by Glen Ebisch
“Are all of them in the parlor?”
“No. The Beckers went down to the beach, but the rest of them are there.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can find out.”
Sylvia led her into the large front room filled with dark, Victorian furniture; all that kept it from being truly funereal were several windows that ran almost from floor to ceiling. Five people were seated around the room, and two conversations seemed to be going on simultaneously. Clarissa sat down on an uncomfortable looking red velvet chair that threatened to pitch her forward onto the floor. She was next to a heavy-set young woman, who introduced herself as Denise Lambson, and across from another couple who said they were Joe and Leslie Harmon.
“Oh, aren’t you the woman who was attacked by the ghost last night?” asked Clarissa, thinking it must have been a very strong ghost to shove her anywhere.
“Yes,” she replied, managing to look both flattered and frightened.
“It must have been very upsetting. Were you scared?”
“Actually, I didn’t have a chance to be. I had just gotten my key into the lock and turned the knob when something shoved me into my room. I fell down on my knees on the floor, and by the time I got to my feet and opened the door, the hall was empty.”
“Did either of you hear anything?” Clarissa asked the couple across from her.
“Our room is right across the hall from Denise’s,” Leslie Harmon replied, “but I didn’t hear a thing. However, my husband did.”
“Well, I didn’t hear much,” Joe Harmon said slowly. “I did hear a door shut at around eleven.”
“Would that be the right time?” Clarissa asked Denise. The young woman nodded.
“Did you hear any more than that?” Clarissa asked the man.
Joe shook his head.
“You didn’t hear footsteps?”
“No, but I was half-asleep.”
Clarissa thanked them and got up and moved over to the other couple in the front of the room. They were talking softly with each other. She introduced herself and found out they were Jeff and Miranda Dobbs.
“Did either of you hear anything last night around eleven last night?” she asked.
“Oh, no,” Miranda Dobbs said stiffly. “We’re early to bed folks. We were sound asleep by ten.”
Clarissa glanced at the man who nodded. “We’d never have heard anything. We’re both very sound sleepers.”
Clarissa thanked them and headed back across the room. As she passed by Denise, the woman reached out and touched her arm. “I’m a librarian. I’m not a violent person, and something like this is very upsetting to me.”
“I’m sure,” Clarissa said with a sympathetic smile.
“Perhaps you should call the police,” Joe Harmon said to Sylvia who was standing behind Clarissa.
Sylvia looked around the room nervously. “Oh, I don’t really think that’s necessary, do you?” she asked no one in particular. “After all, no one has been really hurt.”
“But someone could have been seriously hurt. It could even have been your granddaughter,” said Leslie Harmon.
As if on cue, a young woman in her mid-twenties walked into the room wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
“But you can see she’s just fine,” Sylvia said, pointing to her.
“What’s the matter, grandma?” asked the slender blond girl with long hair.
“They want me to call the police about the little incidents we’ve been having.”
The girl frowned, but said nothing.
“This is my granddaughter, Tracy Walsh,” Sylvia said, introducing her to Clarissa.
“You were pushed into a closet?” Clarissa asked.
The girl nodded then shrugged as if it were nothing. “Whoever it was didn’t push me very hard. I grabbed the shelf as I was going down and didn’t really fall.”
It suddenly seemed to Clarissa that Joe Harmon was right. She realized that she hadn’t been taking the events seriously because from the first they had been presented in the context of a ghost story. But looked at objectively, these were clearly instances of assault and a police matter, and Clarissa saw that she was being irresponsible treating this as some kind of personal investigation.
“I think Joe and Leslie may be right. Someone could have been hurt. It might be time to call the police,” Clarissa said.
Sylvia slumped down on the arm of a chair. “I still think it’s just Captain Boudreau being ornery, but I guess you’re right. I’ll notify the police.”
Clarissa nodded and got up to leave. She was almost in the lobby when Sylvia caught her by the sleeve. “Could you stay and talk to the police with me, my dear? I’ve heard that you have friends on the force.”
Reluctantly, Clarissa agreed, checking her watch. She still had time to get to the bank and withdraw Tyler’s bail money and deliver it to Andrew. Sylvia left the room to make her call, and Clarissa decided to return to the parlor to see if she could learn more from the guests. She took a seat again by the Dobbs who had returned to talking softly to each other.
“Do you come to Shore Side often for vacation?” Clarissa asked the couple.
Miranda Dobbs gave her a cold look, as if she resented the interruption of her conversation with her husband, but Mr. Dobbs smiled agreeably. “Yes, we come quite often now that we’re retired.”
“What kind of work did you do?”
“I taught history in high school, and my wife was an elementary school principal.”
“That’s a very demanding job,” Clarissa said to the woman.
“Not if you do it right,” the woman replied frostily.
“Of course,” Clarissa agreed, happy she’d never attended a school run by Mrs. Dobbs.
Clarissa glanced across the room at the Harmons. Mrs. Harmon smiled at her and patted the seat of the chair next to her. Clarissa excused herself and went over to sit by her.
“They can be a little bit . . . dry,” Leslie Harmon whispered. “We certainly found them to be slow going.”
Clarissa gave her a neutral smile. “It’s too bad that your vacation is being disrupted by all of this.”
“But it is rather exciting, isn’t it? And that’s what you go on a vacation for—excitement.” Her husband patted her hand and smiled indulgently as if accustomed to his wife’s enthusiasms.
“I suppose it is rather exciting, especially as you were right across the hall when Denise was attacked.”
“If only Joe had been a bit more alert, he might have been able to catch whatever did this.”
“Sorry, dear, but it was late and I was half asleep. And I don’t think you can actually catch a ghost.”
“Well, you could at least have scared it off.”
Her husband shook his head, whether to deny that he could scare away a ghost or in amazement at his wife’s naïve optimism, Clarissa couldn’t tell.
Sylvia swooped into the room and bent down to whisper into Clarissa’s ear that the Beckers had returned from their jaunt on the beach, so she could talk with them before the police arrived. Clarissa nodded, gave the Harmons a departing smile, and followed Sylvia out into the lobby. The Beckers were sitting at a small table in one corner drinking something out of mugs. As she got closer, Clarissa smelled the aroma of hot chocolate. She introduced herself and asked if she might sit with them for a moment.
“Of course,” Monica Becker replied. She clasped her hands around the mug. “I needed this. The wind makes it really cold down on the beach. We must have walked for several miles.”
Both of the Beckers were rather rotund, and Clarissa reminded herself that you couldn’t always judge a person’s level of activity based on their appearance.
“I was just wondering whether you’ve seen anything strange at night in the time you’ve stayed here?”
“You mean aside from the ghost of the sea captain walking up and down the hall?”
Clarissa stared, waiting for the woman to laugh and shout “gotcha.” But it never happened. Monica Becker returne
d to calmly sipping her cocoa, while her husband, George, stared across the lobby with disinterest, as if she had just made a routine comment on the weather.
“You’ve really seen someone dressed as a sea captain in the hall at night?” asked Clarissa, after a long pause.
“No, I’ve seen the ghost of Captain Boudreau. Actually, I’ve seen him several times in the four days we’ve been here. I’m something of an insomniac, and I’ve been going downstairs to the parlor to read so as not to disturb George. I usually see the captain as I’m going back to my room.”
“Close up?”
“Oh, no, he’s usually down at the end of the hall walking away from me.”
“And he’s never tried to attack you?”
The woman appeared shocked. “Ghosts are quite shy. No ghost has ever attempted to attack me.”
Clarissa paused, not quite believing her ears. “You’ve seen ghosts before?”
She nodded. “George and I make a point of staying in places that claim to have ghosts.”
“Monica is a sensitive,” her husband said, turning to focus his watery blue eyes on Clarissa. “She can see things that other people can’t.”
“Oh,” Clarissa said, trying to keep the skepticism out of her voice.
“I’ve seen lots of ghosts,” the woman said. “And that’s why I know that they can’t hurt you. Why, I doubt they even have material bodies like we do.”
“So it wasn’t a ghost that pushed Sylvia’s granddaughter into a closet or shoved Denise last night?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you see anything last night?” asked Clarissa.
She shook her head. “Last night I slept like a baby.”
Disappointed, Clarissa looked toward the front door just as it opened and Detective Baker walked in with Officer Rudinski at his side. Baker came to a sudden halt when he saw Clarissa sitting there.
“What are you doing here?” he asked with a mixture of surprise and dismay.
“Well, I’ve been talking to the guests at Sylvia’s request, and I can say that whatever is going on here is not due to any ghost.”
The Lieutenant nodded, looking relieved.
“Mrs. Becker,” Clarissa said, indicating the woman to her left, “has seen lots of ghosts, and she can guarantee that a ghost isn’t the cause.”
Baker’s look of relief turned to one of puzzled concern, while Rudinski’s face broke into a wide grin.
“Are you saying that there are ghosts here?” Detective Baker asked Monica Becker with a nervous smile.
“Oh, definitely,” she replied. “Captain Boudreau is very active.”
“Of course he is,” the detective said weakly, looking to Clarissa for help.
“But he didn’t push anyone,” Clarissa said. “I think you’re looking for a very human culprit.”
“Well, that’s great.” He turned to Roger Rudinski, who quickly wiped the smile from his face. “Then let’s start questioning the people; we can skip the ghosts.”
Chapter Five
Although Sylvia wanted her to stay during the police investigation, Clarissa excused herself saying she had another appointment. She hurried to the bank and took out the seventy-five hundred dollars for Tyler’s bond, which left her account balance disturbingly anemic. She rushed down to Andrew’s office. When she got there, she told the young woman who worked as secretary that she would like to see Attorney Andrew Corrigan for a moment.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked.
“He’s expecting me,” Clarissa said, figuring that wasn’t exactly a lie.
“And you are?”
“Clarissa Abbot.”
The secretary’s demeanor turned decidedly frosty, and Clarissa wondered if the woman had an interest in Andrew herself and knew about her relationship with him. Why shouldn’t she? Clarissa thought, everyone else in town did. The woman picked up the phone and told Andrew that someone was waiting for him, not mentioning Clarissa’s name. He came out immediately and waved for her to come into his office. Clarissa was aware of the woman at the desk glaring at her as she walked past.
“I don’t think your secretary likes me,” Clarissa commented once they were in Andrew’s office.
“I doubt that. She likes everybody. She’s a real sweetheart.”
I’ll bet, Clarissa thought. She handed Andrew the check, and he looked it over.
“This is fine,” he said. “Now you do understand that no matter what happens you’re not going to get this money back. Even if Tyler never goes to trial, the bondsman keeps this. Are you sure you can afford it?”
“Better than Tyler can. Whatever they’re paying him at that mission, I doubt he’s making as much as I am.”
“Yeah, we all know that ministers make a king’s ransom.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just make sure that he gets out on bail.”
“I’ll do my best.” Andrew checked his watch. “In twenty minutes I’ll head to the courthouse. That should give me some time to talk to Tyler before his case comes up.”
“Let me know what happens.”
“If all goes well, Tyler should be able to do that himself.”
As Clarissa walked through the outer office, she gave the secretary a cheery goodbye, but only got a mumbled response in return. Continuing a half-mile further down the road, Clarissa pulled into the parking lot behind her church. Wondering how she was ever going to get Tyler cleared of the charges against him, she walked into her office where Ashley was staring at her computer screen.
“The wages of sin are death!” a high-pitched voice announced.
Clarissa glanced at the guest chairs but none were occupied, and Ashley didn’t look away from her computer.
“Who said that?” she asked.
“Paul,” Ashley answered.
“I know the Apostle Paul wrote it, although I’m rather surprised you do. Have you taken up reading the New Testament?”
“No,” Ashley said, and she silently pointed to the shadowy far corner of the room. “That’s Paul.”
Clarissa walked in the direction of the finger and made out a large birdcage. A grey parrot stared at her with a beady eye.
“Wives be submissive to your husbands as to the Lord,” the bird commanded.
“Why is . . .?”
“That’s Paul.”
“Yes, I’ve got that, but why is Paul here?”
“He belonged to Mildred Samuels. She was a friend of my Aunt Mona’s. She died a week or so ago and left the bird to my aunt. He’s only ten years old, and grey parrots can live for sixty years.” A look of great sadness came over Ashley. “My aunt says that the bird will be my responsibility once she’s gone. So she thought Paul and I should spend some time in the office to bond.”
Clarissa walked closer to the cage. “He’s certainly quite beautiful.”
“And very intelligent.”
“Women must be quiet!” Paul ordered.
Clarissa stared hard at the bird. “The real Apostle Paul said some beautiful things about love and the church. This creature seems a bit sterner.”
Ashley nodded. “Mildred belonged to a rather conservative sect, so I’m afraid what she taught Paul was theologically somewhat narrow.”
“I see. I can understand why your aunt wants you to spend time with him, but we can’t have him in the office frightening visitors or giving the wrong impression of our beliefs.”
“I know. My aunt insisted on dropping him off this morning because she had to go out. I really wanted to ask your permission first. I thought that maybe he could be here a couple of mornings a week when no appointments are scheduled. I’m on the internet now trying to find some kinder and gentler quotations from Paul to teach him.”
“How long will changing his conversational repertoire take?”
Ashley shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Women are not to attract attention to themselves,” Paul commented, seeming to stare at Ashley’s Goth attire.
“B
ut I promise it will be sooner rather than later,” Ashley said, giving the bird a stern look.
Clarissa nodded. “Let us hope.”
“Were you able to see Tyler at the police station?” Ashley asked.
Clarissa went on to explain about her meeting with her former fiancé.
“I don’t know Tyler well, but he never seemed to be the violent type,” said Ashley.
“Not at all. He can be a bit moody and get down on himself, but I’ve never seen him really angry. There’s got to be more to this than we currently know. Andrew and I will have to dig into it.”
“Andrew?”
“Yes. He’s Tyler’s lawyer, so he’ll have some standing to investigate what’s going on. I can just tag along as Tyler’s minister. After we speak to folks at the mission where Tyler worked, we’ll have to talk to the workers at the Slipped Anchor Bar. I’m not sure how much headway I’d make there by myself. I’ll probably need a man along for credibility.”
“The Slipped Anchor,” Ashley said, shaking her head. “I’ve heard of it but never been there. Most of the fights that happen in town start in that place.”
“More reason for me to have Andrew along.”
“And he’s willing to do all this for Tyler?”
Clarissa blushed. “Well, I guess he’s actually doing it for me.”
“Yeah, and if he does get Tyler off, don’t you think he’s going to expect something in return?”
“Like what?”
“Like he expects to become your main squeeze rather than Tyler. In fact, he might expect Tyler to hit the road.”
“I don’t have any control over what Tyler does.”
“No, but you do have control over which of these guys you choose. I think Andrew will expect to be your boyfriend—game over.”
Clarissa opened her mouth to object and closed it again, admitting to herself that as usual Ashley made a good point.
“Did you have a chance to check in with Sylvia Drummond?” Ashley asked.
Clarissa told her about the visit to the inn and her questioning of the guests.
“There’s actually a woman staying there who sees ghosts?”