Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove (10 page)

“Are you serious?” I asked. “You do realize what you are suggesting.”

“Perfectly,” said Stacy, “but you’re right that my father’s death was odd and I want to know what really happened. Just do me a favor. While you’re there, check on my mother. I’d like to know how she’s doing and if she is being taken care of.”

“Sure thing,” I said. “Stacy, when I told you about seeing that man on the horse you didn’t argue. In fact, you seemed as though you knew what I was talking about.”

“Yeah about that,” said Stacy, “Well, you’ve undoubtedly heard the legend of Smiley’s Ghost.”

“Yes,” Jackie and Greg leaned in.

“Back in the 1680s all this used to be part of his estate. He comes up here every now and then.”

“You’ve seen him,” I said. “but you’re not afraid of him. Your father claimed to have seen him and was terrified that he would die like the legend says.”

“Joseph is harmless,” said Stacy, “I see him from time to time and just smile and wave. What my father saw was a man cloaked in black on a horse. That man charged him. Nearly took his head off.”

“Do you know who it is?” I asked.

“No,” said Stacy, “but he showed up around the time my father purchased the property. There’s some strange things going on down there.”

“Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time,” I said, “and we must get going.”

We thanked Stacy and left making our way easily to my car. As I drove back to the road, I kept my foot steady on the accelerator making certain not to jostle Jackie and Greg around. I spent my time trying to figure out how I was going to disguise myself as a caterer when Jackie beat me to it.

“All right, I’ll do it,” she said.

“What?”

“I’ll go with you to the Kellmore house dressed as a caterer.”

“Jackie, what—”

“I know you, Mel. Right now you are probably cooking up a way to get in there.”

“Now wait a minute,” said Greg, “you’re not going there without me.”

“But how are we going to get three uniforms from that catering service?” I asked.

“I hear tell that Tiny knows someone with sticky fingers,” said Greg.

I smiled. Guess I was going to owe Tiny another favor.

Chapter 8

A knock on my front door woke me up. Who would be knocking at this hour? Suddenly I bolted upright remembering that I had called Tiny asking him to get me three uniforms from the Winebridge Catering Service.

I threw the covers off while hastily pulling on my robe and running to the door. “Hey,” I said, breathlessly.

“Sleep in?” said Tiny.

“Sorry,” I apologized.

Tiny walked in with Elise and three uniforms.

Just then Greg stepped out his door and walked over into my apartment. “Where’s Jackie?” he asked.

I hurried to Jackie’s bedroom door and opened it. “Jackie, they’re here.”

“What?” She sat up, her hair all tangled—the first time I’d ever seen it like that.

“They’re here with the uniforms,” I said.

“Oh!” Jackie leapt out of bed straightening her hair quickly.

We ran back to the living room.

“Here,” said Tiny handing the uniforms to me. “Hope they fit.”

“How did you get these?” asked Greg.

“You’re better off not knowing,” said Elise.

“Thanks, Tiny,” I said.

“Yeah, well, don’t get into too much trouble,” said Tiny.

“I won’t.”

Tiny gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me. He knew me well enough to know that trouble seems to follow or catch up with me at some point. I said good-bye to him while Jackie and Greg changed.

We took Greg’s car this time; neither Jackie nor Greg wanted me to drive. I didn’t mind. Besides, his car was a little less recognizable than mine.

Stacy wasn’t lying when she said that her father had a nice size home. It had three floors and an attic with an ornate, Victorian look about it with a mixture of brick and brown siding. Huge bay windows lined every floor.

“Park over there,” I told Greg when I spotted the catering van. He did.

“Mel,” said Jackie, “how are we to interview the family while pretending to be caterers?”

A valid question that I hadn’t thought about. “Just serve the food and do as the head caterer tells you. Listen to the conversations.”

“But—”

“People tend to talk freely around servants,” I said, “I’m sure the same applies to caterers.”

“But how will we know who the family members are?” asked Jackie.

“What do you imbeciles think you’re doing?” came a shrill voice.

An elderly woman wearing a long black skirt and blouse that buttoned up to her neck hurried toward the catering van. Immediately the caterers darted about in an effort to escape her wrath.

“The beverages were supposed to be on the south side of the eating area, not the east. And what is it with these appetizers? They are bound to give me heartburn. I specifically requested a vegetable platter. Where is it?”

“I think we found Aunt Alicia,” muttered Greg.

“More like the aunt from hell,” commented Jackie.

“And what are you three doing lurking about like a bunch of hoodlums?” Aunt Alicia turned her attention to us.

“Uh—” I began.

“Don’t stand there muttering like a buffoon,” scolded Aunt Alicia. “Grab a tray and serve some food. My guests are hungry.”

We all snatched a tray not caring what was actually on them and hurried away to where the outdoor party took place in the back of the house.

“Goodness,” Aunt Alicia’s voice trailed after us, “it is impossible to find reliable help these days.”

We reached the party area without too much trouble. People wandered about gossiping. I couldn’t believe some of the expensive outfits they wore in this ninety degree heat. I tugged at the collar of my shirt as it started to itch from the sweat that formed underneath. A man snatched a cracker off of my tray. Though it startled me a bit, I just smiled while regaining my composure.

“This shirt is itching me like crazy,” Jackie muttered in my ear.

“Deal with it,” I hissed. “We need to split up.”

The three of us took different areas of the party. I held my tray flat so that guests could eat all they liked.

“I’m telling you, Philip Kellmore would have wanted that place developed,” said a deep, baritone voice.

I inched my way a little closer.

“Well, as the new head of the company, it is up to me to decide that,” said Kyle.

Great. He’d recognize me for sure. Carefully, I stepped behind him keeping my face down.

“But the resort was his idea,” continued the man. “I helped him find the funding for it.”

“Yes, but—”

“And what about the preserve he was going to build?”

“That was my sister’s idea,” said Kyle with distaste in his voice. “She always was a bit of a hippie and managed to convince him to part with some of his hard earned money for her stupid cause.”

“It was Philip’s choice,” continued the man.

I moved around a bit keeping them within earshot.

“Maybe so, but it was foolish none the less,” spat Kyle. He glanced in my direction.

I quickly lowered my face trying to conceal it.

“Yes, but, Kyle, you can’t mean all that about your sister. She’s such a sweet little thing,” continued the man.

“Spacy Stacy is nothing more than an airhead.” Kyle’s eyes followed me.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak like that about her.”

“Mr. Gile, you will get what money you invested in the resort back. For now, I feel that the Bourtonson place should remain as is. Excuse me.”

Kyle pushed his way past the man he talked to and headed in my direction. Immediately I turned and wandered among the crowd of guests hoping to lose him. No such luck. He kept his eyes upon me as he pursued. I weaved among the crowd. Boy, he was persistent. I knew he must have recognized me.

“Here,” I said, handing a tray to one of the guests.

Quickly, I turned and dived behind a bush near the back door to the house. He still headed in my direction. Finding the door unlocked, I hurried inside and hid behind the corner. I watched as Kyle paused just outside; his eyes searching for me.

“Kyle, darling,” said a woman in a scantily clad summer dress. She hooked her arm around his and steered him away.

Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. My eyes finally noticed the interior of the house with its walls covered in art. Remembering Stacy had said that her mother was usually kept confined on the upper floor, I headed for the stairs. I had promised her that I would check up on her mother. No one noticed me.

Carefully, but quickly, I hurried up the carpeted stairs thankful that they didn’t creak. Voices sounded below me. Before anyone spotted me, I raced down the hallway and found the second flight of stairs that led to the top floor. These stairs were not as wide as the others, but just as noiseless.

I peeked around the corner. Footsteps sounded from the other end of the hall. Ducking behind another corner, I watched as a maid with a tray of food approached a door. She punched a keypad and went in. Knowing that this had to be where Mrs. Kellmore was kept, I waited. Within minutes, the maid exited the room and left.

Cautiously, I left my hiding place and crept to the door. Locked. I studied the keypad wondering how you cracked its code. I knew how to pick locks, but this was more complicated. Remembering something I had seen on TV, I breathed on the keypad allowing my hot breath to moisten it; figuring that I had nothing to lose. Finger prints appeared on the pad. It worked! I pressed each number that had a fresh print. The light turned green and the lock clicked. I wrenched it open and slipped inside.

The sparsely decorated room looked more like a prison cell than anything else. A hospital bed rested in a corner complete with all of the equipment. I moved around the darkened room.

Cough. Cough.

I whirled around. In a chair, barely visible, sat an old woman hunched over. She coughed some more before acknowledging my presence. “Hello, Linda,” she said in a hoarse voice.

Linda? Who was Linda? I glanced at a row of pictures and then it clicked. Stacy had said her mother had Alzheimer’s. I must have looked like someone from her past; or maybe she thought I was the maid.

“Mrs. Kellmore,” I said.

“Remember the time we went swimming near the Bourtonson place?”

Well, this was interesting.

“Barely,” I said, hoping she would keep talking. Sometimes those with Alzheimer’s could remember events from thirty or fifty years ago, but the present was a different story.

“Oh, of course you do.” She waved a bony hand around and for the first time I realized just how thin she was. Were they even feeding her enough?

“We had gone there on a dare. You were so frightened at first, but that all changed when you saw George. Oh, those were good times and the ghost was so friendly.”

“Ghost?”

“Joseph Bourtonson. I don’t know why everyone calls him Smiley, but he is such a lonely thing. He greeted us you remember. But, oh, how things have changed. Now people go there just to taunt him.”

“That’s not nice,” I said.

“No it’s not—why, dear, you haven’t aged a day!”

Mrs. Kellmore reached toward me touching my face. “You’re still the prettiest thing.”

“Thank you,” I said, letting the old woman believe what she wanted. “Mrs. Kellmore, Aunt Alicia—”

“Oh, that wretched woman! A most vile creature if there ever was one. Poor Philip never could get rid of her. She forced her way into our lives and hounded Philip to no end. Our son is just like her. Greedy. Selfish. And cold-hearted. And those boys!”

“Boys?”

“Why my nephews, of course,” said Mrs. Kellmore as though I should have known what she was talking about, “They were my sister’s sons, but she died a long time ago. I had wanted to raise them, but Alicia took over. Turned them into the most lawless bunch of thugs I ever did see. Now they spend all their time at the Bourtonson place. Poor Smiley. Do you know Smiley?”

“No,” I replied.

“Oh, of course you do. Remember when we went up there?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Such a lovely time. You were scared,” said Mrs. Kellmore.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to go.”

“Very well, dear. Do bring me another sandwich. I like sandwiches especially if they have mayonnaise.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kellmore.”

The old woman turned back to the wall and stared at it with a vacant expression. Poor thing. I felt sorry for her.

I opened the door making certain the hallway was clear. Quietly, I latched it behind me. Voices sounded from down the hall. My heart pounding from the possibility of being caught, I hid in the shadows, holding my breath. Aunt Alicia and some guy I didn’t recognize stormed down the hallway.

“I’m telling you to be more careful next time,” raged Aunt Alicia.