What Lies Beneath the Graves, page 22
part #5 of Spookie Town Mystery Series
At one part of the day Myrtle was eavesdropping on a conversation Glinda was having with Frank:
“Glinda,” Frank was saying aside in a subdued voice, “I wanted to thank you for the heads up about the danger in Chicago. Because of it I didn’t let my guard down for a moment. I was looking for the danger and when it came I was ready for it.”
“I think you would have been all right whether I’d warned you or not. You still know how to handle yourself even though you’ve been retired for years. I was afraid at your age the physical exertion would be too much for you. I shouldn’t have worried. You still have it. I just don’t want you going anywhere yet. Good friends are really hard to find. I didn’t want you hurt or worse. It was close.” Glinda had put a hand on Frank’s shoulder and smiled at him. “I want my friend to hang around for a long time. I want all my friends to hang around a long time. You’ve all become family to me.”
“Don’t worry,” Frank assured her. “I don’t plan on going anywhere. Abigail and the kids need me.”
“Your friends need you. The town needs you. You and your mystery solving gang have saved a lot of people’s lives.”
“And you’re now one of that gang and you helped save lives in Chicago.”
Glinda, as always, was humble. “I just sent you and the police in the right direction. You and your officer friends did the rest.”
That was all Myrtle could overhear because Glinda and Frank mingled away. She would have tailed them to hear the rest of what they were saying but she knew she could grill Glinda later at home about it. Glinda usually told her everything if she asked. For the moment, the dessert table beckoned and she obeyed. She’d already eaten a handful of those baby sandwiches and a plate of those tiny barbequed chicken drumsticks. All delicious.
The remains of the day were full of joy, gossip, laughter and town community. As it came to an end and the guests started going home, Myrtle had to admit it’d been a very good day. She sat on a garden bench as the evening shadows began to collect and ate her third piece of wedding cake and drank her second glass of wine. Two glasses were more than enough for her because anything more would have her on the ground.
“Are you ready to go home now?” Glinda was poised above her. “Frank is driving us home and then returning with Abigail and me to help Martha clean up.”
“I’m ready all right. I wonder if Kate would mind us taking home some of this yummy cake, there’s a lot of it left, and possibly some of that meat pasta Abigail made. Both would sure make a nice lunch tomorrow.”
“I imagine she wouldn’t mind. You go ahead and ask Martha to make us up two plates, put everything in a bag so you can carry it because of your wounded wing there, and then join us at the truck.”
“Okey-dokey.” And off she went in search of Martha.
Myrtle was sleepy on the drive home her mind full of all the day had held. It’d been an excellent day indeed. When Frank pulled into the driveway Glinda helped her into the house. “I’ll be back as soon as the remains of the wedding feast are cleaned up, Auntie. I might even bring home some more leftovers. You get some sleep. You look ready to collapse, old woman.”
“You’re right. I am a little weary.”
And after the truck drove away Myrtle hobbled to her room and was soon sleeping in her bed; that crazy magic cat tucked in beside her, his motor running. Since her accident the silly cat wouldn’t leave her alone. He was always wanting in her lap or her bed. It was fine with her as his purring helped her fall asleep. Boy, if her late sister Evelyn, the animal hoarder, could see her now she’d be laughing. Well, maybe Evelyn did see her and the cat. It wouldn’t surprise Myrtle one bit. The house was full of ghosts. Masterson’s. Evelyn’s. Bedelia’s. And every cat, dog, rabbit or bird that had ever lived and died in the house. And that was a whole lot of critters.
Chapter 19
THE EVENING AFTER THE wedding Glinda was outside getting fresh air and welcoming in the twilight. She was drowsy and had to keep shaking her head, and stretching, to stay awake. Myrtle had spent most of the day in her room watching television and napping. The wedding had taken a lot out of her, though she seemed to have had a good time. She was still recovering from the trauma and injuries of her accident so Glinda let her rest as much as she wanted. It also gave her some private time of her own, which she was used to, and she needed after all the years she’d lived alone.
Lounging on the backyard swing with a cup of steaming hot tea, she sleepily took in the scenery around her. She adored her home. She felt safe within its walls and boundaries. Her flowers were blooming and the grass had come in lush and thick. It was another warm June day and she lifted her face to the fading sun. The day before had been fun and she’d made contact with many new potential clients who would be visiting her for readings in the near future. She never failed to hand out her business cards wherever she went. The personal touch and word of mouth, to promote her business, were better than any ads on the Internet.
She was hungry and thought of going inside to rustle up a snack and check on Myrtle but as her eyes examined the edge of her yard, where the darkness was gathering, she saw something glowing in the distance. It was a figure resembling a man but it was one of light. It beckoned her and she walked towards it. The figure of light shimmered and moved and she followed it across her yard and into the surrounding woods. After trampling through the forest for a time she realized the illuminated creature was leading her towards the graveyard.
Was the figure Masterson’s ghost? Was he at last going to show her where he’d buried the remainder of his treasure? If it existed?
She didn’t mind zigzagging among the cemetery tombstones while there was yet a little daylight, but it was dissipating swiftly. The plot was spooky in the dusk but it’d be worse at full nighttime so she hurried along. Unlike Myrtle, spirits didn’t bother her unless they were malicious entities. In the half-light she could see there were wildflowers growing everywhere, even on the graves. Last time she’d been here there’d been no wildflowers at all. Now that was odd.
A great shadow blanketed the area around her and she looked upwards. There were no clouds anywhere. So where was the shadow coming from? So strange. She paused on the fringe of the cemetery and stared at the surrounding land. In the unnatural twilight it all appeared so eerie. The figure of light had disappeared.
She was ready to pivot around and return home when she heard a voice, as if someone were muttering to themselves, and gazed up to see the man of light coming her way, though as she watched the light dissolved and a real man was revealed. It was Masterson. The elderly Masterson whom she’d followed in her last dream, though now he seemed even older. He was huffing and puffing as he wound his way to the cemetery and lurched between the graves. He halted a few times and seemed to be looking for something. After all these weeks he had appeared to her again. But she wasn’t sleeping, was she? This wasn’t a dream, was it? She pinched her arm. Ouch. What was going on? She’d had visions during the day before yet this one wasn’t like any of them. The world didn’t look real.
The ghost’s speech was a little clearer now and she strained to understand his words as she trailed him through the graveyard. What was he saying?
Here. Here. No. maybe there. There. No. I have to hide it well where no one will ever find it. Oh, oh! Go away you demons! Leave me be! I am sick of your deceits and evil doings. Get away from me! You can’t have my treasure! I won’t allow it. It is mine! Mine! He put the small chest he was carrying down on a grave and waved his hands around wildly as if there were creatures attacking him. He screamed over and over and Glinda covered her ears. It was easy to see Masterson wasn’t in his right mind as he ranted and raved at invisible entities. At the end of his life the poor man had conceivably been insane.
If she hadn’t had seen him in her dreams as his years had gone by she never would have recognized him. He was a walking skeleton in a threadbare robe and one scuffed slipper. There was no slipper on his left foot and the foot was bleeding, leaving a trail of blood wherever he stumbled. He didn’t seem to notice. What had happened to him since the last time she’d seen him? He’d looked ill then but nothing like he did now. His eyes were crimson streaked with fever and his face reflected pure terror as he fought his imaginary foes. He’d been dead a very long time but she still felt pity for the remnant. What he must have suffered at the end of his life to have such anguish pursue him into death the way it had.
The spirit, crying and moaning now, kept moving and she kept following behind. But he didn’t stop in the graveyard but lurched on down a path through the woods and came out by the gazebo. He shuffled up the steps and collapsed on the bench.
She’s poisoning me, he whispered. I know it. I caught her putting something into my cup yesterday and as soon as she left the room I dumped it out. I fired her immediately. But too late. Too late. I am dying. How long has this been going on? Why do they want me dead? Do they despise me that much? What have I ever done to any of them? He lowered his head into his hands and his body rocked in despair.
Glinda felt so sorry for the ghost she wanted to comfort him in some way, any way. But he was a spirit and couldn’t see or hear her. She couldn’t physically touch him.
Then the strangest thing yet occurred. She’d moved to the lowest step leading into the gazebo and was leaning over so she could hear his words better when his face lifted and he spoke directly to her as if he knew she was there.
My housekeeper has poisoned me. She’s killed me. Who has paid her to do such a deed? His eyes were crazed and his face was wracked with pain. I have to hide the last of my treasure...for my child. For my child! And I will leave a letter for her so if she ever comes looking for me she will find it. A letter, a letter. I will draft it as soon as I go back home. Please help me find her.
It was so shocking the way he addressed her, as if he was really seeing her, was really speaking directly to her, she jumped back and nearly fell onto the ground.
Then the ghost staggered to his feet again and, the chest nestled in its emaciated arms, he left the gazebo and started around the base of it. Somewhere he had picked up a shovel and as she watched he found a spot on the side of the structure near a formidable sized rock and he began to dig. It was slow going because he was so weak and kept stopping to catch his breath, to rest. But finally the hole was deep enough, extremely deep by her measure, and tucked beneath the gazebo. He shoved the chest into it and began to cover it with dirt, handfuls of grass and nearby rocks. His body swayed now, his breath was coming in short raspy gasps.
Seemingly with great effort he walked away using the shovel as a makeshift cane. She followed him as he dragged his feet along the edge of the cemetery and tortuously made his way to his house, losing the shovel at the end of the yard. He didn’t make it inside, but crumpled on the porch into a heap. He made a series of guttural groans and lay still. She saw his spirit leave his body and float into the air.
The spirit looked right at her and said, the housekeeper poisoned me. Find the treasure and give it to my daughter. Darcy, my beloved, said she’d name the child Isabel, Izzy for short. It was her mother’s name. Please give it to her. And tell her, as hard as I tried, I’m sorry I never found her mother and her. So sorry.
Then Masterson’s ghost vanished.
My, my, Glinda thought, Masterson didn’t bury the remainder of the treasure in his yard or the graveyard as so many people had believed for so long; he was murdered by his housekeeper and...he never had the chance to write that letter to his wife and child. It explained so much.
And now, she smiled, I know where the rest of Masterson’s treasure is buried.
She opened her eyes in surprise to find herself slumped on one of the gazebo’s benches in her nightgown. Darn, she had to stop doing this. It was morning and the birds were singing in the branches around her. She’d been sleeping all the time, even when she’d been out on the swing drinking her tea and had somehow dreamed everything she’d seen. Somehow, as she’d been dreaming, she’d wandered all the way out to the gazebo. My, my, my.
She got up and made her way to the house.
Myrtle was at the kitchen table waiting for her. “Where have you been?”
Glinda gave her a big grin. “Discovering where Masterson buried his treasure.”
“Hot dog!” Myrtle exclaimed. “I knew he’d tell you sooner or later. I was counting on it. Hey, now I don’t need that new metal detector. Hmm, maybe I can send it back and get my money refunded. I never even took it out of the box.”
“Well, you were right. He showed me. He also told me some other interesting things as well. He was murdered. Imagine that? We’ve been involved in a murder case all along. Besides everything else that poor man went through, in the end, someone killed him. No wonder his spirit was so tortured.”
“Good, tell me the rest of it later. I’ll get the shovels.”
“Let’s have breakfast first. There’s no rush. And I’ll do the digging. You can’t dig with a bad arm.”
“That is true, I guess. Hard to hold a shovel with one hand. I have another better idea. Let’s call Frank and Abigail to go out with us and uncover the treasure. Four more hands couldn’t hurt. Get what we want done quicker and then I won’t have to dig at all.
“So, where is it buried? Under what grave?”
Glinda lifted her chin and grinned once more. “Masterson didn’t bury his loot under a grave, nor anywhere in the graveyard, his yard, in or on the edge of the creek, as you had thought. He buried a small chest with something in it, I don’t know what yet though I suspect it’s gold or jewels of some kind, under the gazebo.”
“What, under the gazebo! Really?”
“Really.”
“Ooh.” Myrtle was rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “I want to run out there right this minute and dig it up! See the gold and jewels shine in the sun in my hands.”
“Soon. It appears that I slept the whole night out in the woods. I need a shower, need to get dressed and we need to eat something before we go stomping out into the forest and start digging.” She patted Myrtle’s wrinkled hand. “But soon.”
“Okay. I’m going to call Frank and Abigail right now and tell them to come right over–”
Myrtle must have caught her threatening glance.
“–tell them to come in an hour.”
Glinda nodded. “Okay. In an hour.”
So as Myrtle telephoned Frank and asked them to come over, Glinda cleaned up, dressed in the appropriate clothing for digging in the dirt, and then the women had their morning meal as they waited for Frank and Abigail to arrive.
FRANK WAS AS EXCITED as a kid on Christmas morning as Glinda, with Myrtle tagging behind and being helped along by Abby, led him to where in her dream she’d seen the ghost bury the chest. The day had grown warmer and by the time they had trekked to the gazebo they were all hot and a little sweaty. And there was still digging to do.
“Here?” Frank questioned, slamming the blade of his shovel down so it would dig under the base of the gazebo. It wasn’t easy to get to for all around the structure bushes and undergrowth had taken over. They had to whack through a jungle to even start digging.
“I think so,” Glinda replied, inspecting the ground around the blade tip. “There was this huge rock–that one there,” she pointed. “He used it as a marker. Except for being more covered in earth, it looks like the one in my dream.”
“Then here is where we’ll begin shoveling earth,” Frank concluded and the shovel began its work. Abigail and Glinda also picked a nearby spot and began digging as well, as Myrtle, sitting on the gazebo’s steps cradling her wounded arm, observed them.
They dug for hours in the dirt where Glinda thought the chest might be. The holes got bigger and deeper, then merged together into one gigantic pit. Still no chest.
As the three continued to excavate Frank talked about his visit much earlier that morning with Silas and his wife. “I finally made it out there. Silas and I had a nice long heart-to-heart. Old guy seems to be really lonely. But once he got used to me being there he talked my arm off.”
“How was his wife doing?” Myrtle inquired. “When we were there she actually came out to see us and have a snack with us.”
“Not this morning,” Frank answered as he lifted another shovel full of dirt and tossed it behind him. “Silas said she’d been very ill after another round of chemo. She was in bed and I didn’t see her. I took them groceries and offered to help him clean up his yard and do any odd repair jobs in and around the house any time he needed me to and was surprised when he accepted without much convincing.”
“That,” Glinda spoke up, “was kind of you, Frank.”
“I actually enjoyed the visit. We discussed many things over cups of coffee and a cheesecake I’d brought along. You know, he was a college English professor before he retired and he’s an intriguing character in his own right, full of curious stories and life experiences I can appreciate. I asked him why and when he and his wife decided to move to Spookie, of all places. He said it was because his mother had told him his father had lived in Spookie when they were both very young and in love, though they were never married. So thirty years ago when he and his wife were looking for a final home, leaving the big city of New York, he said he remembered Spookie and what his mother had said about it. That it was a quiet little town with colorful people. He said it sounded like the sort of place they wanted to grow old and die in. So they moved here.”
“His father?” Glinda, taking a break from her digging, perched next to Myrtle on the steps, was suddenly intently interested, her eyes on Frank. “Who was his father?”
The hole had grown into a yawning chasm now. The pungent smell of freshly upturned earth hung on the air around them. Frank had commented earlier on how he wondered how Masterson, as ill as Glinda had said he’d appeared to be in her last dream, had had the strength to dig so deep a hole.
