Little Ghost Lost (Destiny Bay Cozy Mysteries Book 5) (2 page)

You know how you have those dreams where you can fly? It seems so easy. You just begin to sail through the air and you go, “Oh, sure, that’s how you do it,” and you swear you’ll remember when you wake up and you’ll be flying all over. No problem!

Well, guess what. It’s a lie. I tried with all my might and all my heart and it didn’t work. I fell right down on the roof of a lean-to sort of structure below, screaming like a banshee all the way down.
 

Luckily, it was covered with a thick pad of leaves from years of leaf fall. Unluckily, it was set on a slant, and before I could get my balance, I was sliding off, along with a cloud of leaves, and heading for solid ground, and, of course, screaming again.
 

Okay, there was one more lucky thing--a very large camellia bush that broke my fall. It saved me from possible damage—even death, I suppose, but it inflicted all sorts of pain in the form of bruises and scratches. Mixed feelings there.
 

Someone came running into the yard as I tried to disentangle myself from the bush—no doubt my screams bearing fruit. I looked up at the broken balcony and I was pretty sure I saw the filmy trail of a ghost disappearing into the bedroom. I glared before I could stop myself. I had to remember that I couldn’t see any visitors from the spiritual world at all--even though I was pretty sure one of them had just pushed me.

The worst thing that could happen—besides me cracking my head open when I fell—would be to let the ghosts know I was on to them. That way led to madness.

Chapter Two

“Oh my goodness! Are you alright?”

A middle-aged lady in zebra-striped leggings was bearing down on me. I tried to pick myself up enough to be presentable. I looked at her again and realized I knew her.
 

“Celinda Moore?” I said, remembering her from an art show I’d attended a couple of months ago at the seaside mansion of one Carlton Hart.
 

She stared at me. “I remember you,” she said, pointing at me as though she was showing someone. “You’re that young woman who solved the murder at the art show, aren’t you? I’m sorry but your name escapes me.”

“Mele Keahi,” I said, grimacing as I tried to pull myself together. I was shaking all over, but I didn’t think I was actually hurt.

“Of course! How are you, dear?” She reached out to help me out of the camellia bush.
 
“You certainly took a tumble. You fell right out of the house, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, you’re lucky you didn’t break anything. You didn’t, did you?” She looked at me anxiously, and I smiled a bit tremulously and shook my head.
 

“I’m okay. Just wounded by twigs.” I brushed a few away. “Darn them anyway.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re bleeding all over! This won’t do. You come on over to my house and we’ll patch you up.”

Under normal circumstances, I probably would have refused and marched on steadfastly to my own resources. But I have to admit, this wasn’t normal. I was pretty shaken up. I could have been killed by that fall I took. The more I realized that, the more disturbed I felt. It wasn’t a matter to shrug off.
 

Those ghosts had tried to kill me.
 

That gave me chills and made me feel vulnerable, so I let Celinda lead me over to her house, which happened to be right next door.
 

The place was a dark, brooding Craftsman style, quite a contrast to the brightly colored Victorian I’d come to look over.
 

“Nice place,” I muttered as Celinda led me into the sunroom on the side, beyond the long porch.
 

“Oh yes, it’s a wonderful house,” she told me chattily. “Full of Greene and Greene touches.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Greene and Greene” was an architectural pair of brothers who worked on some of the most famous Craftsman houses in the Pasadena area in the first decade of the twentieth century. I’d never heard that they had come up here to the coast and I had a feeling that whatever Greene and Greene influence her house had was made by copycats.
 

“We’ve had it for about six years now,” she was saying. “We moved here in order to keep an eye on the Pennington place, you know. Seeing as how my husband is the rightful heir.”

“The…what?”

“The heir. Oh, didn’t you know? My husband, Jerry Moore, is Alexander Pennington’s natural child. Illegitimate, you know, but he still has the right to inherit.” She pulled out a first aid case and flipped it open. “He deserves that property, no matter what the courts are saying now. We’ll go on fighting until he takes his rightful place as owner of the Pennington House. You’ll see.”

I stared at her. From what I’d heard, things had been settled, a judgment made, and the house had gone to the City Council to dispose of as they deemed proper. If that weren’t true, what was I doing here? But I wasn’t going to argue with her, not while she was dabbing my scratches with peroxide and smearing on the Neosporin.
 

“So the Pennington’s didn’t have any other children?” I asked casually. “Nobody else to inherit?”

“No, no one living at any rate. They did have a child. Alexander Pennington, Jr. But he died in a tragic swimming pool accident when he was about eighteen. That was years ago.”

“How awful.”

“Yes, and it was especially tragic since their daughter had died just a few weeks before. I forget why. Oh, I think it was an accident also. And she was only thirteen at the time. From what they say, the family just fell apart after the two deaths. The mother, Susan Pennington, began wandering around in her nightgown. You know the sort of thing. Two children dead. Who can blame her?”

I thought about the house and what I’d seen of it and shuddered a little. Were those the ghosts that haunted the place now?
 

“How long ago was that?”

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. Forty years ago at least. Susan died at some point and Alexander just muddled on through.”

She went on telling me about how much trouble they’d gone through trying to fight city hall.

“He’s taken a DNA test to establish paternity and everything. You’d think that would be enough for these bureaucrats, but oh no! They need more. Always more.”

“So he has proof now?”

“Well, they’re not accepting it. They claim we used a shady lab. So he has to do it again. Always something.”

 
While she talked, I looked around at what I could see of her house. As I thought back, I remembered that she was known for painting huge canvases with startling colors, and the word was that she used her own naked body as a paintbrush. Sort of. At any rate, she slathered bright paint on her body and rolled around on the canvas. At least, that was what Carlton Hart had told me. Her pieces were quite colorful and striking. But I didn’t see any of her art from where I was sitting, and I wondered about that.
 

What I did see were antiques everywhere, especially large silver pieces, soup tureens and punch bowls and trays and candelabras. That made me wonder why I hadn’t seen any of that sort of thing in the Pennington House. You expected those things in the home of a wealthy person of a certain generation.
 

Had someone already removed them? Food for thought.

“Where are your paintings?” I asked once she’d finished patching me up. “As I remember, your pieces were quite popular at the art show at the Carlton Mansion.”

She looked a little flustered. “Yes. Well, I keep them in an environmentally controlled storage room.” She sighed, looking around the area. “Jerry says they don’t quite go with the décor here. Craftsman style, you know. Austere and Asian oriented. That doesn’t go well with my larger works. They’re a bit flamboyant.”

I shrugged. I didn’t really care, I was just curious. “All these silver antiques,” I began, but she rushed to cut me off.
 

“Oh, no no! These aren’t mine. Jerry collects, you know. He’s at an estate auction right now, gathering more pieces. They’re his passion. He can’t resist a good buy on an antique.”

“You’ve certainly got some beauties here.”

“Oh yes. Jerry finds them everywhere and he brings them home and I keep the records on what we have. It’s a partnership, you see. We’re both heavily involved.”

The doorbell rang and she smiled.
 

“That must be Richard,” she said confidently. “He called to say he was dropping by. Now, if you want to meet an expert on silver antique pieces, he’s your man. He’s been Jerry’s consultant for ages and knows everything about the field. I’ll just go let him in.”

I listened as she opened the door. Her visitor didn’t waste any time in getting to the point.
 

“Jerry’s in Santa Barbara, isn’t he?” I heard a male voice say, sounding angry.
 
“You might as well admit it, Celinda, Henry Kramer called me from the auction and told me he was there. If he’s going to keep going behind my back…”

“Hush now,” Celinda said urgently. “I’ve got company. Come on in and meet her.”

She was back in no time with a tall, handsome man of middle years.
 

“This is Richard Karl. Richard, let me present Mele Keahi. She works for the city and is evaluating the Pennington House. They seem to think they’ve got it in their hip pocket. The fools don’t understand how serious Jerry is about claiming the place himself.”

“Ah.” Richard blinked at Celinda’s tirade and held out his hand to me, his eyes warm. His friendly look belied the accusatory tone he’d used at the front door. “Miss Keahi. I’ve heard a lot about you, all of it good. So pleased to meet you.”

He was handsome and interested, a combination hard to resist. From the way he was smiling at me, I was pretty sure he considered himself quite a charmer, and if I didn’t watch out, I was going to be swamped with charisma like a bear in a honey tree.
 

“Richard. I’m glad to meet you. Please call me Mele.” I shook his hand and smiled at him, determined to get in a bit of substance before the swamping happened. “You’re an expert on antiques, I hear. Maybe you can tell me if I should be worried that I didn’t find any antique silver pieces in the Pennington House today. How much do you know about the inventory there?”

For a quick few seconds, I thought I saw a strange look pass behind his eyes. But then he smoothed all that away with a laugh.
 

“Any treasures Alexander Pennington had were long gone by the time he died,” he told me. “He was pretty much at the stage of selling his cufflinks for latte money toward the end.”

“Ouch. I suppose that would apply to all the furniture as well?”

“The good pieces. Sure. There’s probably some junk left, but…”
 

He frowned, noticing a beautiful silver pitcher sitting in the middle of a large, solid wooden table.
 

“Celinda!” he said, looking alarmed. “I told Jerry that this piece should be somewhere safe. You can’t just leave it out like this. It’s worth a fortune, and if someone who knows what they’re looking at decides to….”
 

He glanced at me and the words stopped, almost as though he thought I might be one of those nefarious people. “You’ve got to take care of this,” he said more quietly. “Really, Celinda. This is impossible.”

“Oh I know, Richard, but I’ve been so busy getting ready for this show in Cambria, I’ve just had no time.”
 

I looked at the piece and it
was
stunning. Huge and elegant, it had lacy leaves and flowers inlaid on the silver, and insects, lizards and small animals made of copper and brass, wandering, seemingly at random, across the surfaces. I’d never seen anything like it.

“What is this?” I asked him, amused by the perfect rendition of a common house fly sitting on the lip. Despite the fact that it was formed of beautiful silver, it was basically a disgusting sight. In a way. “What do you call the style?” I flashed him a sassy look and added, “In case I need to fence it some time soon.”

His mouth dropped open. Not much of a sense of humor with this one. But I cringed a little. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t know him well enough to tease him like that.
 

“It’s a joke,” I said. “I’m just curious. It’s so pretty is all.”

He hesitated, but his love for his subject overcame his caution and he picked the whole big, beautiful thing up to show it to me.
 

“Made by Tiffany in the 1880’s,” he said, pointing out the hallmark. “It was a time when modern arts and crafts were heavily influenced by art flooding in from the Orient, especially from Japan. You see these insects and animals attached? That’s called a mixed metal style. Very big in those days. Every new millionaire was ready to spend his oil or gold mine or railroad wealth on things like this. The bigger, the better. Elaborate silver pieces was a great way to show off how rich you were.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, truly impressed. “And curiously disturbing at the same time,” I added, glancing at the insects.

“Yes.” He grinned at me, finally getting my groove. “Just wonderful, isn’t it?”

He caught sight of the weird patchwork of Band-Aids scattered over my arms and legs.
 

“Has there been a mishap?” he asked, looking actually concerned. “Are you alright? What’s happened?”

I couldn’t blame him. Looking in the mirror, I had to grin. I looked like a cartoon accident victim.

“Nothing important,” I told him. “Just an unfortunate encounter with Mother Nature.” I gave him a flip smile. “I fought the bush and the bush won.”

“I see,” he said in that tone that made me think he didn’t see at all. He looked toward Celinda for an explanation, but she was holding the blinds apart so that she could see who was coming onto her front porch and the sight did not seem to please her.
 

“It’s Astrid,” she hissed, throwing a significant look Richard’s way. “I thought she’d be half way to Santa Barbara by now.”

Richard frowned as though warning her that loose lips sank ships, or something equally as dangerous. I began to feel like I was in the way here and ought to get going. But first I had to meet Astrid.