Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 01 - Haunted Hijinks (12 page)

Chapter Ten

 Eleanor and I argued about which one of us was going to call the sheriff, and Millicent finally made the call. Eleanor and I were parked in the dining room, enjoying a bowl of chili that Millicent had made along with her special corn muffins.

Millicent introduced us to the cleaners, Larry and Gary, who shook our hands, apologizing for their behavior earlier in the day. Robert, who was the one confined to a wheelchair, appeared to be in a little better spirits since he had spent time in Millicent’s company. Eleanor and I had welcomed them to eat with us, but they insisted they had to leave by dark. Of course, it was already dark, but I almost wondered by the wary looks they exchanged with each other if they were afraid of something, like this mansion, for one. They did promise to be back at first light and finish up. From the looks of the downstairs, they had done a good job. At first, I had my reservations, but even I had to admit that I was prone to be wrong sometimes.

After the men left, I had to ask Millicent, “What’s your secret with getting those men to work harder?”

“I didn’t really do anything much at all, just talked to them a little bit. They really aren’t all that bad when you get talking to them. They’re quite the fishermen from the way they talk. I’m meeting them at five to go fishing tomorrow.”

“Like, five in the morning?” Eleanor asked with a laugh.

“Sure. From the way they talk, the fish get up early around these parts.”

“And how do you feel about staying here in town? Don’t you live in Saginaw?”

“Yes. But, there’s nothing back in Saginaw for me. Gramps needs me.”

Mr. Wilson slammed his cup on the table. “Nonsense. I’m fine as a fiddle, but I must admit it’s been so nice having you around. You remind me of my late wife,” he sniveled for a moment, batting at the invisible tears. “I sure miss my old girl.”

Eleanor darted from the room, returning with a peach cobbler that Millicent also made. Before the ice cream had a chance to melt on the cobbler, Sheriff Peterson walked through the door. His hat wasn’t on and his hair had been slicked back. It wasn’t an effort to look neat or well-kept. He sweated profusely normally.

I noticed the sheriff didn’t appear to be upset we’d interrupted his dinner, and I offered him a bowl of cobbler for his trouble of coming all the way here.

“Thanks, don’t mind if I do. I have a weakness for sweets. The wife won’t allow me to eat sweets at home.”

I understood what he meant. That’s what wives of unfit men would do, and lord knows, his wife was justified enough to limit his sugar intake.

He put a spoonful of the cobbler in his mouth, his face lighting up in pleasure. “This tastes great.”

“Thanks,” Millicent gushed. “It’s my grandma’s recipe.”

Mr. Wilson rose to his full height and made some excuse about leaving us to handle our business with Millicent in tow, who gave us a quick wink before she left the room.

Peterson wiped his mouth with a napkin and asked, “I’m sure you didn’t call me out to give me dessert, so what gives?”

“Actually, we have uncovered some information that might be pertinent to your investigation.”

His brow furrowed. “I see. And you’re actually sharing it? I’m impressed, Agnes. How unexpected of you. I might even be inclined to share a few details with you, too.”

I about fell off my chair. “Really? That sure would be great.”

“Like what kind of information, Peterson?” asked Eleanor suspiciously. “Isn’t that against police policy?”

“Yes.  I don’t want you wasting your time chasing ghosts, so to speak, but I expect you to keep this between us.”

Caroline floated into the chair next to Peterson at the mention of ghosts.

Eleanor tapped my foot with hers, and whispered, “I can’t believe this.” Turning to the sheriff and smiling, she said, “So what’s the information you’re sharing?”

Totally dismissing Eleanor, Peterson said, “You first, Agnes.”

Eleanor leaned back in her chair in a huff. “Go ahead, Agnes. Obviously, I’m not important.”

I gave Eleanor a look. “Oh, stop, would you? I’m sure the sheriff didn’t mean anything by that.”

He cleared his throat. “As you were about to say?”

“Eleanor and I have searched the mansion. Sara Knoxville, the actress, asked us to oversee the preparations of the opening of the bed and breakfast. Anyway, we found a suitcase with some letters in it.”

Peterson leaned forward. “Haven’t we gone through this already? Has the suitcase suddenly reappeared?”

Without answering his question, I continued, “Well, we did find a suitcase with clothing in it, and these letters.” I searched my purse, like through every compartment. “Gee, that’s strange. I was certain I had the letters in here.”

“What letters?”

“It was mail sent to Katherine Clark from Jack Winston. He was sending her letters asking to see her in person about a personal matter they needed to clear up.”

“So you had mail that you found linking someone to our victim and you didn’t think that it was important enough to turn over to me sooner, and now you’ve lost the evidence?”

“I wanted to question Jack first. I really can’t imagine where the letters are now, or how I could have lost them.”

Peterson stood up. “Show me where you found the suitcase again. I want to see for sure that there’s nothing hidden there that you don’t want me to know about.”

Caroline bobbed ahead of Peterson on the stairs. I strolled to the room where we found the suitcase and all of the windows were wide open, a swift breeze blowing in. Eleanor dashed over to close the windows, but grunted in frustration. The sheriff gave her hand, easily closing the window.

I opened the closet and, lo and behold, the suitcase was there. He pulled gloves out of his pocked and pulled it out, setting it in on the bed. When he opened the suitcase, a musky smell was present like it hadn’t been opened in decades. All of the clothing was folded neatly inside, too. He carefully pulled out an article of clothing and shook it open. It was a floral cape dress.

“That looks vintage,” Eleanor exclaimed.

“Yes, like something someone from the 30s might wear.”

Peterson then pulled out picture frames that were in the bottom of the suitcase. They were black and whites, depicting a woman in her thirties dressed in a variety of fancy dresses of the1930s.

When I spotted one of a man, I asked Peterson, “Can I see that one closer?”

“Nope, it’s evidence.”

“How is that evidence? The contents look like they have been in the back of that suitcase since the 30s. There’s nothing in there that looks like it belongs to Katherine.”

“It can’t rule it out, either.”

“But that belongs to Sara Knoxville. You just can’t remove what could be the belongings of her ancestors.”

Peterson fell silent. “I’m confiscating them until a thorough analysis can be done down at the station. I’ll turn them over to Sara if we find that it’s not pertinent to the investigation.”

I grumbled and followed Peterson down the stairs and he turned and asked me, “So what did you turn up when you questioned Jack Winston?”

“He told us that Katherine Clark had convinced him to invest money into a solar energy company.”

Peterson set the suitcase on a table and took out a notebook. “I’m listening.”

“International Energy,” I said. “It seems that even Elsie Bradford was taken in by the scheme.”

“Yes, Jack told Elsie about the business opportunity,” Eleanor added. “But apparently Jack figured out too late that they were scammed.”

“If this is true, why didn’t either of them call the police?”

“Beats me,” Eleanor said. “I almost wondered if Jack was part of the scam. He did seem awfully upset when we told him Katherine had been murdered.”

“And how did you come to the conclusion that Katherine had been murdered when an autopsy hadn’t even been performed yet?”

“Well, I-I—” I struggled for words. “Is that what you were going to tell us, Peterson, that Katherine was murdered?”

“Actually, no. What I had planned to tell you was to keep this case to yourselves. The woman who died in this mansion is not Katherine Clark. At this point, we don’t want to let on that the woman who died here had used an alias, and now I think I know why. If she had scammed Jack and Elsie, why did she stay in town?”

“So what is her real name?”

“We don’t know as of yet. That’s why I need every shred of evidence I can get to figure out who she really is. Her body has yet to be picked up from the coroner, either, which has me wondering, but when it is, we’re going to be ready. The coroner has promised to call us immediately when and if someone shows up to claim the body.”

“We’ve wondered ourselves about why she’d stay in town after taking those two for a ride, but it would be their word against hers. They paid her in cash. Elsie said she filled out paperwork, but didn’t say if she had a copy of it.”

“I’ll check that out. Thanks.”

“Both Elsie and Jack have told us the same details. Frank Alton said a woman in a red dress approached him. I didn’t have any pictures of Katherine to verify it, though,” Eleanor said.

He jotted down a few more notes. “Anything else?”

I wanted to ask him about the couple who tried to kidnap my son and me, but I didn’t want to mess in Stuart’s investigation, whatever it entailed. I vowed to find out what Stuart was really up to, but I was too busy with other things.

Before Peterson had gotten to the suitcase, it fell to the floor with a clunk, dumping the contents onto the floor. I spied an oval picture frame and kicked it beneath a chair and out of sight. Peterson knelt, packed the suitcase and left, telling us to call him if we found out anything else.

“How did that suitcase fall on the floor like that?” Eleanor asked.

I didn’t see a trace that Caroline was in the room when I responded with, “I don’t know, but there sure are some peculiar things happening at the mansion.”

“That goes without saying, and boy, am I bushed. I’m heading to bed.”

Mr. Wilson and Millicent appeared through the French doors and announced they’d be leaving, promising to bring Halloween decorations tomorrow.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” I asked them.

Mr. Wilson’s face paled a bit, quite a feat since he had a gray pallor most of the time. “Just be sure to keep my Eleanor safe tonight. I’m not sure why either of you would want to be staying the night in a haunted mansion, but you’re welcome to it.”

“And what have you seen that makes you think that it’s haunted?”

“Besides that man upstairs, nothing.”

“Wh-What man?”

Millicent shrugged. “When we were outside, we saw a man through the third floor window. He was transparent.” She bit a nail. “Please, don’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

“It’s just as safe as anywhere else, and even if this place is haunted, ghosts can’t hurt you.”

“No, but they can scare you to death,” Mr. Wilson said with a curt nod.

I escorted them to their car so I could take a look at the mansion from outside. After Millicent tore out of the drive, I examined every window, but I didn’t see any ghosts. Not even Caroline. Where was she, anyway? Was she responsible for pushing over that suitcase? I had more questions than that, but unless I saw her when I went inside, they would have to wait until I saw Caroline again.

I strolled back inside, being sure to lock all of the doors. I quickly changed into my nightgown and climbed into bed. There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom and I left a light on in there so I wouldn’t be in complete darkness.

I snapped my eyelids shut, trying not to think about ghosts and haunted mansions, but that was so hard to do when you’re sleeping in one. I concentrated on my breathing and managed to fall asleep. I about jumped out of my skin as a clock chimed—three from the first floor, I thought—but it was so loud it vibrated me right out of bed. I could still hear the vibrations and struggled to Eleanor’s room, but she was fast asleep. There was light at the end of the hallway, and when I realized it was in the same room that we had found the suitcase, I cautiously made my way there.

I walked inside and found Caroline on the bed, humming to herself. She glanced up at me, but kept on humming. The closet was open and full of clothing, all from the 30s. On the floor were shoes neatly arranged from the same period—many of the heeled Oxford shoes with suede soles.

“Suede soles?” I asked Caroline.

She stopped her humming. “Of course. They’re perfect for dancing,” she gushed. “I went dancing every weekend, and had me plenty of fellas to dote on me.”

“So what brought you here to the Tawas area?”

“Oh, well, I met me a dashing man.” She got up off the bed and began making dancing movements. “I just love to swing dance, don’t you?”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever tried. My Tom was not much of a dancer. So did you do that in the 30s?”

She swirled her skirt that was about as transparent as she was. “Oh, yes,”

“But the 30s were during the Great Depression.”

“Yes, but in the circles I ran, believe me, it wasn’t a problem.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her to elaborate, but just then, Eleanor entered the room. “Agnes, dear. Who on earth are you talking to?”

My mouth fell open. “I … I.” I then stared over to where Caroline was, but she disappeared in a puff of smoke that apparently Eleanor couldn’t see. “The truth is—”

Eleanor crossed her arms across her ample bosom. “The truth … I can’t wait to hear this.”

“The truth is, I see dead people.”

Eleanor blinked repeatedly. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“I thought I heard you, but are you even awake or are you sleep walking?”

“Well, I’m talking to you so that must mean I’m awake. Oh, bother. You’ve scared her away, Eleanor.”

“Scared who away, exactly?”

“The ghost. She’s suddenly shy, although she certainly wasn’t earlier when she rattled the table when we had company.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Maybe we should talk about this in the morning. I don’t’ think you’re thinking clearly.”

I frowned and threw my arms up into the air, making way for my room.