The coffee was wearing off and my eyelids were feeling droopy again. “So Myrtle’s story was moved to the courtyard and changed to Moaning Misty. That’s interesting, but it doesn’t really tell us anything new about Myrtle. I’ve been hoping to learn something about this Victoria woman—the one Myrtle says killed her and stole her baby. Or at least something more concrete that could prove Myrtle is my friend’s grandmother.”
“Yes, I know. That was the background to what I want to show you.” He plowed through the stacks of papers until he found one he was happy with. “Look at this. Notes left from the manager in two thousand and two. A woman named Victoria used to visit every April and leave flowers in the courtyard.”
“On the fountain?”
“No, in front of the rose garden.” His eyes flashed. “Oh! And look at this. I can’t believe I didn’t show you this one first. I sidetracked myself.” He pulled a faded black ledger from under one small stack of papers. He had marked his place with a sticky note. “This is the list of tenants in 1958.”
I scanned the list using my finger to guide me and stopped when I found Myrtle’s name. “Myrtle May Babcock,” I said. Proof at least that she’d lived here. That was promising.
“Keep going,” Mr. Haviland said. “She’s about four or five more names down.”
“Oh wow,” I said. Now that was really promising. “Victoria Rose Poplawski. That’s not a common name. I wonder if she’s still alive.”
I turned my head, looking for Myrtle but she’d vanished. “When did she leave?” I asked Marmaduke.
“When Haviland mentioned the rose garden.”
We found her there. A tour group passed us, glancing curiously behind them.
“Myrtle,” I said, treading lightly, not wanting to upset her. But the question had to be asked. “Is that your baby Scarlett buried there?”
She shook her head. “No, I told you. Scarlett is alive. You dig this garden up, though, and you’re gonna find my bones, sure enough.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
At least I dreamed about Cal that night. He’d be glad when I told him. After I apologized. In my mind, he had overreacted to my fool remark, but we’d both been under a lot of pressure lately. His parents weren’t making his life any easier, and neither was Rachel as she pushed her way back into his family’s affairs like an invasive weed.
Having slept well, I awoke early, completely rested and ready to tackle a day full of tasks. Apologizing to Cal was first on my list. Second was finding out if Myrtle’s cold case was still open and if Detective Sigmund was open to receiving the new information Mr. Haviland had uncovered.
Myrtle had stayed behind at Spencer House, vowing not to leave until her body was exhumed.
The sun was just spilling light into the dark sky when I motored into the shopping center parking lot near Cal’s house. My plan was to get eggs and bacon at the grocery store and a tall, steaming cup of hot coffee from the diner. I’d show up at his door, hand him his coffee, fix him a hearty breakfast, and make everything right.
I slipped into a spot, turned off the engine, and reached down for my purse that had fallen onto the floor of the passenger side. My head popped back up in time to see Cal pulling the door of the diner open for a dark-haired woman.
“It’s Cal,” I said to Marmi. I laid my hand on the horn ready to honk lightly when I recognized the woman. My stomach lurched and my hand fell into my lap.
“Isn’t that the devil’s spawn, Rachel, with him?” Marmi sneered.
“It is.”
I spent ten minutes sitting in my car battling two Sophies: the Sophie who wanted to waltz right into the diner and confront the situation. After all, maybe there was a reasonable explanation for why Cal was having breakfast with his ex-wife. Didn’t feel likely, but that Sophie wanted to remain positive. The other Sophie, the one who had a slew of creepy, cheating boyfriends in her past, wanted to cut and run.
Finally, a third Sophie surfaced. She pointed out the time and reasoned that there were still a couple of hours before she had to be at work. She also knew that Detective Sigmund at the Stephens City PD used to arrive at the station by dawn.
I decided the third Sophie was a wise woman. Spending the morning tracking down Myrtle’s killer would distract me from wanting to kill Cal.
I arrived at work later than usual. In fact, I flew in just five minutes before our first patient was due to arrive. Cal sat at the front desk when I opened the door.
The furrow between his brows vanished when he saw me. “I was worried. You’re usually here earlier.”
“Yeah, sorry.” I was relieved that his patient hadn’t shown up yet. “I took a detour to the police department. Had a chat with a detective there.” I pulled my jacket off and hung it on the hook in the kitchenette. I returned, standing at his side and looked him in the eye. “How was your morning?”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
“Did you have a good breakfast?”
He hesitated noticeably as he rose from the chair. “The usual,” he said finally. “Why?”
So this was the road he was taking. Okay. Fine. “No reason. Just, you were so tired last night. I was hoping you had a good breakfast to get you through the day. Did you sleep well?”
He nodded. “You?”
“Like a baby.” I sat in my chair and wheeled closer to the phone. “I’d better listen to the voicemails.”
Cal started down the hall toward his exam room. His movement was hesitant.
“Cal,” I said sharply.
He stopped with the posture of someone caught in the act.
“You didn’t ask me why I went to the police department.”
“I, uh...”
The door opened and a mother with a young boy stepped in.
“I’ll ask you about that later,” he said, not meeting my eyes. He ushered the mother and son back to his exam room.
“The cat who ate the canary,” Marmaduke said, appearing at my side.
“Thank you for staying out of that,” I said.
“Anything for you, dear Sophie. You know that. If you would like me to put some fear into that wretched wench, however, just say the word. Just say the word.”
Amy called me at noon. She’d had a long, personal talk with her mother about adoption. “She’s always been ambivalent about looking for her birth mother,” Amy said. “But after our talk, I think she’s considering the possibility.”
I had a lot to tell Amy. “Can you meet for lunch?”
“Sure.”
“Are you okay?” she asked. “You don’t sound very happy.”
“Man troubles,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it at lunch.”
“Shane was acting strangely the last few days, but he came over last night and boy, he’s back to his old self again,” she said.
“That’s great. See you soon,” I said.
I popped my head into Cal’s exam room just before one o’clock. “I’m having lunch with Amy.”
“Okay,” he said.
I’ll admit, I was looking for more than an “okay.” My mood deteriorated further. “See you.” I started to close his door behind me.
“Wait,” he said.
I pushed the door back open. “Yes?”
“I lied,” he said.
My heart sank. “Lied?”
“Breakfast. It wasn’t usual. I met Rachel at Morton’s Diner this morning.”
“I know. I saw you.”
“You did?”
“I stopped at the grocery store. I was going to make you an I’m-Sorry-Breakfast.”
I expected him to apologize in return, but he didn’t. “I don’t like keeping secrets, so I thought I should tell you.”
“Why in the world would you have breakfast with her?�
��
“It wasn’t intentional. I went there for breakfast and so did she. We just ran into each other.”
“You really believe that?”
“I didn’t go there to meet her, I swear.”
“That I believe. I don’t believe it was unintentional on her part. Or the massive foreign object in her eye that miraculously washed away on its own only after she managed to get you alone in your exam room. What were you two laughing about back there anyway?”
He waved that off. “Oh, just a story she had to tell about a couple of friends of ours.”
“How chummy of her. A couple of days ago you detested this woman and now you’re chuckling over the old days.”
“It’s not like that. And this morning we just talked about my parents. She thinks my mom really is sad without my dad. Of course, I didn’t need her to tell me that, but she wants to help.”
“Help with what?”
“Getting them back together.”
Rachel the weed was taking over. How couldn’t he see that? “You don’t need her for that.”
“Let’s talk tonight after work,” he said.
“That’s a good idea,” I said, perking up a bit. The office was a bad place for this personal business. We could go to my place after work and talk things out, kick Rachel out of the picture. “I never got my good morning kiss today,” I said. “Can I give you mine now?”
He smiled. “Yeah.”
I left, not happy with the smile or the kiss. He was trying, but something was wrong. The entire drive to lunch with Amy, I talked myself into thinking Cal and I were just experiencing a little hiccup in our new and budding relationship. A little hiccup by the name of Rachel. But truthfully, I knew I was working too hard to convince myself. Deep down, I was afraid there was a bigger problem that might not have anything to do with Rachel at all.
It was nice unloading on Amy. She listened and understood. “Ex-wives are the reason for half the ulcer cases we see in the ER,” she said, patting my hand. “I’m sure he isn’t going anywhere. I’ve seen how he looks at you. He has a severe case of the love bug.”
“Yeah, that’s what Marmaduke says.”
She laughed, nearly snorting iced tea out of her nose. “We don’t have enough hours in this lunch for you to tell me all about your Marmaduke, so you owe me a long story sometime. But on the subject of ghosts, I have an idea for how Myrtle can meet my mother. I was inspired when I turned on an episode of Milwaukee Medium on TV yesterday.”
“Oh, well,” I said, “about Myrtle. There has been a development.”
I gave Amy the account of my visit to Spencer House.
She listened, hanging on my every word. “So she’s still at the rose garden?”
I nodded. “And I made a stop by Detective Sigmund’s office this morning. He reopened Myrtle’s missing person case a few years ago at her mother’s behest. The original detective on the case in 1958 spent about two minutes looking for Myrtle. Sigmund figures the department didn’t want to put a lot of manpower and money into looking for an unwed mother from out of town. So basically, when he reopened the case, he didn’t have much to go on. He was very excited to have Victoria’s full name. He’s running it now.”
As I sipped on my soda, I noticed that many of the surrounding diners’ eyes were glued to the television set behind the bar.
“Turn it up,” one man said to the bartender.
Amy swiveled to see what had caught my attention. We both stared, mouths agape, as the reporter from a local news channel stood in front of Spencer House while a banner under her said Breaking News.
“Is Spencer House really haunted?” the reporter asked viewers. “Some speculate that the disturbance here is merely an elaborate Halloween-inspired gimmick designed to attract more visitors for their haunted house tours.” The camera zoomed in. The shutters on the windows flapped. Halloween decorations on the front lawn danced, unaided by strings or electronics. A mournful wail echoed across the lawn, and a skeleton danced a circle around the reporter, cackling, before zooming off to scare a curious onlooker.
The poor reporter tried to keep it together, but she failed miserably. “It might be a gimmick, but I for one don’t plan to stick around and find out! This is Danella Davies reporting dead—I mean live—from Old Town, Stephens City.”
“Myrtle?” Amy asked.
I nodded, wondering what the heck had gotten into Myrtle now. “Looks like her handiwork.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lunch went longer than I’d planned. I sped back to the office, arriving ten minutes after Cal’s two o’clock exam had arrived. He had left me a note that he’d started the exam.
I wasn’t surprised when Mr. Haviland called on my cell phone. “We have a problem,” he said. “A big, big problem.”
“I know. I saw the news. Is it Myrtle?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. It isn’t like before. If it’s her, she isn’t showing herself. There is a bone chilling wail that is loudest in the courtyard, though.”
“That’s Myrtle.”
“Can you come? Please say you can come.”
“What is wrong with Myrtle?” Marmi said, appearing beside me.
Thankfully the waiting room was empty so I could answer him. “She’s haunting Spencer House.” I talked back into my phone. “Mr. Haviland, I’m at work, and we don’t have another receptionist.”
“Oh no,” he said. “The president of the historical society is on the other line. I’d better take this. Please, come when you can.”
I hung up with Mr. Haviland, concerned for Myrtle and frustrated that I couldn’t do more. I dialed Tara, hoping she would have more time in her schedule, but she didn’t answer.
“Myrtle wants a proper burial,” Marmi said certainly.
“You think that’s what this latest tantrum is all about?”
“I am most confident that it is.”
I peeked at Cal’s schedule for the rest of the day. They were all vision therapy sessions. Theoretically, he could do fine without me. I would just have to set the phones to voicemail.
I approached him in between patients. “Cal, Myrtle is haunting Spencer House and Mr. Haviland is begging me to come.”
“What? You can’t send Scooby and the gang?”
“I’m serious.”
“Go. I’ll be fine.”
“Hopefully we can calm her down. Do you want to come to my place after work?”
“I have soccer practice tonight.”
I’d forgotten about soccer. “But wait, you said we’d talk. You meant after practice?”
“I meant—”
The door opened and Zack, a talkative ten-year-old patient plopped into a chair. “I’m ready when you are, doc.”
“Go,” Cal said. “We’ll talk later.”
“When?”
He shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”
Cal’s snide Scooby Doo remark had irked me at first. But when I thought about it, he was just lightening the mood. At least, I hoped that was what he had meant to do.
A news copter was circling the house when I arrived at Spencer House. Police had closed down several of the surrounding streets so I was forced to walk five blocks in my heels.
“The woman has impressive skills,” Marmi said enviously, his eyes fixated on the house as we approached.
A policeman at a barricade didn’t want to allow me in. He must have been new. I didn’t recognize him from my time at the department.
“The night manager asked me to come,” I told him. “Mr. Haviland. Can you let him know I’m here?”
There was no need. Mr. Haviland had spotted me. “Sophie!” He waved me to the side of the house. The policeman let me pass. “You’re braver than I am,” he said. “I’m glad to stay
right here, thank you very much.”
Lights flicked on and off as we wound our way through the house. I had to cover my ears to muffle the wailing. Paintings that had been secured to the wall floated freely around the halls. The hands on a grandfather clock spun out of control. Several unhappy ghosts, including Bettina and Paloma, had congregated in the living room, complaining to one another.
“She’s stealing our thunder,” said a young girl. Her curls danced around her head as she bounced a ball.
A decapitated soldier, who held his talking severed head in one hand, complained loudly, “The woman is giving me a headache.”
Mr. Haviland led me to the courtyard, where, sure enough, Myrtle sat cross-legged in the middle of the rose garden. The wailing ended abruptly when she saw us. She smiled, her chubby cheeks dimpling. She gave us her happy little head tilt. “Hey there, friends!”
“Myrtle, what are you doing?”
“I want someone to dig up my bones and give me a proper burial.”
“See, I was correct,” Marmi said. “Of course, I usually am.”
Some Like it Haunted (A Sophie Rhodes Ghostly Romane Book 2) Page 11