Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove

by Janet McNulty

  Chapter 4

  Groggily, I pushed the covers off of me the next morning to find Jackie’s face right in mine.

  “AHHH!”

  It startled me so much that I jumped out of bed screaming while Jackie just laughed uncontrollably.

  “Your expression was priceless!” giggled Jackie.

  “What do you want?” I groaned, not wanting to get up.

  “You promised me a hot fudge sundae if I went with you to that creepy, old estate where the ghost that kills people lives.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “No. Now get up.” Jackie yanked the covers off of me revealing my striped pajamas.

  “Fine. I’m up.” I guess turnabout was fair play considering I did this to her yesterday. I put on some capris and sandals with a tank top. One look outside told me that it was already miserably hot.

  “Come on,” called Jackie from the door jingling her keys.

  “You want a sundae for breakfast?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, “It makes the rest of the day sweeter.”

  I snatched my purse and followed her out the door. We took her car downtown to the local ice cream parlor. There was this locally owned place by a South Korean guy and his wife. Their son was away at college. They had the best ice cream. It was thick, creamy, and made from the best ingredients. No fillers. No preservatives.

  They had the usual chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry; but there was also ginger spice, green tea, and Asian surprise. I have no idea what ingredients made up that last one, but it tasted really good.

  So that is exactly where Jackie headed, her mouth drooling for creamy goodness. We got there just as the doors opened. The owner smiled at us in greeting. Jackie ordered her hot fudge sundae with extra fudge and a glass of water. I decided on the banana spilt with their ginger sauce and extra whipped cream. You can’t go wrong with whipped cream.

  “So,” said Jackie as she dug into her ice cream, “what are you planning to do today since neither of us have to work?”

  “I want to go to that flea market,” I said,

  “I should have known. Though I can’t blame you. That pipe Mrs. Dayton gave us was odd.”

  “An antique shop at a flea market just doesn’t seem right.”

  “All right we’ll go,” said Jackie, “after I’m done enjoying my ice cream.”

  “Whoa—Ho there’s a breakfast,” said Tiny as he and his pals walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Oh, we love this place,” said Tiny. “Come here every Friday. I call it Sweet Friday.”

  I chuckled inwardly.

  Tiny and his friends placed their orders and sat with Jackie and me. We talked despite the fact that our mouths had gone numb from the ice cream. In about an hour we had finished and Jackie and I said good-bye to Tiny and everyone.

  The flea market was in another part of town. The crowd that milled around the market area amazed me. I never knew that a flea market could be so popular. I guess people will brave heat just to find a bargain. Jackie parked the car and we entered the marketplace with the line of people. There were the usual quilt shops, books, cookware, knick knacks, a guy selling carved wooden furniture, and even one that sold cake mixes. The aroma of spicy food hit my nostrils. Sure enough, a man with a push cart cooked up a bunch of tamales and sold them at two dollars a piece. They smelled really good.

  I steered Jackie over to the tamale cart. She didn’t argue. I knew her ice cream breakfast had worn off.

  “How many?” asked the man with the cart.

  “Two,” I said, pulling a five out of my wallet.

  He took the money handing us our tamales and change. Oh, they tasted so good. My mouth watered the moment I bit into the mixture of meat and onions. Talk about yummy. Okay, so I was stuffing my face more than investigating.

  We wandered around browsing the different shops and marveling at some of the items. For a flea market, it had some good stuff. I spotted the antique shop with its ornate sign and flood of people. Quickly, I nudged Jackie and pointed it out to her. We finished our tamales and walked over.

  Surprisingly, we found all sorts of tables: coffee tables, end tables, even the kind that goes behind a couch. In another section were a bunch of fancy lamps that either used electricity or oil. They were really pretty and you could tell they had been hand painted. Quilts, blankets, chairs, even ancient looking pots and pans were there.

  The ivory is what caught my attention. An entire section was devoted solely to figurines, pipes, boxes, and even candle holders. I spotted a pipe that looked exactly like the one Mrs. Dayton gave us.

  “Jackie,” I said pointing it out to her.

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied the pipe. “Hey, that looks—”

  “I know.”

  I scanned the rest of the ivory items with others who were intently interested in them. A sign posted read “50% Off”. Odd, I thought. Why would anyone be selling genuine ivory at a flea market and at such bargain prices? It didn’t make sense.

  “May I help you?”

  A man with blond hair had walked up to us. “You own this place?” I asked.

  “Yes, this is my establishment,” answered the man. “My name is Hal.”

  “How did you come by all this stuff?” I asked with an innocent tone.

  “That is quite a story,” said Hal, placing his arms around me and Jackie, “My great-grandmother passed and as her only living relative I inherited everything. It’s amazing what old people keep in their homes.

  “Most of what you see here I got from her place. Bless her heart, that woman lived on a fair amount of property and she kept everything.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to keep some of this stuff?” asked Jackie. “Some of this appears to be family heirlooms.”

  “The more sentimental things I kept,” said Hal, “but I don’t have room for everything and in this economy I could use a little extra money, like everyone else.”

  “How did you get all this ivory?” I asked, “Is it real?”

  “Of course it’s real,” said Hal, indignantly.

  “But it couldn’t have all come from your great-grandmother,” said Jackie.

  “Well, no. Most of it did, but some of it is from others who, like me, need extra income. Besides selling my own items I also contract with people in the county who have inherited antiques they wish to sell. Most of the ivory is from that.”

  “And it’s genuine?” Jackie asked.

  “Yep,” answered Hal, “I’ve had them all appraised. You won’t find any fakes here.”

  “This pipe is interesting,” I said, taking the pipe off of the shelf, “It looks exactly like one my friend bought yesterday.”

  “That would be interesting,” said Hal, “but this pipe is one of a kind. Now I have some others which all look similar, but they have distinguishing characteristics that separate them. Perhaps your friend bought one of those.”

  I studied the pipe. It was an exact replica, no doubt about it. “Perhaps,” I said. “But why would you sell ivory so cheap? You could make real money by selling to a rich collector.”

  “I could,” replied Hal, “but why should I deny average folk a chance to own something rare and expensive? I have more than enough so I give these people a chance to own something that only the very wealthy could afford. And with the amount of stock I have, I’ll make more than enough to pay my bills.”

  “Well, they sure are pretty,” I said. I hoped Hal didn’t think I was being too nosy. For all I knew, he may have thought these were real. Though if he did have them appraised, he would have learned they were fakes.

  “Something doesn’t smell right,” Jackie whispered to me when Hal left. “That pipe is exactly like the one Mrs. Dayton gave us. I know it is.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  I noticed a man staring at Jackie and I with an irate expression. I had never seen him before. The moment I turned in his direction, he ran.

  “Jackie!”

>   I took off after the man pushing and shoving people out of my way with Jackie close behind. Many gave us odd and angry glances shouting a few rude remarks. I didn’t care. I wanted to know why that man was watching us. We reached the middle of the marketplace, but the stranger had gone. I scanned the crowds of people moseying about. Nothing.

  “What is it?” asked Jackie, as she caught her breath.

  “I saw a man spying on us.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. He was definitely watching us.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Dark skin and hair. But who is he?”

  “I think you stirred up something when we went out to that place.”

  “I need to go back there.”

  “Hold up,” Jackie grabbed my arm. “Three visits in two days is a bit much don’t you think?”

  “But there is something going on out there, I can feel it. And that ghost. Why wouldn’t he talk to me?”

  “It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” asked Jackie.

  “What?”

  “That a ghost ran away from you instead of talking to you.”

  “Well, yeah.” Now that I thought about it, it did bother me. Confused me actually. Most ghosts are glad to speak to somebody who notices them. But this one galloped away on his horse. Didn’t fit the legend.

  “Why don’t we hold off on visiting that spooky place,” said Jackie, “Besides, I want to know more about that pipe. We should take it to someone.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Let’s go get that pipe and take it to an antiques dealer.”

  “And just where do we find one?” asked Jackie.

  I knew exactly who to call. “Tiny?”

  He answered on the first ring. “Oh, Mel!”

  “I need to find an antiques dealer.”

  “What for?”

  “Someone gave me a pipe that they claim is made from real ivory, but I’m not so certain about it. Anyway, I just want to know if it is.”

  “Sure, no problem. Meet me at 5th and Weston in half an hour.”

  I hung up. “Let’s get that pipe and meet up with Tiny,” I said.

  “As long as we get lunch along the way.”

  I smiled at Jackie. Sometimes she had a one track mind.

  We met Tiny at the appraiser’s place after grabbing the pipe. He stood next to his bike wearing sunglasses and waiting for us.

  “Hey, Tiny,” I greeted as I strolled up the walk with Jackie.

  “That the thing you want appraised?”

  “Yes,” I said, handing over the pipe.

  Tiny looked it over. “Well, this guy’s the best appraiser I know. But be careful. He’ll try to sell you something for sure.”

  The bell above the glass door rang as we walked inside.

  “Hello,” greeted the bald man behind the counter.

  “Afternoon,” I replied, “I got this pipe here that appears to be made of ivory, but I want to be sure of its value.”

  “HMMM, let me see.”

  The man gingerly took the pipe. He put in an eye piece so he could study it more thoroughly. He twirled it around in his fingers examining every inch of it. I waited patiently while listening to Jackie drum her fingers on the counter.

  “I’m afraid you won’t get much for this.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “These markings give it away,” the man pointed them out to me. Honestly, I never would have noticed it. “Also the weight is a bit off and—” he chipped some of the outer covering of the pipe “—this isn’t even ivory. It’s a good fake though.”

  “Isn’t ivory,” said Jackie.

  “Nope,” said the man, “it’s plaster. Most would never be able to tell the difference. Only those of us who know the trade can. It looks like this was a pipe that was coated in plaster and then carved to look like real ivory. A really good fake.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” I asked.

  “To make money,” replied the man. “People are always looking for some genuine something or other. If you’re good at forging things you can make a lot of money.”

  Well that answered that question. Mrs. Dayton bought a fake ivory pipe at a flea market antiques shop that specialized in items made from ivory. And somehow this was all connected with that property. I wondered who owned it now that Mr. Kellmore was dead.

  The man put the pipe under the counter; his eyes shifting as though he hoped no one saw him. Quickly, I snatched his wrist and yanked the pipe from him. “What are you doing? You trying to sneak off with it?”

  “No—I—No,” he stammered as Tiny rose to his full height and bulkiness.

  “I thought you said it was worthless,” said Tiny.

  “It is!” The man looked at all of us afraid of what we might do. “I just thought, since it is a fake you might not want it and I can—”

  “Con someone out of their hard earned money I bet,” finished Tiny.

  “A person has to make a living somehow,” said the man.

  “Dishonest buffoon,” murmured Tiny. “Let’s go before he tries to sell us something that isn’t real.”

  We left the store a bit disappointed. For Mrs. Dayton’s sake I had hoped the pipe was real ivory. Oh well. One thing was definitely for certain, the guy at the flea market knew that all of his items made from ivory were fakes. So where was he getting them from?

  “Thanks, Tiny,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime, Mel. Too bad someone gave you a fake. Where’d your friend get it anyway?’

  “She got it from some antique shop at the flea market. Jackie and I went there earlier today and the owner insisted that he had every item appraised and was genuine ivory.”

  “Talk about a lying sack of—” began Jackie before I interrupted her.

  “This proves that he is either really ignorant—”

  “Dumb,” Jackie spat.

  “—or is purposefully selling fakes.”

  “I think it’s the latter,” said Jackie.

  “Want me and the boys to put the fear of God in him?” suggested Tiny. He would too. All I had to do was say the word.

  “Not just yet,” I said.

  Tiny’s face fell.

  “But you could keep an eye on the guy. He’s getting his stuff from somewhere and I’d like to know where.”

  “You got it. That man won’t make a move without us knowing about it.” Tiny jumped on his bike and the engine roared to life. “See you girls later.”

  “So now what?” asked Jackie.

  My cell phone rang. “Hello?” I answered.

  “Mel,” came Greg’s voice, “you are going to love me. Tonight we are going to Antonio’s.”

  “What?”

  “I got some gift certificates for there. This older gentleman gave them to me this morning when I helped him with his car. So tonight, you and I are having a romantic evening at Antonio’s and it’s free!”

  “That’s great!” I was really excited. It had been awhile since Greg and I had gone out, just the two of us.

  “So get dressed up nice. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “What’s up?” asked Jackie.

  “Greg got gift certificates for Antonio’s,” I said.

  “That’s a really expensive place.”

  “I know! And he’s coming to pick me up.”

  “You say that like it’s a big deal. He lives right across the hall.”

  I glared at her.

  “Sorry. Let’s go home. I need to do something with your hair and you can borrow my dressy sandals. Oh! I know exactly what you should wear.”

  I found myself being dragged back home by my fashion consultant, but I didn’t care. I was excited to be going to the most expensive place in town with my man.

  Chapter 5

  Seven o’clock on the dot Greg picked me up. Jackie let me borrow one of her blouses and dressy sandals. Luckily I had a skirt and the jade jacket she had given me when we first moved here.

  “Ready?”<
br />
  “Yes,” I said, closing the door behind me.

  “You two kids have fun,” Jackie called from the living room.

  Antonio’s was packed when we arrived. Despite it being a bit expensive, they served really good food and everyone loved going there. The owner, Antonio Bonbarda, moved here from Italy with his family and built this restaurant offering authentic Italian food. His pizzas were to die for and were nothing like what you got at the local Pizza Hut. All of his sauces were homemade with his old family recipe; a closely guarded secret.

  He made the noodles fresh each day adding a special blend of spices. Alone, the noodles were tasty, but add his pasta sauces and—Yum! Of course, you could always get the house salad and appetizers. Then there were the desserts, all of it made from scratch.

  So you can see why people would be coming to this place to eat. Pricy? Maybe. But authentic Italian food made entirely from scratch with real, wholesome ingredients—how can you possibly go wrong? And Antonio’s was always crowded.

  The hostess seated us in the middle of the restaurant. My mouth watered as I looked over the menu anticipating what delectable goodness I was about to choose. I decided on the veal ptarmigan while Greg ordered a pizza.

  “So how was your day?” asked Greg.

  “Okay,” I replied, “Jackie and I went to the flea market today to check out the place where Mrs. Dayton got the pipe.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “The guy who owns it has all kinds of things that are supposedly made from ivory.”

  “But you don’t think they are,” said Greg.

  “No,” I replied, “I took the pipe to an appraiser today and discovered it was a fake. The guy at the flea market insisted that everything he sells is real and has been authenticated. Either he screwed up, or he’s lying.”

  “How could someone get so much ivory?” asked Greg.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, acquiring ivory for carving is next to impossible. Trading it has been barred internationally to prevent animals being killed for their ivory tusks. So how could one man get so many items made from something that people are no longer allowed to buy and sell?”

  “He claims he inherited it from his great-grandmother,” I said.

  Greg’s expression mirrored my own. I didn’t buy the store owner’s story either.