Wanted: One Ghost (22 page)

Smooth. The look on Beth’s face showed she understood what was going on between her new employee and April was more than academic.

Beth blushed. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to stop by and give you some documents Allen from city hall brought over today.”

Beth looked at the box she’d left by the door. “The custodial staff found these in the basement when they were cleaning out some of the old file boxes. I took a quick look and found something that might interest you. One of the files is labeled 1765-1775 and I know it would coincide with James Addison’s time period. They might be the documents you’re looking for. ” She shrugged.

“Thank you. I really appreciate you bringing it to me,” April replied excitedly. “This could very well be it!”

“I know you’ve had a rough time with your research. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help with everything going on lately.”

“It’s understandable. You’re one woman trying to handle it all. So again, thank you Dr. Freelane, I really appreciate this.”

“Anytime. Oh, here’s my cell phone number in case you need me while I’m away from work. Since you’ve brought our local legend to light again, I’ve gotten excited about restoring the ruins as we tried to do when we did the excavation back in the 80’s. I wanted to see a restoration done but we didn’t have the funding for it. I’m applying for grants and hope whatever you may find will shed some real light on our history. Well, I will let you two get back to your night. Enjoy.” Beth turned to leave but stopped shortly and eyed the house warily before moving on.

The file boxes ruined their original plans for a night of intimacy. April’s mood shifted the moment Dr. Freelane left. She’d been looking for those files since before they’d met. This was her job. She had a chance to maybe find what she needed to appease Kenneth Miles and move on with her life. James couldn’t help but feel the sense of excitement of possibly seeing the documents he’d signed over two hundred years ago himself. How odd would it be?

They’d been sitting on the parlor floor poring over the brittle papers for nearly an hour. She’d made a fire and opened a bottle of Aunt Vickie’s wine. It was as close as they would get to a romantic evening.

James laughed. “I’ll be damned!”

“What? Did you find something?” April looked up from her stack of files on her lap. She looked so adorable with a comfy pair of flannel pants and an over sized William and Mary t-shirt. A pair of latex gloves kept the oils from her fingers off the fragile parchment.

“Jonathan Turnbull, now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” James shook his head, smiling. “Talk about a cad. He could charm a stone into clay, told some of the bawdiest jokes and could drink any man under the table. The tavern wenches loved him, but in reality, he only had eyes for his wife. As much as he fussed about her at the taverns, he loved her dearly. You could see it in his eyes.”

If James could have found a man to emulate, it would have been Jonathan. He’d been a merchant who sailed out of Baltimore Harbor with a small fleet. But he wanted to settle down in Kings Mill for his wife’s sake. When he was gone, he didn’t like her staying alone in the house near the docks in Baltimore with all the unsavory characters. So he would bring her up to their townhouse in Kings Mill to be among friends.

“What about him?”

“He put in for a piece of land to settle and farm back in March of 1772. Not far from mine from the looks of it.”

“So? What’s so unusual?”

“Turnbull was a privateer. Had some ships that carried cargo in the triangle—molasses, rum, you name it the man could get it. Good man. Didn’t think he would be settling as a farmer in Kings Mill.” He stopped, his voice trailing a bit.

“He never made it back to settle. One night he was called away to tend to a crisis with one of his ships in Baltimore Harbor, and he never returned. His body was found along the old road leading to Baltimore, the victim of highway thieves. Left his sweet Marge a widow. ”

“I take it you knew Marge well?” April’s eyebrow rose knowingly.

“Not like you think,” James scolded playfully. “Marge was a pip. Shortly before Jon’s death, she badgered me to attend a social in his honor. I still remember the date, March twenty-sixth.” He grinned, shaking his head. “She was persistent. Every time we met she would remind me of the date, insisting I had to be there. It was going to be the event of the decade.”

He stopped. His thoughts turned inward trying to remember something.

“Jonathan signed for the land the third of March but he died before the end of the month.”

“So?”

“This paper should have been signed by Henry Samuel and filed for audit.”

“Maybe Jonathan didn’t have the money for the land at the time?”

James shook his head. “Money is exchanged with the commissioner when the document is signed. See the stamp for payment received?” James pointed to the embossed, lightly faded stamp circling a number amount in British currency. “Henry would have approved it within days if not on the day, signed his name and filed each property. This paperwork should have already been signed by Henry but there is no signature.”

“There has to be some explanation.” April moved over to where James had his pile. “Let me see.”

James reached for another file. He opened it. They were all land grants purchased at various times through a decade. Kept separate, none had been filed under a specific year, like the others, and none had been signed by both parties. Not a single one had a counter signature from the commissioner but all had been bought and paid for by the signee.

The last one stopped James cold, his heart pounding as if he saw his life pass before him, again. There on the aged parchment stood his bold signature and a stamp for the five hundred pounds he had paid for the extension of land he’d purchased only a few weeks prior to his death. There was no counter signature. He quietly handed it to April. Their eyes met.

“Oh my God, James, this was never signed either. What’s it all mean?” she gasped.

“It means this piece of property was never legally mine.”

***

“Hello! We’re back!” her mother called out as they entered the foyer. James waved at the women as they entered but went right back to the files, trying to concentrate again on the single piece of paper in his fingers.

“What are you two doing?” Dottie asked, removing her hat and coat and placing them on the coat rack. “Oh, dear! That’s not very sexy, April. I would have hoped you would have more taste when it came to seducing a man. Flannels and t-shirts just don’t do it.”

“Grams, this is not the time,” April sighed.

“What’s going on?” her mother asked as she came into the room toting a big shopping bag.

April relayed their night of looking over the documents and their recent find. James stayed silent, reading and re-reading each document pertaining to the land grants. His brow furrowed in concentration as he intently studied the papers.

“These don’t make any sense. This whole box contains deeds signed by the potential owners but never co-signed by Henry for the county records. Mine is in here too—the deed to my extended property I purchased shortly before my death.”

“They were never counter-signed by Henry Samuel? Wasn’t he the land commissioner for this area of the colony?” Dottie asked.

“Maybe he never got around to signing them.” April’s mother shrugged.

April reached across the small table they were seated around. “Let me see the deed for Jonathan Turnbull. Perhaps there was an extenuating circumstance as to why some were signed and filed but others weren’t.” She stopped talking momentarily as she gently rifled through the other documents laid before them. “I didn’t realize Henry owned so much land.”

“He owned a few pieces around, mostly out in the country at the time—not far from mine. He purchased a piece from an elderly couple just north east of the mill. They were in dire straits at the time, something about taxes owed according to Henry. He was able to purchase their land, though he leased it to them, to help with their tax burden.”

“I see. How kind of him,” she scoffed. “It’s in this pile. He signed and dated the transfer of property on the day of the transaction,” April said and searched for her mom, but she wasn’t there.

“Where’s mom?”

“She went upstairs to take a bath. We stopped at the specialty bath shop in the mall after seeing the movie. You know how she loves all kinds of bubble bath stuff and the porcelain tub in her room, she couldn’t resist.” Dottie leaned over and hugged April as she re-read a form. “Did you notice this?”

“What?”

James’s interest peaked. Dottie nodded to Jonathan Turnbull’s unsigned deed and then pointed to one of the deeds April held in her hand. A deed to land Henry Samuel had purchased. They had been in the same file. “Same parcel of land—at least according to description.”

“It is. Henry Samuel purchased the parcel of land Jonathan Turnbull had purchased. Only his deed was dated the twenty-fourth of March,” April noted in agreement.

“The twenty-fourth of March?” James slid over to look at the document they shared. “No. That’s impossible.”

“Read it for yourself right there. ‘Land Purchased—24 March 1772.’ Why would it be impossible? If Jonathan was already dead then—” Dottie shrugged indifferently.

“The land would have gone to his widow, or they would have had to wait to purchase after six months of abandonment, if the deed was signed properly,” April finished.

James shook his head. “But no one knew Jonathan was dead. His body was found March twenty-fifth. The twenty-sixth was his birthday celebration and Marge had invited every merchant, well-to-do, and Loyalist around. She’d even invited the governor and Lord Calvert.”

“Are you sure? Why would Henry purchase the land? He had to have known it was just purchased by Jonathan, and he was still alive.”

“I don’t think so. Jonathan left for Baltimore on the twenty-first. A group of us were in the tavern at the time when he received the summons one of his ships needed his immediate attention. I remember him saying he would have to make it a quick trip in order to be back before Marge’s party.”

“That would mean Henry knew Jonathan would not return to lay claim to having purchased the property,” Dottie said a bit uncertain, as if trying to figure out the connection.

James looked back to the deed. “The land purchases were never counter-signed by Henry so it would have still been up for purchase. All Henry had to do was write up a new deed in his name and he would be the owner of Jonathan’s land,” he said, looking up fearfully at April. “It all makes horribly, perfect sense. But why would he have kept the original documents?”

“Maybe he was really terrible with his bookkeeping? Did he have someone to assist him?”

“Not that I remember. He maintained the office on his own. Still, he wouldn’t have been hired for the position without a basic understanding of managing his books. This is blatant disregard for his job…or he knew exactly what he was doing,” James sighed heavily.

“So what you are basically insinuating is Henry Samuel killed Jonathan Turnbull for his land?” April gasped.

***

Neither she nor James was in the right frame of mind to make love. Their earlier discoveries left them confused and exhausted, at least mentally. It was nearly midnight, and she couldn’t focus anymore on the task at hand. After James had woken her up for the third time while she was bent over the old documents, he sent her off to bed and stayed below to lock the front door and check on Aunt Vickie as he did each night before retiring.

She reached the top of the stairs and stopped short. The door to Catherine Samuel’s room was ajar. Had she secured it the last time she’d ventured in? She looked toward her mother and grandmother’s rooms, but they’d retired hours ago and their lights were out.

Peeking into the dark room, she noticed movement on the bed. She sensed it more than saw it. A shadow of a figure sitting on the four-poster caught her attention. Taken aback, April was certain it was Catherine, but it was her mother’s distinct voice. Did she have her hands free device activated? Was she talking to herself?

“Mom?” April whispered, stepping across the darkened threshold. The room was an icebox as if all heat had been sucked. April looked around, rubbing her arms and hugging herself.

“…Which is why we are here. Can you tell me more?”

Who was she talking to? Her mother sat eerily still in the center of the great bed, her eyes open but not seeing. It freaked her out. Her mother’s brows drew down into a frown, blinking a couple of times as if to clear her vision. She moved subtly, as if trying to figure out where she was, and then sighed.

“You scared her away, April.”

“Who?” A heavy lilac scent perfumed the air. “Were you talking with Catherine?” She’d never seen her mother actually converse with a ghost.

“Yes. She seemed distraught, frightened…worried. Actually, I’m not sure which one was the most dominant emotion. She’s the woman you encountered in your phasing, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.” April looked around the room nervously. She didn’t know how much to say if the ghost of Catherine was still here. If this was a onetime residual she was trapped in, she wouldn’t know about the other residual events yet. The sensitive nature of her death might be reason enough to make her panic. April didn’t want to cause their ghost any undue distress. Her mother nodded in understanding.