The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) (18 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The gravel on her window at two-fourteen in the morning woke—but didn’t surprise—her. She pulled on the jeans she’d worn the day before and tugged a sweatshirt over her head.

“Why do you do bother with the gravel when you’ve got a key?” she demanded as Sam materialized from the shadows of the porte-cochere.

“It’s romantic, don’t you think, remembering our first encounter?”

“It blessed is not, and why would I want to remember…”

He pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. “You all right, Nell?”

“Now that you ask, no. If looks could’ve killed me this afternoon, between you and Bradley I’d be dead twice over.”

His lips cut her off again. Then he said, “It was a stupid thing to do.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

“I’ll let your son do that. Come take a walk with me.”

“It’s two-blessed-thirty in the morning!”

“Past the witching hour, so you’re safe.”

“Not with you, I’m not.” She stepped back and looked him in the eye. “Unless you’re going to tell me what all that was about out at the old school this afternoon.”

He folded her hand in his. “Let’s go.”

****

Why am I going with him? I did it before and nearly got myself killed, and this time I may very well succeed. We’re going to the old school. I know it. Back to the scene of the crime, just like that night at Pembroke Point.  Is he going to show me a stack of bodies in the basement? I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Got your key?”

Relief swept Penelope. “I blessed do not, so let’s go home.”

In the glow of the street light, she watched the familiar grin spread over his face. “Never mind. I’ve got one.”

“Who did you steal it from?”

“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it and had a duplicate made.”

“You stole my key! You…you…”

He laughed. “Stop babbling, Nell.” He pulled her along with him to the back door from the playground to the storage space with the key-hole. When they were inside, he pulled the shades and turned on the light. “Now—that’s better.”

“I hope Parnell’s on patrol tonight. He’ll see the light, and I’ll tell him you kidnapped me, and…”

Sam put his hand over her mouth, then replaced it with his lips. “Shut up, Nell.”

“Why did you bring me here, of all places?”

“Oh, I thought we might have a midnight drink with old Jeremiah and Jessie Ruth.”

“If you knew…”

“I know you did something really dangerous this afternoon.”

“I thought I was by myself.”

“You weren’t.”

“So go ahead and chew me out.”

“I think that’s been done already.” He gathered her hands in his. “It was just lucky I saw you park at the curb and followed you when you got out.”

“Why?”

“If you have to ask, you don’t need to know.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her closer. “Nothing was supposed to come down until tonight.”

“Tonight.”

He nodded.

“So it’s all over.”

“You could say that.”

“So you got Lewis Collier and Chuck Runyon? They’re locked up?”

“I expect Chuck is locked up at Pembroke Point wondering exactly what happened this afternoon and having a drink to calm his nerves.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Let’s just say he accepted my invitation to leave in a hurry and forget he was ever there.”

“But what was he doing there?” Penelope put her hands on Sam’s face and held on.

“He did some research of his own, put two and two together, and came up with four. But he forgot to figure in that the pros play for keeps. All he wanted to do was redeem himself. He’d mentioned the Bancrofts somewhere within Marlo’s hearing--either on New Year’s Eve or when she opened The Swan--and she’d asked to see them, and he let her.”

“Without Bradley’s permission.”

“Which is why he felt so responsible when they were stolen. Anyway, he suspected her from the first, but he was afraid to say anything, afraid he’d be considered an accessory. So he started sleuthing on his own, always a dangerous thing to do.”

“He figured out
Marlo and Lewis Collier were stealing art? Did they take the Bancrofts?”

“Oh, yes.”

“So he thought if he could get them back, he’d redeem himself.”

Sam laughed. “You’ll read it all in the
Bugle
next week. Now it’s your turn. You went to the archives, didn’t you?”

“Do you know what I found
there?”

“No, but I’d like to. Are you going to tell me?” He slid down the wall to the floor and pulled her down beside him. “I’m guessing, from the look on your face, you didn’t like whatever it was you turned up.”

“I sure didn’t.”

“I’m listening.”

“The year before he died, Edgar Ragsdale donated his journals and photographic plates to the historical commission. I guess he wanted to set the record straight or clear his conscience or something, I don’t really know.”

“So did he?”

“He kept his journals from the time he came to Amaryllis until about 1930. He was from Minnesota, too young to have fought in the Civil War, but Jeremiah Bowden still considered him a you-know-what Yankee.”

Sam chuckled. “I know what.”

“Anyway, it was love at first sight with Daisy Bowden. He was thirty, and she was close to it. Jeremiah threatened to kill both of them if they even looked at each other.”

“But they did.”

“Apparently they carried on a secret courtship until she married Vincent Ives.”

“So she broke it off with Ragsdale?”

“No—she married Vincent Ives because she was pregnant with Jessie Ruth. Jeremiah engineered the whole thing to save the Bowden name. As town founder and its chief mover and shaker, he couldn’t afford a scandal.”

“The plot thickens.”

“To the consistency of glue. Apparently Ives always suspected Jessie Ruth wasn’t his, and Daisy kept slipping around with Ragsdale. Finally, the two of them decided to run off.”

“They should’ve done that to begin with.”

“Uh-huh, well, they didn’t. So anyway, Jeremiah got wind of the plan, and he told Vincent Ives and said he should threaten to leave and take Jessie Ruth with him—which would make Daisy straighten up and fly right. The problem was, though Vincent didn’t mind leaving. Apparently Daisy made life miserable for him, and he didn’t want a child who didn’t belong to him. So he bought his train ticket, checked his bag, and came out to the house to tell Daisy he was going.”

“The gentlemanly thing to do, I’m sure.”

“Anyway, Jeremiah showed up, and things got a little heated.”

“And Jeremiah killed Ives for double-crossing him,” Sam said.

“No, he didn’t. Ives told him off. Said he shouldn’t have interfered with Daisy and Edgar to begin with and he should leave well enough alone now.”

“So who killed Ives?”

“Edgar Ragsdale.”

“Ragsdale killed him? After Ives defended him?”

“Well, Jeremiah stormed off, swearing he’d see all of them dead, and Ives seemed
to believe he meant to make good on his threat. He told Daisy to pack up Jessie Ruth and come with him that night, and he’d see to it she could connect with Ragsdale later if not sooner. Then Ragsdale showed up at the house to see why Daisy hadn’t met him at their usual trysting place, which was in his studio of all things. He overheard the conversation and thought Ives was trying to make off with Daisy. So he grabbed a coal shovel standing outside the door of the house—that’s the Sit-n-Swill to you—and bashed Ives’ head in.”

“Ouch.”

“So then he and Daisy managed to drag the man’s body to the school, so he could bury it in the basement. After Daisy left, he stripped Ives of most of his clothes, carried them back to the house, and put them under those stones in the hearth.”

“Did Jessie Ruth see what happened?”

“That was the awful part. She saw and heard too much, although they didn’t realize it until she cried and cried about somebody hurting the man she called daddy. Edgar and Daisy were so overcome with guilt at what had happened that they stopped seeing each other. Jeremiah’s threats might’ve had something to do with it, too. Daisy kept on teaching, but according to what Edgar wrote, she was never the same.”

“So how did Jessie Ruth find out that her father was Edgar Ragsdale and not Vincent Ives?”

“A year later, Vincent Ives’ sister showed up in Amaryllis. His baggage had come home without him, and she’d finally decided to find out why. She stayed long enough to hear the gossip about Ragsdale and Daisy, and she got Jessie Ruth off by herself and started asking questions. Jessie Ruth remembered what she’d seen, even though she didn’t understand, but she told Ives’ sister, and the sister confronted Daisy, who of course denied everything.”

“Well, of course, she did.”

“That’s when she tried to burn Ives’ personal effects stuffed into the hearth and caught the house on fire in the process. Years later, Jessie Ruth was talking to her mother about the fire, and Daisy let something slip. It all clicked in Jessie Ruth’s mind, but Daisy said she’d be considered just as guilty as Ragsdale if Jessie Ruth ever told anyone.”

“So she didn’t.”

“No, but she went up to Ragsdale’s studio and told him she just wanted to get eye to eye with the man who murdered the only father she’d ever known and ruined her mother’s life. They never spoke again.”

“But he left everything to her.”

“Out of guilt, I guess. She never even used any of the money to put up a marker for him at the cemetery.”

“That’s some story.”

“What do I do with it, Sam? Why ruin reputations after all these years? The Bowdens made this town, and Edgar Ragsdale recorded its history in pictures. Harry wants to start a museum on the second floor of this place. Build it around Ragsdale’s pictures, and now we have his cameras, too.”

“I like that idea.”

“I did, but I’m not so sure now.”

Sam leaned his head back against the wall. “The fireplace kept its secret all these years. So did the basement.” He stifled a smile. “With a little help from Jeremiah and Jessie Ruth.”

“Hush!”

He held her against him. “I’m joking.”

“Maybe not.  Daddy said everyone always swore Jeremiah Bowden haunted that basement, and I watched Tabby talking to Jessie Ruth.”

“Did you see Jessie Ruth?”

“You know I didn’t, but Tabby did.” Penelope shivered. “I don’t believe in ghosts. I just blessed don’t, but I know what I saw.”

“I don’t believe in a lot of things, but I’m not foolish enough to say they don’t exist.”

“So you don’t know everything.”

“Not by a long shot.”

“Tabby described Jessie Ruth right down to her high-button shoes.”

Sam nodded. “Maybe Jessie Rut
h has been guarding Vincent’s grave all these years.”

“I hope she’s gone for good.”

“Some spirits are stubborn.”

“So you do believe in ghosts?”

“Look, Nell, I think what Harry Hargrove wants to do, preserve the history of the town and all, is great. I hope you and Mrs. Hargrove will support him. Nobody has to know what you found out at the archives. I doubt anyone else will go looking for information about Edgar Ragsdale anyway.”

“Maybe not. I wouldn’t mind finishing th
is place if I could be sure nobody was going to bother us again. Nobody dead
or
alive.”

“I can’t tell you it won’t happen, but I have a feeling you’re home free.” He got up, pulling her after him. “I have a good feeling about this place, Nell. I found the second basement and the trip wire weeks ago, so I knew the paintings were there.”

“Did Bradley know?”

Sam smiled. “I’m not speaking for him.”

“Did Lewis Collier kill Marlo?”

Sa
m shrugged. “Let’s just say she made the mistake of trying to double-cross him.”

“And the books?”

He sighed. “It’s all going to come out, so I’ll go ahead and tell you that Lewis learned his thieving ways from his uncle J. Compton. There were codes in the books telling which paintings went where and for how much, and Lewis had added the ones he was moving. I’m not sure yet how Marlo got hold of them, but they were her insurance policy that Lewis Collier wouldn’t stiff her.”

“So when
Marlo gave the books to the library…” Penelope interrupted.

“Bingo. Of course, I imagine she planned to retrieve them later—for a price.”

“She paid the price, didn’t she? She paid with her life.”

Sam nodded.

“What about Jessie Ruth? Was she involved in art theft, too? Lewis Collier said she wasn’t.”

“Who knows? I’m sure she told Lewis about the second basement and how she’d fixed the door.”