Death of a Toy Soldier

by Barbara Early

  “Why would she want a haunted house?” Dad asked. “Wouldn’t that lower the value of the property?”

  Cathy and I both shook our heads.

  “Ghost hunting is big business these days,” Cathy said. “Like I’ve been telling Liz, I think we need a ghost in the shop.”

  “I’m still taking applications,” I said, echoing Dad’s sarcasm.

  Cathy laughed. “You know, you don’t have to actually believe it. But many people out there do, or are at least interested enough to pay attention to the claims. That brings in more tourists.”

  “It doesn’t scare people away?” Dad asked.

  Cathy shook her head. “Skeptics don’t believe, so they ignore it. The ghost chasers love that kind of thing, though, and so do a lot of the historians, if you can put a name and date and a good story to the haunting.”

  Dad stared at the floor for a few moments. I assumed the gears in his head were turning. “What does that have to do with the investigation?”

  “Let’s think about this,” I said. “So Kimmie is a ghost hunter. How does she find out about Sy’s house, if he’s such a hermit?”

  “He didn’t hesitate calling the police when he heard odd noises,” said Dad. “Maybe he got tired of us not doing anything about them and decided to go in another direction.”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” Cathy said. “One of the things these ghost hunting shows on television do is try to restore a sense of safety to people. Reassure them that the spirits are friendly and there’s not some ancient demon ready to strike.”

  “You watch the shows?” I said.

  “I might have seen one or two.” Cathy stopped and adjusted the collection of bracelets on her arm. “One of the women in my poetry group is involved in that kind of thing.”

  “Hunting ghosts?” Dad said.

  “Well, she’s more of a medium,” Cathy said. “At the last meeting, she remarked that I had a very powerful aura.”

  Dad shook his head. “Please tell me you’re not planning to leave your day job. You’d make a terrible medium.”

  I buried my head in my hands, anticipating his next remark.

  “You’re more of a large,” Dad said.

  He was saved by the bell as the front door opened. Cathy glared at him, then went to wait on the new customer.

  “Welcome to Well Played,” I could hear her say as she went back into the shop.

  “Why do you antagonize her?” I asked.

  “Too good of a line to pass up,” he said.

  “What if we need her help?” I moved closer to Dad so my voice couldn’t be overheard. “I wonder if Cathy’s medium friend might know anything about Kimmie, or even the history of the house. Maybe shed some objective light on this whole thing.”

  “You’re seriously considering going to a medium for information?”

  “Not from the beyond,” I said. “I’m more interested in who was in the house the week or so before Sy and Sully died. Besides, I don’t even have to make an appointment.”

  Dad raised his eyebrow in question.

  I tapped my forehead. “Tonight’s Cathy’s poetry group. I sure hope they’re open to visitors.”

  ###

  Cathy’s group met in a tight space in the small bookstore. I had my handwritten poem folded in my hands but set it in my lap when my sweaty palms started to dampen the paper.

  The group that gathered was eclectic, indeed. Matronly women in frumpy mom-jeans. Young hipster types. The wardrobe stretched from business casual to tie-dye to Goth black.

  The first offering was a group performing something they called “sound poetry.” To my untrained ears, it sounded like a barbershop quartet record played backward and at the wrong speed. The next few readers offered similar fare. Poetry had sure changed a lot since Edna St. Vincent Millay.

  When it came my turn to read the poem Cathy insisted I attempt, I was both confused and intimidated.

  “I’m afraid it’s not very good,” I said.

  “We all have to start somewhere, dear,” the leader encouraged.

  I unfolded the page and read:

  ODE TO A TOY MONKEY

  On a shelf alone I stay

  Frozen out of time.

  Once active and prone to play,

  I no more can chime.

  For silent are the gears

  And rusted are the springs,

  A victim of the years:

  The decay that adulthood brings.

  But the mind is not decayed

  And should my works be wound,

  What terror will be wrought!

  And what evil will be found!

  The part about evil was a last-minute addition. As I’d stared at the grinning cymbal fiend, the verse seemed to fit. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  “Did you intend it to rhyme?” someone asked. And for the next forty-six minutes, the group discussed my use of point of view, then hotly debated nature versus nurture and the goodness of man and how that applied to toy monkeys. Finally, the leader put an end to it by announcing that time was up. “Please, everybody, stay and have cookies.”

  “But I didn’t get to read,” Cathy said.

  “Save it for next time, dear,” the leader said before turning back to me. “And, Liz, I loved your poem. Very evocative.”

  “Beginner’s luck,” Cathy grumbled as we headed over to the snack table. “Here, let me introduce you to Althena.”

  She never got to make the introduction. Althena came at me with both arms extended. “Elizabeth. I got the name right, haven’t I? I loved your poem.”

  “Beginner’s luck?” I said.

  “No, the way you caught a spiritual element in the old toy. So many times those impressions linger on in artifacts from the past. I’d very much like to see it sometime.”

  “Certainly,” I said. “It’s in my family’s toyshop. But if you’re into that kind of thing, you’d probably be more interested in a house I’ve come across that’s apparently having some spirit activity. The owner just died, you see.”

  “Are you talking about Sy’s old house?” she said. “I’d heard that he’d passed away.”

  “You knew Sy?”

  “Professionally,” she said. “He claimed to be troubled by the spirits that inhabited the place. Old Scrooge was under the impression that I provide some kind of free pest removal service. It doesn’t work like that. I’m more interested in making connections.”

  “Do you know if he contacted any of the local paranormal societies?” I asked.

  “That sounds more his speed,” she said. “Those guys are nuts, but they work for free.”

  “Have you ever met someone named Kimmie Kaminski?” I asked.

  “Kimmie? Sure, I used to read for her all the time. Wait, are you saying Kimmie has something to do with one of those whackadoodle paranormal teams?”

  “She might,” I said. “I know she’s been acquiring equipment. I thought perhaps she was part of one of the local groups.”

  “Hmm, I doubt it’s that simple,” Althena said. “See, Kimmie is . . . sensitive. She’s drawn to spirit activity. But she’s also smart. She’s working on her own advanced degree in paranormal studies. Maybe that’s why she has the equipment.”

  “Right now all that equipment is in Sy’s house. She married him,” I said, and then waited for a reaction.

  “Married him? I wonder if her parents know,” she said. “I’ll have to ask them next time we talk.”

  “You know Kimmie’s parents?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said. “When I did Kimmie’s readings, who do you think she wanted to reach?”

  “Her parents are dead?” Cathy said.

  That explained why Kimmie hadn’t told her parents she had gotten married. I took Althena by the arm. “If I could set it up with Kimmie, would you try to . . . make a connection at Sy’s house? I’d like to be there.”

  Althena agreed. On our way to the door, she leaned back and squinted at me. “Has anyone told you
that you have a very powerful aura? More than any I’ve ever seen.”

  Trailing behind us, Cathy sighed.

  Chapter 15

  “All set,” I said, hanging up the receiver in the shop. “Althena is going to meet me there at eleven PM, and Kimmie sounded excited about the idea of a séance at the old house.”

  “This is a major rabbit trail,” Dad said. “I don’t see what you expect to accomplish.”

  Our conversation paused while a couple entered the shop and started wandering the aisles. A few minutes later, they left with a couple of jigsaw puzzles and a dozen vintage View-Master slides.

  When they were out the door, I turned to Dad. “Hey, it doesn’t matter if ghosts exist or not.”

  “I think that’s quite relevant, if you don’t want to waste a whole boatload of time. It’s hard to believe what normal, sane people can talk themselves into. I don’t want you marching headlong into that woman’s delusions.”

  “No, Dad. Don’t worry. You raised a firm skeptic.”

  “That’s my girl.” That familiar childish gleam returned to his eyes. “Just do me one favor, if you come across a ghost?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Try not to think of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

  I smiled. “Here I was in the mood for s’mores. Still, I don’t think the ghost angle is a dead end.”

  Dad raised an eyebrow.

  “Pun unintentional,” I said. “I think Kimmie’s beliefs matter because they give her a motive. Look, she wants to get into the haunted house. Sy wants to find out what is going on with his house. There’s the basis for a match made in heaven. Or at least some quickie Niagara Falls wedding chapel. It’s simple symbiosis. But Sy has an aide. Sully O’Grady is a religious man, and he’s not likely to go along with all this ghost hunting business. So . . .”

  “So Kimmie whacks him?” Dad said. “Why in the shop?”

  “If she’d killed him in the house,” I said, thinking on my feet, “who’s the main suspect? She wanted distance. So maybe she sends him out with the toys to be evaluated, and she follows him. She finds you two alone in the store, then she strikes.”

  Dad thought for a moment. “How does she plan to overpower two men, one an ex-cop and the other a veteran?”

  “Element of surprise?” I said.

  “I guess that makes more sense than a ghost did it.” He scratched his cheek. “If you’re right, you’re walking into the house of a killer tonight.” He drew in a long breath through his teeth. “I’m going with you.”

  “The more the merrier,” I said.

  “Speaking of marriage . . .” Cathy said.

  “We weren’t speaking of marriage,” I said.

  “Close enough,” Cathy said. “Anyway, I decided to treat us all to lunch today!”

  I eyed her suspiciously.

  She winked at me. “All you have to do is pick it up.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Jack’s place?”

  “It will be ready in five minutes.”

  ###

  Of course, grabbing my takeout and running was not going to be an option. When I arrived, Jack was at the counter clutching my bag.

  “On the house,” he said. “Peace offering.” He stepped from behind the counter and gestured toward a small table by the window. “How much trouble did you get in last night?”

  “Not as much as you might think,” I said. “Dad thought it was hysterical. He dragged me back over to Kimmie’s house to apologize.”

  “I’m sorry for involving you in this.”

  “Not a problem. In fact, we have a lead thanks to you. It seems Kimmie’s interest in the house isn’t primarily financial. She thinks it’s haunted. We’re going back tonight for a séance.”

  Jack’s face drained of all emotion, and he stared straight ahead. I wasn’t even sure he was focusing on me anymore.

  “Jack?”

  “That . . .” he said. “That kind of makes sense. Uncle Sy used to call all the time talking about strange noises. We assumed that he wanted attention, that he was lonely, cooped up in that old place.”

  “Apparently he was convinced that something otherworldly was going on, enough to enter into an arrangement with Kimmie.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “If she’s some kind of ghost hunter and thinks the house is haunted, she’s not going to let it go, is she?”

  “Not without a fight,” I said.

  “Do you think you could get me into this séance thing?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t believe the haunting is real. Uncle Sy just had an overactive imagination, and he freaked himself out. I mean, if you sit in the dark all alone and listen long enough, anybody is going to start hearing things. If someone can explain the noises, maybe she’ll move on.”

  “I think it’s going to be harder than that to get the house back for the family.”

  “Then again, you never know . . .”

  “What are you grinning about?”

  “Maybe Uncle Sy will show up, rattle a few doors, and personally tell us who is supposed to get the Hummel.”

  ###

  Othello was snoozing on my pillow when I went upstairs to change for the evening. I sat on the foot of my bed and stared at the open closet. He crawled into my lap, and I scratched under his chin, then worked my way to that magic spot behind his ears. He became Silly Putty in my hand.

  “What does one wear to a séance?” I didn’t have any real-life experience to draw from. In the old movies I’d seen, generally people wore black, including black pillbox hats with trim black veils. And here I was fresh out of pillbox hats of any color.

  I did, however, pull a pair of black jeans from the closet. I resisted the urge to dig out my Ghostbusters T-shirt. Or Scooby-Doo. I picked out an orange tunic, thinking it reminded me of Velma without being too overt. I held it up to Othello. “What do you think, buddy? Does it make me look smart?”

  He meowed once and hopped off the bed.

  A few minutes later, I knocked on Dad’s door. “Last train heading out in five minutes.”

  He stepped out of his room in the midst of straightening his tie. “How formal is this thing?” He took in my outfit and ripped off the tie. “Isn’t it a little early?”

  “I wanted to stop at the house next door,” I said. “Those old biddies keep a good eye on the place, and if anything new happened, they’d know about it.”

  “Then I’m ready.” He picked up his chief of police coat.

  I pointed at it. “Should you be . . . ?”

  “Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “Force of habit.” He put it back and pulled out his short wool car coat. “Better?”

  I kissed him on the cheek. “I think you’re the bee’s knees.”

  ###

  Irene and Lenora opened the door. “We’re pleased as punch to see you,” Lenora said. “Something odd is happening over at that house tonight.”

  “Something big,” Irene said. “People have been in and out all day.”

  “I know.” I kicked off my boots on their entry rug. “You remember my dad, right?”

  He stepped out of the shadows.

  “For a second there,” Irene said, “I thought you had your young man with you again.”

  “Your young man?” Dad said as he shook hands with both Lenora and Irene.

  “They mean Jack,” I said.

  Dad left it alone but winked at me.

  I turned back to the sisters. “No orgies to worry about. There’s a séance next door tonight.”

  Silence reigned, although I caught their widened eyes and a furtive glance.

  “Good heavens,” Lenora said finally. “Why would they want to do that?”

  “Apparently,” I said, “Sy was under the impression that his house was haunted. That’s why Kimmie wanted the place.”

  “She wanted a haunted house?” Irene placed a hand on her cheek, as if that was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard.

  “Have either of yo
u heard any stories of hauntings next door?”

  Again, the sisters shared a look, then Lenora said, “Maybe you’d better come in.”

  Soon Dad and I were sitting in their front parlor while they hustled to the kitchen to make tea, despite our insistence that we didn’t care for any. I could make out hurried whispers but couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  “They’re up to something,” I said to Dad.

  He dipped his chin once. “In spades.”

  When they returned with a tray, I watched their faces carefully.

  Irene exhaled, then said, “I’m afraid we haven’t been candid with you. We do know about the odd occurrences next door.”

  “But you didn’t mention them?” I asked.

  The sisters shared another glance, then Irene answered. “When young folks talk about things that go bump in the night, it’s all eerie and mysterious.” She sighed. “When older folks do, people think we’re dotty.”

  “I’m beginning to find that out myself,” Dad said. “What do you know? About the house next door, I mean.”

  Lenora set down her cup and cleared her throat. “Mainly what we told Sy, back when he started seeing and hearing things.”

  “I thought you didn’t talk to him,” I said.

  “Not recently,” Lenora said. “This was way back. In the seventies or eighties.”

  “It would have to be the eighties,” Irene said. “I remember having big hair at the time.” She turned to me. “You’re too young to remember the Aqua Net generation, aren’t you? Perhaps it’s safer. All those fumes. But I do kind of miss shoulder pads.”

  Lenora shook her head. “Made me look like a linebacker.”

  “What exactly was Sy seeing and hearing?” I asked.

  “Footsteps,” Irene said. “Crashes, unexplained whispers.”

  “What did you think of this?” I asked.

  “Well, considering the history of the house . . .” Lenora began, and then let her comment hang in the air.

  “What history?” Dad asked.

  “The murder, for instance,” Irene said.