southern ghost hunters 01 - southern spirits (20 page)

"Melody is involved?" he asked. "Don't you get her in trouble." He ran a hand over his chin. 

"What kind of trouble?" I asked him. "Did treasure hunters disturb the property when you owned it, too? Were they dangerous?"

"Sakes alive. I don't know what I should tell you."

"The truth," I urged. "Please don't hold back. I'm going to be at the property tonight, and I'd feel better if I knew everything you do."

"I don't like being put in that position," he said, crossing his hands over his ample stomach. He leaned back. I felt about six inches tall as he studied me. "All the same, I won't let you go in blind." He rocked slightly, the springs on his chair squeaking, as if he were buying time to decide how much he should tell me. He cleared his throat. "You realize the Wydells have a lot of power in this town. So I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone we discussed this."

"Believe me, I understand." He probably did as well. I'd heard his divorce was messy, although he'd never made his dissatisfaction known in public.

He'd left the sideshow to yours truly.

The mayor pressed his lips together. "Here's the rub: there have been problems on that property from the get go. Mind you, I'm not talking about anything as outlandish as ghosts." He shifted uncomfortably. "Have you found the tunnel in the cellar?"

"Yes," I said, surprised. "I suppose it's been dug out for years."

He let out a huff. "The thing nearly came down on me in '72. Yes," he said, when he saw my shock. "I thought it might be a fun diversion for the tourists and the locals, a little bit of Sugarland underground history. According to some old plans, it goes all the way to the main house. But the entire structure is unstable." He frowned. "It's certainly not worth getting killed over." 

"There must be more to it than that," I told him. "Someone's been excavating down there."

He seemed surprised. "If your vandals are in there, Mr. Wydell might be liable for a lot more than damage. No. Lock that place up and throw away the key. Anyhow, your real concern with the treasure hunters is the spot overlooking the river."

"No kidding. I haven't been back there."

"It's probably as hazardous as that tunnel. There are cliffs back there and unstable rock. That's shale. It breaks off in layers. You don't know how solid the rock under your feet is going to be. Do you understand me? That's very important. It's dangerous."

"I got it." And it made me distinctly uncomfortable. "What makes you think anything's back there?"

He was slow to answer. "I found a brooch once," he said, noncommittally. "This delicate thing with a bright red ruby in the middle. It was in a leather bag, stuffed into an alcove in the cave on Wilson's Point."

I hadn't even been aware of a cave. "Is that where you saw most of the digging?"

He nodded, rueful. "Figured I'd try my luck, too," he admitted. "But it was treacherous and dumb and I'm wiser now."

"Believe me," I said, "I'm not one to take unnecessary chances, either."

He drummed his fingers on the table. His sunken eyes sparkled. "I have to admit, that brooch was fun to find. I gave it to Genevieve for a birthday present. She didn't appreciate the fact that I basically 'found it in the woods,' as she said. Then again, we were always very different." He stilled, growing serious. "But now you're going to go back there and I might have just made things worse." 

"You've allowed me to make an educated decision. I appreciate that." I was a big girl. I could handle it.

He obviously didn't share my confidence, but he didn't press it further. He settled back in his chair. "Yes, the Wilson's Point Cave. That's where I saw most of the digging and where I found that brooch." He reached up, as if he could see it and pluck it out of the air. "The bag was brown, caked with dirt. I almost didn't even see it."

"And that was it? You left the trespassers to the rest?"

He chuckled. "No, I dug. I spent quite a few Saturdays out there. I goofed around when I should have been fixing the property up. But I didn't find anything else. Other than a busted ankle when I nearly fell off the cliff." He smiled, remembering. "Then my career set sail, my bum leg got worse, and I didn't go back there at all. Just didn't have the time."

"Where is the cave? Melody could look it up," I reminded him, "but it would be easier to hear it from you." 

He gave me a long look. Yes, I was strong-arming him again, and he knew it. 

"Perhaps you're the one who belongs in politics," he said. The accusation sounded friendly, but I could feel the ice underneath. 

He drew his fingers in circles over the desktop. It was clear the man could not be rushed. "Thing is," he said, glancing up at me, "if there's a stash of jewelry—and there might not even be, but if there is—it's not in a good spot or someone would have found it by now." He waited until I acknowledged the warning. Then he surprised me. "If you go down, it's safer to walk along the left side of the overhang. Also avoid the shale ledge near the leaning juniper bush, if that's still there. It's unstable. It might have fallen down the cliff already."

"I'm going to write this down," I said, reaching for my bag.

"I'll draw it out for you," he said, pulling a sheet of paper from his top drawer. "I'll block out the dangerous parts as I've experienced them." He grabbed the gold desk pen from its holder and pointed it at me. "That doesn't mean they're the only spots to avoid, and it doesn't mean I approve of what you're doing." He put pen to paper. "I'll also show you where most of the digging's been and where I found the brooch." He made bold lines across the page, filling them in with a fairly detailed sketch. "The only thing I ask is that you don't share this with Ellis. If anybody's going to find another bit of treasure, I want it to be for you and your grandma's house, not some damned Wydell."

"Thanks," I said, meaning it. 

"I hope I'm doing the right thing." He drew a cliff face and the trail down to it. He made the cave and drew a circle near the upper left and wrote something next to it. "See that? That's my chicken scratch. It says brooch." Then he made a series of x's all around. "These are where I found evidence of digging and where I poked around, too." I noticed he marked the shale cliff overlooking the site.

"You didn't find anything else on the land? Not a belt buckle or a button?" Anything like that might offer a decent clue as to where the gangsters had gone.

"Nothing." He slid the paper across the desk at me. "If you see any strangers on the property, you avoid them. It's an isolated piece of land and you don't know what some of these people are willing to do."

"I understand," I said. Then I reached out onto a limb. "I'm sorry you had to sell the place. It seems like a really neat property."

He gave a wry smile. "The truth is, I didn't spend as much time out there as I'd hoped. It was one of those good ideas that fell by the wayside."

"Ellis really does have some impressive plans for the place," I told him, hoping he could at least see value in the new ownership.

"I saw the permits," he said, wistfully. "Don't feel bad. I had my chance." He straightened in his chair. "It was fun when I was young, when I first got married." He leaned his elbows on the desk. "I fought one too many zoning restrictions and ended up in politics. I'm glad Genevieve took the Wilson's Creek property instead of the house in Palm Springs. I led her to believe it would hurt me more." He sighed, gazed down at the desk, and suddenly found interest in his fingers. "I thought I didn't care, but talking to you now, I do find I regret the loss. Life takes funny turns."

"You've certainly done plenty of other things," I said in the understatement of the year. 

We all had our choices to make.

He pounded a palm on the wood. "Ah. Well. It's good for the town if someone is doing something with the property. Even if it's one of those blood suckers." He cringed and I followed his gaze to the slightly open door.

"I don't think anybody's out there," I told him.

The corners of his mouth tugged up. "You can never be too careful."

He folded the map in half and slid it over the table to me.

"I appreciate your time, and this," I said, slipping it into my bag.

"I'm glad to help you, sweetheart." He stood when I did, a little unsteady as he went for his cane with the trout handle. He situated it in his hand, fingers shaking. "If I was twenty years younger, I might go barreling down the hillside with you. These days, I'm glad just to wake up in the morning."

"You don't look a day over sixty," I told him.

He laughed at that. Yet all too soon, he grew serious again. 

He pressed his lips together as he regarded me. "I don't want to preach, but I will. Watch out for that Wydell boy. In fact, keep guarded against that entire family. You already know they have it out for you. They are mean, and they stick together. Trust me. I know."

"I do, too," I said.

He pushed the door open all the way and lowered his voice. "Also, don't mind the Nancy Tarkingtons of the world."

Embarrassment trickled through me, for myself or for her I wasn't sure. "You heard?"

He didn't give an inch. "My leg might be shot. My eyes could be better. But my brain and my ears work fine. I've seen a lot over the years and I can tell you with certainty—this too shall pass."

He seemed utterly convinced, and for that, I was grateful. "You're a good man, Mayor Steward."

He passed his cane to his other hand and reached out to shake my hand. The old man's grip was firm, even if his skin felt soft and paper-thin.

"You're a good girl, Verity Long." He gave my hand an extra squeeze. "Your Grandma would be really proud of the way you're taking care of her house."

It touched me that he understood in that way. Of course he loved this place as much as I did. "I'm glad I stayed in Sugarland." 

His eyes twinkled and his mouth curved into a smile. "Me, too."

Chapter Fifteen

After my talk with the mayor, I figured I'd better be on top of my game. And so I made a quick stop before continuing on to the Wilson's Creek property. Yes, I'd be a bit late to meet Ellis, but he'd forgive me when he saw what I had. I couldn't help but smile. I hoped he liked surprises.

This one fit neatly into the trunk. Well, as long as I smushed my assorted bags, catalogues, and coupon books to the side and tossed my jumper cables in the back seat.

I slid into the land yacht and stowed my hemp bag on the floor of the passenger side. 

"You doing okay, Frankie?" I asked. He hadn't bugged me much when I talked to Melody, or at all when I spent time with the mayor. "Frankie?" 

I half expected him to shimmer into focus, sitting on the seat next to me. He didn't. 

I supposed I should be glad he was resting up in the ether. I hoped it was comfortable.

The urn in my bag rattled as we bounced over the older, rougher roads south of Main. Thick, mature trees lined the road. The neat, bungalow-style houses along Magnolia Street had stood since the early 1900's. I loved the wide variety of styles and personal touches as well as the inviting porches. No two were alike.

I fiddled with the radio as the town gave way to country roads and farms.

"Are you with me?" I asked Frankie, as we turned right onto the drive. 

Silence.

There were times when I didn't mind him quiet. Believe me. But this had me worried. I needed him tonight. 

The old brick carriage house hunkered under gray skies as I pulled up. Perhaps it looked more ominous because I knew what resided there. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. If I couldn't see the spirits lingering on the property, if I had no warning before a poltergeist attacked, it could get ugly.

Ellis sat on the front steps, taking a break, and oh my—he looked filthy. His gray t-shirt stuck to his chest and arms and a layer of dust coated him from head to toe. A construction helmet lay at his feet and his hair spiked up like he'd been rubbing out a serious case of hat head. I did a double take when I saw his gun holstered at his side, but I supposed he couldn't be too careful. 

I parked next to his black Jeep and put on a brave face as I slammed my car door shut. 

"Tough day at the mine?" I asked, going for a little levity.

He grinned and poured lemonade from a round cooler. "I was excavating the tunnel."

My chest pinched at the thought. "I'm glad you're okay. Did you find anything?"

"Stale air, rocks," he said. "I got closer to the cave in. It looks old."

"You shouldn't go down there," I said, trying to think of the best way to bring up Mayor Steward's warning. And his revelation about the cliffs.

So I went behind your back and talked to the previous owner of the property… 

"Want some?" he asked, holding out an empty glass for me. When I hesitated, he went ahead and poured. "Homemade from the diner," he said, pressing the cool glass into my hand. It was a genteel kind of offer, a very southern one, even if it came from a beat up cooler leaning against the crumbling porch. "I also grabbed us some cold chicken," he added. "Since dinner time's coming up."

My stomach growled at the thought. I hadn't eaten anything but granola bars and Life Savers all day. "You're spoiling me here," I told him, embarrassed that he'd done all of it, and that I liked it. 

Of course I couldn't get used to it. I was about to torpedo the good will we'd built.

I took a sip of lemonade. It tasted sweet and refreshing with the right amount of tart. 

"Maybe I just don't want you to quit," he said, glancing at me as he tightened up the cooler lid. 

I tried not to read too much into that. Last night had been a disaster by all accounts. Of course Ellis wanted to stay and protect his property.

I needed to tell him about what could be buried out back. He deserved my honesty and he also needed a true picture of who could be poking around.

"Listen," I said, placing my glass down. "I did some investigating on my own. I stopped and talked to the mayor on the way over here."