Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 01 - Haunted Hijinks (14 page)

“First, it’s not even open yet, and second, a haunting would be great for business. Some places rake in the bucks, and folks would line up for the opportunity to spend the night in a real haunted mansion.”

“I suppose, but I’m not so sure Sara would feel that way. Her father was murdered in that mansion, don’t forget.”

“True. Hey, was the male ghost you saw Herman Butler?”

“I don’t think so. The man I saw was dressed up in a tuxedo. It also looked like 30s era clothing. We really need to question Sara about the history of that mansion.”

“Well, ship builders originally had the mansion built. I suppose it could be anyone. Do you think that suitcase Peterson found belonged to Caroline?”

“I’m not sure, but last night that closet was filled with 30s clothing. I managed to hide one of the photos from Sheriff Peterson when that suitcase hit the floor. I kicked it underneath a chair in the drawing room.”

“Oh, smart move. Did you get a chance to get a good look at it?”

“No, but I hid it in my drawer. We can check it out later. After the night we had last night, it was the furthest thing from my mind.”

“True that. I can’t imagine what the Hill boys thought about seeing two old ladies wandering around the road wearing nightgowns in the middle of the night.”

“Not sure, but they seemed to recover quite nicely.”

I whipped the car around and went north on US 23, and it wasn’t long before I had completely forgotten about the construction project between Tawas and Oscoda. All I could think about, as I drove no faster than thirty, was how horrible the timing was since tourists rented cottages along this strip.

I came to a stop right in front of a construction worker who held a stop sign to halt our movement. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as Caroline appeared in the back seat. “It’s such an exciting day at the mansion,” she explained. “They’re decorating the place to a tee, and carloads of old people showed up to carve pumpkins.”

“Thanks for the visual,” I said.

Eleanor turned to look at me. “What visual?”

“Oh, Caroline popped back to tell us they’re decorating the mansion and carving pumpkins.”

“You must mean she came to tell
you
since I can’t hear or see the supposed ghost.”

I arched a brow. “Oh? You doubt my word that I can see a ghost then?”

“Maybe you can see a ghost or ghosts, but it’s just plain weird listening to you having an entire conversation with a ghost that is unseen by me.”

“I told you her name is Caroline.”

“I really think you should go in for a checkup. You might have hit your head harder than we all think.”

“Are you saying that because you’re mad or because I can see someone you can’t?”

“I’m not mad. I’m concerned. Who is this Caroline and what does she want?”

“We’re trying to figure out who she is, remember?”

“What has she told you?”

Caroline just shook her head and faded away, thankfully, since I really would rather she not be here right now.

“I think she wants to help us with our investigations—kinda like a silent partner,” I said.

“Agnes Barton, have you lost your mind? She’s silent, all right, like non-existent. Besides, how can she help us since she’s basically invisible to everyone except you?”

“Well, she opened the French doors the first time at the Butler Mansion, and possibly the second, although I doubt that since I believe someone might have already accessed the mansion.”

“That day we found the suitcase in that bedroom with the letters?”

“Exactly.”

“They might have been there before, too. Like the day we found Katherine’s body.”

“Are you suggesting that whoever murdered Katherine might have been lurking in the secret passageway while the police were there?”

“Yes, and returned after we left that day, or at least returned the next day we found the suitcase.”

“I suppose it sounds reasonable to think that someone took that suitcase after we found it that day, taking it before we were able to show it to the sheriff, which means someone was for
sure
lurking in that passageway or mansion about the same time we were there.”

“Yes, and it could be whoever murdered Katherine.”

“If she was murdered at all, Eleanor. We really need to find out what the cause of death really is.”

“If she wasn’t murdered, then we have an even bigger mystery.”

“True, and if someone came back to the mansion there’s only one reason for that—they’re looking for the money.”

“What money?”

“The money she swindled from Jack and Elsie.”

“First, we need to establish if Jack and Elsie had an alibi for the time of Katherine’s death.”

I stepped on the gas, proceeding slowly as our lane had the slow sign now. It was a beautiful day with glimpses of Lake Huron from between cabins.

“If Martha can’t find out how Katherine died, I’m going to ask Trooper Sales. I’d hate to do it, but he’s married into my family. There has to be some fringe benefit for allowing Bill to date and marry Sophia.”

Eleanor chuckled. “I hardly think it was under your control, Agnes. Sophia’s a headstrong woman with her own mind.”

“Believe me, I know.” I recalled all too well how upset I had been at the time, but you can’t stop true love. Even though there was an age difference between Sophia and Trooper Sales, their relationship has worked out just fine. They now have a bouncing baby girl to dote on and later chase the men away when she reaches dating age. I sure hoped I would still be alive to see that happen firsthand.

* * *

When we finally were free of the construction zone, I made way for Oscoda, making the turn onto Evergreen. The address led to the downtown area and as I rolled up to the white-sided house with a white picket fence, I couldn’t help but notice it had New England style charm. You just don’t see many homes that look like this in our neck of the woods.

I parked along the street and Eleanor and I waltzed to the door, pushing the doorbell. I body-blocked Eleanor so she couldn’t keep pushing the doorbell as she had a wont to do.

When the door was answered by a woman ten years my junior, around sixty, I introduced ourselves. “Hello, are you Connie Mathews?”

She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Agnes Barton and this is—”

“Why on earth didn’t you say so? Come in, come in,” she said as she ushered us inside.

“I’m Eleanor Mason,” El said.

“Of course you are. I’ve heard the two of you are legends around the East Tawas area.”

“Not sure about that, but I guess we do okay.”

“Outstanding sleuths, from the sounds of it.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “But we’re humble. Is it true you actually worked for the sheriff’s department?”

“Sure is, and believe me, it wasn’t easy all those years. Two Sheriff Petersons—who knew?”

“So who did you like better, Hal or Clem Peterson?”

“Well, I had barely seen much of Hal. He had retired before I came to work there.”

“I see. Well, I heard you’re quite the history buff,” I said, trying to stall since I hadn’t a clue how to ask Connie if she had a basement full of old newspapers.”

“Spit it out, old girl. I’d be honored if I could help you two out.”

“Newspapers,” Eleanor said. “We heard you collect old newspapers.”

Connie’s face lit up. “I sure do. Follow me and I’ll show you my collection.”

She led the way across her wood floors and stopped at a white door, pulling a skeleton key from around her neck that was on a chain. Connie clattered the key in the lock until it snapped open. “Watch your steps, ladies.”

I took a tight hold of the handrail and descended the rickety steps, reminding Eleanor to be extra careful. Connie flicked the lights on and my mouth flew open, a fist finding its way inside. All along the walls were newspaper clippings and mug shots.

“Wow, you’re a real crackpot,” Eleanor blurted out.

“What my partner means is that you have quite the collection. Are these unsolved cases?”

“Yup. Most of them are quite old since Iosco County is relatively safe these days, but you’d be surprised how many unsolved cases there really are.”

Dead center was a newspaper article by the Iosco County Herald, with a story about Sheriff Charles C. Miller who lost his life in the line of duty, July first, 1934.

“I had no idea an Iosco County sheriff lost his life. How awful,” I said.

“Yes, it was quite awful, but that was way before my time.”

“Then why hang it here? It reads that they found the culprit.”

“Yes, but it’s a very historic event.”

“True.” I stared at the other newspaper articles with photos of both men and women. “Not many murders here.”

“No, but there are a variety of crimes, including the murder of the Robinson’s.”

“That case was solved,” I said.

“By us,” El added. “It turned out to be—”

“We’re here to find out what you might have about a possibly murdered or missing woman by the name of Caroline.”

Connie rocked back on her heels. “I see.” She stared at the photos on the wall, but then went to a stack of tubs piled four tall, each labeled with years. “What year are we talking here?”

“1930.”

Connie picked up a tub and set it down on a table in the far corner. “You can start there, but if it was any unsolved crime, I’d have the article on the wall.”

I opened the tub and wrinkled my nose. I lifted each newspaper out and Eleanor cocked a brow at me. Each was covered with tight-fitting plastic as a way to preserve the brown paper. After all, 1930 was a long time ago.

Eleanor chuckled. “Looks like we’ll be here all day.”

I grimaced, as that was so
not
what I wanted to hear. “Keep looking, Eleanor.”

I lifted newspaper after newspaper from the box, searching each of them. When I had taken them all out and scanned each of them, I loaded them back in, and moved the tub to the floor.

Right on cue, another tub quickly took its place by the diligent Connie. “I told you it wouldn’t be easy.”

“More like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Eleanor said.

I again took the pains to remove the newspapers while Eleanor read them with a tilt of her head since she wore bifocals and the poor dear didn’t have sense enough to look through her glasses the right way. The problem with that was your eyes only got worse.

Connie disappeared and returned with a pot of hot water and empty cups, tea bags displayed prominently on the tray. We continued to work as the cups were filled and Eleanor assisted by dunking tea bags into the hot water.

When I finished the tub, Connie piled the newspapers back inside, bringing a new tub. “Enjoy your tea, Agnes. You girls sure are determined.”

I took a sip of my tea and grimaced. “What on earth, Eleanor?”

“What?” she asked in innocence. “It’s green tea, a great anti-oxidant.”

I made another face. “Why is it that everything good for you has to taste so bad?”

“Beats me, Aggie, but at our age, we need to at least try to be healthier, and that means making better food choices,” Eleanor insisted.

I had to laugh at that. “You mean like eating at the KFC?”

“Yes, but if we don’t go there, how else will we get our tidbits of information from Ella?”

I drained the last of my tea and said, “I guess we’ll never have that problem since we’ll still be regulars there.” Actually, from my last recollect, Ella had spilled the beans about where we were going to the other seniors we know. Sometimes it would be nice if we could make our rounds before having our friends show up so unexpectedly.

I went back to sorting through more newspapers, until finally Eleanor held up a newspaper like it was a golden ticket to the Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. “I found something of interest.”

“Not more rummage sales ads or bake sale announcements, I hope.”

“Nope,” she said, handing me the paper. “It’s a hit and run.”

I grabbed the paper, my hands shaking now as I read out loud, “A woman in her early 30s was run down while crossing US 23, and heading toward the pier. Her name was Caroline Bellows.” I waited for a moment to compose myself before I continued, “It says the woman was found sprawled out in the middle of the road.”

“Was the light red when she crossed?” Eleanor asked.

“I’m not sure. It doesn’t say, but I’m also not so sure they had traffic lights here back then.”

Caroline appeared behind Eleanor and smiled sadly. Instead of looking black and white, she had more color to her. I could see her silver headband, green dress and pearls that were dangling around her neck.

“It was late that day and I never saw the car coming,” Caroline said.

“Can you give us a few moments, Connie?” I said, wanting to get rid of her so I could speak with Caroline privately.

“Caroline’s here now,” I whispered to Eleanor.

 “I’ll let you speak privately to her then since you can hear her and I can’t,” Eleanor said sadly.

Caroline laughed, the sound echoing in the basement. Eleanor clutched my arm tightly, “I think I can s-see dead people, too.”

“Oh, poo,” Caroline said. “You can see me because I want you to.”

Eleanor trembled. “Why? I don’t think I want to see any gh-ghosts.”

“I can’t imagine most people really want to see an actual ghost. Of course, at first they act like they want to, until one shows up.”

“I don’t have a problem with Agnes seeing a ghost.”

“That’s not what you said in the car earlier, but don’t worry, Eleanor, I don’t want to take your place, silly heart. We all need to work as a team. Now that you have figured out how I died, if you two put your heads together, you can figure out why I’m still here. Why I never moved on.”

“What do you remember about that day?”

“Just that I was in a hurry, but I can’t remember why.”

“So you never saw the car?” Eleanor asked.

“Nope. All I know is the car was traveling fast, and when it struck me, everything went black. I must have been killed instantly.”

“That’s what it says in the paper,” Agnes said. “Perhaps you died so suddenly that you never realized it.”