by Etta Faire
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Old evidence taking up room that wasn’t even part of an investigation. She can have it.”
I nodded, pointing at the paper. “I think these were put in the evidence archives because somebody, even then, suspected something. And they were right. This glove alone proves Bessie Hind could not have committed suicide. On its evidence tag from 1906, it’s described as being found outside, RS of house. Right side of house. And you can see it has a gunpowder pattern that matches the one on Bessie’s dress.” I pulled out my phone and brought the photo up of the champagne-colored gown on the mannequin in the display case.
I zoomed in on the spot. “I’m betting that’s not grease on the fingertips, not when the dress has a similar pattern, proving the glove was there at the time of the shooting. And if this glove was found on the side of the house then there was no way the deceased could have taken it off and run it down there.”
“Oh, I see why they love you at the country club. You’re good,” Christine said, clapping her hands a little.
“There’s more,” I said. I pulled the glove inside out and took the green gem out from the threads inside it. “This was stuck inside the glove. I’m not sure what it means, but I bet…”
Caleb laughed, interrupting me. “You know what I bet? I bet you think you’re something else. Better than the police officers who already worked this case, huh? I saw that wire the other night at the seance. You’re lucky I didn’t say anything.”
I tried to interrupt, but he waved a finger at me. “It’s time you heard this. I don’t like your kind. Good people don’t start trouble. They wax their cars on Sundays. They bake casseroles and cookies for funeral wakes. Well, the women do.” He looked at Justin and Christine for confirmation. They didn’t nod. “Good people are busy. They don’t raise the dead. They don’t have time for hundred-year-old nonsense. Nobody cares about this anymore. It just makes more work.”
Somehow, I resisted the urge to cuss the man out. “Regardless of how you feel about me, you have to open this case up again. The evidence proves it could not have been a suicide. Let me tell you about the window, and how the glove fit…”
“I don’t have to do anything. And I don’t care if all the ladies in Landover County got together and signed a little note saying, ‘Pretty please, Sheriff Bowman, won’t you reopen this case? You’re so handsome and sweet…’”
I pointed my finger at him. “If you think, for one second, that’s the way the Landover Ladies operate, you are more delusional than anyone gave you credit for, and we gave you credit for a lot of delusion.”
He didn’t even blink, so I went on. “I’m going to write a letter, all right, but not to you. To the Landover Gazette. I’ve got an interesting story about Bessilyn Hind’s suicide I’m sure they will love to run. And the police officer standing in the way of her justice because he thinks I should be baking cookies for a wake.”
“Ooooh, you should mention the Landover Ladies and the seance you did with them,” Christine said, leaning over my evidence, apparently impressed. “Bessilyn Hind was one of the founding members, you know?”
“I should’ve known this was all a part of the show. You’re still playing to your audience.” Caleb burst out laughing. “The Landover Ladies really need to find better stuff to do with their time. Be sure to tell your mother-in-law I said that, Christine.” He flicked the tiny green gem across the room.
Christine glared at him.
Chapter 25
Bear Necessities
I slammed my car door shut and yanked the evidence box from the passenger’s seat. Things could not have gone worse for me. Rosalie was still mad I traded our seance money for a box of “damn evidence” to prove Bessie’s case, and that box had pretty much meant nothing. Nothing. Caleb wouldn’t even listen to me. I had more than a thousand books to pick up from Mildred’s. I hadn’t seen Bessie since the seance, and I had to return this box of evidence by the end of the night to Paula like I promised. Or she was charging me double.
At least I’d taken pictures of everything during my car reenactment. Maybe somebody would listen to me someday.
I threw open the door to the lobby, and looked around. It was darker than normal, and no one was there. The lobby was done in a dark Halloween theme, pumpkins and cornucopias strategically placed on tables and such, making the blood red wallpaper seem, well, bloodier.
The display cases had decorative museum lights now. Sir Walter’s hat stared back at me. “I’m sorry I thought you killed her,” I whispered to the ghost I knew was here somewhere.
I went over to the front desk and rang the bell. “Hello,” I called into the creepy darkness. It was not like Paula to leave the place unattended. I helped myself to one of the cookies in the plastic cookie bin then swept the crumbs onto the floor. I rang the bell on the desk again and again. I finally texted her. “Where are you? I’m at your b&b. About to leave this box of evidence on the counter.”
The room behind the desk had a light on, so I craned my neck to see if anyone was in there. A large shadow flickered around. I tiptoed over behind the desk, slowly approaching the room. That’s when I heard it. Growling. I turned around and bolted, straight into the front desk computer, dropping my phone and almost falling.
“Rosalie wasn’t crazy,” I said to myself, noticing how large the shadow in the back room looked. “And now, whatever trashed her store is in there.” I wasn’t sure if it was a shapeshifting bear or a skull-crushing bird. I almost yelled out Bobby’s name when a horrible thought came to me. What if Paula was already killed by whatever was in there?
I looked around for a weapon, deciding on the large metal Halloween candlestick on the front counter for decoration. Whatever animal was in the back room was still growling, almost huffing, in low gravelly tones that made me think it was pretty large. I went around the customer side of the front desk area again, holding the candlestick up over my head, but mostly looking for my phone so I could call 911. I didn’t seriously think the candlestick was going to do much good despite its street cred in the game of Clue.
I kept my distance, staying far enough away that I had time to run. Good thing I knew the old Hind House pretty well by now. There was a garden room off the back I could escape to. And I inched toward it, looking at the office as I passed it, fully expecting to see it trashed with blood, guts, and gore. Instead I smelled fish.
What the?
A large white furry head looked up at me from behind the desk of Paula’s cushy office suite. Its mouth was in a metal bucket, but when it saw me, it stopped chomping and stood up. A huge, thick polar bear.
I held in my scream and quickly backed my way down the hall toward the garden room.
It padded slowly around the desk, knocking over the decorative globe behind it. It stopped and roared, mouth open extra wide, like it was trying to tell me to stop walking away already and just succumb to being part of the snack.
“Nice bear. Go back to your fish,” I said. As soon as I’d backed up out of its sight, I took off down the hall toward the patio room. The beast was right behind me. I could hear its heavy paws thumping and skidding along the floorboards. I closed the garden room door and took a deep breath, my heart still racing. In my wildest dreams on possible ways to die, polar bear attack was pretty far down the list.
I flicked on the light, and looked around for a phone, wondering if I should run out the back door or stay put. I didn’t hear polar bear breath along the doorway like I thought I would. Maybe it went back to its fish. Or maybe I’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe I’d been hallucinating again.
Hallucinations were sure making my life confusing.
The garden room was spacious with huge glass windows for walls, a wicker chair patio set was next to a wrought iron one. Bookcases on every wall were filled with tacky vases, along with old framed black-and-white photos of the early 1900s.
This was the room where Henry Bowman, his wife, and the other “wealthy outcasts” had hidden themselves a
way so they wouldn’t have to keep their conversations polite that night.
A large photo of a garden party with women in white dresses and parasols hung on the back wall, reminding me how condescending and awful they’d been to Bessie on her birthday.
I shook my head at the painting. Even at a garden party, the dresses were huge and intricate… except for Eliza’s and Pleasant’s.
“A simple frock, perfect for slipping into pant legs,” I said. “Pleasant…”
The picture crashed to the floor, shattering on the tile. And the lights went out.
“Show yourself now,” I yelled with as much authority as I could muster. No one materialized. I blinked into the darkness, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the moonlight. A vase shot across the room at me, almost hitting me on the hand.
“Pleasant, I know it was you.”
The hazy glowing outline of an older woman dressed all in black appeared in the shadows. She looked very different than she had at the party, her face sunken and hollow, more like the way Mrs. Nebitt described her.
“I’ve been riding on you for a while, following you,” she said.
“And you didn’t say ‘hi’ to your sister?”
Another vase shot across the room. This one hit me square in the shoulder. Pain shot down my back. I should’ve known better than to get mouthy with a ghost.
She was coming at me now. Books and knickknacks seemed to fly from her fingertips as she moved. I ducked behind a chair, covering my head with one of its cushions.
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone,” she said. She was a very powerful ghost. I could tell, even more powerful than Bessilyn, and Bessie had Jackson beat by a mile.
“It’s over, Pleasant. We’ve figured it out, and nothing is going to change about that, no matter how many knickknacks and vases you hit me with. But don’t you want to end this burden once and for all? This secret you’ve been lugging around?”
I was really putting my ad-lib skills to the test here. Having to negotiate with an antique-throwing ghost was as surprising to me tonight as being mauled by polar bear.
She didn’t stop. She rushed at me, passing through the chair I was hiding behind, chilling every one of my bones instantly.
Her attention went to the back of the room.
“You have a lot of nerve,” said a loud booming voice that seemed to echo off the wall behind me. The large picturesque windows that showcased the backyard blew out in the patio room, one after the other, shattering glass onto the courtyard and garden. I knew who it was before she even showed herself. But then, there was really only one ghost I knew who made glass-breaking her MO.
Bessilyn appeared right in front of her sister. She was very bright and very large compared to Pleasant. “You! Killed! Me!”
I knew from Jackson that most ghosts repelled each other if they got too close. Bessie seemed to use that energy to her advantage. She rushed at her sister, knocking Pleasant across the room.
I curled tighter under my chair, unsure what damage a sister-ghost fight was going to do, but totally sure I was going to be asked to pay for it.
Pleasant got up and made herself larger too. “I’ve always hated you,” she screamed, throwing a vase at her sister. It went right through Bessilyn, crashing along the tile of the garden room. “You were never the same after I had the kids. You didn’t care anymore!” Pleasant tossed a chair at her this time.
Bessie caught it mid-air and set it down. “Stop, Pleasant. It was Troy. That’s why I never came over. After you had the kids, all you wanted from me was for me to be your nanny. That’s all you wanted from any of us. Mom, Dad, Popsy…”
“No. And you know it.” Pleasant’s color faded and she grew smaller again. “I only wanted you to be my sister. I needed help with those kids and my marriage. I needed advice. I didn’t know what I was doing. Mom was no help. I needed a sister. And you only cared about your stupid clubs and causes.” They were both quiet now, hovering close but not touching. “You were jealous of me and my family. Admit it.”
Bessie’s face turned white. “If I was, it was only because Mother talked a lot about your children… her precious grandchildren… Yes, you were the one who did everything right and perfect, and I shouldn’t have been jealous that you were rewarded for it, but you’re right, I was.”
This seemed to calm Pleasant down. Her voice was weaker when she spoke. “It was Troy’s idea,” Pleasant said. “He always said things like, ‘Why does Bessie get all the money? We deserve better. Our children will never have the proper upbringing they deserve with nannies and a large house because Bessie will always be a financial burden on your parents. She’s never going to leave.’ I let him convince me you were doing it on purpose, draining all our parents’ money, refusing to leave and get married.”
I peeked out from my hiding spot behind the metal chair. Pleasant’s ghostly white face showed years of regret, hanging off of her in unpleasant sags.
She went on, looking down at her dress as she talked. “He picked the fight on purpose. It was completely planned so you’d go upstairs and sulk into your sleeping pills. If anyone noticed me following, they wouldn’t think much of a woman consoling her sister, but no one saw me. The whole time I went up those stairs, I kept wishing someone would notice…”
“I bet,” Bessilyn said. “What did you use? Father’s chloroform?”
Pleasant nodded. “It only took a little splash and you were out like a light, just like Troy said would happen. He put everything in place. Father’s trousers and jacket under your bed, so I could stuff my dress inside the pant legs. Troy said I needed to do that so if I got caught, it would look like a man had done it, and of course, he would have an alibi. He made it sound so natural, like something you should already be doing, killing yourself at this point in your life because you were 35 and useless.”
“Useless?” Bessie said.
“He killed our parents too,” Pleasant replied.
“I knew it,” I yelled. “The car accident.” Both ghosts looked at me like they couldn’t believe I was trying to join their conversation, and I sank back behind my chair again.
Pleasant’s voice was even louder now. “Six months after you passed away, so did our parents. Troy cut their brakes. He never admitted it, and I never asked. But I saw him looking under the hood of Father’s car just before they went out on their country drive to the mountains to try to take their minds off your death.” She tugged on the long sleeve of her stiff-looking dress. “I never forgave myself. I became a bitter, angry woman.”
I crawled out again. “And after their death, that’s when it came out that your family had nothing. No money. Just debt.” They both glared at me. I went back behind the chair.
“I don’t believe it,” Bessie said.
Pleasant went on. “It’s true. We had to sell the house, the cannery too. For pennies.” She hovered across the room, staring out at the night. “I’m sorry,” she said to Bessie. “I know sorry doesn’t mean much now…”
Bessie faded and so did her sister just as the lights came back on. The room was quiet, calm. Pieces of vase and window were all over the floor and the table. Chairs were overturned and the large photo frame that contained the garden party scene was broken into bits. Cold air swirled all around the room from the broken windows.
But I was okay. I took a deep breath and shook out my limbs until it suddenly occurred to me I still had a possible polar bear problem to deal with.
I listened at the door, but didn’t hear anything. No growling. No roaring. Nothing but a knock.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hello,” Paula said back. “Carly Mae? I was just texting you. When you said you were at the bed and breakfast, I didn’t know that meant you were hiding in my garden room. I saw my evidence box on the counter, and I found your phone. I’ve also got my checkbook. I’m ready to pay you for the seance and be done with this.”
I reluctantly opened the door. She shoved my phone at me then turned toward the
mess.
Her face grew bright red. “You are paying for this,” she screamed over and over. “I should call the police.”
I looked down at my phone. My screen was cracked, of course. But it was working. I ignored her tantrum and checked it over thoroughly.
She continued yelling. “And to think, I was just about to pay you. You’re not getting anything now. Anything. You hear me? Not even a quarter. You probably owe me money. What in the hell happened here?”
I looked up at her. Her nostrils were flaring, eyes bugging.
I pulled a chunk of fish out of her hair. “Polar bear,” I said. “That’s what happened.” I flicked the fish onto the floor next to some glass.
Paula opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but stopped.
“Yep, a polar bear,” I said. I turned my phone toward her, showing her the photo I’d accidentally taken when I dropped my phone earlier. The screen was cracked but you could still see the white fur and fangs of an animal (one with a lot of human features), behind the half-closed door of her office. “Police ought to be on the lookout for that. Don’t you think? I bet it’s what tore up Rosalie’s shop and scared Delilah Scott… Maybe, it broke the windows at the seance too. That would be a lot more believable than a ghost, seeing how I have a photo of this very real bear. And ghosts are malarkey.”
She licked her pen and held out her checkbook. “What do I owe you again?”
“Half the gross price. The exact number we worked out before,” I said as she wrote. “And we’re calling it even on damages. I charge a fee for deleting my polar bear photos.”
I snatched the check and walked out.
Chapter 26
Seeing Reason
Looking like she just came off the lake in her crisp red boat shoes, matching shorts, and striped cardigan, Amelia strutted up to the front door of the police department with me and about 15 of her country club friends.