Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 01 - Haunted Hijinks

by Madison Johns

  I waited until they were long gone before I asked Millicent, “So what did you find out about the microfiche? Does the library in town have any?”

  “Oh, no, but as it turns out, Connie Mathews has acquired quite the collection of old newspapers. She’s a history buff of sorts.”

  “Connie Mathews? I’m not sure I even know who she is,” I said.

  “She’s worked at the sheriff’s department in years past, but she’s been retired for quite some time.” Millicent handed me a slip of paper with an address in Oscoda scrawled on it.

  Once we were settled in the car, Eleanor asked, “So where are we going, really?”

  “Well, we could go ask Martha to pay a visit to the coroner.”

  “We could, but shouldn’t we accompany her?”

  “Could do that, but you see, I think … err … Martha will have better luck without us.”

  Eleanor folded her arms across her chest. “No fair.” She choked out the words. “I wanted to go.”

  Well, I suppose I should go into more detail than I did last night. “You see,” I began just as Caroline appeared in the back seat.

  “Go ahead, Agnes,” Caroline’s hollowed voice split the uncomfortable silence. “Tell her all about me. I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “Would you stop it, Caroline? I’m trying to tell her, okay?”

  Eleanor’s eyes widened. “Caroline? I thought you were seeing Katherine’s ghost.”

  “Actually, no. You see, ever since my accident, a ghost has attached itself to me. Her name is Caroline.”

  Eleanor scratched her head. “Are you sure? Seems more likely that you’d see Katherine’s ghost.”

  “Nope, I’ve been seeing Caroline. She’s the one I’ve been talking to. At first, she wouldn’t talk to me, but now she won’t shut up. I don’t think she knows how she died. I believe she died in the 30s.”

  “What makes you think that?” Eleanor asked. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Not exactly, but she did scrawl on my windshield when it was all fogged up.”

  “I see, but is there any other reason you think she’s from the 30s?”

  “Caroline wears clothing from the 30s, although it looks transparent, like her.”

  “Just like the clothing that was in that suitcase?”

  “Yes, and I strongly suspect that she is connected to the Butler Mansion in some way.”

  “So where are we off to?”

  “I’d like to check out what this Connie has hidden in her house. If she had old newspapers, I’d sure like to go through them.”

  “What would they have to do with Katherine’s murder?”

  “Nothing as far as I know, but I think it’s only fair that I find out who Caroline really is since she insists on being my traveling companion.”

  “I what?” Caroline huffed. “I have better things to do, you know.” Her face lit up in a soft glow. “I know! I’ll keep an eye on those men at the mansion. I just don’t trust those cleaners.”

  Before I could say anything, Caroline was off in a puff of smoke.

  I glanced back at Eleanor. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Katherine as far as I know, but I’ll check in with Martha about the coroner after we see what Connie has to say about the old newspapers.”

  “Why not check out the state library? I’m sure we can find microfiche files somewhere.”

  “Possibly, but why go to all that trouble when we might be able to locate them closer to home?”

  “Fine, but I’d rather focus on one investigation, not two. I don’t see how finding out who your ghost is has anything to do with Katherine’s death.”

  “Unless, of course, Caroline’s death is related to the mansion. We saw a ghost the other day, if you recall, and I’ve seen the ghost of a man, too; what if one of those ghosts caused Katherine’s death?”

  Eleanor leaned back. “Wow, this is one humdinger of a case. I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”

  I gave Martha a quick call to ask her to see what she could get out of the coroner, Walter Smitty, reminding her to turn on the charm. As if she wouldn’t, since it’s sort of how Martha rolls.

  “Where are we headed now?” Eleanor asked.

  “Oscoda, Evergreen Avenue.”

  Eleanor pulled out a tube of red lipstick, amply smearing it on her lips. “Stop somewhere so I can get a pop. I’m thirsty.”

  I nodded in agreement since I was thirsty myself. When I made it to US 23, I drove the ten minutes it took to get from the Butler Mansion to East Tawas. We made a quick stop at the Bay Party Store. When we walked through the doors, the fragrance of pop and alcohol hit my nostrils. I’m sure routine spills can and do happen and every time I come here, it’s all I smell.

  Inside was tight quarters, but we meandered our way to the cooler and each of us came back to the counter with a diet pop.

  Behind the register was a young man—or I thought it was a man. He was dressed in a skeleton costume and I couldn’t stop myself from making a remark about it. “Are you expecting trick or treater’s soon?”

  He glanced up from the register. “Huh?”

  “She means the costume,” Eleanor said.

  “We won’t be open when that fiasco begins, fortunately, but the boss loves Halloween and not only does he allow us to dress up, but he’s having a huge bash at his house that we’re all invited to.”

  Eleanor picked up an orange flashlight from a bucket full of them. “I’ll take one of these. We’re staying out at the Butler Mansion and you just never know when I’ll be left in the dark again.”

  We had his attention now as his face lit up. “Is it true what they say about that place— that it’s haunted?”

  “Yup,” Eleanor said. “That place is chock full of ghosts—a real haunted mansion.”

  “How about that. I’ve heard the stories, but I had no idea.”

  “They’re opening up as a bed and breakfast today, on Halloween of all days.”

  “No way. I’ll have to check it out.”

  “Don’t forget,” Eleanor said. “The actress, Sara Knoxville, owns the place.”

  “You mean the one that was in a movie about a bridesmaid?” he asked. “She had a great nude scene in that movie.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’d keep that to yourself if you get the chance to meet her. Saying something like that to her might make her a little nervous.”

  “Oh, okay. Gotcha. That’ll be ten bucks.”

  “Ten dollars for two pops and a flashlight?”

  “Well, it’s not Walmart,” he said with a grin.

  Eleanor and I trounced back to the car and when we piled back in, I said, “Eleanor, it might be a good idea if we keep the haunted mansion thing to ourselves. It might hurt business at the Butler Mansion.”

  “First, it’s not even open yet, and second, a haunting would be great for business. Some places rake in the bucks, and folks would line up for the opportunity to spend the night in a real haunted mansion.”

  “I suppose, but I’m not so sure Sara would feel that way. Her father was murdered in that mansion, don’t forget.”

  “True. Hey, was the male ghost you saw Herman Butler?”

  “I don’t think so. The man I saw was dressed up in a tuxedo. It also looked like 30s era clothing. We really need to question Sara about the history of that mansion.”

  “Well, ship builders originally had the mansion built. I suppose it could be anyone. Do you think that suitcase Peterson found belonged to Caroline?”

  “I’m not sure, but last night that closet was filled with 30s clothing. I managed to hide one of the photos from Sheriff Peterson when that suitcase hit the floor. I kicked it underneath a chair in the drawing room.”

  “Oh, smart move. Did you get a chance to get a good look at it?”

  “No, but I hid it in my drawer. We can check it out later. After the night we had last night, it was the furthest thing from my mind.”

  “True that. I can’t imagine what the Hill boys t
hought about seeing two old ladies wandering around the road wearing nightgowns in the middle of the night.”

  “Not sure, but they seemed to recover quite nicely.”

  I whipped the car around and went north on US 23, and it wasn’t long before I had completely forgotten about the construction project between Tawas and Oscoda. All I could think about, as I drove no faster than thirty, was how horrible the timing was since tourists rented cottages along this strip.

  I came to a stop right in front of a construction worker who held a stop sign to halt our movement. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as Caroline appeared in the back seat. “It’s such an exciting day at the mansion,” she explained. “They’re decorating the place to a tee, and carloads of old people showed up to carve pumpkins.”

  “Thanks for the visual,” I said.

  Eleanor turned to look at me. “What visual?”

  “Oh, Caroline popped back to tell us they’re decorating the mansion and carving pumpkins.”

  “You must mean she came to tell you since I can’t hear or see the supposed ghost.”

  I arched a brow. “Oh? You doubt my word that I can see a ghost then?”

  “Maybe you can see a ghost or ghosts, but it’s just plain weird listening to you having an entire conversation with a ghost that is unseen by me.”

  “I told you her name is Caroline.”

  “I really think you should go in for a checkup. You might have hit your head harder than we all think.”

  “Are you saying that because you’re mad or because I can see someone you can’t?”

  “I’m not mad. I’m concerned. Who is this Caroline and what does she want?”

  “We’re trying to figure out who she is, remember?”

  “What has she told you?”

  Caroline just shook her head and faded away, thankfully, since I really would rather she not be here right now.

  “I think she wants to help us with our investigations—kinda like a silent partner,” I said.

  “Agnes Barton, have you lost your mind? She’s silent, all right, like non-existent. Besides, how can she help us since she’s basically invisible to everyone except you?”

  “Well, she opened the French doors the first time at the Butler Mansion, and possibly the second, although I doubt that since I believe someone might have already accessed the mansion.”

  “That day we found the suitcase in that bedroom with the letters?”

  “Exactly.”

  “They might have been there before, too. Like the day we found Katherine’s body.”

  “Are you suggesting that whoever murdered Katherine might have been lurking in the secret passageway while the police were there?”

  “Yes, and returned after we left that day, or at least returned the next day we found the suitcase.”

  “I suppose it sounds reasonable to think that someone took that suitcase after we found it that day, taking it before we were able to show it to the sheriff, which means someone was for sure lurking in that passageway or mansion about the same time we were there.”

  “Yes, and it could be whoever murdered Katherine.”

  “If she was murdered at all, Eleanor. We really need to find out what the cause of death really is.”

  “If she wasn’t murdered, then we have an even bigger mystery.”

  “True, and if someone came back to the mansion there’s only one reason for that—they’re looking for the money.”

  “What money?”

  “The money she swindled from Jack and Elsie.”

  “First, we need to establish if Jack and Elsie had an alibi for the time of Katherine’s death.”

  I stepped on the gas, proceeding slowly as our lane had the slow sign now. It was a beautiful day with glimpses of Lake Huron from between cabins.

  “If Martha can’t find out how Katherine died, I’m going to ask Trooper Sales. I’d hate to do it, but he’s married into my family. There has to be some fringe benefit for allowing Bill to date and marry Sophia.”

  Eleanor chuckled. “I hardly think it was under your control, Agnes. Sophia’s a headstrong woman with her own mind.”

  “Believe me, I know.” I recalled all too well how upset I had been at the time, but you can’t stop true love. Even though there was an age difference between Sophia and Trooper Sales, their relationship has worked out just fine. They now have a bouncing baby girl to dote on and later chase the men away when she reaches dating age. I sure hoped I would still be alive to see that happen firsthand.

  * * *

  When we finally were free of the construction zone, I made way for Oscoda, making the turn onto Evergreen. The address led to the downtown area and as I rolled up to the white-sided house with a white picket fence, I couldn’t help but notice it had New England style charm. You just don’t see many homes that look like this in our neck of the woods.

  I parked along the street and Eleanor and I waltzed to the door, pushing the doorbell. I body-blocked Eleanor so she couldn’t keep pushing the doorbell as she had a wont to do.

  When the door was answered by a woman ten years my junior, around sixty, I introduced ourselves. “Hello, are you Connie Mathews?”

  She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses. “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Agnes Barton and this is—”

  “Why on earth didn’t you say so? Come in, come in,” she said as she ushered us inside.

  “I’m Eleanor Mason,” El said.

  “Of course you are. I’ve heard the two of you are legends around the East Tawas area.”

  “Not sure about that, but I guess we do okay.”

  “Outstanding sleuths, from the sounds of it.”

  “Yes,” Eleanor said. “But we’re humble. Is it true you actually worked for the sheriff’s department?”

  “Sure is, and believe me, it wasn’t easy all those years. Two Sheriff Petersons—who knew?”

  “So who did you like better, Hal or Clem Peterson?”

  “Well, I had barely seen much of Hal. He had retired before I came to work there.”

  “I see. Well, I heard you’re quite the history buff,” I said, trying to stall since I hadn’t a clue how to ask Connie if she had a basement full of old newspapers.”

  “Spit it out, old girl. I’d be honored if I could help you two out.”

  “Newspapers,” Eleanor said. “We heard you collect old newspapers.”

  Connie’s face lit up. “I sure do. Follow me and I’ll show you my collection.”

  She led the way across her wood floors and stopped at a white door, pulling a skeleton key from around her neck that was on a chain. Connie clattered the key in the lock until it snapped open. “Watch your steps, ladies.”

  I took a tight hold of the handrail and descended the rickety steps, reminding Eleanor to be extra careful. Connie flicked the lights on and my mouth flew open, a fist finding its way inside. All along the walls were newspaper clippings and mug shots.

  “Wow, you’re a real crackpot,” Eleanor blurted out.

  “What my partner means is that you have quite the collection. Are these unsolved cases?”

  “Yup. Most of them are quite old since Iosco County is relatively safe these days, but you’d be surprised how many unsolved cases there really are.”

  Dead center was a newspaper article by the Iosco County Herald, with a story about Sheriff Charles C. Miller who lost his life in the line of duty, July first, 1934.

  “I had no idea an Iosco County sheriff lost his life. How awful,” I said.

  “Yes, it was quite awful, but that was way before my time.”

  “Then why hang it here? It reads that they found the culprit.”

  “Yes, but it’s a very historic event.”

  “True.” I stared at the other newspaper articles with photos of both men and women. “Not many murders here.”

  “No, but there are a variety of crimes, including the murder of the Robinson’s.”

  “That case was solved,” I said.<
br />
  “By us,” El added. “It turned out to be—”

  “We’re here to find out what you might have about a possibly murdered or missing woman by the name of Caroline.”

  Connie rocked back on her heels. “I see.” She stared at the photos on the wall, but then went to a stack of tubs piled four tall, each labeled with years. “What year are we talking here?”

  “1930.”

  Connie picked up a tub and set it down on a table in the far corner. “You can start there, but if it was any unsolved crime, I’d have the article on the wall.”

  I opened the tub and wrinkled my nose. I lifted each newspaper out and Eleanor cocked a brow at me. Each was covered with tight-fitting plastic as a way to preserve the brown paper. After all, 1930 was a long time ago.

  Eleanor chuckled. “Looks like we’ll be here all day.”

  I grimaced, as that was so not what I wanted to hear. “Keep looking, Eleanor.”

  I lifted newspaper after newspaper from the box, searching each of them. When I had taken them all out and scanned each of them, I loaded them back in, and moved the tub to the floor.

  Right on cue, another tub quickly took its place by the diligent Connie. “I told you it wouldn’t be easy.”

  “More like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Eleanor said.

  I again took the pains to remove the newspapers while Eleanor read them with a tilt of her head since she wore bifocals and the poor dear didn’t have sense enough to look through her glasses the right way. The problem with that was your eyes only got worse.

  Connie disappeared and returned with a pot of hot water and empty cups, tea bags displayed prominently on the tray. We continued to work as the cups were filled and Eleanor assisted by dunking tea bags into the hot water.

  When I finished the tub, Connie piled the newspapers back inside, bringing a new tub. “Enjoy your tea, Agnes. You girls sure are determined.”

  I took a sip of my tea and grimaced. “What on earth, Eleanor?”

  “What?” she asked in innocence. “It’s green tea, a great anti-oxidant.”

  I made another face. “Why is it that everything good for you has to taste so bad?”

  “Beats me, Aggie, but at our age, we need to at least try to be healthier, and that means making better food choices,” Eleanor insisted.