A Ghost of Brother Johnathan's (8 page)

The three of us sat at the kitchen table. I listened in awe as Marta explained the circumstances surrounding us finding her at the house that had originally been owned by Mary and Peter Templeton, foster parents of Jonathan Rupp.

“Oh, I know this seems so incredulous, but I swear on my dear husband’s grave, it is the absolute truth. I did not meet Frank Dazi until this morning. In fact, when I answered the phone, I thought it was Shannon calling back, I had just hung up the phone and was not more than three feet away when it rang, again.” Marta looked to Ozzy and then me. I know she was sizing us up, did we believe her?

“Go on,” Ozzy said.
“Well, Frank’s account of everything made sense to me. He explained who he was, said he had been referred to my telephone number by Luke Landry, who, by the way had called Frank in following up on tracing the obscure antiques dealer who never showed up for my appointment with him. Frank had a very similar experience, with this same person. Anyway, when Frank related to me this scenario and said the dealer had expressed a keen interest in items that had once belonged to Jonathan Rupp, I, of course wanted to know why the dealer would contact Frank. That was when Frank explained the family connection.”
I had to interrupt and ask, “So, Frank knew about you, all these years?”
“Oh, dear no. He hadn’t a clue. In fact, he was as suspicious of my ancestry to Jonathan Rupp as I was to his. Now, though, we have it all worked out. Thanks to Luke who assured Frank that I was the real deal.”
“And how did Luke do this?” I asked.
Marta sighed. I knew my intense questioning was bothersome to her. “Luke’s call came in right after I hung up the phone with my conversation to you. His was the first call that I thought was you calling right back, and then Frank’s call was the second one. Long story short, Luke went back and studied the cold-case files from Jonathan’s death. He said that a person by the name of Ella Dazi was named in those files as a possible friend to the family. Turns out, the court at that time never bothered to contact Ella Dazi, of if they did attempt to, it was not successful. Skip forward in time to this morning and Frank Dazi, who has his ancestor’s life, Ella Dazi, exceptionally well documented, and Frank says that contacting Ella at the time of Jonathan’s death and subsequent months afterward would have been next to impossible. She, as a well-known entertainer, was touring Europe.”
Ozzy was getting impatient, or maybe suspicious. He looked around the kitchen and then asked, “So, if we are, indeed, sitting at the kitchen table in Frank Dazi’s home, where is Frank Dazi?”
“Right now he is at the hospital. After I arrived and we had compared notes, Frank wanted to show me items in his basement that he had found stored in old crates, left for decades untouched. He was so excited, that when we were going down the staircase to his basement, Frank tripped on the steps, took a bad spill and may have broken his ankle. The paramedics were called, they came and took Frank for medical attention. I told him I’d wait here. He should arrive home soon, I hope.” Marta glanced up at the kitchen clock. It was almost three.
“Marta,” I said, “tell me what you know about Frank.”
“He’s tall, dark hair, olive complexion… must get that from his Italian heritage. I’d guess he is in his mid-thirties. He just recently moved to Crescent City and bought this house. He had been interested in it for about a year, right after he began doing genealogy studies and was connecting the dots. He told a local real estate agent to call him if the house ever went up for sale. After he moved in, that was when the antiques dealer telephoned him, asking if there were any objects from the home that Frank would like to sell.”
“And did Frank sell anything to the dealer?” Ozzy asked.
“No. In fact, just like my situation, that dealer made a date and then never showed up.”
“Okay, so Marta, you know for certain that Frank Dazi is in direct lineage to Jonathan Rupp?”
“Well, I’ve seen the documented family tree. And…” Marta looked around the kitchen, she got up and walked away, “just a moment.” She walked into the front room and returned carrying a photo frame that she set on the table in front of us. “Just look at this, it is Jonathan with his foster mother and that little cute-as-a-bug child that Jonathan is hugging, that is Ella, Jonathan’s daughter.”
Ozzy and I gave each other a knowing look. Ozzy picked up the photo. “Yep, that sure is, and Shannon and I saw this identical photo at the museum today.”
Marta beamed with pleasure. It was no secret she was tickled pink at having found a family connection she never knew existed. I was going to ask her more questions, but my cell phone rang. I looked to see the caller’s identity and realized it was Luke.
“Um, excuse me, I’ll take this call out on the back porch.” I stepped outside the kitchen door and took a few more steps onto the large porch, hoping I was out of earshot. I wanted my conversation with Luke to be private.
“Luke, I’m at the home of Frank Dazi, with Marta and Ozzy, but not Mr. Dazi. Long story sort, he may have injured his ankle, went to the hospital and should return soon. Marta said you know about this Dazi guy. Is Frank Dazi legitimate?”
“Yeah, I was the one who contacted Dazi and then, Marta. He is authentic Shannon. I used my law enforcement contacts to check up on him. In a way, finding him opens up this cold case for additional investigation.”
“What? Are you saying Jonathan’s Rupp’s death was not because of the shoot-out?”
“No. What I mean is that the legal heirs may have changed, I can’t make a decision on that, and it is a legal issue. The police never got involved in Rupp’s estate, and they won’t now, it’s not a law enforcement problem.”
“But, it could be one huge headache for Marta?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Marta inherited the Rupp land from a lineage succession that began with Rupp’s only sibling. Dazi might make a claim on the property and tavern because he has direct lineage to Rupp’s only child. Right now, that is not my concern, nor should it be yours, if you don’t mind me telling you to butt out.”
“Well, no. But then my work here is done.”
“Not so fast, Shannon. There is the paranormal element that remains. Look, I can’t explain it this minute. I’m on duty and busy. Let’s meet tonight, just us two. I found some interesting EVPs when I did a voice and sound analysis. And don’t tell Marta we are meeting or what it’s about, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll be here in Crescent City for a little longer. Let’s meet about eight tonight?”
“Before, after or during dinner?” Luke asked, and now his tone was significantly lighter.
“I’ve not eaten since this morning. I can wait. But let’s make it earlier and I’ll meet you at Hurricane Kate’s, at seven?”
“Good to go.”
I hung up and remained a little longer on the porch. The fact that Luke had found additional EVPs was intriguing… and bothersome. I was deep in thought when Ozzy stuck his head out the kitchen door.
“Psst, Shannon, Mr. Dazi has returned home.”
I ducked back inside. There, at the kitchen table sat Frank Dazi. His right ankle was propped up on a neighboring chair seat. The white hard cast made it obvious he had suffered a serious injury.
“Mr. Dazi. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Shannon Delaney, a friend of Marta’s.” I sat down at the same chair I was in before. I looked directly across the table at Dazi. He smiled.
“And, has my new cousin had a chance to fill you in?” Dazi said.
I replied, “Pretty much so. I think Marta was about to outline your direct ancestry to Ella when my phone rang.”
“Well, it goes like this…”

Luke and I sat at the same table as before. Our order was in and we were passing time before our meals came. I had explained to him the connection that Frank Dazi had to Rupp. Luke jotted down some notes as I talked.

He looked up from his notes and said, “According to what Dazi claims, he is in direct lineage to Jonathan Rupp’s only child, a daughter named Ella Rupp, who married Antonio Dazi. Ella’s husband became her manager and together, thanks to Ella’s immense talent for singing, they made a huge a success of her career. After traveling throughout North America and Europe, they settled in Seattle, Washington. Together, they had five children, to which Frank Dazi is in lineage to their oldest child, a son named Franco Dazi. And, from that time to present, the lineage is intact and names presentday Frank Dazi as a legal heir to the Ella Rupp and Antonio Dazi ancestry?”

Jonathan Rupp?” Luke asked.
“All I know is that her name was Francessca. She was
a circus performer, as was Rupp, that is how they met.
Also, she too was a proportionate dwarf. Tragically, she died in giving birth to Ella. Ella was what we call today, an average size child. In other words, Ella was not a dwarf. And evidently, Francessca was married to Rupp, at least it indicates so on Ella’s birth certificate, which is not an actual vital record, rather, it’s a church record of Ella’s baptism. However, for that era, a church record is considered legal
documentation of a child’s birth and parentage.” “You know that to be true?” Luke asked.
“Yes. I know from having studied genealogy that at
that time, all aspects of public government, including
the military, accepted church baptism records as proof
of birth and lineage. Dazi showed me the original church
record. It names Ella’s parents as Jonathan and
Francessca Rupp. Luke, if your only contact with Frank
Dazi was by phone, how did he convince you of his
identity?” I queried.
“I did my own checking using law enforcement
sources available on the Internet,” Luke answered. The waiter appeared with our meals. I unfolded my
napkin and placed it on my lap. In doing so I stole a
glance at Luke. He was quiet and brooding. I thought
he would have been pleased with my revelations about
the Rupp dynasty.
“Luke, what is it about what I found out that bothers
you?”
Luke leaned in close to me and said, “You’ll have to
listen to the EVP recording to understand. So for now,
ignore my discontent.” He smiled and then added, “Ask
me what I found out today.”
I laughed and said, “Okay, Luke, what did you find
out today?”
I began to eat, and listened to Luke while he talked
in-between bites of his dinner.
“I discovered that Jonathan Rupp did not build the
Edgewild Tavern. Or at least not the entire structure.
He bought the land and its structures in a tax sale, mere
pennies on the dollar is what he paid. And the Edgewild
Tavern was built out of a remnant of a much older
structure that dates back to the 1860s.”
“What kind of an older structure?” I asked. “Oh, just some old outpost cabin. Not sure what it
was used for. The land patent records at the Eureka’s
Land Assessor’s Office don’t say. Wouldn’t have for that
time period.”
“When you say that Rupp bought the land and its
structures for pennies on the dollar in a tax sale, is that
similar to a foreclosure sale?” I asked.
“Exactly like a foreclosure sale.”
“Do you know the name of the former property
owner, the person who lost the property in the tax sale?” Luke was drinking his coffee. He set down his cup
and said, “Yeah, I’ve got that info in notes, right here.”
He reached into his blazer chest pocket and pulled out
a slip of paper. “The land and the structures were
foreclosed on Gordon Dalton. I did a search of that
name, and no results, not in additional property records
or legal records. I guess Gordon Dalton moved on.” “Hmm, I was hoping there would be a connection.
Luke, you mentioned
structures
in the property
description. Other than the single outpost cabin, what
other structures were there on the land, prior to Rupp
buying it?”
“A barn and two water wells. Rupp closed up one of
the wells, it was deemed hazardous.”
“Hazardous, how?” I asked.
“The sides had collapsed during an earthquake.” “That’s all?” I asked.
“Yes. Kinda disappointing,” Luke answered. We finished our dinner, declined desert and left. Luke
suggested listening to the EVPs recording in his car. He
knew of a quiet spot on the edge of town that was the
parking lot of a deserted strip mall.
“You’re right about this place being desolate. What
happened to it?” I asked.
“The property was sold and this desolation is
temporary. The mall is scheduled for demolition in
spring and is earmarked as the site for a new medical
center,” Luke explained as he got out the recorder.
“Ready?”
I nodded yes.
There were several minutes of silence. A cackling
laugh broke through and I recognized it as my dream
donkey’s hee-haw. Then, piano music began. I listened
to a very familiar tune of a song that played through
one chorus. Silence followed. That recording had
nothing else to offer.
“Pop Goes The Weasel,” I said.
“Yeah, and that animal sound, was that the donkey
from your dream?”
“Sure sounded the same. Luke, how could we have
missed this EVP?”
“This was not on the same recorder we heard the other
EVPs on. This EVP is on the recorder that appeared to
be blank, just quiet static. There’s more.” Luke reached
into his glove compartment and pulled out another
recorder. One I had not seen before, it was smaller than
the two we used at Marta’s.
“I didn’t want to reveal this recorder at the time, I
had it in my jacket chest pocket. Listen.”
Again, several minutes of quiet static then more
music. This time the melody was rendered from string
instruments, maybe violins. I recognized the melody.
The music stopped.
“Do you know that song?” Luke asked.
“‘Beautiful Dreamer?’ It’s a Stephen Foster classic.
Goes back to the Civil War era. And has remained
popular ever since. As a little girl I had a windup musical
jewelry box, when I opened the lid, a tiny ballerina
would dance to that tune.”
“Yeah, thought it was an old song. Do you have any
idea how it is connected to the Rupp mystery?” “No,” I answered.
“Could it be that Stephen Foster is a clue?” Luke
asked.
“I doubt that. It’s widely believed Foster was a
Southerner, but he wasn’t. He commercialized on
Southern sentiments in the songs that he wrote. Truth
be told, he was documented to have made one and only
trip to a Southern state, it was when he went to New
Orleans.”
“Then ‘Beautiful Dreame
r’
must be the clue,” Luke
said.
“Luke, do you mean, who is, or was, the beautiful
dreamer? That it could be a code name for a covert
identity or plan?”
“Yeah, why not?”
I shook my head in disagreement. “I don’t buy it.
Luke, Stephen Foster’s songs, lyrics and melodies have
become folklore theories. Some studies suggest his
songs reflect a fascination with death, while other
theories claim he was a drunk and a womanizer. There
is just too much say-so and myths. Also, his songs, including this one, remained popular parlor and stage favorites for decades after the Civil War, well into the
1900s.”
“Then what?” Luke asked, in a disgruntled tone. “Look, I do not want to end this evening on a negative
vibe. Luke, I’m not saying that ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ is
not a clue… in fact, I believe it is. However, I believe the
value of it as a clue is far more obvious and close to the
surface.”
Luke was silent. He took both recorders and packed
them away into a small cache bag. He started the engine
and pulled out of the parking lot.
Thank goodness the ride back to my hotel was brief.
Luke pulled up to the hotel’s curb. The fact that he left
the motor running was all the hint I needed. I got out
and thanked him for dinner. His “See ya” was more than
efficient communication.
So-long Luke Landry, I thought to myself as I walked
up the stairs to my room.