The Cats that Stalked a Ghost (17 page)

“I’m looking for my shoes.”

“Is this where you lost them?”

“I didn’t lose them.  They were slowing me down, so I took them off. Oh, never mind,” she said, speeding up. “The weeds are so tall, I wouldn’t be able to see them anyway.  Maybe on the way back, we can get out and look.”

“Sure, but do you think Stevie’s raccoon got them?” Jake asked,
tongue-in-cheek, deliberately trying to calm Katherine down. 

Katherine made a face. “Oh, possibly, or maybe Evan’s crow took them.”

“Just messin’ with ya.”

Katherine drove farther down the lane, around the dilapidated building, and parked behind it. 

Scout sat in her carrier on the back seat.  “Waugh,” she protested for the fiftieth time since they left Erie. 

Jake climbed out and opened the door to extract the noisy Siamese from the carrier. 

Katherine came around and inserted the leash into Scout’s harness.  She picked up the cat, and set her on the ground. 

“Okay, sweet girl, let’s take a walk.”

Jake reached into the glove compartment and removed his Glock.  He turned and placed it in his back holster.

“I didn’t see you put your gun in there,” Katherine said, surprised.

“I’m making sure my two girls are safe,” he smiled.  “Sweet Pea, these days I’m always packin’.”

Scout trotted toward the storm cellar, then stopped.  A clump of grass caught her feline attention.  She pulled several blades, and began to munch on them. 

Katherine pointed.  “Jake, that’s the infamous cellar where that nutcase Paul Taylor took me.”

“Looks like the storm cellar in the Wizard of Oz.”

“I know.  That’s what I thought.  I think I’ll skip giving you the grand tour.”

“Well, with the official crime scene tape closing it off, I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to go down there.”

“It’s hard to believe a county-owned building would have such a small cellar. It’s a very small space.  It wouldn’t accommodate many people.”

“It could have served other purposes as well, but I think it would be too ghoulish to imagine for what,” Jake noted.  “Is that the cemetery?”

Scout cried, “Ma-waugh,” and tugged at the leash. 

“Take us there, sweet girl.”

The couple walked through tall grass until they got to a rusted, barbed wire fence.  Scout scooted underneath it, but Katherine stopped.  “Wait a minute, Scout.”

“Hang on,” Jake said, walking over. He grabbed the wire.  “I’ll hold it up until you clear.”  After Katherine had crawled to the other side, he easily stepped over it. 

Katherine and Scout made their way to the neglected cemetery.  Scout began sniffing the air.  She stood on her hind legs, and partially opened her jaw. 

“According to my research,” Jake began, “the State closed the asylum in 1962.”

“Is that when it became the home for unwed mothers?  Stevie called it the hush-hush place.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.  Back in the 1940s, 50s, and early 60s, having a child out-of-wedlock carried a negative social stigma.”

“When Scout rescued me from the cellar, we both saw the same apparition that has been haunting the Foursquare. At first, the spirit pointed toward the cemetery.  I think she died here, either in the fire, or for some other reason.”

“Since we don’t know her name, let’s concentrate on tombstones from the 1960s.”

“I don’t understand why anyone would be buried here, and not at the Ethel cemetery?”

“I suspect that many were very poor, and wards of the
State.”

“That’s so sad.”

Scout led Katherine around the perimeter of the gravesite, then zeroed in on a row of flat stone markers on the ground.  Katherine kneeled down next to one, and pulled away the vines that partially covered it.  Scout helped.  “1965,” she said excitedly.  She quickly counted the number of tombstones in the row.  “Seven,” she said.

“Read off the names, and I’ll write them down,” Jake said, taking out a small notebook. 

“Marsha Goodman, died October 3, 1965.”

“I think we’re on to something.  Isn’t that the date of the fire?”

“Yes, according to the newspaper article.  The marker doesn’t show a birth date, just the year she died.”

Jake shrugged.  “Keep going.”

“Lesley Adams, died October 3, 1965.”

“The folks who ran the home must have saved money by not engraving the birthdates.”

“Susan Deeds.  This is crazy,” Katherine said.  “Where were these girls’ families?”

Scout was interested in the next marker.  She rubbed her face on the stone, and then began furiously digging. 

“Stop that,” Katherine scolded, moving in to pick her up. 

Scout straddled a white object. 

“What do you have there?”  she asked, leaning in.

Scout kicked the object with her back leg.  It tumbled a few inches, and landed on the toe of Katherine’s sneaker.

“Whoa, Jake, it’s one of my wedding shoes! What’s it doing here?”

“Where’s the other one?” he asked.

“It’s on top of the grave marker,” Katherine said, surprised. She reached down and lifted up the other shoe. 

“That’s strange.  Whose grave is it?”

“I can’t make out the name,” she said, then shuddered.  She looked up at Jake with a shocked expression on her face.  “Katrina Doe.  Died October 3, 1965.”

“Katrina? Didn’t you say that was the name of Evelyn Clay’s daughter?”

Katherine nodded.  “I’ve heard of Jane Doe or John Doe.”

“Yeah, it’s usually the name of a patient or a deceased person whose identity is unknown.”

“Could this be Katrina Clay’s grave?”  Katherine asked, hopefully.

“Ma-waugh,” Scout agreed.

Jake leaned down, and removed the vines covering the lower part of the marker.  “This gravestone has a birthdate.  January 15, 1951.”

Katherine gasped, doing the math in her head.  “She was only
fourteen-years-old.”

“Is this Katrina Clay’s birthdate?”

“Don’t know.  I’ll have your great-uncle, down at the courthouse, help me.”  Katherine sat down, and held Scout on her lap.  “Jake, my gut instinct tells me this is Katrina’s grave.  She was
fourteen-years-old, unmarried, and pregnant.  She wanted to keep her baby.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because the first time I saw her, she was clutching a baby blanket,” Katherine said, then continued, “Her mother didn’t want her daughter shamed by people in town  — ”

“Or Evelyn Clay didn’t want to be shamed,” Jake finished.

“She banished her
only
child to this horrific place for unwed mothers, so Katrina could have the baby, and put the child up for adoption.  Then, Katrina could go back home, and carry on like nothing ever happened.  What kind of parent would do such a thing to her
own
child?” 

“I’m sorry to say, it was the cultural norm back then,” Jake said, shaking his head.  “It’s a mystery why Katrina was buried here without the town knowing about it.”

“Evelyn Clay told everyone her daughter was attending a finishing school in Massachusetts.  There was even an article about it in the
Erie Ledger
.  I suspect Evelyn knew someone at the home, and paid them handsomely to keep it quiet.  She had her daughter admitted as Katrina Doe.”

“Katz, people talk, especially in a small town.  They gossip.  Someone working at the home would have spilled the beans.  But, if Evelyn paid off the person in charge, then they could have kept it secret.”

“After the fire, which claimed the life of seven teenaged girls, it looks like the media would have had a field day with it, yet I only found one short article.  The fire chief said the fire was accidental, end of story.”

“Who knows,” Jake said.  “Maybe in the 1960s, the county government was corrupt.  If the building wasn’t kept up, all sorts of things could have caused the fire; faulty wiring is my number one guess.”

“I’m surprised the other girls’ parents didn’t object.”

“I’m thinking the other girls were from out-of-town, farmed here by parents who didn’t give a damn, and then were forgotten.”

“Jake, Stevie said his mother told him the babies were saved.  But what happened to them?”

“Katz, I think the infants were adopted illegally, so there wouldn’t be a record of it.”

“How would Stevie’s mother know this?  The article in the newspaper said seven young women died, but didn’t mention anything about their babies.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t ask her, because Stevie’s mom passed away several years ago.”

“Always a hurdle,” she said, discouraged.

“If those adoptions were legal, the birth and adoption records are sealed.”

“And the Home’s copies of the adoption records — if there were any records — were destroyed in the fire.”

Jake shook his head.  “Katz, I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but maybe this is the grave of another Katrina.”

“But Jake, don’t you find it odd that my missing shoes were on top of Katrina’s grave?”

“Spooky, I agree, but . . . ”

“I just wish I could find a picture of Katrina.”

Jake rubbed his chin.  “Umm, photo.  I’ve got an idea.  Let’s drop Scout off at the Foursquare, and go have a look at the library.”

“Why?  The
Erie Ledger
is online.”

“I know, but we’re not looking at newspaper articles.  We’re looking for Erie school yearbooks, instead.  Katz, you can at least find out if the ghost you’ve been seeing is
really
Katrina Clay.  Her picture would be in the 1964 or 1965 yearbook.”

“Brilliant!”

Scout nudged her head under Katherine’s chin. 

Katherine hugged her.  “You knew all along, didn’t you?” she asked the cat.

Scout crossed her eyes, and gave a deranged look.

“So that’s my plan,” Jake said.

“If I have it my way, all seven girls will be moved to the Ethel cemetery.”

“That sounds like a difficult undertaking.”

“No, you didn’t just use that word.”

“Oh, sorry.  It won’t be easy.  I’m sure there will be lots of red tape, and legal hurdles to jump.”

“That’s why I have an attorney,” Katherine smiled.

“What about this wreck of a building?”

“Demolish it!  Bulldoze it!  This land isn’t that far from the Erie town limits.  We could make it into a memorial park.”

“That’s not a bad idea.  I think it will be easier for Erie to remember this place for the right reasons — what happened to these girls — if the building is torn down, and a memorial park is built.  But, Katz, this will be expensive.”

“It shouldn’t cost too much,” Katherine said, covering her mouth to conceal a laugh.

Jake winked, “Yeah, if you’re a millionaire.”  He extracted his cell phone and clicked a picture of the grave marker.  “Let’s head on out, Sweet Pea.  I’ll carry Scout.”

Katherine handed the Siamese to him.  “Do you think Katrina’s spirit will move on, once we bury her with her real name?”

“Let’s make sure it’s really Katrina Clay, first, okay?”

“Ma-waugh,” Scout agreed.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Later that evening, a fast-moving thunderstorm swept through Erie, leaving behind fallen limbs and other kinds of storm debris.  Jake and Cokey were at the pink mansion, framing out the new maintenance room in the basement. 

Katherine nervously waited at the front door of the Foursquare for Colleen, who was fifteen minutes late.  A second storm was pushing through with loud thunder and lightning.  Then, the heavy rain began.  Colleen parked in front of the Foursquare, opened her umbrella, and ran to the house.  Katherine opened the door.

“Colleen, hurry up and come in.  I was worried about you driving in this.”

“Oh, I didn’t drive from the
city.  I’ve been with Daryl.”

“Did you two make up?” Katherine asked nosily.

Colleen didn’t answer, but shifted the topic.  “This rain just won’t let up.”

“It’s better than snow,” Katherine volunteered.  “Where’s your equipment?”

“I only brought the K2 meter and the flashlight this time.  No need for the other stuff.”

“Here, come to the kitchen.  I’ve got something to show you.”

“Where are the cats?” Colleen asked, looking around.

“Scout and Abra are prowling around, but I locked the others in a room upstairs.  The kittens are back from their surgeries, and aren’t supposed to be running around, but try to explain that to two hyperactive Siamese,” Katherine chuckled. 

“Katz, why don’t Jake and you move into the bungalow while the mansion is being worked on?  Mum and Jacky are back in Manhattan.  Daryl and I can help you move your stuff.”

“We don’t have that much to move, but thanks for offering,” Katherine said, then asked again.  “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Daryl.  Did you or didn’t you get back together?”

“Yes, Katz, we did.  Daryl said he was going to be more sensitive to my needs, instead of becoming Mr. Hyde when I disagree about something.”

“Are you referring to what you told me happened at the armory?”

“I’m probably being a selfish brat, but I’d much rather have my boyfriend ask me instead of order me to do something.”

“Yes, I agree.  Colleen, I’m not taking sides here, but Daryl was probably trying to hide the fact that he was freaked out that his cousin Jake, and maybe even me, were at the mansion during the explosion.”

“Speaking of Jake, where is he?”

“He’s next door helping Cokey.  As soon as they get the basement framing done, they can start hanging sheetrock.”

“Jake has time for that with his teaching schedule?”

“No, I meant to say, Cokey and Margie have a drywall crew that will come in and finish.”

“Okay, I get it now.  You want to keep a close eye on the progress being made at the mansion.”

“Something like that. Plus, to make sure Cokey doesn’t leave anymore flammable rags around.”

“Exactly, and also, that no one smokes in your house!”  Colleen caught herself. “I’m sorry.  That sounded really bad considering the fact my brother caused the fire.”

“That’s water under the bridge.  For your brother’s sake, I’m glad the fire chief ruled the explosion accidental. Jacky and I talked about what happened.  I told him I would forgive him, if he’d seek help for his drinking problem.”