Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 02 - Ghostly Hijinks

by Madison Johns

  “Oh? Well, we were just going up to our room after breakfast,” I lied.

  “Yes, and that elevator just went nuts,” Eleanor added somberly. “Are you sure that elevator is safe?”

  “Sure it is, but I suppose I’ll use it a few times to make sure it’s up to working standards.”

  “What if you get stuck in there?” I asked. “I’m pretty positive those fellas from the India call center won’t be able to help you.”

  “The what?”

  “When we used that emergency phone, some fella from India answered. Wouldn’t it be way easier if it just went to the front desk?”

  “I’ll have to ask Francine about that. I wasn’t aware it did.”

  I narrowed my eyes slightly. “How don’t you know? I thought you were the main maintenance man around here?”

  “I believe I told you I do more than just that, like wherever I’m needed. I’m glad you ladies are doing okay. I really had better check out the elevator now.”

  After Redd went into the elevator, I strode in the direction of the swinging front door. “Shouldn’t we check on Andrew and Mr. Wilson?” Eleanor asked.

  “You can if you want, but I want to check out the cemetery, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay, but Mr. Wilson seemed mad and he never gets mad. What if he’s fed up with me?” Eleanor sniffled now, dabbing at the corner of her eye with her shirt. “Mrs. Peacock might be real competition. She’s so sophisticated.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be just fine after he does his male bonding with Andrew. Mrs. Peacock is from Redwater, not East Tawas, so I don’t believe she’s a threat. Besides, you’re just as sophisticated as she is. You’re both from small towns in Michigan.”

  “Th-That’s true, but she has a Macaw that can talk and—”

  “Cuss,” I finished for her. “If it’s a pet you want, you should get one.”

  “Like a dog?”

  “Those take quite a bit of work, Eleanor. I was thinking more on the lines of a cat.”

  “I don’t much like the idea of that. I’d hate to clean a litterbox.”

  “How about a fish, then?”

  “Maybe I really don’t need a pet. I can barely take care of myself.”

  “You said it, Eleanor, not me.” I tried hard not to smile since Eleanor was really being candid right now.

  I noticed as I crossed the street that dirt was placed over the entire street and I wondered what else I’d have to expect from the festival—hopefully not another law breaker. Being robbed at gunpoint sure wasn’t my fondest memory of Silver. I thought Douglas and his interest in Eleanor was. I sure hoped Mr. Wilson never learned of it. I’d hate to see the ghost injure poor Mr. Wilson, but then again he could be a tad spunky at times.

  We waltzed past Jo Ellen’s bed and breakfast, the only brick building in town where a woman wearing an apron over her dress was sweeping off the steps. We gave her a wave as she glanced up, but continued along the street since the clapboard sidewalk ended on the other side of the jail. It seemed odd how the jailhouse was right next door to a bed and breakfast. Might even be a good place to ask a few questions. I really would love to hear the story about Leister’s gold from more people. I kept hoping that I’d run into someone who knew more than what we’d been told so far.

  I felt the heat bearing down on us from the sun now and felt sweat creep down my back as we passed the bank. Next, there was a blank space between the bank and cemetery, but there were bricks embedded into the ground, which I figured might just have been a building of some sort at one time. The livery stable was across the street from the bank with a decent-sized corral full of horses.

  “Wow, I wonder why so many horses?” I mused aloud.

  “I saw horse trailers hauling into town last night,” Eleanor said. “They must have some more activities that involve horses later. I heard talk of a stampede coming through town later.”

  “These folks sure do a festival up right.”

  Cars and trucks passed us by, many of them packed with gear of some sort, all heading out of town, though. The cemetery had an iron fence that went around it, although from where we were, it didn’t look all that big with the doors wide open. Next to that was a small building with a man outside working with wood.

  “Look, he’s building coffins,” Eleanor pointed out.

  I gulped. “I sure hope that’s for the festival. You know, to give it more of the western flavor.”

  I heard what sounded like a shovel striking the ground and I entered the cemetery slowly, wondering what else the townspeople could be up to. It sure didn’t seem like they’d be digging a grave for the festival. I imaged the bodies of outlaws out on display in those coffins that we’d walked by.

  “Hurry up, Clark. The last thing we need is for anyone to see what we’re up to.”

  “It would help, Gertie, if you ... I don’t know … maybe picked up a shovel to help me? My back is aching already.”

  Eleanor and I hid behind a worn tombstone, or tried to since it was way smaller than us, but the couple we spied didn’t seem to notice us. I bit my fist when I saw what they were doing and I just couldn’t stop myself from going over there, but before I made my move, Eleanor whispered in my ear, “I’m going for the sheriff.”

  Caroline, I really need you right now, I thought, hoping that she’d appear from whereever it was that she hung out. She popped in right next to me and I clapped my hands over my mouth before I made a noise, since she’d scared the bejeezus out of me. I gave her a look, but that’s as far as it went since I now boldly strutted over to where they were digging. Clark was in a hole with his shovel now and that made me so mad. Why … these two were grave robbers.

  “What are you doing?” I asked in what I thought was my most intimidating voice.

  Clark stopped, mid-shovel, and glared at me. “Find yourself another grave, this one is mine.”

  “What on earth are you doing that for? It’s not only against the law, but really morbid.”

  Gertie rolled her eyes, wiping back a strand of her blonde hair. “What’s it to you, old bat? Shouldn’t you be home knitting or something?” She laughed with a snort.

  I balled up my fist, but Caroline held a hand against my chest, preventing me from getting too physical like I really wanted to do. Good thing, since I wasn’t like that, but grave-robbing sure fired up my kettle.

  The shovel hit the ground and I said in a much louder voice, “Stop doing that now!”

  “Who’s going to stop us, Grandma?”

  “I am,” Sheriff Bradley said from behind me. “Drop the shovel, now.”

  The shovel was dropped and Clark crawled out of the grave, brushing off his clothing.

  “We’re not doing anything wrong,” Gertie spat. “There’s not even a body in that grave.”

  “And no gold bars, either,” Clark grumbled. “I was sure this was the place to look.”

  “Leister’s gold again?” The sheriff palmed his head. “When will you folks figure out that Leister’s gold is just a story to tell the tourists? There’s no gold hidden anywhere hereabouts.”

  “That’s what you say, but we know better. My grand-pappy told me all about how Peyton Leister melted that gold down into bars and hid it right here in Silver.”

  “That seems strange. If the folks of Silver gave Peyton that bad of a time, why on Earth would he hide the gold here, of all places?” I asked.

  Caroline smiled, gave Clark a kick and he flew back into the hole he’d dug with a thump. He jumped back up and clamored out, shouting, “Why did you push me?”

  “Nobody pushed you, unless it was perhaps Peyton Leister’s ghost,” I suggested.

  “That’s not funny. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “No?” I cocked a brow at Caroline, who threw her arms out and went into a spin, scattering dust into a cloud that chased Clark and Gertie out of the cemetery.

  “And don’t come back,” the sheriff hollered.

  “Is that all you’re gon
na do?” I asked.

  “Pretty much. Do you know how many times that grave has been dug up? Too many to count, I tell you.” The sheriff smiled now. “I assure you this bothers me, but I just can’t arrest everyone who acts out of the norm during the festival. The marshal just picked up the robbers earlier.”

  “That’s good to hear since they did rob me at gunpoint. So what are your plans today in the way of securing the graveyard?”

  “Not much I can do unless you ladies want to guard it. I sure hope a dust storm isn’t brewing with that little whirlwind that just blew through here, but I suspect someone will be back here before the day is over.”

  “When the sheriff walked away, I asked, “But what about that hole?”

  “It can stay empty. If I put the dirt back in the hole, some fool will just dig it back up later.”

  “Why doesn’t that grave have a body in it?”

  “Look, Agnes. I’m not even sure if that grave ever had a body in it, if it was already looted, or even moved.” He didn’t stick around to answer any more of my questions.

  I frowned, but there wasn’t too much I could do. I sure hoped that I wouldn’t run into Clark and Gertie again anytime soon. Who knew if they were desperate types?

  “Gertie is a strange name for a young woman these days.”

  “Unless someone really didn’t like their baby,” Eleanor agreed. “I don’t even like my name. There are so many Eleanor’s of our generation.”

  Eleanor had me by ten years, but I didn’t say so. She never cared all that much to be reminded of that fact.

  I walked toward the tombstone with the name, Peyton Leister, on it. “I wonder if Peyton was ever buried here.”

  “For all we know, someone had just put the tombstone here. Since Leister’s gold is such a big legend around Silver, it seems fitting that he have some sort of a resting place.”

  “That’s just it; I fully intend to speak with Francine about this. She has to know something more than she’s telling me.”

  “Fine, but I’m not sure how much we’ll learn from her. If she’s already tight-lipped about the details of the gold bars, what makes you think that she’ll tell us where Peyton Leister’s body really is?”

  “She might not, but who else can we ask?”

  “I’m not sure, but someone has to know.”

  I sighed, feeling more frustrated than I ever had before. Something just had to give, and sooner rather than later, before all was lost.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Not long after we left the cemetery, I came back to the hotel to ask Andrew for the key fob, even though I really wanted to distance myself from him right now. I vowed that today I just had to press on and find the family before it was too late. We’d lost sight of Caroline after she chased Clark and Gertie from the cemetery, which had to have been the most entertaining thing I’d ever witnessed. The strange thing was the sheriff seemed to think it was only a whirlwind when it was far from it. It didn’t seem like anything really rattled the sheriff. He reminded me of my granddaughter’s husband, Trooper Bill Sales.

  As it turned out, we didn’t have to go out to Francine’s house since she was behind the counter when we walked in. We greeted her with a smile, and I asked, “Where is Lois?”

  “Using the bathroom. What’s up?”

  “Oh, do I look like something is up?”

  “Seems to be your MO, so why not just spill it? I have things to attend to today out at the mining camp.”

  “Mining camp?”

  “Yes, tourists like to pitch tents a few miles out of town during the festival. It’s a half-mile from the Lemon Pine Mine.”

  My face lit up. “Really? We’re planning to head out to the mine later for a tour. When our friend sleeps it off. She did a little too much celebrating last night.”

  “I think I know the one you’re talking about. Just whatever you do, please stay with the tour group. If you get lost in those mining shafts, we’ll probably never see you again.”

  Was that actually genuine concern like it sounded, or was that some kind of ploy to keep us from investigating? “I’ll take that under consideration.”

  “She means we won’t,” Eleanor said. “What we really wanted to know was about Peyton Leister’s grave. Was he ever buried in that cemetery?”

  I examined Francine’s face intently. “Probably not, but I can’t be sure since that was way before my time, you understand.”

  “Point taken, but someone must have thought his grave was worthy enough to be dug up, but the sheriff wasn’t even concerned.”

  “It’s commonplace around here during the festival.”

  “Perhaps it wouldn’t be if you quit telling folks that story about Peyton.”

  “It’s much too late for that now. Tourists really love that story and it makes for a much better festival. I can’t even image not mentioning it.”

  “It’s your business, of course, but I hope you realize that you’re responsible for at least one family’s death, the Thompsons. Anyone who follows that story and goes out on their own looking for that treasure is a direct connection to you, Francine.”

  “I’d hate to have that on my conscience,” Eleanor added.

  “I guess this is where we differ, or should just agree to disagree. I’m in no way responsible for anyone going off half-cocked and looking for the legendary treasure.”

  I smiled stiffly and had to walk away from her now, before I said something really bad, like she was guilty of being indirectly responsible for that first family’s deaths. If only I were able to learn the details of their deaths. Finding their bodies in the desert just seemed too convenient.

  Once we were back outside, Eleanor asked, “What now?”

  “We’re going to ask a few more questions, like at that bed and breakfast.”

  When we made our way across the street and into the brick building that housed Jo Ellen’s Bed and Breakfast, it was bustling with activity. The main desk had a woman around our age sitting in an office chair and I guessed she was checking guests in from the way she was passing forms for them to fill out and handing each a key with a kind smile.

  I stared around at the wallpaper-covered walls that were beige with green stripes. That took me back to my great-grandmother’s house, which was similarly decorated. Guests were milling around and I asked a man near us what they were waiting for.

  “We’re going out to the Lemon Pine Mine today. Jo Ellen has set us up with a special tour, promising to give a few tips about the history of Leister’s gold. It’s said that it’s only a legend back in Reno, but I can see it’s alive and well here in Silver. It’s why we made the trip here during the festival,” he whispered. “I’ve even heard they’ll allow us to do a little digging in the mine.”

  I smiled. “Oh, really? I didn’t know that. When does it start?”

  “Already was supposed to have started, but I guess Jo Ellen’s still too busy checking in the guests. We’re the only ones allowed on the tour, you know. I booked my room two years ago.”

  “M-Me too,” I said with a shrug.

  Jo Ellen stood up and stretched. “Okay, folks, I suppose we should get going now. I’ll check the rest of you in when we get back.”

  “Isn’t it about lunch now?” a woman said, clutching her belly.

  “Sure is, but we’ve packed picnic baskets full of goodies and will be eating it just as soon as we get there. Now remember, I expect each and every one of you to stay tight-lipped about my little tour from the rest of the tourists here in town. The man running the tour at the mine has given us permission to go deeper into the mine, but that doesn’t mean that it’s completely safe. Wendy is handing out waivers that you’ll all need to sign before we leave.”

  We quickly signed our waivers and my heart beat hard now. I just hoped no one asked our names or discovered that we didn’t fit in with this group. Eleanor was quite the actress, but even she was playing low key now.

  Once everyone had signed the paperwork, we were
led outside where a bus awaited us. As we boarded, I notice the last three seats were missing and supplies were stored back there, like hand-held pickaxes. All I could think about was just how dangerous that might be. Anyone could harm themselves with them, and if need be, I’d voice my opinion once I figured out what they were really up to.

  Once everyone boarded, the bus moved out and we headed out of town, the group talking excitedly. “If I find the gold bars, I’m going to move to Paris, France,” one vivacious young lady said.

  Snickers were heard, and the man ahead of us said, “Paris, France? What on earth for?”

  “Because I’m sick of the ole U-S-of-A is why. I crave culture and a French boyfriend.”

  “You think that now, but you can’t even speak French, can you?”

  “Pierre will teach me.”

  “Who is Pierre?”

  “The French boyfriend that I’ll find, duh,” the young lady went on to say.

  “You won’t find any gold, Marsha, because I’m going to find it all and I’m not sharing with anyone,” a young man said.

  “Carson, you’re really out of your mind if you think that.”

  “How about you white folks just take it down a notch,” another woman said. “That gold has Unique’s name all over it. Isn’t that right, Ramone?” she asked the man accompanying her.

  “That’s right, baby.”

  “Calm down, folks,” Jo Ellen said. “We’re not going to find Leister’s gold in the mine.”

  “Well, where are we gonna find it, then?” Marsha asked, leaning forward in her seat. “You said on your brochure that—”

  “I never said you’d find Leister’s gold, just that I’d take you in the mine where you might find a few gold nuggets, is all.”

  “We’ll explain everything to you once we’re in the mine,” a woman sitting next to Jo Ellen said.

  “Wendy is right. Just be patient until then.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the bus rumbled up a drive that had a sign in big, white letters that read, Lemon Pine Mine. The bus parked and we unloaded, and for once, the group was quiet as church mice.

  Jo Ellen gathered everyone together as an old, slender man strode forward. “Howdy, folks. My names Big Jake and I’ll be your tour guide today.”