Murder Beach

by Rena Leith

  Jack took the card, glanced at it, and pocketed it. “Sure thing.” Then he pulled the ointment out and read the label. He picked up the bottle. “This says the antibiotics need to be stored in the fridge.” He got up off the couch and took the bottle out to the kitchen.

  When he came back, I said, “The vet—Marcy—was very forthcoming about Alan Howland’s wife. Maybe a little too forthcoming.”

  “Oh?” Jack closed the fridge. “In what way?”

  “I got the distinct impression that she was feeding me negative information about the woman, maybe spreading rumors about her, giving her a motive for murder. At first I was fascinated, but,” I paused, thinking about it. “Now I wonder if I was being manipulated. But why? I’m new in town. It was weird. Did you hear anything on the news?”

  Gillian paused the TiVo. “I’ve set up several news shows to record.”

  I looked at the TV. The picture was paused on my house. “That’s my front porch on live TV. I just came in. There was no one out there.”

  Gillian said, “Apparently, there is now.” She pointed toward the front door.

  I turned and saw lights shining through the curtains and heard voices and shuffling on the front porch. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”

  There was a knock at the door. Jack went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The lights were blinding. He dropped the curtains.

  “Don’t answer the door,” I said, turning to look at the TV. “Gillian, let’s get a live picture.”

  She hit play and fast forward. Sure enough, the reporters were setting up for an interview shot with me. We listened for a few minutes and learned about the background of the house, the murders on the beach, and more about Alan’s death, including the presence of two puncture marks on his neck. A lot of speculation followed from that revelation. The last comment was something about trading in a ghost for a vampire.

  Then the phone rang.

  “Let me guess,” Jack said. “You got a landline but didn’t think about an unlisted number.”

  “I actually wanted people to find me. I was thinking about starting a business, not being hounded by the press.”

  The knocking on the door continued.

  I stood up and moved the bowl of pistachios closer to Jack. “Eat and leave me alone.”

  He took a couple and cracked the shells open. “They aren’t going away.”

  “I know. I’ll talk to them.” I had no idea what I was going to say. They knew more than I did.

  “Are you sure you should?” Gillian asked.

  “No, but I don’t see them going away if I don’t.” I went to the door, and opened it a crack. “Yes?”

  “Cassandra Peake? I’m with—” The rest was a blur of microphones, lights, and shouted questions.

  “How does it feel to live in a haunted house?”

  “Did you see the murder?”

  “Was it a vampire?”

  “Did you see the body?”

  I stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind me. “I don’t know anything. I just moved here.” A staccato of lights. “Yes, I saw the body. No, I didn’t know him. No, I don’t know what happened. No, I haven’t…seen…a ghost. No, I’m not a Satanist. What vampires?” Why was I here? A million thoughts. The ocean. As far west as I could go without being in Hawaii. The weather. “That’s all I know.” I threw my hands up in front of my face and pushed back through the door. I stood on the other side, leaning against it until I heard the noise outside die down.

  Gillian peered out the window. “They’re going away.”

  “Good.” I walked over and sat on the couch, a little weak in the knees. “We need to watch that. I didn’t hear all the questions. The reporters know more about my house than I do.”

  Gillian hit play, and we all watched as I walked out onto the porch and into incoherency.

  Jack laughed. “That was pretty funny!”

  “Thanks so much.” I said sarcastically. “You’ve always been a brat.” I hoped Phil wasn’t watching. That would be all I’d need. “Gillian, can you run it again and pause for each question?”

  Gillian did as I asked, and I grabbed my notebook and took notes on the questions.

  Gillian paused the tape. “They know more than we do.”

  Jack said, “I think the background of your house is well known around here. I can’t believe so many people buy into this occult crap.”

  “You seem to be enjoying it,” I said.

  “I find it all highly entertaining.”

  “You’d better tell us the story of the house. You told them more than you’ve told us so far,” Gillian said. “How was the girl killed? The one who’s supposed to be haunting this place. Jack may not believe in the supernatural, but I’m not so sure.”

  “Axe murderer?” Jack sounded hopeful.

  “Close. But not quite. Probably men her dad owed money to.”

  “Now she tells us.” Jack rolled his eyes.

  “I can stop here if you like,” I teased.

  “No, tell us; otherwise, I’ll keep wondering.” Gillian grabbed a couple of pistachios and paused the TiVo again.

  I cleared my throat. “It’s a nice little bedtime story. Realtors were reluctant to show me this place. I found it on my own. When I finally got someone to tell me the story, I learned that legend has it that a group of women mystery writers in the Sixties used to rent this house from one of their members for their meetings. The woman who owned the house at the time was the daughter of Shelagh Macalin, who wrote spooky stories published in women’s magazines in the Twenties or Thirties. They held a séance to conjure up her ghost as a kind of a muse for the group. The séance went awry, and instead of Shelagh, they got Doris, the ghost of the illegitimate daughter of a notorious Twenties bootlegger. Judging by my neighbor Mina’s reactions while she was in my house, the ghost has a bit of a temper.”

  “What happened then?” Gillian leaned closer.

  “No one knows for sure. The group broke up shortly thereafter, and none of them ever published another story.”

  Jack shrugged. “If not publishing is the curse, I can live with that.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Gillian poked him in the ribs. “I plan to publish quite a bit in the future. It is odd that it’s such a feminist story—all women writers—that ended with the loss of their creativity or receptivity to their creativity.”

  “What a minute,” Jack said. “How did they know they ended up with a ghost? Did they see one? What’s their proof? Did they continue to meet here? Did the owner live here? How well known was the story? Did she sell the house?”

  I raised a hand. “Hang on. If you want answers, you’ll have to run over it again with a smaller truck.”

  Jack sighed. “How’d they know they got a ghost? And which ghost they got?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. I’ve only found out about this in the last couple of days. I’m sure there’s more to the story given that the cottage seems to have been abandoned with a lot of stuff left behind. Apparently, no one wanted to clean the place out, so I got it lock, stock, and barrel.”

  Before I could answer, Gillian said, “So who paid the taxes?”

  “Pardon?” I asked.

  “If that writer abandoned the house, someone must have continued to pay the taxes. Actually, unless the house was in really bad shape when you bought it, someone must have done upkeep from time to time. Leaves in gutters need to be removed. I guess you don’t have to worry about frozen pipes out here.”

  “There have been owners,” I said. “Dave said the last owners owned it for five years even though they only stayed here for a total of two weeks.”

  “Who was on the deed when you bought the house?” Jack asked.

  “Now you’re going to make me find the paperwork, aren’t you?”

  Jack nodded.

  “We can do that tonight.” Gillian extended her long, slim legs and stretched. Her slacks had retained their crease and her pearls were perfectly ce
ntered. “Let’s do the outside work during the daylight. We still have to find space for the rest of Cass’ belongings from the storage units.”

  “Wasn’t there an out building in the floor plans?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I think that’s the old garage. I poked my head in when I first looked at the property. There’s something out there under a tarp.”

  Jack perked up. “There’s a car out there?”

  “Maybe.”

  “It would be in terrible shape after all these years,” Gillian said.

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “If it’s a classic, it could be worth some bucks.”

  That got my attention. “We should check it out, see if there’s a car and if it’s salvageable, saleable, or towable.”

  “Great idea.” Gillian’s short, blonde hair was tousled, and her peanut-butter-brown eyes twinkled with the excitement of exploration. “In the meantime, we can see what’s in the loft.”

  “We brought a lot more supplies, such as lanterns and Maglites, and some homemade cleaning solution from Gillian’s grandmother’s formula. It works like a charm.”

  “Fine with me. We need all the help we can get.” I looked Jack over. His loose shirt and baggy jeans hung on his six-foot-two frame. “You’re not eating enough.”

  “Told you.” Gillian said, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “He’s on a fitness jag. But he does need new clothes to show off his new toned look.”

  His brown hair was cut shorter than the last time I’d seen him, and I could have sworn his hazel eyes were greener, but that often happened when he was overtired or upset.

  I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that they were very different. She was so Nordstrom’s; he was so Land’s End.

  I must have been staring because Jack snapped his fingers in my face and said, “Hey! Wake up. Let’s go exploring.” He looked at Gillian’s slacks. “Honey, do you want to change?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t plan to do any heavy lifting.” She winked at me and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I have the keys to all the doors around here. It’s got to be one of these.”

  “If not, I don’t think it’ll be too hard to knock the door in,” Jack said. “I’m more worried about the vegetation.”

  That stopped me. “I didn’t think about that. Phil and I had a gardener for years. I don’t own anything that would cut away heavy plant growth.”

  Jack shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

  We trooped out the front door and around back. It was slow going as we picked our way through thick weeds and wild flowers, but it wasn’t quite the jungle it might have been because of the sand that had blown up from the beach over the years. The garage was a very small, separate building at the far end of the lot away from the beach. Looking at it, I couldn’t believe a car could fit in it. I’d gotten used to the three-car garage we’d had in Pleasanton with a whole bay for tools and storage.

  The wood was badly weathered, and the little building hadn’t been painted nearly as often as the main house. I couldn’t find the key to the padlock, but that didn’t slow us down for long. Jack forced the door open and nearly knocked it off its hinges.

  At first we couldn’t see a thing. Jack swung the big Maglite up and illuminated an ancient car. He gave a low whistle.

  “What? It’s a pile of—” I inhaled sharply. There was no denying that I had a ghost now, and I think that was her point. A chill shot down my spine.

  The woman in the green dress from the beach leaned back across the front seat of the boxy convertible as if the leather weren’t stained and torn. She was dressed in a beautifully beaded sea foam green gown, a white fox stole draped across her shoulders. Her body language screamed “mine!”

  I quickly looked at Jack and Gillian, but Jack was looking at the car. He ran trembling fingers over the trim.

  Gillian stood apart, keeping well away from the grime, and I could see the shock on her face, her eyes wide, mouth open as if to scream. She saw the ghost, but Jack didn’t.

  “Do you know what this is?” His voice wavered slightly.

  “A gho—car?” I ventured.

  “A Packard Roadster.” His voice broke. “Look at the running boards. The wooden dash.” He rubbed dust off the fender. “Gorgeous gold.”

  “I take it that’s a good thing,” I said faintly.

  The beautiful ghost shifted her pose, putting her face mere inches from his.

  Gillian’s hysterical laugh was shaky, but it was better than having her scream. She couldn’t take her eyes off the ghost. “Oh, you’ve done it now, Cass. We’ll be lucky to get any work out of him around the house.” The hand she held up to her mouth shook.

  “We can get this running again,” he whispered with reverence, buffing the hood with his shirtsleeve.

  The ghost leaned toward him with a smile on her face. She turned toward me and stage-whispered, “Oh, I like him! Abyssinia!” Then she was gone.

  The instant she vanished, Gillian let out a burp of a scream, quickly smothered.

  Jack turned, stared at us, and stopped babbling. “What are you girls looking at?”

  Gillian and I exchanged a glance.

  “N-nothing,” I said. He hadn’t seen her!

  It was clear from Gillian’s expression that she’d had the same realization. Then I had another.

  Holy shit! I really did have a ghost!

  Chapter 5

  I staggered and my back hit the old, splintered wood, which gave way. I turned and pushed my way out, taking a deep breath of sea air.

  Gillian followed me out, whispering, “Ghost. That was a ghost, right? I don’t believe it. I don’t believe in ghosts. Did you see Ghost Story? Can she hurt us? Why didn’t Jack see her? Did she say Abyssinia?”

  I held a hand up to stop her.

  Jack trailed Gillian, looking back over his shoulder, reluctant to leave the roadster and apparently completely oblivious to my spectral guest. “I’ll have to get some tarps and check the roof for leaks. I can reinforce that door. Put a better lock on it.”

  I just nodded at him. He didn’t even look at me. Gillian headed for the front door. She opened it and stopped dead. A little shriek escaped from her. I ran into her tense body.

  “We can’t go in.”

  I looked over her shoulder into the house. The ghost waggled its fingers at me. I turned quickly to see where Jack was. He’d stopped on the path and was still contemplating the garage.

  “Inside.” I shoved Gillian ruthlessly into the house and let the screen door bang behind me. I turned to face the ghost. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” It would have been a more effective confrontation if my voice hadn’t been shaking.

  The ghost arched her eyebrows, leaned toward me, and said, “Boo!”

  I nearly peed my pants. She tilted her chin up and laughed. Guess we all knew who had the upper hand.

  Her dark hair was cut in a bob with thick, shiny bangs, and she was made up with red red lips and very thin eyebrows. How does a ghost keep her makeup looking good?

  “I live here,” she said.

  “No, you don’t. This is my house. I bought it.”

  “I was here first.”

  Jack came in and headed for the kitchen. “I’m starving.” He walked through her, and she broke apart and faded away.

  Gillian giggled nervously. I clamped my hand over my mouth before I could scream. Gillian gained control of herself.

  His head stuck in the fridge, Jack muttered, “Man, I’m hungry. Do you mind if I try to weatherproof the garage today? I don’t think the salt air is good for her.”

  “Her?” I asked. Had he seen the ghost?

  “The car,” Gillian said to me sotto voce, gripping my hand. “No, we don’t mind, Jack. Knock yourself out.”

  Someone honked outside, and I jumped before turning toward the screen door. More reporters? A blood red Jeep with a dog crate in the back pulled up, and Marcy hopped out. I took a
deep breath and opened the door.

  “Hi, Cass. I was down this way and thought I’d come by, find out the name of the food, and check on the patient.”

  I spoke slowly, making sure I had regained some control. “Hi, Marcy. C’mon in.” I held the door for her, looking around to see if the ghost was back. “Meet Jack and Gillian, my brother and sister-in-law.”

  She shifted her bag to her left hand and held out her right. “Cute names. Did you decide to get married for the joke?”

  Awkward silence. Jack set his sandwich down and shook her hand.

  I stepped into the breach. “I’ve tried for years to get her to go by Jill, but for some strange reason she refuses. C’mon in and see the patient.” I led everyone into the house.

  Thor trotted forward immediately when Jack called him and head-butted his leg. Jack picked him up, and Thor licked his cheek. Jack held him while Marcy conducted a quick examination.

  “Hmm. I’m going to debride the area a bit and remove the hair that’s sticking to the scab. Do you have a towel we can put on the table?”

  “Be right back.” I grabbed one from an open box in the hall, looking around for the ghost and wondering if Jack had dissipated her permanently. I spread the towel on the trestle table.

  Marcy opened her bag and set to work on Thor’s head.

  Gillian’s eyes met mine, and I knew she was also wondering where the ghost went.

  I needed something to do. “Coffee? Tea? I’ll just plug the kettle in.” I pulled some cups down from the cabinets.

  Gillian mouthed, “Where’d she go?”

  I shrugged.

  “Such a good kitty!” Marcy cooed as she finished up.

  “Want him? He’s yours,” I said only half kidding.

  She laughed. “Trust me. You’ll grow to love him.”

  “Sure I will.”

  Jack downed the last of his sandwich and punched my shoulder lightly.

  Marcy stripped off her gloves and dropped them into her bag, before setting Thor on the ground and taking the cup I offered her. “Thanks. By the way, any more news on the drowning accident?”