The Ghost in Mr. Pepper's Bed

by Sigrid Vansandt

  Willard loved sweet treats. He didn’t get them often. Usually, they were given after he’d been to the vet. A donut was something extremely special. He eagerly watched Sonya and Marnie walk toward the tour bus-sized RV that the two beagles called home. Falling in step happily with the boys, he trotted off to a donut he hoped he wouldn’t have to share with anyone.

  Chapter 8

  Though it was May, as anyone from southern Missouri can tell you, it is usually already hot enough for people to need their air conditioners on. As the menagerie of two humans and three dogs scrambled into Marnie’s roomy RV, a nice waft of cool air welcomed them.

  “Make yourself at home,” Marnie said and pointed at the cozy dining banquet. “Have a seat. I’m going to brew some coffee.”

  Sonya had an immediate sense of easy-going relaxed homieness in Marnie’s four-wheel house. There were pictures of Lewis and Clark as adorable puppies and one with them sitting with Santa on a big sleigh. Books were neatly piled in stacks and tucked into easy-to-reach places so if one was ever in need of a literary fix, something to read was always close at hand. The boys’ doggy toys had their place in a basket under the built in desk and a delicious lingering scent of many happy meals prepared and shared permeated the space, making Sonya excited to try one of Marnie’s homemade donuts.

  The three dogs made themselves comfortable, as well. Lewis and Clark jumped up into two upholstered, swivel chairs opposite the banquet. Willard sat by Sonya’s feet under the table. He knew not to jump on other people’s furniture unless he’d been given the go-ahead by Sonya.

  “I made these yesterday. It’s my mother’s recipe. There are donut holes, too. Some donuts have powdered sugar and some are without. Which is your favorite?” Marnie asked.

  She put two pretty plates down in front of Sonya. Both supported a perfect pyramid of deep fried delights. All three dogs’ tails wagged furiously.

  “I love both. They are so pretty with a sprinkling of sugar, though,” Sonya said smiling happily. Like most people who are presented with something that promises to be tasty and memorable, she couldn’t help but be delighted by the prospect of trying both kinds.

  Marnie put two cups of coffee down on the table, each with a spoon nestled in its saucer. She offered Sonya a bright yellow cotton napkin and asked, “Do you care for cream or sugar in your coffee?”

  “Both, thank you.”

  Once both women were sitting, Marnie asked, “Sonya, would Willard like a donut hole?”

  Sonya smiled, while at the same time noting the hopeful expressions on each dog’s face. “It would be a cold heart indeed who ignored those sweet faces,” she said. Selecting one with powdered sugar, she handed it to Willard, while, at the same time, both Lewis and Clark received theirs from Marnie. The boys, in typical dog fashion, swallowed the round treat in one gulp and smiled, open-mouthed as if in hopes of another. It was always difficult not to give in to dog cuteness and hand a second treat over, especially when they had white grins from the sugar.

  “That’s enough, boys,” Marnie said simply. “Go find your beds.” Both dogs hopped down from the swivel chairs and dutifully curled up in their beds. Willard watched them and settled himself on the floor next to Sonya’s feet.

  As the two women sipped the hazelnut coffee and enjoyed the homemade donuts, they each learned something about the other’s life. Marnie told Sonya how she was new to running an RV park but not to barbecue competitions. She explained about her idea of having a pool at the park. It would be an excellent amenity for her guests, and the best location was next to the grand pavilion.

  “Who would have thought someone would bury a body here,” she said, stirring her second cup of coffee.

  “It’s sad to think of some poor person dumped that way. No wonder you have a ghost problem. I’m surprised you didn’t have issues before now,” Sonya said.

  “That’s true. Why didn’t I? It’s been so quiet here, that is, until this morning, and it wasn’t until today that Bob got busy digging the hole for the pool. If it was the ghost of the body we found today, shouldn’t it have come to life before?”

  “Typically, a spirit will stay close to either the place where they died or, in most cases, their home.” Sonya thought back to her conversation with Fritz earlier in the laundry. He was attached to his home and had been upset over the changes taking place there.

  “Why don’t we do a ghost intervention tonight?” Sonya said with excitement in her voice.

  “I thought that was what we were doing now,” Marnie replied with her coffee cup poised halfway between the table and her mouth.

  “Yes, but I’d like to do something more along the line of a few people coming together to bring the ghost to us.”

  “A séance?”

  “If you want to call it that, yes.”

  “Well, why not? Sounds kind of fun. Who should we invite and where do you want to have it?”

  “Here would be good. The pavilion is perfect. It’s nice this time of year.” Sonya looked at the three dogs resting with their eyes shut. “Would it be okay to leave the dogs in your camper?”

  “Sure, I’ll see if Mr. Pepper is up for coming and I’ll bring Dale and another friend who lives here named Julia. That gives us four. Do you think that’s enough?” Marnie asked.

  “Five would be better and perhaps another man.”

  “I’ll ask Noah Simpson. He’s a fussy type, but he has a thing for Julia, so he’ll follow her anywhere. What time?”

  “Eight o’clock will work perfectly, not too late and not too early. But it should be getting dark; it’s more fun that way.” Sonya got up from her seat and put her coffee cup and plate in the sink. “Till then, and thank you for those incredible donuts. You and your mother have a real talent.”

  Sonya and Willard waved goodbye to Marnie and the rest of the men working the crime scene. The county forensic team had arrived and were busy working down in the pit. As she put on her helmet and made sure Willard was suited up safely in his crate on the back of the moped, Sonya’s mind played over her conversations with Fritz and Marnie. Ghosts have attachments, too. Not generally, over their bodies but with places or people they’ve known and loved.

  What was the story with this ghost? Was it lonely? Was the body in the pit the ghost’s or someone it loved? Sonya turned the key of the moped’s engine and it hummed nicely to life. She pulled the two-wheeled vehicle out onto the shady highway that led back to town. One thing was for sure, they would get some answers tonight.

  Chapter 9

  It was quiet and peaceful among the shady grove of trees that lined the one-lane, gravel road leading to where the house once stood. At the end, the burnt-out remains of a dwelling stood, charred and sad looking, nestled between three beautiful, ancient oaks. A number of climbing rose bushes planted before the age of poodle skirts and sock hops still clung to a slumping back fence barely maintaining an upright position. The entire property exhibited the typical signs of long neglect. There were tall, overgrown, weedy bushes growing along the remaining foundations of the house. Creeping vines clung to the limestone fireplace that rose from the fallen structural remains of the once grand home of the Turner family.

  The last of the day’s cheerful sunlight dappled across the wild, lush springtime vegetation. A few bird families chirped and busied themselves with building their nests high in the trees or within the rafters of the old barn that still stood to the rear of the property. In fact, life and all its perplexities, joys, and labors had altered little with the burning of the house. The animals, insects, and plant life were managing, as they’d always done, perfectly fine. There’d been only one displaced individual since the fire, and that was the spirit who lost everything when the house went up in flames.

  Most country people know that if a house burns down, it’s important to leave the fireplace intact. The old folks believe the family ghosts need a place to rest and abide. If you tear down the bricks or stone, you leave the spirits without a home.


  A pair of crows called and fussed from the top of the oak trees. Loquacious fellows, they liked to be the first to announce any unusual activity happening about a place. Something was disconcerting to them and they wanted to make sure all the rest of the inhabitants of Turner farm were well aware of the situation.

  Though the wind was varied and gentle, an eddy of air whirled randomly among the ashes accompanied, occasionally, by a whispering moan. The crows, unable to stand the anomaly no longer, lifted their wings, flapping them and calling loudly to all who had ears to listen. Something wasn’t right, and they, as a group, would not quietly stand by while weeping ghosts wandered. In less time than it takes to spell your name, they took flight and disappeared over the treetops in a southwesterly direction.

  The last light of the day took its cue from their hurried departure so it, too, drew a last breath and faded, leaving the Turner home deadly quiet. The fretful spirit took shelter within the cold, partially soot-covered fireplace, but the loneliness of the place increased its torment causing it to quit the meager dwelling and search instead for light, warmth and human comfort.

  Down the tree-lined gravel road, it went, being pulled like a weary moth to a living flame. Not far, as the ghost remembered, was a place offering relief for all that ailed its tormented soul: The Whispering Pines RV Park, truly an oasis of calm for a sad, homeless spirit in need of a warm body to snuggle. When you’re dead, you’ll try anything to keep the chill of death from becoming too real and unbearable.

  Chapter 10

  The month of May is truly one of the most beautiful in Missouri. Temperatures are warm, but not hideously muggy like in June, July, and August. The insect population is still young, small of girth, and not yet interested in humans like they will be by August and September. Flowers can be found still blooming on crabapple trees, plum trees, and dogwood trees, while as soon as the last frost can be verified, people joyfully begin filling window boxes, outdoor pots, and yards with flowering plants of every imaginable kind.

  Along Sonya’s street called Pickwick, the quest for the best yard had reached its zenith. Residents, already blessed with one-hundred-year-old trees and car-sized snowball hydrangea bushes, had added their own touches, such as climbing roses or wisteria artfully pruned over trellises or clinging effortlessly along front porches.

  The lovely original brick-paved street, like most in the historic district of Willow Valley, was lined with tall elms and oaks creating a wonderful canopy for the turn of the century houses. There was a harmony between the living and non-living elements, which made them coexist peacefully together. Over time, the maturity of the trees and the virtue of the handsome homes had established Pickwick Place as one of Willow Valley’s most beautiful and, therefore, most sought-after neighborhoods.

  As proof of their American pride, proud Pickwick residents during the 1976 Bicentennial had decided to plant flowering trees known for their color such as redbud and dogwood along the street’s sidewalks. With the occasional crape myrtle flaunting hues of pink, purple, white, and red, the neighborhood was blessed with even more color and charm throughout the summer months.

  It was in this leafy haven that Sonya and Willard were having a simple breakfast of link sausages, sourdough toast with plum jelly and hard-boiled eggs on the front porch. The twosome sat peacefully at the outdoor dining table watching people come and go along the street. The regularity of the mailman, the occasional dog accompanied by its human and the arrival of a service person or two, allowed the two sleepy breakfasters to peacefully watch the goings on while either munching on toast or, in Sonya’s case, sipping strong coffee.

  “What do you suppose Mrs. Townsend is having done this week, Willard?” Sonya said half-interestedly. “That’s another van from the carpet and tile store. I bet she’s finishing up her bathroom renovation.”

  “The old harridan, she’d be better off renovating her personality.”

  The coffee in Sonya’s cup undulated from the slight shock of Fritz’s arrival.

  “Ah, Fritz, have you decided to pop back over to America?” Sonya asked teasingly.

  Fritz had never come home after he left The Whispering Pines RV Park yesterday afternoon. He usually made a big to do at night if he was staying at Sonya’s by chasing Willard around the downstairs and finally blowing up the stairwell singing a bawdy song about sailors. But it had been a quiet night, which meant he’d found more entertaining venues. He was quiet and didn’t respond to her question, so she tried a second time.

  “So,” Sonya said, while looking the word ‘harridan’ up on her tablet, “why are you so grumpy this morning?” She found the definition, which meant Fritz considered Mrs. Townsend a foul-tempered, disreputable old woman. Sonya waited for his reply. He continued to brood about something.

  “Fritz? You typically make caustic comments about my neighbors when you’ve either played poorly in Monte Carlo or heard more disconcerting news regarding your family.”

  “It was neither, my dear. I’ve been playing bridge with some old friends in Edinburgh. My friend, Dr. Samuel Winfield, though at one time a brilliant surgeon, is a complete ninny at bidding his hand.”

  “Were you his partner?”

  “Yes, that is, until we were all relieved from continued play due to a sudden realization by Dudley Aikens, an old school chum and an excellent darts player, that his wife was about to storm the house in a jealous rage over Dudley’s philandering with a Tahitian maid.”

  “My, how you ghosts do get around once you’re dead,” Sonya exclaimed. “How did old Dudley meet a Tahitian girl in Edinburgh?”

  “Not in Edinburgh, dear Sunny, he met her at a Tahitian farewell ceremony. With flowers and beautiful songs to say goodbye, it was, I suppose, romantic,” Fritz said sitting down on the railing of the porch.

  “Romantic? That’s a new way of looking at a funeral. What was he doing there?”

  “He was doing a bit of afterlife travel and witnessed the ceremony and decided to observe from a discrete distance. He’d been an avid socialist during his heyday, but with death, he was becoming more of a humanist. He likes to study different cultures and write lengthy tomes on the value of human life.” Fritz gave a martyred sigh and continued. “Dudley said he suddenly saw this exquisitely beautiful woman step out of her tree trunk coffin, and poor Dudley was smitten. He introduced himself and they’ve been together ever since.”

  “That’s a lot to take in, Fritz. I thought the afterlife would be more…well, spiritual,” Sonya said with a hint of humor in her voice.

  “Oh, it can be, of course, dear, but some people choose a different path. Diversity is good,” Fritz said, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

  “Why, look Fritz, it’s a police car driving down the street. It’s slowing down.”

  “And it appears the young constable is visiting the Gorgon next door.”

  “Fritz! You’re terrible sometimes. Give Mrs. Townsend a break.”

  Sonya watched the policeman stop the car and step out onto the pavement. “He’s coming up the sidewalk, Fritz, and we say police officer, not constable. I’ll wave. I’d love to know if they’ve found any more information on the dead person.”

  “Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, to-may-to, to-mah-to, who cares what they’re called. I’m off. Ta-ta, for now.” Fritz left, but not before brushing Sonya’s cheek with a light kiss.

  Tommy Kirchner, Willow Valley’s Deputy Sheriff, was a tall, lean, young man in his late twenties. Born and raised in the same town he now served, Tommy knew everyone and their situation. He’d come to pay an official visit to Mrs. Townsend, Sonya’s neighbor, who claimed she was being toyed with by aliens.

  “Deputy!” Sonya called waving to him. He turned around, smiled broadly, and returned her friendly greeting.

  “Hello, Mrs. Caruthers. How are you today?” he called back to her, stopping before he crossed the road.

  “Do you have a minute, Deputy? I have some coffee and a freshly made cherry cheese danish if you’d care to join
me.”

  Tommy’s progress across the street was firmly arrested by the mention of homemade bakery items. A crummy cup of instant coffee had been his breakfast that morning, and that was consumed as he drove to work. Hunger won out. Visiting with Mrs. Townsend about aliens hovering outside her windows, harassing her with noises and puffs of air on the back of her head, could wait a few more minutes.

  “I’d love a cup. It’s been an early morning of duties already and your offer is greatly appreciated,” he said climbing the front steps of Sonya’s tidy house. “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Caruthers. I remember, as a boy, there being a sheepdog who lived here. He always came to the gate for a visit when I walked this way to school.”

  Sonya poured the Deputy a steaming cup of coffee and put a particularly well-proportioned slice of danish on a delicate fine bone china plate and handed it to him. His eyes lit up and for a moment Sonya felt a guilty for plying him with sweet treats for information, but she reminded herself he did need something to carry him through the morning.

  “Yes, I have found many discarded dog toys buried in this yard. This house must have been home to many generations of humans and their pets. Do you have a special pet, Deputy?” Sonya asked while helping the young man with the cream and sugar for his coffee.

  “No, unfortunately, however, our station is supposed to be getting a canine unit which will mean a German Shepherd and all the training that goes along with it. I’ve told Zeb, I want to take on that role.”

  “How nice!” Sonya cooed. “Working in such a high-demand and dangerous field can be lonely sometimes, but I feel…” Sonya studied the young man’s face as he held his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, “that two special souls will be coming into your life soon.”

  Tommy put his cup down on the table after he took a sip. He gave Sonya a shy smile and said, “I wouldn’t turn that down, ma’am. Believe it or not, it’s hard to have much of a relationship in this line of work. That’s why I haven’t adopted a dog, too busy.”