Melvin stroked his goatee. “But surely you know people like this, this …”
“Kandy Huggins,” I suggested.
“Yes, people like her, they make their living duping people using little more than old carnival tricks.”
“Sure, I know that, but what is it Dode’s been seeing in the apple orchard?”
“You ever see what he saw?”
“Gosh no. Veenie and I poked around that orchard before Kandy ever got involved, but all we saw was spiders and gopher holes.”
“You searched the whole house?”
“Nah. Never got a chance. You think we should?”
“I certainly would.”
My mind chewed on that idea for a spell. “Sheriff has it roped off.” I thought of Boots’s warning that Veenie and I weren’t supposed to go near the place now that it was a crime scene. Of course we’d already ignored that choice bit of advice.
As if on cue, Boots pulled up in his cruiser. He slid out and mashed his sheriff’s hat on before strolling up the walk.
“Evenin’ all,” he said to me and Sassy and Melvin. He doffed his hat when he met Melvin. “New around these parts, aren’t you?”
“From Louisville. I trade up this way. Sell liquor from time to time over at the French Lick resorts.”
Sassy spoke up. “He’s my beau.”
“Darn tootin’ I am, sweet pea,” Melvin said, giving her another cheek peck.
“Well, glad to have you,” said Boots. He slid his hat back on and eyed me. “I got that information you asked about, Ruby Jane.” His eyes slid around the porch like maybe he wanted to talk in private.
“I was just fixing to make us some iced tea. Come on in. We can talk about it while I get some kitchen work done.”
Sassy fluttered her fingers “bye” to us.
Melvin said, “Nice meeting you both. Hope to be a frequent visitor up this way.”
Once inside the kitchen, Boots slid out a chair and sat down. “Word around town is that you and Lavinia went ghost hunting out at that mansion again.”
Oh boy. “You want sugar or honey in your tea?” I asked Boots.
“Ruby Jane.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t mess with me.”
“I’m putting sugar in yours. Lemon too.”
“Ruby Jane.” He sounded gruff now.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, course we went out there. Dode is our client. He hired us. You sent him to us. We took him off your hands. You ought to be grateful. So quit your bellyaching and drink your tea.” I smacked the glass down in front of him.
He ignored the tea. “It’s my job to uphold the law.”
“Oh fiddlesticks. You ignore the law all the time. I’ve seen you fishing out of season. Hunting too.”
He reddened. “This isn’t me. The order to seal the crime scene came from the boys upstate. Might even involve the Feds.”
I sat down. “The Feds? Why do they care about ghosts in some old, falling down house in the gosh-darn middle of nowhere?”
“Dunno. Not my job to ask questions of the muckety-mucks. Not yours either.”
“We talking FBI?”
“Might be.”
“You’re joshing, right?”
He shrugged and sipped his tea. “I’m telling you that for once in your life, you ought to try listening to the voice of authority for just one itty-bitty second.”
“And that voice just happens to be yours?”
After a couple of sips of tea, he spoke. “I got the name registered on that license plate you texted me.”
“Who is it?”
“Registered to a Tab Slygo, over in Washington County. Salem.”
“He got a record?”
“Not an arrest record. But he did report that car stolen, couple of weeks ago.” Boots checked the notepad on his cell phone. “It’s a Gremlin, right?”
I nodded.
“Boy those were butt-ugly cars,” he said with a shake of his head. “First time I saw one of those cars I knew America was headed straight into the crapper.”
Car-wise, I had to agree.
“Where’d you see this here stolen Gremlin? In town?”
I figured it couldn’t hurt to come clean. “Saw it parked in a camp site, down under the covered bridge.” I gave Boots the quick and dirty on Pooter Johnson and the stolen Harley and the stolen bags of mystery meat we’d found in the campsite cooler. “Whoever is driving that Gremlin is bad news.”
“Camping overnight is illegal. That’s a state landmark.”
“Maybe you ought to investigate that instead of badgering us old ladies.”
He stood up and mashed his hat onto his head. “You’re only old on the outside, Ruby Jane. Inside, you’re nine. Haven’t changed a spit bit since grade school.” He hesitated. “What would I be looking for if I were to arrest the driver of that Gremlin?”
“Isn’t it enough that he stole that car?”
“Guess so. You sure snot-nosed Pooter Johnson isn’t the mastermind behind all this?”
“Pooter Johnson isn’t the mastermind of anything. If snot were dynamite, that boy couldn’t blow his own brains out.”
That got a chuckle out of Boots. He headed toward the screen door but turned when his hand hit the door. “No more séances. You hear?”
“I hear.”
Once Boots was out the door I glanced at my cell, which had been vibrating to beat the band. Veenie had texted me that she was working on getting the second séance set up.
I wanted to yell after Boots that I’d heard what he said … and that I intended to ignore him. I decided what the hey, a town this small he’d know what I was up to before I did. Heck, the Hoosier Squealer had probably already posted the whole thing online, and it hadn’t even happened yet.
Chapter Nineteen
Dickie Freeman kept his word. He picked up the Impala for repairs and an inspection with a promise to return it within the week. I hated to see the Chevy go, but Dickie wasn’t charging us one red cent. He’d even snagged us a replacement radiator from the junkyard at a senior discount.
The problem was Veenie and I had no wheels. Or so I thought. Veenie informed me otherwise. “Lookie what Dickie made us,” she said. We were at the office catching up on paperwork. Veenie tugged me up by the hand. We went out on the sidewalk together.
“What in tarnation?” I said, when I saw what had Veenie so excited.
“It’s a two-seater, go-kart,” she beamed. “And lookie, it takes gasoline.” She pointed to a gas tank that had been mounted on the chassis. “Got an engine and lights and a toot horn.” She squeezed a bell horn. It sounded like a rhinoceros with a cold. The seats were molded plastic orange seats like the ones they had at the bus station. A roll bar protected the seat cage. There was a white wicker basket behind the two seats, big enough to haul around a couple of bags of groceries.
“It runs?” I asked. It wasn’t the prettiest thing. It appeared to be welded from a hodgepodge of parts—part lawn mower, part bicycle, part dune buggy. All Veenie.
“Runs up to thirty miles per hour,” she said proudly.
“Street legal?”
“Dickie said I don’t need no license long as I stay off the highway.”
That was good since Veenie had lost her license for mowing down a few too many parking meters. I always drove because I had a license, but also because Veenie drove like she was auditioning for the Indy 500. Danica Patrick had nothing on her. Except eyesight. Veenie couldn’t see worth pig crap.
It was only six blocks from our house to work. Everything we needed was downtown. The Hoosier Feedbag for groceries. The bank, across the street from the office. Pokey’s down the alley. The Road Kill Café was only three blocks away. As long as it didn’t rain, we could scoot around on Veenie’s go-kart perfectly fine. Veenie hadn’t wrecked the Harley, so surely she could handle this baby. Not like I had much choice. I wasn’t about to take Junior’s Harley anywhere. I’d never gotten the hang of driving a motorbike. My o
nly other transportation option was my grown son Eddie, who lived in a repurposed Bunny Bread delivery truck. And at my age I refused to be delivered to anyone’s doorstop like day-old bread.
“I reckon it will do.” I was still inspecting the thing—it didn’t seem to have any brakes—when Harry sauntered down the sidewalk.
“What in the Sam Hill is that?” He bent down and duck walked around the contraption.
“It’s mine,” said Veenie proudly.
“Don’t doubt that,” said Harry. “It looks like you. I mean, what’s it for?”
“Driving.”
“Show me,” said Harry.
Veenie climbed in the driver’s seat. She put on her red IU football helmet, the one she’d bought for ghost busting, and strapped it tight to her chin. She pulled the starter coil on the go-kart, and it backfired and spat like a lawn mower on its last leg. It rattled and rumbled. She released a lever. The thing shot out of the parking spot and down the street. Last we saw Veenie she was rolling on two wheels around the corner toward the library. We lost sight of her but could still hear her. She sounded like a giant wasp.
Boots drove around the corner. He pulled over and powered down his window. “What in the name of hell was that?” he asked, looking at me. He had been wearing his cop sunglasses but yanked them off so he could look me in the eye.
“What?” I asked.
“That thing. Just blew past me. Looked like Veenie was driving.” He hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
“Oh that. Go-kart.”
“She can’t be driving that thing on the street.”
“Why don’t you talk to her about that?”
“She never listens.”
Boy was that an understatement. “You need something?” I asked.
He slid over into a parking space and unfolded out of the cruiser. “I was just down at the covered bridge.”
“You find the Gremlin?”
“No.”
“It was there yesterday.”
“Not today.” He adjusted his gun belt. “Thought I’d go over to the Hoosier Feedbag. See if Pooter Johnson is set up in the back parking lot.” Pooter was often there, selling leftover produce he bogarted after the fields had been gleaned. Last week he’d had some kick ass early asparagus. I’d bought some cheap right before old man Butler, who ran the Hoosier Feedbag produce department, had rolled in to close Pooter down.
“Let me know if you find out anything.” I said as Harry and I headed back into the office.
I spent a dreary afternoon in the office with Harry catching up with the paperwork. Dode called about closing time and broke up the humdrum.
“They’re back!” He sounded breathless.
“The ghosts?”
“Yep! Saw them swinging their big butts around about dawn this morning.”
“In the house?”
“Nah, the orchard.”
“Same as before?”
“Exact same. Been keeping my eye on the place. Just a few minutes ago heard some commotion over there.”
“What kind of commotion?”
“Hard to say. Like cat-a-wailing. Big time.”
Given how many stray cats lived around that mansion, I could see a hissy cat fight or two breaking out easy enough. “You want me to come out?”
“Sure would appreciate that. Bring that lady medium. They seemed to like her.”
I wasn’t sure “like” was the word I would have chosen, but whatever was going on in that mansion, Kandy seemed able to tease it out and into talking. Unfortunately Kandy wasn’t booked yet. We were still waiting for her to feel the spirit.
I asked Harry if he’d give me a ride out to Dode’s place.
He leaned back in his chair and tightened his tie, which he’d let go loose while doing the paperwork. “Thought the séance was later.”
“It is, but Dode says the ghosts are back. Now.”
“I dunno,” said Harry. He looked a little white around the edges. His moustache tightened. He reached in his desk drawer and pulled out a gun and shoulder holster. He strapped it on before slipping into his jacket. He grabbed a handful of bullets from the desk drawer and stuffed them into his vest pocket.
“Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts,” I said as we locked up.
He mumbled something about me being old and half-crazy and how it was his sworn job to protect me.
Yeah. Like he was fooling me. I kept my pie hole closed and climbed into Harry’s Toyota. It felt kind of nice to be riding shotgun again.
By the time we reached Dode’s farmhouse it was tending toward dusk.
Dode was in his customary place on the porch, his rifle resting across his knees. He had a pitcher of well water on the table. A couple of stray cats sat on the porch rail. They ran when they saw me and Harry coming toward them.
“Any more action?” I asked as we climbed the steps.
He spat into a Mountain Dew can. “Nah. Quiet over there. Think they heard me calling you up.”
“You ever see a light on in that house?” I asked.
“Nah. Just the orchard.”
“Where exactly?” I asked. “Can you take us over. Point out the spot?”
“Sure can.” Dode got up and straightened his back a bit. He offered us flashlights and then took off down the steps, climbing sideways like a crab. If that hip hurt him, he never complained. And it didn’t seem to slow him down any once he got ambling along.
We stopped in the back of the orchard, close to the back porch of the mansion. There were still a few strands of yellow police tape fluttering in the apple trees close to the porch. The wind had kicked up. The house shutters were creaking a little.
“About here,” said Dode. He stopped and ran his flashlight in a wide circle.
I clicked on my flashlight and walked toward the area Dode had highlighted. It was close to the house, behind the pile of boards and tin rubble, a place Veenie and I had not searched before.
Harry took a flashlight from Dode and swung his beam to the right of mine.
“What you looking for?” asked Dode. “Ghost slime?”
“Not sure,” I confessed. “Anything odd, I reckon.”
Harry yelled from the other side of the tree, “Dang it to hell!”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, swinging my light his way.
“Gopher holes. All over the place. Twisted my ankle.”
Dode and I walked over. We shone our lights onto the grass under Harry’s feet.
“Not gophers,” Dode said. “Nope. Not gophers.”
“How can you tell?” asked Harry, who was a city boy.
“Look how big these here holes are.” Dode dug a boot into a hole, and his booted foot disappeared up to his ankle. “And there ain’t no tunnel between them.”
I looked closer. He was right. There were a lot of holes, and they were big, but there were no little heaved up lines of dirt connecting them. Gophers tunneled close to the surface. All underground varmints did.
I asked Dode what he figured made the holes.
“I reckon it was ghosts,” he said. He was over by the house now. There were a pile of old boards. Also, a pile of rusted tin sheets stacked a couple of feet high. He kicked a few things aside before dropping down on one knee to dig in the ground with his pocket knife. He uncovered a partially buried pair of shovels and a pair of large lights—camping lanterns that had high-intensity beams.
Harry drug the shovels and lights out of the pile. He brushed off one of the lights and flicked on a switch. The light beamed out over the orchard.
Dode’s eyes lit up.
“That what you’ve been seeing at night, Dode?” I asked.
“Reckon it might be,” he said.
Harry swung the light around the exterior of the house. Everything looked dark and sealed up tight. He moved the light across the ground and ran it over the trash pile. We could see some shoe prints over in the corner in the damp sand. We couldn’t make out much in the way of the type or size of the shoe, thou
gh.
Harry grunted. He shoved his hat back on his head. “I don’t think ghosts use high-beam flashlights.”
“Or wear shoes,” I said.
Chapter Twenty
Veenie spat bullets when I told her Harry and I had gone ghost hunting without her and found the high-beam lights, shovels, and shoe prints.
“Gosh, darn! You should have called me!”
“You v-v-v-roomed out in your go-kart. Where’d you go?”
“Library.”
Veenie had just come into the living room. It was after dark, and she was carrying a couple of new Father Mackie romance books. I was curled up on the couch under an afghan watching Perry Mason. Paul had just gotten pistol-whipped. Della was busy saving his blonde beach boy ass. Boy, that Della always got things done. She should have had her own show.
“Don’t think I ever saw this one,” Veenie said as she plopped down in the La-Z-Boy and popped up the recliner stool.
“Course you have,” I said. “You just forgot.”
“I dunno. Maybe I got that early onset Alzheimey thing.”
“It’s not early,” I said. “You’re seventy-one.”
Sassy sashayed into the room. “Trying to decide which dress to wear tonight. Melvin is taking me out to the Pawpaw County VFW banquet.” She held up a reddish sequined number with a side-leg slit.
Veenie wrinkled her nose. “Don’t wear that one. It’ll make you look like a lumpy hot dog.”
Sassy whipped out another one and held it up against her sternum. “This is my go-to, knock ’em dead dress.” It was black with one shoulder and one long black sleeve. The other side was off-the-shoulder completely. It was white from the waist down and the skirt dropped to sweep the floor. The bottom was flared like a mermaid’s tail. It was way too sophisticated for me. I never was much for getting gussied up.
Veenie studied the dress as Sassy twirled around the living room dancing with it. Sassy was like this. Always partying, even if there was no one else around.
“Yeah, that one,” nodded Veenie. “It screams ‘I’m such an airheaded I lost half my dress already.’ Men get excited by that shit.”
Ghost Busting Mystery Page 11