What Lies Beneath the Graves, page 8
part #5 of Spookie Town Mystery Series
“Do those cards say what kind of medical crisis it will be?”
She hesitated, not because she didn’t know the answer, but because it’d do no good to frighten Kate any more than she had to. “Not really. But I’d recommend you get a checkup sooner than later. Your doctor might be able to diagnose your problem before it strikes. Prevention is the key.”
“Okay, I’ll see my doctor. First thing tomorrow morning I’ll call her and schedule a full physical. I’m due for my yearly this month anyway. Thanks, Glinda.”
“What else would you like to know?”
Kate bent down to pet Amadeus, who’d been snaking around Kate’s legs below the table. For some reason Glinda could never figure out the old cat liked the donut maker. The times Kate had visited them, Amadeus had ended up in her lap. The other cats hid somewhere and rarely came out until Kate was gone. Of course, they did that with almost every visitor, except Frank. All the cats loved Frank. He was a cat whisperer, to be truthful, an animal whisperer. There wasn’t a cat or dog who didn’t love Frank. People, too.
Since Glinda had moved to Spookie, claimed Myrtle as her great aunt, gained a beautiful home, and made friends with Frank and Abigail, she’d been grateful for all of them, especially Frank. He’d become the father she’d never known. There weren’t many good men in the world. She knew that. They were as rare as unicorns. Looking at the cards and then at Kate’s blissful face, she thought: Kate had found one of those rare good men and Glinda was happy for her.
“And,” Kate started talking again, “I’m considering adding a sandwich lunch menu at the Delicious Circle and was wondering what the cards might have to say about it.”
Glinda peered at the cards again and thoughtfully replied, “They say: go for it. It looks profitable. And I agree. Adding to your menu can only help your sales.”
Then Kate asked a couple more questions about her life and Glinda, staring at the cards, gave her truthful answers. The cards really did look splendid for the donut maker. Glinda was relieved. She hated it when she had to give bad news.
The women sat and conversed for a while after the reading. They were friends after all. Glinda made tea and Kate caught her up on the most recent town gossip. Glinda was often amazed at how much drama the little town generated. The inhabitants were all eccentric in their own ways and something was always going on. She had grown to love it. All of it.
“I guess I shouldn’t mention this,” Kate said as she drank her second cup of tea, “but Myrtle was in my shop this morning and she bartered some interesting tidbits for a bag of her preferred Danish. She told me she, you, Frank, and Abigail are looking into the Masterson lost treasure? That you had a dream of Masterson’s ghost and he wants the four of you to find it...for his daughter if she’s still alive.
“And yes, I know all about Masterson’s loot. I’ve heard about it since I was a child.” Kate’s eyes were intent as they came to rest on Glinda’s face. “Is that true? Are you searching for that long lost and cursed wealth?”
Glinda knew she should lie, they didn’t want the town to be aware of what they were up to, but she didn’t believe in lying if she could help it. And she could trust Kate to keep what she told her to herself if she was asked; much better than Myrtle, who could never keep a secret no matter what it was or who asked her to. That old woman didn’t know what a secret was.
“Since we’re friends I’ll tell you. We might be looking for Masterson’s treasure, if it exists. Myrtle thinks we are. And it’s true I’ve been visited by Masterson’s ghost, though I didn’t know who the ghost, clearly a sailor, was at first. Frank made the connections between this house, this land, and the man who built it in the late nineteen-thirties. Since then we’ve learned more about the man and the gold he was rumored to have found and that he’d left some of it behind somewhere buried on this land, or we believe he did. I’ve had a second dream. The man did find a fortune on his voyage. That’s what we know so far. Maybe he spent every last penny on his homestead and everyday expenses and there was none left. Perhaps he didn’t use all of it to build this house and live on and he did, somewhere on his life’s journey, bury the rest. We don’t know yet. But I have the feeling the ghost will eventually tell me everything...in time. We have a connection through this house, this land, and my psychic gift. I don’t care if there’s buried gold or not, money alone doesn’t buy happiness, but Frank and Myrtle really want to solve what happened to the remainder of it. It’s a mystery. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Myrtle, once she unearths a mystery of any kind, becomes obsessed and she just has to get to the bottom of it.
“But I’m surprised Myrtle spilled the beans to you about our little investigation. We don’t want this to get out to the townsfolk. The last thing we need is another gold hunting stampede. I don’t want people digging up my back yard or breaking into my house to search for buried gold.”
“I wouldn’t imagine you would,” Kate commented. “But here’s the thing and why I said anything at all about what Myrtle told me. The rest of the gold Masterson was said to have buried on this land somewhere...it doesn’t exist. Telling certain people, a housekeeper and his servants, he knew would spread the false news was a spiteful joke he played on the town because he was a bitter, vindictive man. He spent the last years of his life isolated and lonely, by his choice. He hated everyone. He wanted the townspeople to go nuts hunting for the remainder of his loot, fighting and killing over it, when he was gone, but, truth was, he spent the whole kit and caboodle during his lifetime. Every gold coin, piece of jewelry and gem.”
“How do you know this?” Glinda was confused. She’d believed the spirits who appeared in her dreams or visions told the truth. Could a ghost lie...and if they could, why would they? Why would Masterson lie about wanting his descendants to have a part of his treasure? She didn’t know the answer but now she was wondering.
“I know this because when I was a child an acquaintance of my family, I think her name was Selma or Thelma, something like that, said a friend of her mother’s was Masterson’s extra housekeeper, sort of a personal attendant, for a short time anyway. It was at the end of his miserable life and he hired her from town because he was so ill, bedridden. But after a time the woman couldn’t take the verbal and emotional abuse he piled on her–and he accused her of sneaking and snooping around looking for things to steal when she wasn’t doing anything of the sort–and she walked out. Later she said to anyone who would listen that one day when Masterson was out of his mind with his illness he confessed there was no gold left. None. He’d spent it all and hadn’t buried any of it. He thought it would be quite the joke on the town after he died if they thought there was hidden loot when there wasn’t. Serve them right.”
“Really?” Glinda wasn’t sure if that were true, but then nothing in this world was impossible. Could be Ghosts could lie. Why not? But if there was no buried gold what was the reason for Masterson’s ghost appearing to her twice, showing her the ship and the crew; letting her in on the buried treasure? She didn’t know that either, but she had the premonition she’d learn what the ghost wanted from her sooner or later. He wanted something.
“Really. It’s what I remember. I, too, was captivated with the buried gold stories so I recall what my mother’s friend said because I didn’t want to believe it. But I thought you and the others should know there might not be any jewels or gold buried anywhere. If you’re thinking of looking and digging for it, it might save you some trouble.”
“We hadn’t got that far, but I am glad you told me. It is a curious development.”
They spoke a little longer about non-related matters, cats and another expert baking class Kate was going to take, and then Glinda saw her to the door. As she watched Kate’s car drive off into the night, Glinda thought: Could it be true? Could there be no hidden treasure at all? It was all a false folktale? Interesting.
She picked up her cell phone and dialed Abigail. She wanted to see what she thought of what Kate had said about Masterson’s practical joke.
“Sorry for calling so late, Abigail, but Kate was just here for a reading and she told me something odd. Something I think you and Frank should know.”
Glinda quickly summarized what she’d learned.
“Well, that throws a wrench in our new adventure for sure,” Abigail responded. “Myrtle is not going to be happy. She’s already scheming on how to find the buried gold. She has it all planned out, or so she says.
“I wonder if it’s true.”
“That the buried gold doesn’t exist and never did?”
“It’s what I’m wondering, as well. Here, I’m handing the phone to Frank. He wants to ask a question or two.”
Frank got on the phone and they talked. When she was done, he only said, “If it is true then all that chaos and death which occurred after Masterson’s demise was all for nothing, a tragedy. A malicious joke. Masterson did finally get back at the town he hated so much. Such a shame. I’ll say one thing, Masterson must have been one miserable human being to perpetrate such a hoax.
“What do you think, Glinda? Do you believe the ghost or town gossip?”
“I’m not sure. But I have a hunch time will tell. This mystery isn’t over yet.” Glinda had trouble getting the words out because she unexpectedly had a feeling, a warning, of something not being right washing over her. She often had them when being with or speaking to another person. Something was wrong with Frank. It wasn’t like the feeling she’d had about Kate, though, it was stronger. Twice in one day. Darn. Something very dangerous was coming Frank’s way.
“Frank...before we get off the phone I have to ask: is there something wrong? Are you all right?”
“Of course. I’m fine. Why?” Frank’s voice had become softer.
“Your health okay? You and Abby all right? The kids? Are you on a new case, besides the Masterson investigation, that might be dangerous or lethal in any way?”
Frank laughed, but the laughter was restrained. “Sure, we’re all okay. And no, I’m not chasing any serial killers or anything at the moment. The only other thing I’m looking into is a small bank embezzlement; working alongside Sheriff Mearl. No danger there.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Frank stated. “Now you let me know if you hear anything more from our ghost sailor. I don’t care what anyone says, I’m going to continue looking into this matter and into Masterson’s life. Try to find anyone still alive who might know something we haven’t uncovered so far. I already am sure I’m going to use some of the specifics in my next book anyway. So none of this is wasted time.”
“I’ll let you know if our sailor visits me again. But Frank?”
“What?”
“I want you to be careful, real careful, you hear? I mean it.”
“I’m always careful, friend. Always.”
She hung up but another chill touched her skin and she shivered. Something bad was about to happen and she was afraid it was going to happen to Frank. She sat down at the table and did a tarot reading on his behalf, hoping they might give her more clarity to what the danger to Frank might be and when it was coming. But the cards were frustratingly vague. Yes, danger coming but no particulars.
When she went to bed that night, Amadeus snuggled up against her and then was joined by some of the other cats. A purring bed of fur and sleepy eyes. Glinda laid her head down on her pillow, still uneasy, but sleep finally found her.
AS IF THE SPIRIT KNEW she had questions, Glinda had the third dream of Masterson that night. Once more it was on the ship, the Black Ghost, and Masterson’s brother, Owen, was with Masterson. She overheard one of the other sailors say the ship had once been a whaling vessel the captain had purchased for practically nothing and that was about what it was worth: nothing. Huge sections of wood were rotted through, leaked and shuddered during storms. Many of the crew believed it wasn’t seaworthy and, uneasy, feared it wouldn’t get them home. Glinda could hear their thoughts and almost feel their growing dread the longer the ship was at sea. It was at the end of its long treasure hunt and the voyage was nearly over. They’d found chests, brimming with different sized canvas bags, tied with leather thongs, containing gold ingots, coins, precious gems and jewelry, in the shallow water among the sharp reefs around the island. They’d sent down divers to retrieve and bring the chests up to the ship and, upon discovering even more wealth than they’d thought was down there, began to celebrate. They’d retrieved a fortune and there was more than enough for everyone. The crew was jubilant. At first. The Black Ghost set sail on the long return journey to the coast of South Carolina.
The journey back. In the dream that’s when the troubles began. Small mishaps, disagreements and squabbles between crew members erupted. There were mysterious acts of sabotage. The water supply was discovered to be tainted; food tampered with so some of the men fell ill. The crew began squabbling among themselves over how to divide the discovered wealth, who would get what and how much. The sleeping psychic never actually saw the treasure but she learned by the sailors conversations it was guarded by the Captain in his quarters.
“Captain is hiding it from us! He won’t even let us see it no more. What’s he doing in that cabin with all that bootie?”
“I don’t know, staying up all night counting it, but he’s up to no good, I’d wager. That treasure belongs to all of us and he shouldn’t be hoarding it....”
“Yeah, it’s ours, too. Why’s he hiding it, you know we should....”
“Rush in and make sure the crook isn’t plotting something to keep it all....”
“He would not do that, would he?”
“Men do lots of bad things for treasure. All men. They kill each other off so there’s more for them....”
“You mean some of our crew might be thinking that, too?”
“Sure, there’s twenty of us to share the wealth. Be more for each if there were less of us....”
“You know, Henry’s been acting pretty weird lately, come to think about it. Him, Basil and Derek always off in a dark space whispering and plotting...something. They want the treasure for themselves, I’d lay a month’s rations on it.”
“No one’s gonna take my share! No one!”
“We should make Henry confess what he’s been up to–”
“What is the Captain doing with all that loot? We should go force our way into the Captain’s cabin and grab those chests–”
“–split the booty right now amongst us so we are sure we each get our fair share!”
“We should!”
“Yah, let’s do that–”
Then her dream turned nightmarishly dark. She watched the men, during the cover and gloom of night, rush into the Captain’s cabin, viciously beat him down, and drag the treasure out onto the deck where they divided it among themselves–and then went crazy. Afterwards in rapid and terrifying vignettes the days and nights passed on board as the men fought over their treasure and begin to rise up against each other, no holds barred. Civility and trust were gone. The crew was maiming and killing each other over the spoils and Masterson’s brother was one of the first casualties as he defended another shipmate from a mob who wanted to throw the man, an alleged thief who might or might not have taken more of the treasure than was his share and hid it, overboard. Masterson fought the mob with his brother but his brother was the one who ended up dead, bloody and floating in the shark filled waters until the creatures pulled him under.
Masterson’s grief appeared to be overwhelming and changed him forever. No longer was he the amiable sailor on an exciting quest for riches, fame and fortune. He was a hollow-eyed remnant of the man who’d first stepped on the ship so many months before, his heart full of rage at his brother’s murder and the atrocities he’d witnessed between his fellow men–all for greed.
In her dream vision the sea began to churn and the sky turned black. A terrible squall roared in and the ship, foundering and lost in the storm, found itself mysteriously back at the island and the vessel, leaking water and with two masts collapsed, crashed into the same rocks where the treasure had been found. Then her dream ended.
Glinda woke from the destruction and the tempest on the seas to a storm in the real world. The wind was screaming outside the windows and rain was pounding against the house. Another spring rainstorm. Seeing the carnage on the ship and watching it being pulled down beneath the waves had unnerved her and she was trembling in her bed. She’d been there. She’d smelled the salt of the sea, the brine on her face, felt the pitching of the ship under her dream feet...experienced the horror when Masterson’s brother was butchered, dumped into the water and the sharks fought over his body. She’d sensed Masterson’s blood-thirsty hunger for revenge and his growing hatred towards others. This had been the beginning of his isolation from society.
She threw off the covers, got out of bed and, going into the kitchen, brewed a cup of strong tea, added more honey than she needed, and sat down at the table to calm herself. The rain outside had slackened and listening to it she forced herself into the present. Her hands shook as she held the cup.
She was frustrated, troubled. What had happened to the crew? So the Black Ghost had wrecked...how many had lived and how many had died? She hadn’t been shown that and it bothered her. It was like watching a riveting television program and not being able to see the end or reading an exciting novel only to discover the last chapters were missing. Horrible, horrible. The only comfort she had was the tragedy had occurred so long ago. It was in the past.
What were you trying to show me, tell me, Bartholomew? I sure wish you would have answered the question of the hidden treasure...does it exist or not? If it doesn’t, what do you want of me? Why are you haunting my dreams?
She’d have to wait until Bartholomew chose to show or tell her what he wanted. There was no other way. Even the cards or the crystal ball wouldn’t tell her, she’d tried many times. Nothing.
