Popcorn and Poltergeists

by Nancy Warren

  Before my imagination went rogue, I pulled my attention back to my surroundings.

  There was nothing like a poltergeist, or even rumors of a poltergeist, to really slow down the traffic in a school library. Being alone in there wasn’t much of a problem. As I’d walked around the college, I’d come across students studying in odd corners, bent over the tables in the cafeteria, and no doubt many of them were working in their dorm rooms. Anything to avoid having to go into the library. Meanwhile, those beautiful study desks stayed empty.

  I walked down the center aisle once. The crystals Margaret Twigg had placed around my neck and on my wrists felt as hard and sharp as Margaret herself. I didn’t have much of a plan for calling out the poltergeist. I’d decided for this first visit—and I hoped there wouldn’t be many more—to walk around the space, making sure to spend time where the women who’d talked to me about their experiences had been when they experienced supernatural activity.

  Fortunately, they’d both shown me where they’d been so I didn’t have to waste time looking up the Victorian poetry section. My boots tapped on the wooden floor, and I wondered if there was another student in an alcove even now who’d hear the footsteps and think it was a haunting.

  I’d do a quick walk around the whole place and then settle down with Emily Brontë’s poetry.

  My ears were on the alert for tapping noises, but I didn’t hear anything, and I had excellent hearing. No books took flight, no writing appeared on the walls, and I didn’t feel cold. Give it a minute, I told myself. Even though I dreaded meeting up with the poltergeist, I still wanted it to happen so I could get my ghost experience over with.

  I’d like a good story to tell around a campfire while roasting marshmallows, rather than the dread of waiting to be spooked.

  But wait, I did hear tapping. Didn’t I? Like footsteps coming behind me. I knew Rafe was in screaming distance, but that seemed way too far. I turned as fast as I could, and there was something there. I gasped and slapped a hand to my chest where my heart threatened to explode out of it, even as a voice said, “Can I help you with something?”

  I couldn’t speak for a second. It was a man standing there. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, I thought, with spiky brown hair, small brown eyes, a mouth that looked made for spewing insults and a tough-looking, wiry body. He wore navy work pants and shirt, exactly what Wilfred Eels had been wearing when he’d died, only his sleeves were rolled, exposing a tattooed forearm. His pin-on nametag said “Travis Armstrong.”

  “You scared me,” I said, stating the obvious.

  He didn’t look me up and down as though we were in a pickup bar, but his expression made it clear he’d noticed I was young and female. “Sorry. Library’s closed.”

  “Right.” I explained about being Rafe’s assistant, and I’d now told the story enough times that it sounded plausible.

  Travis Armstrong looked skeptical, however. “He sends you here at night by yourself?”

  “There was a manuscript I wanted to double-check. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You know what research is like,” I said with a titter that made me sound like Silence Buggins. “Sometimes you feel compelled to find the answer.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I only come here for the paycheck.” He looked at the books with disdain, as though they were prisoners and he was the warden locking them in for the night.

  “I can be here, though, right? Even if the library’s closed?”

  “Nothing to do with me. So long as you don’t break or steal anything.”

  “Are you, um, replacing the former caretaker?”

  Some emotion flitted across his face. Sorrow? Anger? Scorn? He had the kind of face that it could have been any of those. “No. I’m the other caretaker.”

  “Oh, there are two.” I was probably still suffering from delayed shock, which made me state the obvious.

  “Well, not now there aren’t. I’m it until they hire another bloke.”

  If I wasn’t going to meet a poltergeist, at least I could interview the other caretaker, one none of us had known about. “Did you know Wilfred Eels well?”

  His already narrow eyes squinted. “What’s all this about? You a copper?”

  “No. I’m not with the police. I told you, I’m helping evaluate old knitting books.”

  “Then you better get on with it. Let me get on with my own work.”

  “Wait,” I called as he turned and headed away. “Have you ever seen the poltergeist?”

  He turned back, looking scornful. “No. Don’t believe in ghosts, do I?”

  As he walked away once more, I heard the Ghostbusters theme play in my head. Maybe this guy wasn’t afraid of no ghosts, but then I doubted he’d ever been confronted by one.

  Chapter 11

  We pulled up in front of the Sainsbury’s near Coventry just before eleven o’clock the next morning. I took my time getting out of the car. I did not relish telling a complete stranger that someone they loved was dead. Sainsbury’s was a grocery store chain. This was one of the larger stores, American in style with an in-house butcher, bakery, aisles and aisles of grocery items and a pretty extensive wine and liquor department. Rafe asked a cashier if she knew a Susanna Morgan, and she said to try the cheese counter. “At least, there’s a Susanna works there. I’ve never known her last name.”

  We made our way to the cheese counter. There were two women working there. One was serving a customer, and the other was restocking the display case. Rafe spoke to her. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Susanna Morgan.”

  The woman looked up, surprised. Then puzzled, as she obviously didn’t recognize Rafe. “I’m Susanna. How can I help you?” Both her voice and face were wary, as though she already knew he brought bad news.

  One look at her told me that this was not Wilfred Eels’ mother or his daughter. She had gray hair and a somewhat careworn face. She looked to be somewhere near Wilfred Eels’ age.

  Rafe said, “Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”

  She looked at me then and back at Rafe and then to the woman who was just finishing with her customer. “I’ve only just started my shift. I don’t get a break for two hours.”

  Rafe said, “It’s rather important. It’s about Wilfred Eels.”

  She dropped a wheel of stilton with a thunk. “Willie? What about him?”

  The other woman was older and had a kind, motherly expression. “Go on, Susanna, take them into the break room. I can manage for a few minutes. We’re not too busy.”

  Susanna nodded, got her handbag from a cupboard and came around the display case. Rafe asked, “Is the break room private?”

  “Not very.”

  “Let’s go to the café and have a cup of coffee.” He pointed to the sign that directed shoppers to an in-house coffee shop.

  She followed him as though she were used to being told what to do. On the way, she asked, “Is Willie in trouble?”

  “Is he often in trouble?”

  “More than is good for him.”

  Fortunately, the coffee shop in Sainsbury’s was practically empty, and we were able to find a table in the corner. I offered to get the drinks, but Rafe told me to sit down with Susanna and he’d get them. We both chose drip coffee and both declined anything to eat.

  While he was gone, we sat there awkwardly in silence. We were two complete strangers, and she had no idea what we wanted. Finally, she asked, “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

  Would it be better for her to hear the news from another woman? Or would it be easier if Rafe told her? I didn’t know. Rafe had left us alone, though, and he had to know she’d ask. I hesitated, then said, “Are you very close to Wilfred Eels?”

  “I divorced the rotter. I don’t wish him harm, but there were a few years when he made my life a living hell.” She stretched out her legs as though her feet hurt. “If he owes money, I don’t have any.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but I�
�m afraid Wilfred’s dead.”

  She pushed back in her chair as though she’d been hit. “Dead? Willie?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  For several seconds, she stared at me. Then, oddly, asked, “How did you find me?”

  It wasn’t the first question I’d have asked if I’d just been told someone I loved was dead, but luckily I was prepared for this question. “We’re from the university. He had you down as his next of kin and gave this Sainsbury’s as your address.”

  She pulled out a package of cigarettes and then looked around, realizing she couldn’t smoke in the Sainsbury Café. She pushed the package back into her handbag. “I don’t know whether I’m coming or going. Willie’s really dead?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “What happened to him?”

  I repeated the line Professor Cartwright had told us to use. “He died in a fall down a flight of stairs. The police need you to formally identify him.”

  Rafe put the coffees down in front of us with some packets of sugar and plastic single-use pots of cream. “Cheers,” Susanna Morgan said. He’d fetched a coffee for himself as well, though I knew he wouldn’t drink it. She put her hands around her coffee and stared into it. “Poor old Willie.” And she gave a bitter laugh. “This was the only address I’d give him. Didn’t want him turning up at the house.”

  Rafe and I glanced at each other. Maybe it wasn’t fair to push a woman while she was in shock, but mysterious things were happening at St. Mary’s College, and Wilfred Eels’ death might well be part of it. “Did he cause trouble?”

  She laughed again, a humorless, bitter sound. “Causing trouble was about all he ever did do. He told me he’d changed. Oh, he was a good bloke at heart. But he had an anger management problem.” She saw the way I was looking at her and hastened to say, “Not with me. He never hurt me. But he couldn’t keep a job, you see. He took offense so easily, he was always falling out with people. And you never saw anyone so terrible with money. He was always standing rounds down at the pub, then he’d have nothing left to bring home. The rows we used to have.”

  “Was he your husband?” I had to ask, though it seemed obvious he wasn’t her brother.

  “Yeah. Long time ago now.”

  Rafe said, “The Oxford police would like you to come and formally identify your ex-husband. I’m Rafe Crosyer, and this is Lucy Swift. We’d be happy to drive you to Oxford if you’d like and bring you back.”

  She opened the little plastic pot of milk and emptied it into her coffee, then added three sugars. She stirred her drink carefully and then took a sip. “Oxford? Did you say Oxford?”

  “Yes,” Rafe said. “He was working as a caretaker and gardener at one of the colleges.”

  She leaned over and gripped Rafe’s wrist, staring anxiously into his face. “Which college?”

  “St. Mary’s.”

  She closed her eyes and slumped back into her chair. She’d looked shocked when she learned of Wilfred’s death, but on hearing where he’d worked, the color completely drained from her face. “No.” It was almost a groan. “How did he find her?”

  Obviously, we had no idea what she was talking about. “Find who?” I asked.

  But she was in her own head now. She took another sip of her coffee and then put it down. “I’ll tell my manager there’s been a death in the family. Yes. I’d very much like a ride. We’ll go now, shall we?” She stood up, abandoning the coffee after two sips. “Let me get my street clothes back on.”

  We’d hoped she’d come with us, but she seemed to be in an awfully big hurry all of a sudden.

  The drive back to Oxford took an hour and a half. Before we started the journey, Susanna Morgan said, “I must have a smoke.” Her hands shook as she lit her cigarette, and she smoked in quick, jerky puffs. She hadn’t seemed heartbroken when she’d first heard the news about her ex-husband, but this was like a delayed reaction. She seemed to be getting more agitated as the news sank in.

  We waited for her to finish her cigarette, and then we all got into Rafe’s car. I politely got in the back and let her have the front seat.

  “Are you with the police then?” she asked us. I’d told her we were with the university, but shock seemed to have thrown her badly. Rafe was closest to her, so I let him answer. Besides, he was so much better than me at explaining difficult things. “No. I’m associated with the university. We thought the news would be better coming from someone who knew your ex-husband. I used to chat with him quite often. Not about anything important. But I liked him. He was a nice man.”

  “He was. But he shouldn’t have gone there.”

  As we cruised down the motorway, I asked, “Why not? What was dangerous about Oxford for your husband?”

  “What? No, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. He was the dangerous one. He should have left her alone. Oh, my poor baby.”

  She looked at her watch and then out the window. “How long till we get there then?”

  “About an hour. I called ahead to let Inspector Chisholm know you’re on your way. He’ll meet us at the morgue.”

  She winced at the word. “I suppose I’ll have to see him?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  When we drew up outside the morgue, Rafe offered to come back for her, but she said, “I don’t want to go in alone.” She looked at me sitting in the back seat. “Lucy? Would you come with me?”

  I didn’t relish seeing the deceased Wilfred Eels any more than she did, but I felt for her, so I agreed to go in.

  When Ian Chisholm saw me walking in with Susanna Morgan, he did a double take, shook his head and muttered something. I was glad I couldn’t hear it. We did seem to meet over dead bodies more often than was comfortable for either of us. Then he turned all his attention to Susanna Morgan. “Thank you very much for coming.”

  There were formalities, of course. They checked her ID, and she had to sign papers. Then we were led to a viewing room.

  The actual identification wasn’t too bad. They took her (us) into a room with a window into a smaller room. A stretcher was wheeled in with a body draped in a white sheet. Having the window between us made it less real, somehow, as though we were watching on TV. Ian looked at Susanna Morgan. “Are you ready?” She reached for my hand and gripped it hard before nodding.

  The person with the body lifted the top of the sheet, only enough for us to glimpse the face. I’d only seen the back of his head when I’d come across him at the scene, so this was the first time I’d seen his face. He had a round face, fairly unremarkable but for some old acne scars, a pointed chin, and the grizzled hair had been tidied up.

  Susanna dropped her head until her chin hit her chest. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s him.”

  Ian immediately led her out of the room, while the attendant covered Wilfred once more.

  He led her into an interview room and offered her tea, which she declined. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “No. I s’pose not.”

  “When did you last see your husband?”

  “Ex-husband. About a year ago, I suppose it was. We had a quick coffee.”

  “Do you know why he moved to Oxford?”

  She glanced up and anger flashed across her gaze. “I didn’t even know he was here.”

  She hadn’t answered Ian’s question, though.

  “Was he in any trouble?”

  “We really weren’t close. Anyway, he fell down the stairs, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at me and then back at Ian. “Are you saying it wasn’t an accident?”

  “We’re not ruling out anything yet. We’re still making enquiries.”

  He asked about other family, and it didn’t seem as though Wilfred Eels had any. He asked a couple more questions, but I felt he was going through the motions. We weren’t in there long before Ian handed her his card. He also took down her contact details, and then we were free to go.

  After another cigarette break, Susanna Mo
rgan still seemed shaken. I’d never been married, so I didn’t know how it would feel to have to identify the dead body of my ex-husband. I’d been in a long-term relationship though. I’d be sad if Todd the Toad came to an unfortunate end, but I didn’t think I’d be quite this distraught. Had she had deeper feelings for Wilfred Eels than she’d realized? Or perhaps it was the sight of death that was so difficult.

  I asked, “Would you like to go and get some food? A cup of tea?” Tea always seemed like the cure-all for everything. She shook her head though. “We could turn around and take you back home if you like.”

  Once more she shook her head. She closed her cigarette pack and replaced it in her handbag. “What I’d really like to do is go to the college. St. Mary’s. There’s something I have to do.”

  “Certainly,” I answered for Rafe, but I doubted he’d mind. Perhaps there were survivor benefits she was entitled to. Anyway, it wasn’t my business. We went back to the Tesla where Rafe was waiting, and he drove us to St. Mary’s.

  “I need to see whoever’s in charge,” she announced when we pulled into the parking area.

  Rafe and I looked at each other. He said, “Lucy will take you up. She knows the principal.” I didn’t understand why he didn’t want to go himself, but his instincts tended to be good, so I agreed. Before we could even enter the college, she had to smoke another quick cigarette. I was going to get emphysema if I spent much more time with this woman.

  Rafe had already alerted Amelia Cartwright of her imminent arrival, and so, when we got to her office, her assistant showed us in right away.

  Amelia Cartwright got up and came around the desk with her hand outstretched. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  They shook hands briefly. Susanna Morgan said, “Thank you. I didn’t know he worked here. I didn’t even know he was in Oxford.”

  Professor Cartwright glanced at me as though I could interpret the meaning behind these words, but I was as stumped as she was. She made a noncommittal humming noise, and Susanna Morgan continued, “Of all the places he could’ve got a job, why Oxford? Why this college? Why now?” On each short sentence, her voice rose higher.