Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 (6 page)

“Tomorrow would be fine, in the morning when it’s coolest, of course.”

“What needs tending?”

“The front patch at the bookstore. I have new flower
s to go in there.”

“Tomorrow morning, then. I’ll be there.” He gave Chloe a satisfied expression, confident he could do the job and pleased to have been asked.

“Wonderful!” Chloe clapped her hands together. “Thank you so much, Ralph. Just come into the bookstore after and I’ll pay you.”

“Okie
dokie.”

“Bye, Ralph,” Nightingale said.

The two women parted ways at the street, Chloe returning to the bookstore and Nightingale returning home.

As Nightingale approached her home, she could see that the
black cat was waiting for her, the same one she had seen earlier. It appeared to be rooted into the exact same spot as when she had left.

“Hi, kitty. Pretty kitty. Who do you belong to?”

The cat steadied its gaze on Nightingale, not flinching and not moving from its seated position. She walked closer to the animal, curious. “Come over here, pretty.”

The cat continued to stare at her with large green eyes, similar to marbles one would have played with as a child. As she drew close, the cat stood up on all four legs, thrashing its tail in the air.
A soft growl followed by a whine caused Nightingale to stop in her tracks.

“You don’t sound very friendly.”

The cat continued to stare, unblinking. Nightingale thought better of approaching the cat now and turned to enter her house, glancing back at the animal. It hadn’t moved. She entered the house, closed the door and swore she heard laughter. Looking out the front window, the black cat was lying down on the ground, eyes trained on the house. An unexpected chill ran up her spine.

“Creepy
little beast.”

~~

Bright and early the next morning, old Ralph was at the bookstore, his planting tools being carried in a small wheelbarrow. He saw the plants Chloe had left outside for him to plant, pretty mums that could withstand the heat. Smart woman. It wasn’t practical to attempt less durable plants that would only shrivel up from the intense sun, although it was only March.

Ralph pulled out a rake and began
disrupting the soil. The old plants were shot and useless, so he piled them up for disposal later on. He had brought plastic bags with him for that purpose. Some of the area was overgrown with weeds. Wondering why Chloe had allowed such overgrowth to continue, he pulled out his shovel to dig deeper down to the roots of the weeds. Fortunately, it had rained, so the soil was quite soft and easy for Ralph to maneuver.

As Ralph dug around, slicing into the soil with the blade of the shovel, he thought about Nightingale, for some unknown reason. The poor woman was having a time of it.
A suspect in a murder investigation, of all things, for which he knew in his heart she was not responsible. He felt compassion for her situation. He had heard that the investigation had caused a rift between Nightingale and her boyfriend, the cop. Surely, Bill must realize she was innocent.

Most people in town didn’t believe Nightingale was guilty of anything so violent. But he had noticed she was
around in public more than usual during times she would normally have been giving readings. It occurred to Ralph that her business was probably suffering. Poor Nightingale.

As he sunk the shovel deeper again, he made contact with something solid. He drove it in again and felt resistance.
Leaning over a bit, he reached his long arm down into a hole that had developed, touching a smooth surface. Using two hands, Ralph moved the soil away until he was able to expose the object. What he saw both shocked and pleased him.

It was a
scull.

Pulling it out from the ground, he examined
the scull carefully, rolling it from one hand to the other. It was human and in good condition, hardly a scratch on the surface. And Ralph would know about such things because he collected sculls. He rose to take the scull inside to show Chloe. Fortunately, it was prior to business hours.

“Miss Chloe,” he said as he noticed her
standing behind the counter, “I’ve found something interesting you might want to see.”

“What’s that, Ralph?” she asked, seeing he held something between his dirty hands.

“A human scull.”

“A scull? What’s that doing in my garden?”

“Don’t know. But it was buried there.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real scull before.”

“Here, take it.” Ralph held the scull out to Chloe.

She held it level with her face between both hands
. “I can’t believe you found a scull. I wonder who it is?”

“Maybe you should call the cops,” Ralph suggested. “Could be from a murder or something.”

“I guess you’re right.” Chloe set the scull down on the counter with one hand and reached for the phone with the other. “I’ve called so much, I know the number by heart,” she said with a frown as her thumb keyed in the numbers.

“Yes, Chloe Romano,” she said when a dispatcher answered. “I’m at the Enchanted Spirit Bookstore in Cassadaga. We just found a human scull in the garden…Yes, a scull… Thank you.”

“A deputy
’s coming?” Ralph asked.

“Yes, soon, one’s nearby.”

As it turned out, Chloe knew the deputy very well. It was Bill France who stepped out from the patrol car, looking striking dressed in his green uniform.

“Chloe,” he said nodding at her
as she stood outside in front of the entrance. “A scull, huh? What next are you going to discover?”

“Maybe a whole skeleton, who knows
?” Chloe handed the scull to Corporal France. “Ralph found it in that garden.”

The deputy walked over to where the ground was turned over and the gardening equipment lay. He poked his hand down the hole. “Doesn’t appear to be more bones, but I think we’ll have to make sure. Don’t do any more digging.”

He called into dispatch, requesting a detective to attend the scene.

“You’re not going to be able to plant any flowers right now, Chloe,” Bill informed her. “I’m pretty sure they’ll want to dig around for more bones.”

“That’s going to be a mess,” she said. “What am I going to tell my customers?”

“The truth,” he said with a grin. “It could be good for business.”

“Umm, I’m not so sure.”

“
Corporal France, is it?” Ralph asked, reading the name plate pinned to his chest.

“Yes, sir.”

“When all this is done, may I have the scull?”

France looked a bit taken aback at the request. “You want the scull?”

“Yes, I collect sculls.”

Both Chloe and Bill looked curiously at Ralph.

“Why would you collect sculls?” Chloe asked.

“
They just fascinate me, is all.”

“I would suggest you submit a written request for that consideration and give it to admin. If nothing much comes of this, they’ll probably let you have it.”

“Thank you, I’ll do just that.”

While they waited for a detective, Chloe chatted with the deputy.

“Have you seen Nightingale lately?”

“No, I can’t see her until
she’s no longer a murder suspect. That has to be cleared up first.”

“Oh. Well, then. That’s not good.”

Bill appeared awkward as he looked down at Chloe.

“No, it’s not good at all. She’s pretty pissed over it. And
at me.”

“I would be, too.”

“Chloe, I’m in law enforcement,” he said. “I can’t be hanging out with a woman suspected of murder.”

“You don’t actually think she did such a thing?” Chloe’s eyes grew large as she stared in disbelief at Bill.

“No, of course not.”

“And you weren’t just hanging out; you were dating, a couple.” Chloe felt she should remind him of that fact.

“I know, but I can’t continue dating Nightingale under these circumstances. I just can’t.”

Chloe didn’t respond, but her expression showed disapproval of the situation.

“Another cop car coming,” Ralph announced, pointing at the white vehicle turning onto Stevens Street. “This is going to get interesting.”

Nine

Helen’s teacup gave an angry chime against the saucer as she set it back in place. Ralph looked at her from across the table. The couple frequently enjoyed having a cup of tea late in the afternoon, either at the Hotel or Helen’s house. Today they had chosen the Hotel.

“You collect
sculls?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why on earth would you do that, Ralph?”

“They fascinate me.” It was a simple answer, but not suitable
enough for Helen.

“I’m fascinated that JFK talks to me. I’m fascinated that spirits guide my life. Sculls? Fascinated? Not hardly.” Helen picked the cup up again, bringing it shakily to her red lips.

“People collect all kinds of things—teacups, for example,” he said, pointing at Helen’s teacup. “Frog figurines, pigs. So, I happen to collect skulls.”

“Are you a bit touched, Ralph?”
Helen asked the question seriously, as if she were asking about the weather.

“What? You think somebody’s got to be touched to collect skulls? Are you daffy, woman?” Ralph looked an
noyed.

“JFK says you’re the daffy one,” she replied.

“Humph.” Ralph rolled his eyes. “Would you like to see my collection?”

“I don’t know…maybe
. But just out of curiosity.”

“Let’s go. Right now.” Ralph stood up.

“My, you’re so impatient, lately,” Helen said, standing to join him. “I haven’t even finished the tea.”

They walked down the street, slowly, waving at others across the
road, smiling at each. Eventually they arrived at Ralph’s place. He opened the screened door for Helen, then squeezed in to unlock the front door.

“Follow me,” he directed as he strode down the hallway toward the bedrooms. While his back was bent, his gait was that of a much younger man. “Step inside.”

Helen walked into the bedroom. It was set up as a sitting room, complete with an easy chair, several bookcases bulging with books and a television. When Helen turned back around, she saw the shelves of sculls attached to the wall beside the door.

“Mercy, you’ve got quite a lot of them,” she said with admiration. “Must be twenty or more.”

“Thirty-two. Thirty-three when I get the one from the police I just discovered.”

Helen swung her eyes over to Ralph. “Where did you get so many?”

“Here and there,” he said. “Some I unearthed in Arizona when I spent a winter there. Not sure if they’re native or white skulls.”

“You didn’t take them from a reservation, did you?”

“Of course not, Helen. I’m respectful.” He picked one off of a shelf. “This one I found in a garden, same as in Chloe’s garden. Just digging and there it was. Want to hold it?”

Helen’s eyes grew wide as she digested that thought. “All right.”

Ralph placed the skull between her hands. Helen turned it over and around, examining all sides. She looked up at Ralph, her face filled with awe. “This is quite something, Ralph. This was a life, a person. A spirit inhabited the body this belonged to.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Helen smiled up at Ralph. “I’m sorry I called you touched. I understand now why you collect skulls. It really is fascinating.”

Ralph appeared to be pleased that Helen understood.

“Can I make you a cup of tea, Helen? I’ll let you finish it, promise,” he said.

“That would be nice, Ralph,” Helen said, bringing the skull with her into the dining room. “Unless you’ve got something a bit stronger to offer?”

Ralph smiled broadly. “How about a glass of Merlot to warm your bones?”

“Perfect.”

~~

“A scull? Holy crap!” Nightingale spoke into her phone with surprise. “I’m sure glad it wasn’t found at my house. All I need is more suspicion put on me.”

“Yeah, they’ve dug up the whole front area from one corner to the next of the building. It’s a mess.” Chloe shook her head in disbelief.

“How long will that go on?”

“I think they’re about done. I mean, what are they going to do, dig up the entire yard, front and back? I don’t think so.”

“
No, probably not.”

“I talked to Bill about you, just briefly,” Chloe
announced.

“How is my former boyfriend?” Chloe could hear the sarcasm in
Nightingale’s voice. “Is he dying to reunite?”

“He tried to explain why he couldn’t see you until this murder
investigation is cleared up.”

“
Then he’s assuming I’ll see him again.” 

“You will, won’t you?”