Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 04 - Three Little Ghosts

by Janet McNulty

  Pop!

  I glanced to my right. Sarah sat there. “So this is what a university is like,” she said. “I always thought people here would be better dressed and more awake.”

  I glanced around the room. Pretty much, everyone wore pajamas or sweats and yawned repeatedly. I stifled a yawn myself. At least I had made the effort of putting on some jeans. But my ratty t-shirt left something to be desired.

  “Do people not bother with being properly dressed anymore?” asked Sarah.

  Here we go again. Every time I ran into a ghost, they insisted on having a conversation when I couldn’t have one. If I answered her question, people would look my way and think me crazy. Though, they might be right. If I didn’t answer her question, she might get upset and then do something.

  “It really isn’t that important,” I whispered.

  “It is,” said Sarah, “A lady and a gentleman should always be properly dressed. My mother says that if they aren’t, they shouldn’t bother going out at all. Look at all of you. You just rolled out of bed and went to class, as though the world appreciates seeing you in your under clothes.”

  I rolled my eyes not believing that a school girl’s ghost was lecturing me on the necessity of proper attire. She had to be kidding me.

  “Look,” I whispered, “It isn’t that important. Now please go, I’m busy.”

  “Are you talking to yourself?” said the girl in front of me.

  I should have known that my little chat with Sarah would not go unnoticed. “No,” I said.

  “Yes, you were. I heard you,” insisted the girl in front of me.

  “Turn around,” I hissed.

  “Are you two ladies finished?” asked the professor.

  Now the entire class stared at us.

  “She was talking to herself,” said the one before me.

  “Really?” asked the professor.

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “You did seem to be carrying on a conversation with thin air,” said another in the classroom.

  Well, this was great. Now I became the crazy girl who speaks to herself. I wondered when the men in white coats would show up.

  “No, I wasn’t,” I said. “I was—uh—thinking out loud.”

  “About?” asked the professor.

  “About a script I want to write for another class,” I lied. It sounded stupid even to me. “I didn’t mean to disturb anyone. Sometimes I get lost in my thoughts and forget others are around.”

  Most of the classroom seemed to buy my story. They turned back to their work.

  “While you are here,” said the professor with a stern tone, “I suggest you keep your mind here.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “You shouldn’t lie so much,” scolded Sarah. She vanished leaving me alone with the boring lecture and the few odd looks sent my way.

  When my class ended, I immediately dashed to my next one. It was a bit more interesting. This class involved role playing. The teacher handed out small skits with the character we were to portray. We had five minutes to figure out how we wanted to act it out and then spent the rest of the period putting on a play. That class always flew by and ended just as everyone began to enjoy themselves.

  My last class that day was more in between. Though not as boring as History of Filmmaking, it wasn’t as fun as the one that involved role playing. Luckily, it ended early. Five classes in one day wiped me out. I don’t know how people manage to do six or seven.

  I lugged my heavy bag to my car hoping to be able to go home and sleep.

  “Hey, Mellow,” yelled Tiny from across the parking lot.

  I should have known. I disguised my weariness, smiled, and waved at him. He pulled up beside me on his bike, which now sported orange and yellow flames on the side.

  “Did you look into that matter for me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It was just three sisters playing a joke on you. I think they were bored.”

  “Ah,” said Tiny, “Do you know who they are or why they are there?”

  “I sent Greg to do some research,” I said. “I had other responsibilities.”

  “We could go to the library right now, together.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  I fidgeted. The last thing I wanted to do was tell Tiny that I had sort of witnessed a murder. Knowing he’d find out sooner or later, I blurted out the news, “A woman was murdered there yesterday. I didn’t see who did it, but was there when it happened.”

  “What are you a magnet?”

  “Why does everyone ask me that?”

  “Because wherever you go, trouble happens.”

  That much was true. Lately my life seemed to one whirlwind of ghosts and crime. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. You aren’t being targeted by any ghost.”

  “That isn’t what has me worried,” said Tiny, “You need to stay out of trouble.” He started his bike and rode off.

  Tiny was probably right that I needed to stay out of trouble. But trouble always has other plans.

  “Hey,” said Greg, catching up with me later. “So I looked up what you wanted me to.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “The library used to be a school back in the fifties.”

  “That explains the outfit and Sarah’s opinions on proper attire,” I said. “She followed me to my classes and I got a bit of a lecture on the state of people’s dress.”

  “That must have been interesting,” said Greg.

  Interesting was not how I’d describe it.

  “Anyway, back in 1955, the boiler in the school exploded. Bad pressure valve or something. At least nine children were killed, fifteen more were injured. The ghost sisters were among the victims. Harpscoll was their last name. No real mystery to their deaths.”

  “And yet they are still here,” I said, “Were they certain that it wasn’t foul play.”

  “That would be pretty cold,” said Greg, “Murdering children.”

  “The world is full of some really sick people.”

  “True. But I already looked into that. Jack even looked up the old records in the police files at the station. Authorities are positive that it was a faulty pressure valve. A freak accident.

  “After the accident, no one wanted to send their kids there any more so the school closed, eventually rotted, and decayed. Twenty years later, a rich philanthropist bought the property, built a library and then donated it to the city upon his death.”

  “So why are they here?” I said.

  “Maybe they do not know they are dead.”

  “Oh they know. There is something else keeping them here. Though I could probably use their help to find out who that man was.”

  “You are not seriously thinking about getting involved.”

  “I’m already involved,” I said. “You know I can’t let this go.”

  “Same old Mel. Even a murder charge didn’t keep you from charging off to find trouble. Just be careful.”

  “Do you know the name Allison Warkins?”

  “No,” said Greg, “Never heard it before. She could be a new student at the college. I’ll look into it.”

  Greg and I parted as I headed for the Candle Shoppe. Despite how much I wanted to get to work on snooping, I still had to go to my job once in a while.

  Tammy accosted me the moment I entered. “I heard you saw someone get killed,” she blurted out so everyone in the shop could hear. Great advertisement, but not the kind I wanted. “Was it frightening? Do you know who did it?”

  “Hush,” I said to her pulling her aside. “Look, I don’t know what you have heard or read, but I did not witness anything. I was in the library when it happened, but I saw nothing.”

  Disappointed, Tammy turned away. I guess she hoped to get some kind of juicy information that she could brag to her friends about. I was not sorry for dashing her hopes.

  I put my coat on the rack in the back. Something
caught my attention. The same ginger haired man had stepped into the store. He wandered around pretending to be interested in a pair of dice shaped candles.

  Determined to find out his identity I waltzed up to him. “May I help you?” I said in my sweet, helpful clerk voice.

  “No,” said the man, “I am merely looking.”

  His response seemed too quick to me, almost as though he wanted to be rid of me. “Are you certain? We have a lot of new stock,” I said.

  “I am fine.” The man brushed by me.

  Determined to not be so easily dismissed, I followed after him. “We have some great deals on aromatherapy candles for men. And there are some wonderful ones for your wife or girlfriend.”

  “Leave me alone,” he snapped.

  “Or you could just tell me what you were doing at the library and why you ran away when that woman was killed.”

  He stared at me shocked that I had not only seen him, but recognized him. The next second, he shoved me aside and darted out the door. I chased after him. By the time I exited the Candle Shoppe, he had gone. No sign of him anywhere.

  I walked back inside ignoring the few stares that came my way.

  “What was that about?” asked Tammy, “Did you stop a thief?”

  “No. He was just someone in a hurry to leave.” I went back behind the counter to help the customers lining up there. I couldn’t wait for the day to end.

  Chapter 4

  I dragged myself through the door and plopped in a chair in the kitchen. Jackie had made some kind of enchilada dish and there was something even more tantalizing on the table. A double layer chocolate cake with double fudge frosting. I skipped supper and went straight for dessert.

  “Nope.” My hand smarted as Jackie smacked it with a wooden spoon.

  “Why not?”

  “That cake is not for us. It’s for the old lady that lives below us. Her dog died today and I thought this would cheer her up.”

  Mrs. Dayton downstairs lived in the apartment below us. She had a little Yorkshire puppy that she loved to death. Each day we found her walking that little dog. It was too bad it died, but it had been very sick lately. I was certain that Jackie’s cake would at least help; if anything, it would let the lady know that someone cared.

  I slumped back in my chair with a pouty expression.

  “I’m making another cake for the both of us.”

  “You’re too good to me, Jackie.”

  “You might want to remember that the next time you run into trouble.”

  “Why does everyone think that I get into trouble?”

  “Because you usually do.”

  The door opened and in walked Greg. He gave me a quick kiss before spotting the cake. I snatched his hand before he could taste it. Relenting, Greg helped himself to the enchiladas after giving me a plateful.

  “So, I did the extra research you wanted.”

  “That was quick,” I said.

  “I had nothing else to do today,” replied Greg. “Allison Warkins, moved here about five years ago, alone. She lived in a small house up on the north side of town.”

  “How do you get all this information?” asked Jackie.

  “Jack. I had him look up the case file.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” asked Jackie.

  “Probably,” replied Greg taking a bite of the enchiladas, “Anyway, she lived like a loner. Kept to herself, never went out, no friends. No one really knows much about her. But there is one interesting fact.”

  Greg pulled out two sheets of paper. On them was Allison’s picture, but with two different names.

  “Does this mean what I think it means?” I asked.

  “It sure does,” said Greg with a grin, “Allison Warkins was once Allison Farlow; wanted for a bank heist that happened about five years ago. The heist took place in Utah. Somehow she escaped to here, changed her name and stayed off the radar.”

  “How does anyone do that?” asked Jackie.

  “Easy enough. Allison never used credit cards. She had a bank account so as not to arouse suspicion, but never kept more than a couple thousand dollars in there a month, deposited in two payments coinciding with pay periods. It was just enough money to pay bills showing up on the same day as everyone else’s paychecks. No red flags there for the bank.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She paid her bills by automatic payments. You know, rent, electric, water, sewer; that sort of thing. Anything else she wanted she probably used cash for.

  “As far as anyone knows, she did not live extravagantly. No trips to the Bahamas, no luxurious purchases.

  “But there was something that did get Jack’s attention. Her grandfather lives in a nursing home out in Utah. One day, all his expenses were paid. Then every six months money showed up through a third party to pay any outstanding balances.”

  “So she wanted to make sure he was cared for,” said Jackie, “Hardly makes her a bad person.”

  “Yes, but robbing four banks isn’t exactly legal,” said Greg.

  “Four? You said it was one.”

  “Sorry about that. There were four done during a four day period.”

  “Bold,” I said.

  “Perhaps, but ingenious. While the cops are busy trying to figure out who robbed the first, they already struck again. Four different banks in four different parts of Salt Lake City.”

  “And you think our Allison is the one involved in that?” asked Jackie.

  “Jack says that a finger print match will be done at any moment. I am expecting his call.”

  “Does Detective Shorts know about this?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but he will shortly. I just hope he doesn’t find out about Jack hacking the system.”

  “Yeah. You know how much trouble we could get in if he finds out?” said Jackie.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Greg. “Jack is being asked to set up the firewall to protect their computer databases. Not a smart move on their part, but it will benefit us. He knows all of the back doors.”

  “You are a regular criminal,” I said.

  “Do you find it sexy?” said Greg.

  “I always find you sexy,” I said.

  “Oh, please, you two. Best friend in the kitchen with you listening to this.” Jackie had her hands on her hips. She looked like a regular fifties mom with her put together outfit of a wavy skirt, wedged shoes, and ruffle blouse, with an apron over all of it. Now compare that to my ratty t-shirt and pair of jeans with a hole in the knee. I really had to rethink my fashion sense.

  Greg’s phone rang. “Yeah,” said Greg as he answered. “That is very interesting. Thanks Jack…Of course I’ll give you back your Babe Ruth card…No, I did not burn it…Yeah, you too.”

  “Babe Ruth card?” I asked.

  “Jack somehow came across one. It is an honest to God authentic Babe Ruth baseball card signed by the Babe himself. Worth a lot of money.”

  “So you stole it.”

  “I needed some kind of leverage on him. Don’t worry, I’ll give it back.”

  “And?”

  “I was right. Allison Warkins is Allison Farlow. Prints were a match.”

  “How did you guys order a run on fingerprints without the authority of the detective?” asked Jackie.

  “Jack is fairly skilled at forging signatures.”

  “What was the name of the nursing home?”

  “Huh? Oh, it was Fairview Retirement Home in Salt Lake City.”

  “I need to go to Utah,” I said.

  “What?” said Jackie and Greg in unison.

  “This is very perplexing. A woman nobody knows very well turns up dead in the library. Now we find out that she is really someone wanted for four bank robberies in Salt Lake City, Utah. She could have left the country, but chose to come to Vermont instead. Now she’s dead. Someone must have known her true identity and had a score to settle.”

  “Don’t you have classes? You know the whole college thing,” said Jackie.

 
“My acting class has been cancelled for the next week and I can always make up the work in the others,” I said, trying to sound like I was on top of things. Though the truth was I was way behind in my course work.

  “You mean you’re so caught up that there is a pile of books on your desk,” said Jackie, seeing through my lie once again.

  “I need to talk to her grandfather, what was his name?”

  “George Farlow,” answered Greg.

  “Don’t encourage her,” said Jackie.

  “She’s just going to go running off anyway,” said Greg.

  “You two are a pair,” said Jackie. “And just how do you suppose you’ll get out of your shifts at the Candle Shoppe?”

  “You can cover them,” I said.

  Jackie stared at me with her hands on her hips.

  “I’ll give you a donut,” I said, “A big chocolate one with sprinkles.”

  “It better be big one,” said Jackie, “But you cannot go alone.”

  “I won’t. Greg is coming with me.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you are,” said Jackie.

  “Alright, let me go pack,” said Greg. He swiped his finger through the frosting of the cake on the table enjoying every moment as he licked it clean. “Good cake.”

  Jackie glowered at him steam coming out of her ears. “You,” she spat. Whack! She smacked him with her spoon. “That— ” smack “—was not—” smack “—for—” smack “—you!” She chased him out the door. “Now I have to make another one.”

  I went to my room to pack figuring that Jackie could handle it.

  The next morning Greg and I drove to the airport in a neighboring city. The one where we lived was pretty small and I hate two engine planes. Besides, I hoped that by taking a flight out of the neighboring town, we could avoid detection by Detective Shorts. He seemed to be developing a knack for predicting my habits.

  We managed to get an early flight out with a layover in Chicago before heading to Salt Lake City. I slept on most of the flight. There isn’t much else to do on a plane, except read.