The Murder of Shakespeare's Ghost

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “I know you’ve told us no one else was around when Shakespeare paid you a visit, but was anyone else ever nearby right before or after The Bard appeared?” I asked.

  “Security came by once or twice before they blew me off. And the police. George showed up a couple of times not long after I called him demanding that he rekey the locks,” she replied.

  “How long did it take him to get there after you called him?” Marty asked.

  “Ten or fifteen minutes, maybe. Not three minutes like security, but I was satisfied with his response time. Of course, I quit calling him when the third or fourth time I called he chewed me out about it. I suppose he was ticked off because changing the locks won’t keep a ghost out, will it?”

  “What is it, Marty?” I asked given the frown that had overcome her.

  “George lives just outside of Duneville Downs. I drove back and forth to his house numerous times when we were seeing each other. It never took us less than twenty-five or thirty minutes. Usually, well over thirty minutes, especially during rush hour.”

  “Does he have other properties he manages in the community or nearby?” Hank asked.

  “Maybe. Sure, that must be it. He could have driven to Shakespeare’s Cottage, quickly, if he was nearby dealing with another tenant when Robyn called him.”

  “At ten or eleven p.m.?” Robyn asked. “Shakespeare’s a night owl.” It was Hank’s turn to wear a big frown.

  “Spill it, Hank,” Charly demanded. “Please?”

  “On the face of it, he comes up clean. Before he retired, George Pierson worked for several different companies that do mining and offshore drilling, starting as a college intern when he was eighteen.”

  “Marty already gave us the basics about his career as a mining engineer before he retired and became a property manager, so what?”

  “His pension is from twenty-five years of service with a large well-known oil company that was gobbled up by a larger well-known company. When that happened, he took an early retirement. That wasn’t his last job, though. The last place he worked went belly up under a cloud of suspicion about overselling shares in a speculative mining and oil exploration venture. George Pierson wasn’t charged with anything. He was on the technology and natural resource side of the exploration, not in sales, so I didn’t make anything of it.”

  “I still don’t see how you can,” Charly responded. “You’re not trying to say that he’s the guy in the ghost getup just because he arrived so soon after Shakespeare left?”

  “No, but according to Robyn, he was also the first person to suggest whatever was going on had something to do with a ghost. I’m not sure he told you it was Shakespeare, did he?”

  “No. At first, I didn’t actually see Shakespeare’s ghost. It started with a mist in the hallway. I’m sure that’s because Shakespeare was still working on developing his ability to establish his corporeal presence. I’ve said that already, haven’t I?” She paused to switch her empty dinner plate for the smaller dessert plate. “In fact, I asked George if it was possible that Shakespeare was the one roaming around in the cottage since the place is named for him, so that part wasn’t his idea.”

  “Robyn, did the owners leave anything in your cottage?” I asked.

  “Besides their furniture and books and paintings you mean?”

  “Are you saying all the furniture and décor belongs to the owners?” Midge asked.

  “Not all of it, but the cottage was rented to me ‘furnished.’ I asked George to put some things into storage so I could bring a favorite chair and a few other items. I liked the idea that it was furnished because I didn’t want to move all my own furniture out of the condo until I was sure I was serious about becoming a Seaview Cottages resident. My realtor in Fresno tells me I’m more likely to get a buyer for my condo with the furniture in place. Once I sell my condo, I’ll have to pay for a storage unit here or in Fresno until I can buy a cottage and move my stuff in. So, a furnished cottage is still a good idea.”

  “That is interesting, isn’t it?” I murmured.

  “What’s interesting?” Marty asked. “That Robyn’s renting a furnished place or that I may have been dating a crook? Although I don’t get what his past involvement in a phony mining scheme has to do with what’s going on in Shakespeare’s Cottage.”

  “My point is that whoever has been snooping around has been pawing through the owners’ belongings. That’s even more reason to believe this has little to do with you, Robyn, other than the fact that you haven’t left despite the attempts to scare you out of your wits.”

  “Shakespeare has sure taken his good, sweet time searching the place,” Midge observed. “Did the lab come up with anything that might shed some light on the culprit’s identity or what the heck he’s trying to find?”

  “George Pierson claims that when Robyn raised her initial concerns that someone had been in the cottage, he went to Ted and Bernadette De Voss, and asked them if they’d been in there. They said no. They also told him no when he asked if they wanted to make sure nothing of value had been taken. George says they assured him they took their valuables with them before deciding to rent the cottage. Bernadette De Voss also told him nothing was ever missing even though she’d thought stuff had been moved around while she still lived there.”

  “By the ghost,” Robyn added. Hank nodded.

  “Something like that,” he said.

  “It sounds like George didn’t lie to me about the fact that the ghost story originally came from the owner’s wife.” There was relief in her voice as she made that remark.

  “When we saw the items on the ground in the pantry, we talked about the possibility that the burglars were looking for money or jewelry hidden in a box of cereal or can of baking soda. Here’s a new twist based on what was collected at the crime scene and recorded in the investigators’ evidence log. Robyn had a shelf full of cookbooks in the kitchen and someone rifled through them. They didn’t just shove them out of the way and onto the floor because hand written notes and recipe cards were strewn all over, too.”

  “As if someone shook each book before tossing it onto the floor, right?”

  “Exactly, Hemingway!” Hank exclaimed. When he looked at me, our eyes met. I felt giddy for a moment, as if I might tumble into the cool blue of his eyes in pursuit of the beguiling twinkle in them. When he turned away, I felt as if I’d lost something, but forced myself to pay attention as Charly spoke.

  “What that means is the object of their search could be a sheet of paper—a letter, a photo, an invoice or a cancelled check—anything that could be slipped in between the pages of a book in addition to being hidden in an ordinary item on a pantry shelf.”

  “Or in a picture frame behind a painting of sunflowers,” Midge added.

  “That all makes sense to me. When I first noticed that things had been moved, it was because a picture was crooked on the wall or books on the shelf were rearranged. Drawers that someone had opened weren’t completely shut. Little changes like that.”

  “Some of the vent covers weren’t attached properly,” Hank added. “George Pierson checked those today when he stopped by and he says they weren’t like that the last time he inspected the property.”

  “Unless he’s come into the cottage unannounced, the last time he did that was when my lease was up for renewal. That was months ago, so if someone removed and then replaced the vent covers that could have happened long before last night.” Robyn paused and then added another comment. “George wasn’t in his usual neighborly landlord mood last night. Even when I’ve annoyed him, he’s always been congenial. Maybe, it’s something about you, Detective, or he doesn’t feel as neighborly toward the police, but he was almost rude at times.”

  “I don’t take it personally,” Hank said in a reassuring way. “It’s okay to be suspicious right now about everyone who has anything to do with the cottage. That goes for all of you even though I’m sure I’m not going to dissuade you from sleuthing.”

  “It’
s the trouble last night that makes me the most uncomfortable. It’s your stuff someone went through, Robyn. This may not have started out to be about you, but you’re in the thick of it now.”

  “I agree with Miriam,” Charly said. “For the next few days, it’s better if you don’t go near the cottage alone—day or night. Neely’s already invited you to stay with her. Please take her up on the offer.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better,” Hank added.

  “Okay,” Robyn agreed.

  “Did you ask George Pierson where he was last night?” Neely asked.

  “I did,” Robyn replied. “I tried to call him, and he didn’t pick up the call until this morning. He said he was at the Blue Haven Resort with a friend and had turned his phone off.”

  “If he’s a regular at the resort, that could explain how he got to you so quickly when you called him at ten o’clock at night. It’s more like ten minutes away—much closer than his place in Duneville Downs.” Marty didn’t appear to be happy. “Maybe you should haul him in and give him the third degree, Detective. Ask him to tell you who can give him an alibi. I doubt he was there alone.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hank replied. “I know exactly where he was last night.” We waited for Hank to explain, but he abruptly changed the subject. “More cake, please?”

  What is going on? I wondered as I got up to cut another piece of cake for him. Were Hank and Darnell at the resort when they responded so quickly to the call past midnight about a prowler at Seaview Cottages? Was Hank tracking George Pierson’s whereabouts in connection to the smuggling case he was working on? Did that have anything to do with what was going on in Shakespeare’s Cottage?

  8 Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

  “To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day” – Macbeth

  ∞

  I wanted to ask my questions, although I didn’t believe Hank would respond to questions about an ongoing investigation. I didn’t want to get Charly into any trouble since I don’t believe we were even supposed to know there was a smuggling investigation underway. Charly interceded before I could stew about it anymore.

  “I hate to break this up, folks, but I need to call it a night. We all have plenty to do tomorrow and I need to go check on my neighbor. Emily still needs to go for a walk. I’ll bet Domino does, too, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, she does.” I handed Hank another piece of cake which he dug into immediately.

  “You need to take cake to Dottie. Let me get a little container to put it in.” Marty pulled several containers out of the cupboard. “I’m sure the detective would take some home with him for tomorrow if you insist, Miriam.”

  “No insistence required. I could eat this cake tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.”

  “Aha! Another Shakespeare fan has revealed himself in the kitchen of your Fitzgerald Cottage,” Midge said.

  “I can’t say that’s always been true, but when I went to the Bay Area about another case I’m working on, a colleague insisted I go to a new outdoor theater in wine country. The Calla Lily Vineyard Players performed Macbeth using some interesting sets and visual effects.”

  “Nothing too exotic or avant garde, I hope,” Midge asserted. “I’m not a purist, but Shakespeare is plenty over-the-top without having to add eerie music or too much fire and brimstone.”

  “No, but now I wish I’d asked questions about how they pulled off some very convincing ghostly effects,” Hank said.

  “It’s not all that mysterious on a set with smoke and mirrors,” Neely said, yawning as she stood up to leave. “We all need to catch up on our sleep. It was past two in the morning when Robyn and I got home. Today’s been rough even on a devout night owl like me.”

  “You know from what Neely’s already told us, it wouldn’t be too surprising if your crime scene investigators turned up a few smears of glow in the dark greasepaint. Especially if the quarreling Robyn heard got physical and the guy in the windbreaker shoved Shakespeare into a wall or a doorway,” I suggested. Neely nodded.

  “If Shakespeare and his arch enemy took their brawl into the pantry, bravo to the crime lab if they can find anything by going through that mess.” Marty was bustling around, and with Midge’s help, rapidly returning her kitchen to the pristine condition it had been in when we arrived for dinner.

  “They can sometimes work a bit of magic,” Hank responded. “We have a few fresh prints to run, in addition to the bloody hand print left at the front door. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the prints will turn up in the database and when we go to question the person they belong too, he’ll be wearing a windbreaker and sporting a broken nose.”

  “At least we know how he got out of the house. Did you have any luck figuring out Shakespeare’s escape route?” I asked.

  “The sliders and the door leading from the kitchen to the garage were locked. The garage door can be locked from the outside, so someone with a key could have left that way,” Hank replied.

  “The key Robyn gave us not only unlocks the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, but the one from the garage to the back yard. I couldn’t get over the six-foot fence, but maybe the cluck in a Shakespeare suit could. That would be a good place to hunt for traces of makeup or fabric,” Neely suggested.

  “Once you’d bashed that guy in the head and wandered off in a daze, the front door was still open. The easiest way to escape would have been for Shakespeare to exit that way, too,” Charly said.

  “If there are keys floating around that have fallen into the wrong hands, they’re useless now that all the locks have been changed. I can’t think of another way to get into the house unless Robyn’s right and Shakespeare can pass through walls.”

  “If that happens, maybe we’ll catch him in the act on video. I’m going to have a chat with my old dirt-loving boyfriend who ought to know the ins and outs of the cottage better than anyone. He’d better not turn up on that video footage if he knows what’s good for him.” As Marty said that, I handed Hank the cake I’d boxed for him.

  “Thanks, Hemingway,” Hank said. “You still owe me cookies, I believe.” I nodded.

  “I know. It’s on my to-do list.” I’d felt awkward about seeing him again since I wasn’t sure how to set the record straight after misleading him about my marital status. Now that I knew he’d run that background check, I had no excuse.

  “I’m sure if anything turns up on the video once Joe gets it set up, you’ll call me. That’s especially true if it turns out to be George Pierson, okay?”

  “With pleasure,” Marty said. “That rat’s going down if he’s behind any of this.”

  Two minutes later, I left Marty’s house. As exhausted as I was, I’d had trouble falling asleep. I was wired after the stress of wrestling with Robyn’s problems at the cottage. My interactions with Hank Miller were also stressful. When I awoke, my mind was still awash in conflicted feelings about the man. Despite my curiosity about him and the attraction I felt, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to get to know him better.

  “Maybe I’m still angry with Pete about dropping dead,” I muttered as I climbed out of bed. Domino made the funny sound she sometimes makes that’s a cross between a yawn and a whine. “I know that wasn’t his fault, but he kept so much from us. I’m not sure I’m ready to trust another man—even one sworn to uphold the law.”

  After a year on my own, there were aspects of my new life that I’d come to appreciate. It was a relief not to have to accommodate Pete’s wishes all the time or worry about being home to fix dinner. Or feel guilty because I didn’t get everything done on my to-do list, like baking those cookies for the detective.

  “Mama’s grumpy this morning, Domino. How about I accommodate your wish for a morning walk?” She woofed, jumped up onto the bed, roughed up the sheets a little, and then ran to get her leash. “Heck, what’s so bad about making wishes come true for your fellow creatures?”

  Not only did the walk make Domino happy, it clea
red my head. When we returned, I stood on the porch savoring the fresh morning breeze. From the porch I gazed at the lazy waves rolling onto shore. The sunlight glittered with promise, but the vastness of the horizon made me feel small and insignificant. It might be nice to have someone in my life who regarded me as special. Perhaps sensing my mood, Domino nuzzled the hand dangling at my side.

  “You think I’m special, don’t you? Let’s go find food!”

  I’d just finished breakfast when my phone rang. I recognized Marty’s number, and a wave of apprehension swept over me at the thought of talking to George Pierson. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was involved in something underhanded and the police had him under scrutiny for good reason. Marty was determined to speak with George and had called him as soon as we’d gone home.

  “He seemed glad to hear from me, amiable and polite. Thanks to Hank, now that I know more about George, he came across as a little too amiable. There was something insincere in his tone. When I asked him to have lunch with us to give us more background about Shakespeare’s Cottage, he said he’d love to. Then he started making excuses about why he couldn’t do it.”

  “Like what?” I asked as I refilled my coffee cup.

  “He’d have to check his other appointments and he wasn’t sure he could get away while the repair people were supposed to be there all day. Please! If he couldn’t get away because workers were going to be there all day, what difference did it make if he had other appointments?”

  “Robyn and Neely will be there, won’t they?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Robyn isn’t supposed to be there alone, but I don’t see why they can’t hold down the fort long enough for him to join us for lunch here.”

  “I don’t get it either except that he’s being evasive. Now I wonder how often he did that—appeared to be agreeable and then wiggled out of things. Maybe that’s the reason our relationship didn’t go anywhere, and it wasn’t about dirt at all.”

  “So, what’s the plan?”