Giving Up the Ghost

by Marilyn Levinson

  The other men laughed good-naturedly. "Give her a break, Terry," Reese said. "She only moved in yesterday."

  "Yeah," Jack agreed. "I bet Gabbie needs a new car like she needs me to deliver more furniture over to Cam Leeds' cottage."

  Gabbie felt a stab of anxiety as the three men turned to stare at her. Then she realized they were waiting to see her reaction. She'd give them one, all right, and learn as much as she could by pretending to know nothing. "Cam? I thought the owner's name was Roland Leeds."

  The air around the table crackled with energy.

  "Both brothers owned it," Reese explained, "but Cam lived there till he died last May."

  "Oh? That's too bad. Was he ill long?"

  Reese sent her a look of apology. "I didn't want to say anything last night, with you just moving in and all."

  But you didn't mind making enough innuendos to frighten any sensible person.

  "Fell over the cliff to the beach below," Jack said. "Dead drunk when it happened."

  Gabbie pressed her hand to her heart. "My God, how awful!"

  Terry smirked. "Lots of folks 'round here think it's for the best."

  Gabbie's outrage was genuine. "How can you say that about a man who's dead?"

  "A man who lived to make deals, some of them as crooked as the curve of this beer bottle," Terry said.

  Reese grimaced. "Cam used people, even his friends. He pulled all kinds of shenanigans, all so he'd end up with more cash in the bank. No better than Bernie Madoff, he was."

  Jack reached out a meaty hand to pat Reese on the shoulder. "You gotta stop chewing at that like a dog on a bone. What's done is done. And you're in good company."

  "Right you are, Jack, but I can't get over how you, me, Don and Terry would have made a bundle if that skunk hadn't--"

  "Good evening, miss. And what's to be your pleasure?"

  The publican stood broad and solid beside Gabbie, most likely a former football player who had managed to keep in shape.

  "I'll have a Bud light."

  He rejected her order with a disparaging shake of his bald head. "Logan's has choices for the discerning beer drinker. What about a Bass Ale or a Stella Artois? And I have Kilians on tap."

  "Oh," Gabbie said, flustered that he'd seen through to her humble opinion of the establishment. "In that case, make it a Stella Artois."

  "Stella Artois it is." He winked, clearly pleased with her selection. "I'm Mike, by the way. And you're the new English teacher who's renting the Leeds place."

  "Gabbie Meyerson." She put out her hand. "I see there are no secrets around here."

  Mike roared with laughter. "News travels fast. As for secrets, CH has more skeletons in the closet than boats in the marina during the summer months."

  He left as a chubby man dropped into the chair between Terry and Jack. He was panting as if he'd been running. Reese made the introductions.

  "Gabbie Meyerson meet Don Terranova. Gabbie's come to teach English at the high school."

  "She's renting the Leeds cottage," Terry added. "We're filling her in about Cam."

  Don Terranova's smile turned into a leer. "Gabbie, you're lucky the guy's six feet under. He'd try to screw you one way or the other."

  "Watch your language. There's a lady present," Mike admonished. "Here you are, Gabbie. Glass and beer properly chilled."

  She sipped and nodded her approval. "Perfect," she declared. Once Mike had left, Gabbie returned her attention to the four men, eager to find out more. "Are you saying Cameron Leeds swindled the four of you?"

  "And managed so it was all legal and above board," Terry said, a steely tone to his voice. "He convinced each of us to sell him our adjoining parcels of land over by Miller's Pond. We'd bought them ten years ago as a lark. Cam kept after us how it was marshy land and no one in his right mind would ever want it. Said he'd pour dirt into it, maybe develop it some day down the road."

  "And he lied!" Reese's face turned red with fury. "He turned it over, quick as a fox, to a builder. Now they're putting up eight, nine hundred thousand dollar houses on one-acre plots. He bought low, sold high."

  Gabbie was delighted with the way things were going. Getting them to talk was as easy as riding a bicycle. "And you didn't know a builder wanted to buy the land?"

  Jack shook his head. "We hadn't a clue. At the time we thought selling was a good thing to do, being the land's a bit marshy and the taxes were just hiked up. And I, for one, could make good use of the twenty-five thou he paid us each."

  "Cam was probably responsible for the tax hike, too," Don said. "He was on the tax exploratory committee, remember?"

  "Come on," Terry said. "He wasn't that powerful."

  "He was a scoundrel, all right." Reese shook his head mournfully. "I'll never forgive him for the way he treated Jill. Plenty of times she came to work with red eyes. The foolish girl thought he'd marry her, but he only brought her grief."

  "Jill's problem was taking Cam seriously," Jack said. "He was a great one for living it up. He must have been a nice change from her stick of a husband. Adele says Fred thinks more about his work at the lab than his wife."

  "Still, Jill should have known better," Terry said bitterly. "Cam always went after the married women." He tilted back his chair and took a deep pull on his beer before he spoke again. "All in all, the scum bucket got what was coming to him. You gotta admit, there's some justice in the world."

  "Yeah," Don agreed. "Good thing he died, or maybe someone would have arranged it for him."

  The eyes of the other men shifted away from Don. Terry and Reese drank their beer. Jack rummaged through his wallet.

  So Cam nailed Don's wife and maybe Terry's. She'd have to ask Cam. Now was the perfect opportunity to pop the question she'd been dying to ask. With a little laugh, she said, "Are you sure nobody pushed him off the cliff? It sounds like half the town had reason to want him dead."

  The four men exchanged worried glances.

  Terry spoke first. "Hey, Gabbie, no one killed Cam. The guy may have pulled a few dirty tricks, but he was our friend. The greatest drinking buddy. The most fun guy around."

  "Don't get the wrong impression," Reese said. "We're just letting off steam."

  "Besides," added Jack, "Darren got the coroner to examine the body, and old Doc Bradley said it was death by misadventure."

  "Who's Darren?" Gabbie said, glad that the light was dim.

  "Darren Rollins. CH's police chief and Cam's best friend," Don said. "If there was the slightest chance of foul play, believe me, he'd have been on the case in a minute."

  Gabbie was debating where to take the discussion from here, when the matter resolved itself. She yawned. Suddenly, her very bones were sleepy. She longed to crawl into bed and shut off the light. She stood. "Sorry to cut it short, but these last few days have exhausted me. It was nice meeting you, gentlemen."

  As she reached into her pocketbook, Jack covered her hand with his. "Our treat tonight, Gabbie. Welcome to Chrissom Harbor."

  "Why, thank you," she said, touched despite herself.

  The men nodded as though they'd come to an unspoken agreement. Reese said, "We're here most week nights 'round about this time, so join us whenever you feel like a bit of company." He laughed. "Mind you, we extend this offer to very few women besides our wives. Though the truth is, my Jane rarely comes down."

  "I'm honored," Gabbie said.

  Don wagged a stubby finger at her. "Make sure you stop by Tessa's Salon on Elm Street ASAP. Owned and operated by me and my wife. I'll see that you get good head--er, a good hair cut and blow dry."

  Gabbie patted her mop of curly hair. The man was as coarse as Kosher salt, but she was long overdue for a cut. Besides, a salon was the ideal place to pick up local gossip. Women were obliged to sit still while beauticians attended to their hair and nails, with little else to do but chat with their neighbors. Yes!

  "I just might do that." She slipped into her parka and headed for the door.

  She drove slowly back to the c
ottage, sorting through the grievances the four men held against Cam. She found herself sparked with anger on their behalf. Cam had ill-used them, even cuckolded some of them, and these were men he'd known most of his life. She felt sorry for Reese, Terry, Jack, even Don, and hated being put in the position of having to consider that one of them might have killed Cam.

  She turned into the rutted driveway and shut off the ignition. Of course someone else might have killed Cam. Jill? Fred? The murderer might turn out to be a person Cam hadn't thought to tell her about. Gabbie shook her head. So many possibilities, and each and every one of them had a good reason for offing him.

  "I can't believe it!" Gabbie thumped her palm to her head as reality struck her like a slap in the face. She was still a sucker. After her ordeal with Paul, she still hadn't learned to protect herself from devious con artists. She'd no sooner heard Cam's sad tale and off she went to Logan's at his so-called innocent suggestion, rushing headlong into playing detective.

  Well, she wasn't equipped to play detective. Murder was serious business. It was sad that someone had killed Cam, but he'd made a slew of enemies. If only there were some way she could convince Darren Rollins to reopen the case.

  She let herself into the cottage and started up the stairs. Cam called out to her, wanting to know what she'd learned.

  "Just that half the town is still mad at you. We'll talk tomorrow. Good night."

  "But Gabbie--"

  Gabbie closed her bedroom door so she wouldn't have to listen to his plaintive pleas. Tomorrow she'd repeat what his pals had said. Right now she had to get a good night's sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The alarm awakened Gabbie from a deep sleep. She peered out the window at the light snow blanketing the back lawn in lacy white. A dart of nervous excitement zipped through her body and settled in her stomach. Today was her first day of school.

  She showered, put on the woolen slacks and sweater she'd set out the night before, and went downstairs to eat a light breakfast of coffee and a bagel. Too late, she remembered she'd left her briefcase of school papers and books in the den. She'd no sooner entered, when Cam materialized in her path. One more step and she would have walked right through him!

  "Don't do that!" she snapped.

  "My, we're testy today." Cam settled comfortably on the couch. "Don't tell me you have first day jitters."

  The briefcase was beside the lounge chair. Gabbie reached for it, felt an icy touch on the back of her neck, and gave a start.

  "Aren't you going to tell me what transpired last night? I've been waiting for your report with bated breath."

  He exuded two clouds of frost. Despite herself, Gabbie grinned as she knew he'd intended her to.

  "That's right. Loosen up. I'd give you a back rub if I could."

  "I'm sure. No doubt step three of your seduction routine. Things will go better if you delete all such comments, okay?"

  She hid her grin as a shamefaced expression crossed his handsome features. He reacted like a human. He was human, except for the fact that he wasn't flesh and blood. And he was dead. Gabbie shivered. It was surreal how quickly she had adapted to conversing with a ghost.

  "I met your four ex-cronies Reese, Jack, Don, and Terry. They all hate your guts, especially Don for screwing--er, sleeping with his wife."

  Cam laughed with delight. "You found out all that, did you? And in one evening. You're one terrific sleuth, Gabbie. I knew I could count on you."

  Damn it, despite his wolflike tendencies, his charm came naturally. His admiration stroked her ego.

  "I bet they cursed me out and griped and groaned, but the truth is, deep down each of them wishes he could've pulled off what I did."

  "Pulled it off," she said wryly, "but didn't quite make it home and free."

  His voice went soft, almost tender. "I want you to meet Jill and get to know her. She wouldn't harm me, even though I hurt her bad. But maybe Fred did the dirty deed and confessed to her after sleepless nights."

  Gabbie had to grin at that. "You loved her, didn't you?" She chuckled. "And you're just finding it out."

  Cam slumped back against the couch, his hands dangling between his knees. "I should have let her come with me. Then maybe we'd be together now, happy in some beautiful place."

  "Not necessarily," Gabbie said. "Where does Jill do her volunteer teaching?"

  "At the library, a couple of afternoons a week."

  "I'll try to stop there later." She glanced at her watch. "I have to go. I'll let you know if I learn anything."

  "Hold on. Does that mean you've officially decided to find my murderer?"

  Surprised, she realized she had. "It means I'll do my best to find out what I can. I can't promise any results."

  "Thanks, Gabbie. That's good enough for me. One more thing!" he called out as she walked into the hall. "I wish you'd tell Jill that I miss her."

  "And end up in a psych ward? Now don't go soppy on me."

  But when she went outside, she felt a pang of sympathy for Cam's ghostly state. The temperature had fallen to the low twenties, and the cold air made her gasp. The sun reflected brightly on the snow, which covered everything in sight. A postcard view of beauty. Even outdoors in frigid, wintry weather like this, it was wonderful to be alive.

  * * * *

  Gabbie spent the first two morning periods in the faculty room, meeting various members of the staff and reviewing her class plans. Later she wished she hadn't drunk those three cups of coffee, because when the bell rang for her first class, her stomach felt like a trampoline full of jumping beans.

  In the classroom she stood self-consciously beside her desk while twenty-eight students sauntered in. They barely glanced at her as they milled around, chatting. Even after the second bell rang, indicating the start of the period, they continued talking.

  It was time to instill order. "Take your seats and quiet down," she said, a few decibels louder than she'd intended.

  Most of them looked at her like she was a crazy woman, but they obeyed.

  "As you know, I'm Ms. Meyerson, your new English teacher." This time her voice came out timidly. Gabbie cleared her throat and continued in a stronger tone. "Mrs. Ketchem told me what you've covered, and we'll continue on from there."

  "Where's Mrs. Ketchem?" a tall boy called from the back of the room. "Out on maternity leave?"

  That brought a roar of laughter. Gabbie glanced down at the seating chart. Just as she'd thought--the wise-guy of period three.

  "Jeff Borden," she announced, looking straight into the boy's laughing eyes. "Since you're so adept at amusing the class, may I assume you're eager to write a five-page report on humor in American literature?" She flared her nostrils. "And no plagiarism--which means no copying from any book or web site--or you might be brought up on criminal charges."

  The boy's face turned white. "You can't do that! All I said was--"

  "I heard what you said. And I asked if I might assume you'd like to write a five-page report?"

  Jeff looked down at the floor without speaking.

  "Is that a 'yes'? Because unless you answer me, that's what you're going to do."

  Still staring at the floor, he mumbled, "No."

  "What's that? I couldn't hear your answer."

  Jeff looked up, face red with embarrassment and fury. "I said I don't want to write the damn--I mean, the paper on humor."

  "Then behave yourself." Gabbie kept her tone conversational. "And we'll get along fine." She looked around at the other students, who were watching her avidly. "The same goes for the rest or you. I've no time or patience to waste on anyone who doesn't want to learn."

  Heads nodded.

  Gabbie smiled. "Good. Now that we understand one another, I'll take attendance, and then we can discuss Chapter Three of The Great Gatsby."

  The chapter took place at one of Jay Gatsby's parties. She encouraged them to talk about the extravagance of his entertainment, allowing them to stray off the subject and compare it to parties they'd read
about out in the Hamptons and in Hollywood. Once she had their attention, she asked questions: How did Nick meet Gatsby? What kind of a host was he? Why were all sorts of wild rumors flying around about him?

  The discussion grew animated, as most of the students caught on to Jay's bland personality. "When he makes a date with Nick, is he just being a friendly neighbor or does he have an ulterior motive?" she said. "And what about Nick and Jordan?"

  She assigned them homework--to write three pages about Nick, Jay Gatsby or Jordan Baker, always backing up their assertions with statements from the text. "Or you might discuss the parties. Who's invited, who shows up. What kind of host Jay Gatsby is. Why you think he might be hosting these parties.

  "Remember," she said, with a wink, "a good book has its secrets and its mysteries. So far you know only what Fitzgerald wants you to know. But give it your best shot. Just don't go too far afield with speculation and conjecture. Stick to the presented facts."

  They were intrigued. They were hooked. When the bell rang, many of the students called out, "Good-bye, Ms. Meyerson. See you tomorrow."

  One down, two to go.

  The next class was smaller--only twenty-two students--and not as chatty. They took their seats and stared at her, waiting. Gabbie thought back on the four years she'd taught English, before she married Paul and gave up her tenure to manage one of his offices. Each class was unique and had its own personality.

  Her fourth period sophomores listened politely as she explained she was here for the rest of the term because Mrs. Ketchem was out on health leave and that she hoped the transition of teachers would be as smooth as possible. When she took attendance, she tried to associate each student's face with his or her name. It would take a few days, maybe a week before she got them down cold.

  "Theodosia Leverette?"

  Gabbie's heart leaped in her chest as the tall girl who'd sat at the table next to hers last night at Logan's raised her hand. She was Jill's daughter. And the silent couple with her were her parents.

  "Present. And it's Theo."

  It was an order rather than a request. "Certainly," Gabbie said smoothly. "Everyone, please let me know the name by which you'd like to be called."