go to the flea market tomorrow,” I said, “And we need to know who Mr. Kellmore’s immediate relatives are.”

“Fine,” said Jack, “I‘ll look them up.”

That was a first. Jack never volunteered to help on a case before. He must have been just as interested in this as we were.

“It’s all settled,” said Greg, “I think we ought to go home.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said.

Grudgingly, I left the estate. I didn’t want to, but it was doubtful that I would find anything else that night. But that antique place at the flea market was next on my list of places to investigate.

Chapter 4

Groggily, I pushed the covers off of me the next morning to find Jackie’s face right in mine.

“AHHH!”

It startled me so much that I jumped out of bed screaming while Jackie just laughed uncontrollably.

“Your expression was priceless!” giggled Jackie.

“What do you want?” I groaned, not wanting to get up.

“You promised me a hot fudge sundae if I went with you to that creepy, old estate where the ghost that kills people lives.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“No. Now get up.” Jackie yanked the covers off of me revealing my striped pajamas.

“Fine. I’m up.” I guess turnabout was fair play considering I did this to her yesterday. I put on some capris and sandals with a tank top. One look outside told me that it was already miserably hot.

“Come on,” called Jackie from the door jingling her keys.

“You want a sundae for breakfast?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “It makes the rest of the day sweeter.”

I snatched my purse and followed her out the door. We took her car downtown to the local ice cream parlor. There was this locally owned place by a South Korean guy and his wife. Their son was away at college. They had the best ice cream. It was thick, creamy, and made from the best ingredients. No fillers. No preservatives.

They had the usual chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry; but there was also ginger spice, green tea, and Asian surprise. I have no idea what ingredients made up that last one, but it tasted really good.

So that is exactly where Jackie headed, her mouth drooling for creamy goodness. We got there just as the doors opened. The owner smiled at us in greeting. Jackie ordered her hot fudge sundae with extra fudge and a glass of water. I decided on the banana spilt with their ginger sauce and extra whipped cream. You can’t go wrong with whipped cream.

“So,” said Jackie as she dug into her ice cream, “what are you planning to do today since neither of us have to work?”

“I want to go to that flea market,” I said,

“I should have known. Though I can’t blame you. That pipe Mrs. Dayton gave us was odd.”

“An antique shop at a flea market just doesn’t seem right.”

“All right we’ll go,” said Jackie, “after I’m done enjoying my ice cream.”

“Whoa—Ho there’s a breakfast,” said Tiny as he and his pals walked in.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Oh, we love this place,” said Tiny. “Come here every Friday. I call it Sweet Friday.”

I chuckled inwardly.

Tiny and his friends placed their orders and sat with Jackie and me. We talked despite the fact that our mouths had gone numb from the ice cream. In about an hour we had finished and Jackie and I said good-bye to Tiny and everyone.

The flea market was in another part of town. The crowd that milled around the market area amazed me. I never knew that a flea market could be so popular. I guess people will brave heat just to find a bargain. Jackie parked the car and we entered the marketplace with the line of people. There were the usual quilt shops, books, cookware, knick knacks, a guy selling carved wooden furniture, and even one that sold cake mixes. The aroma of spicy food hit my nostrils. Sure enough, a man with a push cart cooked up a bunch of tamales and sold them at two dollars a piece. They smelled really good.

I steered Jackie over to the tamale cart. She didn’t argue. I knew her ice cream breakfast had worn off.

“How many?” asked the man with the cart.

“Two,” I said, pulling a five out of my wallet.

He took the money handing us our tamales and change. Oh, they tasted so good. My mouth watered the moment I bit into the mixture of meat and onions. Talk about yummy. Okay, so I was stuffing my face more than investigating.

We wandered around browsing the different shops and marveling at some of the items. For a flea market, it had some good stuff. I spotted the antique shop with its ornate sign and flood of people. Quickly, I nudged Jackie and pointed it out to her. We finished our tamales and walked over.

Surprisingly, we found all sorts of tables: coffee tables, end tables, even the kind that goes behind a couch. In another section were a bunch of fancy lamps that either used electricity or oil. They were really pretty and you could tell they had been hand painted. Quilts, blankets, chairs, even ancient looking pots and pans were there.

The ivory is what caught my attention. An entire section was devoted solely to figurines, pipes, boxes, and even candle holders. I spotted a pipe that looked exactly like the one Mrs. Dayton gave us.

“Jackie,” I said pointing it out to her.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the pipe. “Hey, that looks—”

“I know.”

I scanned the rest of the ivory items with others who were intently interested in them. A sign posted read “50% Off”. Odd, I thought. Why would anyone be selling genuine ivory at a flea market and at such bargain prices? It didn’t make sense.

“May I help you?”

A man with blond hair had walked up to us. “You own this place?” I asked.

“Yes, this is my establishment,” answered the man. “My name is Hal.”

“How did you come by all this stuff?” I asked with an innocent tone.

“That is quite a story,” said Hal, placing his arms around me and Jackie, “My great-grandmother passed and as her only living relative I inherited everything. It’s amazing what old people keep in their homes.

“Most of what you see here I got from her place. Bless her heart, that woman lived on a fair amount of property and she kept everything.”

“Wouldn’t you want to keep some of this stuff?” asked Jackie. “Some of this appears to be family heirlooms.”

“The more sentimental things I kept,” said Hal, “but I don’t have room for everything and in this economy I could use a little extra money, like everyone else.”

“How did you get all this ivory?” I asked, “Is it real?”

“Of course it’s real,” said Hal, indignantly.

“But it couldn’t have all come from your great-grandmother,” said Jackie.

“Well, no. Most of it did, but some of it is from others who, like me, need extra income. Besides selling my own items I also contract with people in the county who have inherited antiques they wish to sell. Most of the ivory is from that.”

“And it’s genuine?” Jackie asked.

“Yep,” answered Hal, “I’ve had them all appraised. You won’t find any fakes here.”

“This pipe is interesting,” I said, taking the pipe off of the shelf, “It looks exactly like one my friend bought yesterday.”

“That would be interesting,” said Hal, “but this pipe is one of a kind. Now I have some others which all look similar, but they have distinguishing characteristics that separate them. Perhaps your friend bought one of those.”

I studied the pipe. It was an exact replica, no doubt about it. “Perhaps,” I said. “But why would you sell ivory so cheap? You could make real money by selling to a rich collector.”

“I could,” replied Hal, “but why should I deny average folk a chance to own something rare and expensive? I have more than enough so I give these people a chance to own something that only the very wealthy could afford. And with the amount of stock I have, I’ll make more than enough to pay my bills.”

“Well, they sure are pretty,” I said. I hoped Hal didn’t think I was being too nosy. For all I knew, he may have thought these were real. Though if he did have them appraised, he would have learned they were fakes.

“Something doesn’t smell right,” Jackie whispered to me when Hal left. “That pipe is exactly like the one Mrs. Dayton gave us. I know it is.”

“Yeah,” I said.

I noticed a man staring at Jackie and I with an irate expression. I had never seen him before. The moment I turned in his direction, he ran.

“Jackie!”

I took off after the man pushing and shoving people out of my way with Jackie close behind. Many gave us odd and angry glances shouting a few rude remarks. I didn’t care. I wanted to know why that man was watching us. We reached the middle of the marketplace, but the stranger had gone. I scanned the crowds of people moseying about. Nothing.

“What is it?” asked Jackie, as she caught her breath.

“I saw a man spying on us.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. He was definitely watching us.”

“What did he look like?”

“Dark skin and hair. But who is he?”

“I think you stirred up something when we went out to that place.”

“I need to go back there.”

“Hold up,” Jackie grabbed my arm. “Three visits in two days is a bit much don’t you think?”

“But there is something going on out there, I can feel it. And that ghost. Why wouldn’t he talk to me?”

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” asked Jackie.

“What?”

“That a ghost ran away from you instead of talking to you.”

“Well, yeah.” Now that I thought about it, it did bother me. Confused me actually. Most ghosts are glad to speak to somebody who notices them. But this one galloped away on his horse. Didn’t fit the legend.

“Why don’t we hold off on visiting that spooky place,” said Jackie, “Besides, I want to know more about that pipe. We should take it to someone.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Let’s go get that pipe and take it to an antiques dealer.”

“And just where do we find one?” asked Jackie.

I knew exactly who to call. “Tiny?”

He answered on the first ring. “Oh, Mel!”

“I need to find an antiques dealer.”

“What for?”

“Someone gave me a pipe that they claim is made from real ivory, but I’m not so certain about it. Anyway, I just want to know if it is.”

“Sure, no problem. Meet me at 5
th
and Weston in half an hour.”

I hung up. “Let’s get that pipe and meet up with Tiny,” I said.

“As long as we get lunch along the way.”

I smiled at Jackie. Sometimes she had a one track mind.

We met Tiny at the appraiser’s place after grabbing the pipe. He stood next to his bike wearing sunglasses and waiting for us.

“Hey, Tiny,” I greeted as I strolled up the walk with Jackie.

“That the thing you want appraised?”

“Yes,” I said, handing over the pipe.

Tiny looked it over. “Well, this guy’s the best appraiser I know. But be careful. He’ll try to sell you something for sure.”