The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) (5 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

When the phone rang after she’d gone to bed on Christmas Eve, Penelope knew it was Sam. “Merry Christmas, Nell.”

“Where are you?”

“Too far away, unfortunately.”

“Oh.”

“What did you do tonight?”

“Went to midnight Mass. We’ll do Christmas tomorrow.”

“Who’s we?”

“Bradley and Rosabel, Harry and Mary Lynn, and Daddy.”

“Where’s Shana?”

“She ade a quick trip home to Ohio.”

“What’s going on at the school?”

“The boiler’s working.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s Christmas. How much blessed time do you think we have?”

“No idea. What are you doing New Year’s Eve?”

“The new owners of the Sit-n-Swill are opening.”

“A Reuben and a beer for Jake.”

“He’s looking forward to it. What are you doing, Sam?”

“Not what I’d like to be doing.”

“I’ll ignore that.”

“What makes you think I was referring to you?”

“I know things, too.”

When he chuckled, the rumbling sound gave Penelope goose bumps even over the phone. “I don’t do Christmas anyway.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I’m used to it.”

“So why did you call to wish me Merry Christmas?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Why?”

“If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand the answer.”

“What is it with you, Sam? Or rather, with your interest in me? You alluded to the fact I wasn’t all that bright more than once when you had Shana and me on the run.”

“I was trying to keep you alive, Nell. Sometimes dumb means not being dead.”

“I’m not dumb.”

“I know that.”

“I figured out about Travis and his mother’s family on my own.”

“That was clever, I’ll admit.”

“You knew all of it already and didn’t even tell me.”

“You didn’t need to know.”

“I didn’t even want to think about Travis having another son.”

“The guy was small potatoes. He’d have gotten caught sooner or later if he hadn’t gotten himself roasted.”

“That’s cold.”

“That’s life.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You don’t have to. Look, Nell, I hope you have a terrific day tomorrow with your family and friends.”

“Thank you, I plan to.” A wave of sadness swept over her as she reflected on the wistful note in his voice. “What will you do?”

“Put another bad guy away, I hope.”

“On Christmas Day?”

“Justice isn’t a seasonal thing.”

“No holiday for crooks, right? And you aren’t one?”

“Right. Goodnight, Nell.”

She sat holding the phone even after the soft click on the other end told her he’d hung up.
Oh, Sam, who are you? What are you? You don’t do Christmas, you don’t feel bad because some young man, crook or not, met a horrible fiery end, you try to seduce me in my own parlor, and you call just to hear my voice.

Without bothering to put on her robe, Penelope padded barefoot to the window overlooking the
porte-cochere and her mother’s magnolia beyond that. Despite the passage of time, she’d never stopped missing Wynne. She knew Jake still missed her, too. 
You were sixteen when you met Daddy in London at the end of the war, and you left everything and came to America to be with him. I used to think you knew everything, and what you didn’t know, Daddy did. Sometimes I think I don’t know anything. First I get mixed up with a rounder like Travis Pembroke, and now some guy without so much as a last name has me so rattled I can’t stop thinking about him.

She pressed her nose against the icy glass pane and made a steamy patch with her breath. Tracing the letters S – A – M with the tip of one finger, she wondered when he’d be back…and how far he tried go when he came…and if she’d let him.

****

“You look nice, Nellie.” Jake Kelley emerged from his apartment and stood for a moment looking at his daughter with fatherly pride.

“Thank you, Daddy, so do you.”

“Made another trip to Blass’s,” he said, smoothing the sleeves of his green-and-white striped oxford cloth shirt, perfectly pressed by his own hand.

“So I see. Going to wow all the girls tonight?”

“You never know.” He tugged at his maroon tie as if to straighten it.

“The tie’s fine, Daddy.”

“You bought something new, too, didn’t you?”

“I’ve had this skirt and sweater for five year             

“You wear your clothes like your mother. Blue was her favorite color, too.”

“I remember.” Penelope pushed up the sleeves of the cowl-necked cashmere sweater. “I just hope it’s not too hot tonight. Who’d have thought about a heat wave in January?”

“I wouldn’t call sixty-five a heat wave.”

“It was below freezing for a week before Christmas.”

“You wearing boots under that skirt?”

Penelope pulled up the ankle-length blue wool skirt to show him the black patent boots covering most of her calves. “These are new. On sale at the Shoe Barn in Little Rock. Shana talked me into them.”

“I like them. Is that the necklace you had made from the diamonds in your wedding ring?”

“And the earrings.”

“I like those, too.”

“You ready to go?”

Jake lifted his suede jacket from the hook by the back door. “I’m ready to see what Mike and Millie did with the Sit-n-Swill. They sure kept things under wraps. When I went by there the other day, Mike met me on the porch and didn’t even invite me in.”

“I expect they want it to be a surprise to everybody who comes to the grand opening.”

“Uh-huh, well, let’s go be surprised.”

****

“It’s gorgeous, Millie.” Penelope turned a full 360 degrees one more time to admire the new pine paneling with tastefully arranged groupings of black and white photographs of Amaryllis taken over the years. “Where’d you get the pictures?”

“Newspaper office. They’ve got a file you wouldn’t believe, and they let me take them to Little Rock to be copied.  Come back another night when we’re not so crowded so you can get a good look at them individually.”

“And you got rid of that awful red bar, too.”

“When I stripped off four layers of paint, the original wood matched the paneling Mike picked out. We refinished the floors, too.”

“Same tables and chairs though.”

“Well, they sort of belong here, don’t you think?”

“I think they make all the old customers very comfortable, me included. Things are different but the same.”

“That’s kind of how I looked at it.”

“But I never noticed the fireplace before. Of course, I wasn’t in here very often.”

“You never noticed because it wasn’t here. Or rather, it was only sort of here. When we were paneling the place, we found water damage behind that wall, so we had to rip it out. The sheetrock was literally soggy. Anyway, when we got it all pulled down, we found the fireplace. It must’ve been all that survived the fire that burned the house which first occupied this location.”

“It’s native stone, isn’t it?”

“We had a friend in to look at it. He dates the thing from about 1880, which was when the Bowden family came to this area.”

“It takes up almost the whole wall.”

“Well, fireplaces weren’t just for show back then. If you’ll take a closer look, you’ll see the iron thingys the cooking pots hung from.”

“Does the fireplace work? I mean, does the chimney draw?”

“We had a professional come out and clean it. He said it looked fine, but we’re waiting until later tonight to light the first fire. The weatherman says the temperature is due to drop again, but we don’t want to get it too hot in here with all the bodies.”

Penelope joined her father and the
Hargroves at one of the larger tables in the back. A few minutes later, Bradley and Rosabel came in and pulled up extra chairs for themselves. In a few minutes, he waved at a stranger coming in the door. “My new manager,” he said to everyone at the table. “Chuck Runyon.”

Penelope thought the young man who ambled toward them seemed unimpressive, but on closer observation, she liked his eyes. Merry eyes, Wynne would’ve called them. “So you’re already settled in at Pembroke Point?” she asked after the introductions were made.

“I’m staying in the house right now, but when my things get here, I’ll move into the garage apartment. It has a good view of the house, so I can keep my eye on things.”

“Where’re you from, son?” Jake asked.

“A little place in Mississippi you probably never heard of. My father grows cotton and tobacco.”

“So you know your stuff,” Jake said.

“I should after working alongside my father all my life. When I finished at Ole Miss last spring, I planned to go home and take some of the load off Dad, but then my older brother moved his family home, and…well, we don’t get along that well, so when I heard about this job, I jumped at the chance.”

“Your father didn’t mind?” Penelope asked.

Chuck laughed a little. “Well, he refereed between my brother and me for years, and I don’t think he wanted to do it again. Besides, Case and Dad pretty much see eye to eye on running the two farms. And they do well, don’t get me wrong. But I needed to be out on my own, so here I am.”

“He had great references, Pawpaw,” Bradley said. “And maybe Pembroke Point could use some new ideas.

“What did you study in college?” Penelope asked.

“Agriculture, what else? And I had a double minor in business and art.”

“Art?” Penelope’s eyebrows went up.

“I do some painting and sketching on the side. It’s a hobby more than anything else. But speaking of that, did you know about the Bancroft portraits?”

“The ones along the front stairs,” Bradley said. “I didn’t know what they were until Chuck pointed them out.”

“Emmett Bancroft was a local portrait painter before Arkansas became a state,” Chuck said. He leaned forward, warming to his subject. “He didn’t make much of a living at it, but now they’re collectibles.”

“Worth something, huh?” Jake asked.

“Worth a lot, Mr. Kelley. A whole lot.”

“Chuck suggested I get someone over to appraise them and be sure they’re well-insured,” Bradley said. “Also, when we open up the house to the public, he thinks we should have a professionally-monitored alarm system.”

“You don’t say.” Jake sipped his beer.

“They’re really priceless, Mr. Kelley. It would be a shame if anything happened to them.”

“How many are there?” Harry asked.

“Seven, but nobody really knows how many Bancroft painted. He was an itinerant painter…moved around a lot, lived in the homes of people whose portraits he was working on. But I admit to looking all over the house when I saw the four on the stairs, and I found three other small ones in a couple of the bedrooms. They weren’t signed, at least on the front, and naturally I didn’t take them out of their frames to see if there was information on the back. But an archivist will know how to authenticate everything.”

“I don’t know if I want anything that valuable in the house,” Brad said. “But we’ll see what happens.” Loud voices from the bar stopped the conversation cold. “Tell me those aren’t bikers I see at the bar.”

“Mike can handle them,” Harry said.

Penelope turned toward the bar where four leather-clad men, dripping with chains, hunched over bottles of beer. She frowned as she noticed something familiar about the one on the end. Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, the biker revolved on his stool and grinned at her. She didn’t have to look twice to know it was
Tiny.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The jukebox belted out its usual complement of classic country western songs, but there were a few new ones, too. Keeping her eyes away from the bar, Penelope watched Bradley and
Rosabel start the dancing. Harry, remarkably light on his feet despite his port, moved Mary Lynn around the room with a touching ease and grace. Even Jake took a couple of turns with Millie and Rosabel after Penelope turned him down.

I’ve been alone a long time.
Why is it getting to me tonight all of a sudden? This is nothing new, being the fifth wheel, the odd man out. Is it because Sam’s over there watching my every move?

Just after ten, Mike held a match to the kindling
tucked into the logs filling the fireplace cavity. The paper and twigs flared, then sputtered and went out. The same thing happened again before the logs finally caught. “Third time’s the charm,” someone called out.

Coming back from checking out the remodeled ladies room, Penelope noticed the bikers were gone and an extra person now sat in the chair next to Chuck Runyon. The woman’s long black hair, drawn away with jeweled ruby clips from a face of indeterminate age, tumbled down her back, blending with a plain black jersey dress melded to her body.  If she wore makeup at all, it was expertly and subtly done so as not to be noticeable. A pair of large ruby and gold hoops, similar to the hair clips, were her only other accessories. Millie, standing behind the newcomer, motioned to Penelope.

“This is a friend from Fayetteville, Marlo Howard. Marlo, this is Penelope Pembroke, the local B&B owner, mover and shaker, and also mother of the handsome police detective now dancing with his lady love.”

Penelope offered her hand. “Hello,
Marlo.” She thought the woman’s hand felt limp and unenthusiastic.

“
Marlo came to the grand opening as a favor, but she’s really here to look for an old home where she can open an antique store.”

“More of an art gallery with antiques on the side.”
Marlo’s husky voice meshed with the rest of her appearance.

“Anyway, I told her if she found an old house, Mike and I had first dibs on it.”

Penelope settled into her chair again. “I see.”

“I told her they come available from time to time,” Mary Lynn said. “I told her to go see Ben Epperson after the holidays.”

“Are you staying with the Dancers?” Penelope asked.

“I’ll spend tonight with Mike and Millie and drive back tomorrow.”

“I thought you were from Fayetteville.”

Marlo
moved her head in an almost imperceptible negative. “I lived there for a while, but I’ve been in Little Rock for two years.”

“She works for an art gallery,” Millie said. “But now she wants to get out on her own.”

“And I guess Little Rock has more than enough galleries and antique malls.”

Marlo’s
pale pink lips curved in what might have been a smile or maybe a look of condescension. “Yes, it does. But Amaryllis is a good location. I’ve studied your tourist business.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I was impressed enough to come look it over.”

Dislike stirred in Penelope. “Well, we like it,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as catty as she felt.

“Always room for more business,” Harry said, back in mayor-mode.

****

At midnight, Mike turned the jukebox off and the lights down, and Millie played
Auld Lang Syne
on the battered upright they’d kept along with the tables and chairs. Penelope could tell it had been tuned.

“You ready to go home, Daddy?”

“Not really.”

“I thought you said you’d had enough late nights to last you.”

He winked.

“And how many beers does that one make?”

“Only two, Nellie, and that’s my limit. I swear.”

“Well, I’m tired.”
What I am is miserable. Why couldn’t Sam have stayed away? And that Marlo person is my age if she’s a day and twice as elegant. She’s twice as old as Chuck Runyon, too, but she’s got him bamboozled already.

“Brad and I can drive Mr. Kelley home if you want to go on,”
Rosabel said.

“You sure?”

“Not a problem, Mother,” Brad said.

“Then I think I’ll go and…”

The popping sound reminded her of the gunfire she’d heard the last time she was in the Sit-n-Swill, but a shower of sparks from the fireplace told her it wasn’t. A young woman sitting near the hearth screamed and jumped up, her hands brushing at her clothing like rotating turbines. “I’ve got it, folks.” Mike, fire extinguisher in hand, lunged for the fireplace where the logs were crumbling like crackers. Behind him, Bradley kicked at a few pieces glowing on the hearth.

Before Mike could use the fire extinguisher, the fiery glow darkened like a light switched off, and a low wailing moan filled the room. In the silence that followed, everyone looked at everyone else, searching for the sound’s source. On its heels came the clipped words near Penelope’s ear, “
Rosedale Bridge in fifteen minutes.”

Grabbing her shawl from the back of the chair, she headed for the door.

****

Rosedale Bridge, the only covered bridge left in the county, rose in the moonlight like a huge cocoon, then disappeared for a brief moment as a cloud sailed across the treetops. Penelope parked her SUV a  few feet from the opening and checked to make sure her doors were locked. The sharp rap on the passenger window both startled and relieved her.

She pressed the unlock switch, and Sam slid in. “Hi.”

“Hi?”

He moved across the seat and kissed her long and hard. “Happy New Year.”

“I thought you didn’t do holidays.”

He sighed and sat back away from her. “You’re a hard nut to crack, Nell.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“The Sit-n-Swill has changed some.”

“For the better, don’t you think?”

“It’s not a biker place anymore, that’s for sure.”

“Why are you being Tiny tonight?”

He smiled. “I’ll let you figure that one out.”

“Before, you said your friends thought you’d gone off of the bridge. How can you just turn up again?”

“Different bunch.”

“So what do you want?”

“Just to see you.”

“You’ve seen me.”

“Come on, Nell, thaw out.”

She turned her face toward the window so he wouldn’t see her struggling with tears. When his hands closed around her arms and turned her toward him again, he kissed her cheeks with soft lips. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sometimes even the toughest operatives need some therapy after a particularly grueling assignment.”

“I’m not an operative, and it wasn’t an assignment. You kidnapped me.”

“I kept you and Shana alive.” His fingers threaded their way thro
ugh her hair and moved down to massage her neck. “You’re really uptight.”

“I’m tired.”

“Of what?”

“Of playing games with you.”

“Can’t offer you more, Nell, not right now.”

“Then why play at all if it’s not for…” She bit her lip, horrified at what she’d almost said.

“For keeps?”

She nodded.

He moved her from behind the steering wheel so that he could hold her against his chest and stroked her hair and shoulders. “Did you ever see that old was movie with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman—
Casablanca
?”

“Yes.” She breathed in the unexpected clean scent of his grubby-looking clothes. He hadn’
t been on the road long this time.

“A
t the end, they have to say goodbye because of circumstances neither one of them can change.”

“Yes.”

“That’s us, Nell.”

“Then stop coming into my gin joint. There are others in the world.”

He chuckled. “You’re a sharp gal.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her twice, then a third time with a longing she could feel down to her bones. “I want you,” he murmured. “I want you more than I’ve wanted anybody in a long, long time.”

“That’s not enough,” she murmured, but she didn’t resist his lips coming down on hers for a fourth time.

“It has to be for now.”

“How long is now?”

“I can’t tell you.” He sat back away from her again and took a deep breath. “I need to know about the woman at your table.”

“
Marlo Howard?”

“If that’s her name. Tell me about her.”

“I don’t know much. She’s a friend of the Dancers, lives in Little Rock, and wants to open an antique store and art gallery here in Amaryllis.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I thought you’d already left when she came.”

“I was around.”

“Then you know what happened to the fireplace.”

“I saw the fire blaze up and then go out.”

“It didn’t just go out. It was like somebody turned it off. Did you hear the noise?”

“What noise?”

“Somebody moaning like they were in agony. You had to hear that.”

He hesitated. “I heard something, but it wasn’t human.”

“The fireplace was part of a house built by the town’s founder, Jeremiah Bowden. Apparently his sister taught at the school and lived in the house before it burned down. Whoever built on the site covered up the fireplace, and the Dancers found it when they were remodeling.”

“Rock fireplaces usually survive.”

“Daddy says the school is haunted by the ghost of Jeremiah Bowden.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I didn’t, but the other day when I was out there with Mary Lynn and Shana, we went down to the basement to look at the boiler, and we definitely heard voices.”

“What kind of voices?”

“Just voices. Maybe children’s voices. It was a school, after all.”

“You just imagined it.”

“I did not! We all heard them.”

“I wish your friend would wait on that community center project, but if she won’t, I wish you wouldn’t get involved.”

“You’ll have to give me a better reason than that.”

“I can’t, Nell.”

“We’re going ahead.”

“I can’t stop you.”

“I don’t really believe in ghosts, but I did hear those voices in the basement. And I heard that horrible sound coming from the fireplace tonight.”

“I can’t help you. I deal in hard cold facts. Tell me about the manager your son hired to run the farm.”

“How did you know about him?” Penelope tried to see Sam’s face in the moonlight, but it remained shadowy.

“Just tell me about him.”

“I don’t know anything really. He’s young. Seems nice.  You don’t think he’s another drug dealer, do you?”

“Do you happen to know his name?”

“Chuck Runyon.  Bradley says he had good references.”

“Where’d he come
from?”

“He grew up on a farm in Mississippi and majored in agriculture at Ole Mis
s. Oh, and he minored in business and art.”

“Art.”

“He was telling us about some portraits he saw hanging above the stairs at the Point. He wants Bradley to get them appraised and be sure they’re insured. Oh, and he thinks the house should have an alarm system.”

“He does, does he?”

“That’s what he said. Do you need a place to sleep tonight?”

“Is the back bedroom available?” He put the tip of his finger on her nose and grinned.

“The front one is. All I did was make up the bed.”

“Hoping I’d be back, huh?”

“Don’t push your luck with me Tiny Sam.”

He grinned again. “Leave the kitchen door unlocked. Your door, too.”

“Sorry.”

He pulled her back into his arms. “Then I’ll have to make do with the front seat of the car, and it’s damned crowded.”

“Too crowded for what you have in mind.” But she lifted her face expectantly.

His kiss was brief, almost mechanical, before he slid out of the car. “Don’t wait up,” he said and disappeared into the darkness.