She gazed down at the sidewalk for a moment or two to avoid a gaping crack and when she looked up again, the man in the fedora was gone. Nothing new there. If she’d had an inkling of which way he’d gone, she would have chased after him. Talked to him. She was tired of his disappearing act. But she had no idea so she kept walking towards her destination. The rain was coming and she had to hurry.

  “Hi there, Myrtle,” Kate greeted her when she went into the donut shop. “You do know it’s supposed to storm like crazy here any minute? You shouldn’t be out here when it does.”

  “I know, I know,” Myrtle brushed off her warning. “By my calculations, though, it won’t start raining for another, ooh, twenty-nine minutes or so. More than enough time to get what I want here and scoot over to my niece’s house.”

  “Oh, you’re going to Glinda’s?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where’s your wagon today, Myrtle?”

  “Ah, I left it home. I have places to go today and things to do and the wagon isn’t part of it. For today anyway. I have to make good time.” Myrtle’s lips barely cracked a smile.

  Kate’s eyes were on her when she asked, “So...what can I get you today, traveler?” Kate had given Myrtle that name years ago because Myrtle was always walking everywhere, always on the go. It was a fond nick-name so Myrtle didn’t mind it. She liked Kate. Kate was a sweet lady and often gave her samples or free pastries.

  Myrtle peeked into the glass cases and picked out a variety of a dozen donuts, careful to get a few jelly for Glinda. Those were her favorites, well, along with chocolate-covered cake ones. Kate threw in three extra donuts and didn’t charge her for them.

  “Anything new with you, donut lady?”

  “Not too much. I’m thinking about building on to the shop.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Well, I’d like to start serving sandwiches and sides. I’ll keep it simple, mainly lunch items. I’m hoping it’d bring in more customers.”

  “Hmm, need more money, huh?” Myrtle was watching the day grow darker outside the windows. She’d better get moving. She didn’t like the forest in the rainy dark. Too many creatures of the night roaming around. Too many ghosts.

  “That’s part of it. But there isn’t really a sandwich shop here in town and I thought it would be nice to have one. You know, for people on the go wanting a quick meal without going to a real restaurant.”

  “You got a point there. If you do expand and open a sandwich counter be sure to make those little chicken salad sandwiches on those crescent roll thingies. I really like them. I’d be a customer for sure.”

  “Chicken salad on croissants are an excellent suggestion and I will be sure to include them on the menu.”

  “Be sure you do.”

  “How is Glinda doing?” the donut lady inquired, closing the large white bag, taking the money from Myrtle and putting it away.

  “She’s doing just fine.” Myrtle covered her mouth with her one hand. She’d almost blurted out about the sailor’s ghost, the hidden treasure and the new adventure she and her gang were embarking on, but stopped herself just in time. She shut up. Frank wanted her to keep things quiet. She’d have a chance to blab all about it when she got to Glinda’s.

  “Seen any ghosts lately?” Kate suddenly inquired and Myrtle felt a moment of panic until she realized the woman wasn’t asking about the sailor’s ghost but about ghosts in general. The wood’s ghosts.

  Myrtle grabbed a hunk of glazed donut with her fingers from one in the bag and popped it into her mouth. So good. “Not today so far. But the day is young and I will be going into the forest here pretty soon.” She frowned at the bag in her hand. “They’ll smell the donuts, no doubt, and will probably fall all over me. I guess I better get moving. Can I have another, bigger, bag? I don’t want the ghosts to smell my donuts.”

  “Sure.” Smiling, Kate reached down and pulled out another bag.

  Myrtle dumped her donut bag into the larger one and rolled up the top to keep the smell in. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye for now. Be careful out there, Myrtle. Say hi to Glinda for me and tell her I’ll be seeing her soon for another reading.” Kate confided, “I have some important questions to ask her.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Myrtle replied as she sashayed out the door.

  The sky was blacker than when she’d left the newspaper, the wind was wilder, so she made her old legs move faster. Darn, she should have worn a raincoat or brought an umbrella. Too late now.

  She barely made it to Glinda’s house before the storm hit. Good thing she knew all the fastest short cuts through town and through the woods. And a good thing she wasn’t waylaid by any pesky apparitions because rain didn’t faze them. She banged on the door and made funny faces at the weird Amadeus cat through the window glass. But it was just in fun. She and Amadeus had made peace with each other a long time ago. They only pretended sometimes they hadn’t; it was their thing. The door opened as the water and wind exploded around her.

  “Whoowe! Let me in, let me in, kiddo!”

  “Aunt Myrtle,” Glinda cried, yanking her inside, “what are you doing out in this weather? Don’t you know there are tornado warnings out? What do you want...to be blown away–”

  “–like Dorothy swept off into Oz?” Myrtle gave her an impish wink and chuckled. “Just let any old tornado even try it. I’d grab a hold of a fat tree trunk and I’d be safe enough. I’ve done it before.”

  Myrtle trailed the younger woman into the kitchen where she presented the white bag to her. “Donut snacks.”

  “Why thank you, Aunt. Donuts are just the perfect thing to eat during a rainstorm. I’ll make us some tea and we’ll have them.”

  Glinda always teased her. A funny noise erupted from Myrtle’s mouth and she muttered, “Coffee, please.” The psychic knew she hated tea.

  “Well, tea for me and coffee for you, old woman.” The psychic flashed her a playful smile.

  Once settled at the table with their drinks and pastries the sound of the outside storm was a raucous backdrop with the crack of breaking tree limbs and unidentified objects bumping around beyond the windows, some slamming against the house.

  “It’s really storming out there. I think you should spend the night, Auntie,” Glinda offered. “They say this storm, the rain, is going to last all evening. I also have a homemade pizza I was going to make later tonight and there’s more than enough for you.”

  “My favorite with mushrooms and sausage?”

  “Of course.” It was convenient they liked the same toppings.

  Myrtle was watching the rain hit the windows. The wind was howling like an angry monster. It had prematurely turned into darkness outside. She would spend the night. Glinda had fixed up a comfy bedroom last year just for her. The bed was so soft it was like a giant marshmallow. There was a television on the wall for her to watch and a padded rocker in the corner. She’d made the room hers by bringing some of her favorite books to read, her knitting and a bag of her favorite candy treats. A stuffed and lumpy teddy bear she liked to sleep with. It had belonged to her dead son when he’d been a child and it comforted her to have it at night to cuddle. She also had another one of her son’s stuffed animals, a little dog, she kept at her house. “I guess I will stay. I don’t fancy traipsing through the woods in this hurricane. Those ghosts would tear me apart. They’re mad because I wouldn’t give them any of our donuts.”

  Glinda sent her a sideways glance. “Too bad for them. That’s one of the drawbacks of being dead. No donuts.”

  The women ate their pastries and drank their drinks and retired to the living room to watch television. It was Supernatural night and Myrtle loved that show. It was one of her favorites. Those two brothers were so cute, especially that tall and lanky Sam, and they were always able to beat the ghosts, vampires or any monsters who had the nerve to cross their path. They had witch and psychic friends. She felt a real kinship with them. They fought the good fight against the dark side and won. Tonight, according to the preview from last week, they were lost in this bizarre other dimensional world with a real monster, big as a house, waiting to have them for lunch. They were tied to trees for pity’s sake waiting to be devoured. How were they going to get out of this mess? She couldn’t wait to see.

  Supernatural was an hour away, Amadeus was in Glinda’s lap and the other felines were sleeping draped around the room in various places, when the knock came on the door. The storm was still raging outside and hadn’t abated in the least. She and Glinda had had a nice evening together, eating pizza and chatting about fortune telling, spirits they’d known and any other interesting subject they could think of, though Myrtle hadn’t touched on the subject of the sailor’s ghost yet. She’d been saving it. Myrtle had discovered in the last two years Glinda was very much like her in so many ways. Blood did win out. It was like having another daughter, something Myrtle had always wanted, and she reveled in it.

  “Now who would be visiting on a night like this?” Myrtle’s eyes were on the door as her niece opened it.

  “Frank, what are you doing out in this storm?” Glinda let him in and closed the door.

  “Fighting the rain. The fog coming out here was bad, too. It’s a thick soup all over the woods and roads. But I thought I’d stop by on my way home and let you know what I found at the newspaper today in the microfiche. You won’t believe it–”

  “Oh, hi there Myrtle,” Frank said seeing her sitting on the couch. “Good, you’re here. Saves me another stop.”

  “Hi there yourself, Frank. I’m spending the night with my niece. We’re having a girl’s night. What more did you find out? I haven’t said much to Glinda about anything. I thought I’d leave that privilege to you. That and I knew you were still looking into the sailor’s ghost and who it might be. Though I didn’t expect you’d be out roaming around in this typhoon.”

  “Ah, it’s not really that bad out there.” Frank turned his gaze back to Glinda. “All right, now to why I am here. While searching through miles of microfiche I found a series of old articles from the late nineteen forties in the Journal published about a man named Bartholomew Masterson and his buried treasure. The articles were most likely released after he died. With what I learned, I strongly suspect he’s the ghost who appeared to you. Here. I made copies of the articles.”

  “Thanks, Frank.” Glinda took the pieces of paper and flicked through them for a minute or two. Then divulged, “Actually I think you’re right about it being Bartholomew Masterson...the ghost visited me again. Last night. And someone called him Bart, which could be short for Bartholomew, and then Bart spoke back to him and called him brother and later called him Owen. In a vivid dream I saw Bartholomew on a ship and he, his crewmates and his brother were discussing a treasure they were going to look for. I overheard some of the crew speak about how years before a ship had wrecked on the outskirts of an island’s reefs–they never said what island or where it was–I was after all only hearing part of the conversation, and they were going to dive and scrounge for the sunken treasure, salvage it from the shallows. And, for some reason I also didn’t discover, they spoke of a deadly curse on the lost gold.”

  “A curse, hmm. That’s ominous. And his brother, you say his name was Owen, was also on the ship?” There was surprise in Frank’s voice.

  “I think so. He called him brother, affectionately. I guess it could have just been a shipmate term, but I don’t think so. So...his full name is Bartholomew Masterson?” Glinda gestured Frank and Myrtle to follow her into the kitchen and they did.

  “It is,” Frank answered as he sat down at the table. “And there’s quite a legend surrounding him and his treasure, before and after he died, let me tell you. The more I learn about this man the more intrigued I become. I also have a book you might want to read, Glinda. Page forty-nine.” Frank pulled the book from his jacket pocket and placed it beside the article copies Glinda had laid on the table.

  Myrtle snatched up the copies as Glinda perused the book. She opened it and quickly read it silently and then Myrtle read aloud from the newspaper articles. “‘After Bartholomew Masterson was laid to rest a crowd of townspeople looted his house searching for his remaining gold. In their greedy zeal the structure was damaged and set on fire. The town’s volunteer fire department was able to save most of the main structure but the kitchen and a front bedroom were destroyed. Days afterward the police were again summoned to the Masterson estate after reports of graves in the nearby cemetery were being dug up and the area was pitted with fresh holes.’ By these accounts the hunt for the left behind gold became a circus. People fighting and brawling over where they’d dig or just eruptions of bad temper and hostile aggression.

  “And this,” Myrtle tapped the paper and resumed reading. “‘It was also reported, after a particularly vicious conflict broke out among the illegal treasure hunters on the property, when some of them were transported to the hospital or jail and one man, Freddie Evans, died on scene from his injuries.’ He was knifed; no one arrested for that crime, it says here. ‘Two other men, David Hunter and Jess Compton, were later listed as missing.’ They were never seen again as the last of these articles report.

  “Wow,” Myrtle finished up, “those treasure hungry trespassers were digging up graves, torching things and killing each other off indiscriminately. Tsk, tsk. It sounds like it was a real fiasco. Interesting.”

  “Yeah, I thought the same thing as I read those old newspaper pieces.” Frank sent a fast look out the windows at the continuing rain. It had increased in force considerably, as had the wind. “It’s peculiar that after Masterson’s death enough people still believed there was gold hidden somewhere on his land that they had to descend on it and destroy everything hunting for it. And people were injured, went missing, and a man died. Crazy.”

  “Awful.” Glinda had finished reading the pages in the book, closed it and gave it back to Frank. “But men do terrible things for money or gold in this case. It wouldn’t be any different if it happened nowadays. Mankind hasn’t changed that much. Greed and mistrust, immorality still exist and proliferate. By the way, did those articles ever say what Masterson died of?”

  “According to the newspapers of the time he died of natural causes.” Frank had gotten up and was making himself a cup of coffee. He knew where everything was in the kitchen so he helped himself. Glinda encouraged people to do that, even her clients who came for readings. For Myrtle and them, for any visitor, there was a coffee pot ready on the counter. He poured the cup and put milk and sugar in it. “He was ill a long time and died of heart failure.”

  “Or that’s what they said.” Myrtle was standing behind Frank, next in line for a cup of coffee.

  Frank sat down with his cup as Myrtle prepared hers.

  “Sometimes a heart attack can be caused by something else.” Getting her drink, she resettled herself beside Glinda, picked up the article copies Frank had brought and resumed reading them.

  “Myrtle,” Frank said, “you’re such a suspicious old woman.”

  “Of course I am. It’s my job to be suspicious. And, you know...no one ever found the gold,” Myrtle concluded, putting the papers down. “And I read every word of every one of these pages. Nope, it was never found.”

  “And I guess over time, when no one found it, it was forgotten.” But her niece the psychic had a strange look on her face as she spoke. “Until now. After all these years, for some reason, Masterson wants us to find it.”

  Myrtle cackled. “Oh, the ghost has a reason, most times they do. He wants us to give it to his daughter.”

  “If she’s still alive.” Frank was being practical. His fingers tapped on the table. “Let’s see, Masterson died in nineteen forty-nine so if his daughter was still alive and she’d been born a few years before that she’d have to be around eighty-five years old. That’s pretty old.”

  “Not really,” Myrtle chimed in. “I’m not that far off from that myself. And I know some of the old ladies and gents at the nursing home who are over ninety and still going strong. She could still be alive. She could have kids, too. A whole family tree of descendants.”

  “She could.”

  When Frank had finished his coffee he stood up. “That storm out there is supposed to get worse as the night goes on so I will take my leave of you two lovely ladies and head on home. Abby has supper waiting for me.” He looked at Myrtle as he reclaimed the newspaper articles and the book and stuffed them in his rain jacket’s pocket. “If you’d like, Myrtle, I could run you home?”

  “Nah, thanks for offering me a ride, but I’m still staying here. Still spending the night. Glinda and I have a lot to talk about. And she’s going to make pancakes for breakfast and you know how I love pancakes.”

  “I know.” Frank was at the door. Outside the wind was wailing and the rain was slamming against the house.

  Before Frank stepped out into the night Myrtle asked, “Now what do we do, Partner? What’s our next step?”

  “I’m not sure. Let me think about it and get back to you. I guess I’ll try to find out more about the man who died on Masterson’s property illegally hunting for the gold or more about the two missing individuals; if they ever showed up again. More about Masterson’s death or anything else about the man and his life I can dig up, no pun intended. Or perhaps Masterson’s ghost will appear to Glinda again and give us some direction.”

  “I’ll let you know if he does,” Glinda responded, walking him to the front door.

 

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