What Lies Beneath the Graves Read online

  Myrtle, who’d settled down on one of the gazebo’s steps instead of sitting on one of the benches, piped up, “This gazebo has been here forever. Since before my sister and I ever came to town. When she got married and bought this house, we discovered it one day while we were out traipsing around in these woods. We used to come out here and have picnics with our husbands and our children when we were younger. I was told that years ago, in the late nineteen hundreds or so, there were even town picnics and events out here for a time. Bands would play in the gazebo and the townspeople would dance and eat picnic lunches on blankets in the grass. But it’s been forsaken and forgotten now for ages. I showed this place to Glinda soon after she took possession of the house. I and my sister always enjoyed coming out here to escape the world and her house full of yakking, yapping critters.” Myrtle chuckled. “At least it was quiet.”

  “I love it out here,” Glinda said. She grinned at Abigail. She was wearing one of her long flowing skirts and a ruby silk blouse under a heavy purple sweater. Glittery silver tennis shoes. No jewelry except some dangling silver earrings. Her green eyes flashed. “I come out here every chance I get. It relaxes me when my visions drive me a little nuts.”

  “I know,” Myrtle remarked. “Like I told Abby, if I can’t find her at the house this is the first place I look.” She took Glinda’s cell phone from her pocket and handed it to the young woman. Glinda nodded her thanks.

  “So, Niece,” Myrtle wanted to know. “What about this vision you’ve had?”

  The young woman offered them an enigmatic curve of her lips. “It was a strange one as many of them are, with missing pieces. I’m not sure exactly what the visitor in my vision wanted, not yet anyway. But I can tell you this. It was the ghost of a young man with red hair and a beard. Good looking fellow with a winning smile. Handsome, even though he had a scar on the left side of his face. The way he was dressed, clothes perhaps from the early twentieth century, his head gear, gave me the impression he was a sailor of some sort. In the vision he was on the deck of a boat or ship. I couldn’t tell which one. The seas were calm around him and I could hear the shouts of other sailors on the ship with him.”

  “What did he want?” Myrtle again. Her eyes were firmly fastened on Glinda’s face.

  Glinda tilted her head and replied in a soft voice, “He told me he needed my help, our help–he actually mentioned all of you–to right a terrible wrong he’d done in his life to his young wife and daughter which is keeping him from moving on.”

  “He asked for us by name?” Now Abigail was also intrigued.

  “Well not by name, more by his thoughts,” Glinda explained with a casual wave of her hand as she leaned back against the gazebo’s railing. The sunlight which caught at some of the strands of her silver hair made them sparkle. “He gave me glimpses of Myrtle, Frank and you and made me understand whom he was speaking of.”

  “What else did he give you glimpses of?” Frank caught Abigail’s eye. She smiled back at him. The mystery had begun.

  “Not much more than that. For now. He said he’d see me again. So I thought because you, Frank, grew up here and Myrtle,” she met Myrtle’s gaze, “have lived here so long, one of you might make a connection of some sort for me.”

  “Hmm,” Abigail interjected, summing up the clues, “a sailor from another century, a possible wrong done his family, a wife and a daughter, which he now wants to right. That’s not much to go on.”

  “I know I haven’t heard the last from our sailor.” Glinda exchanged a look with Frank as she said it. “Ah, you’ve remembered something, haven’t you, Frank?”

  She said that because Frank’s expression was one of deep contemplation then sudden enlightenment. Abigail had seen that look before many times. He’d made a connection or had recalled something.

  “Maybe. Glinda, you said you think he was a sailor from the last century...perhaps around seventy, eighty years ago? There was a young wife and daughter wronged in some way and he wants you, us, to help make amends to them?”

  “That’s approximately what I gleaned from the vision. As you know the images are sometimes fragmented and often difficult to decipher. I need more to really know what he wants.”

  “So you didn’t get any names from him? Didn’t get his name?”

  “No. But I’ll be sure to ask next time I see him, if he does revisit me.” Glinda shook her head. “You can’t depend on those ghosts for anything concrete, you know. They like to tease and taunt, and sometimes they only let you see scraps or pieces of things. Often they’re fickle, vindictive or annoying. They don’t live by the same rules as live people do.”

  Myrtle chuckled and elbowed her niece affectionately. “So true, so true. They are capricious entities. Me, myself, I only believe half of whatever a spirit shows or tells me. You never know what their ulterior motives are.”

  Frank didn’t react to their remarks, but thoughtfully continued on with, “I think I might know who your sailor ghost could be. Truth is, this place, the graveyard, the gazebo, and the original owner, or the builder, of Glinda’s house, have quite a local history, almost a legend, to them. All my life I grew up hearing bizarre stories of the man who built and lived in Evelyn’s house, now your house. He was quite a character, and he was a sailor, oh, about seventy, eighty years ago in the nineteen thirties or forties. Supposedly, before he settled here, he traveled the world seeking riches and plunder. He was a genuine treasure hunter, an explorer. He abandoned his family to seek a very special treasure on some island in the Caribbean and when he returned many years later his wife and daughter were lost to him. Or so the legend says.”

  “Just like Jack Sparrow in those pirate movies.” Myrtle was bobbing her head as she peered up at them from her step. Pursing her lips, she scratched her head. “He was a treasure hunter who sailed the seas and looked for gold. That Johnny Depp, what a cutie.”

  “And if I remember correctly,” Frank added, ignoring Myrtle’s comments, “later in his life it was said he tried to find his family. He hired private detectives to search, but his family was never found.”

  “Did he find the treasure?” Abigail asked.

  “Some say he must have because,” Frank was studying the landscape, the graveyard, “he eventually returned to Spookie, throwing cash all over the place, bought a large parcel of land, this land, and built what one day would be Evelyn’s house. But he kept to himself. At the moment I don’t recollect his name, but perhaps it’ll come to me in time. He was an eccentric recluse and was rarely seen in town. He had no real friends, just servants and workers, and didn’t interact with anyone once his house had been built.” Frank paused as if he were dredging up elusive memories from long ago. “I don’t recall much more than that, for now.”

  In the distance a flock of ebony birds flew in circles and arcs, moving in an intricate dance, and swept away beyond the trees. Abigail loved watching the sky acrobats and had to drag her eyes away.

  “Well, we’ll compile what you two do ultimately remember, what we can find out from the old newspaper articles if there are any, and I’ll let you know if the sailor appears to me again,” Glinda stated. “Perhaps he’ll give me more clues to what he wants from us.

  “Well, I hate leaving good company, but it’s getting late and I have a client coming at three for a reading. Got to keep making money if I want groceries in the pantry.” She stood up.

  Abigail rose from the bench and strolled down the steps past Myrtle. “Yep, we need to be going, too. I have some sketches to finish before tomorrow for my next job.”

  Myrtle was right behind her. “Oh, then you did get that mural commission from that Mexican restaurant?”

  “I did,” Abigail concurred. And it would be a real challenge; one she couldn’t wait to tackle. The restaurant, South of the Border, had recently opened on Main Street and served authentic Mexican dishes in a high class ambience. She’d eaten there twice already and loved how the place was decorated with vivid colors and live plants and flowers. T
he second time she’d been there the owner, Miguel Angel, had approached her and asked if she’d be interested in painting an authentic Mexican town on three of the walls.

  “I want my customers,” he’d explained when he’d pitched the job to her, “to feel as if they are dining in a genuine Mexican village. The people and the buildings must look real. I want my patrons to feel the hot summer sun and smell the brightly colored flowers everywhere, too. Mrs. Lester, I’ve seen your work around Spookie and I love everything you’ve done. That wall mural on the side of the building as you come into town is amazing. What do you think? Would you be interested in painting my mural? If you are we can discuss fair compensation later after you’ve come up with the preliminary sketches. How soon can you have them? I would really love to get started on this.”

  Of course she had accepted the commission. She’d finished her last job, a painting of someone’s house complete with the family and the dog in front of it, the week before and had been wondering when she’d be offered another job. Prayer answered. Before she’d left the restaurant she already had ideas swirling around in her head. As always she was excited at the beginning of a new artistic undertaking. It was one of the things she lived for.

  That meeting had been the day before and she’d planned on beginning the sketches that afternoon. She was eager to get home and begin.

  The four of them returned to Glinda’s house and went their separate ways. Myrtle to her house claiming she had things to do, heaven knew what, and she and Frank went to their home.

  Once inside, Abigail inquired, “Frank, are you going back to the office now or are you going to work on the new book?” He hadn’t told her much about the new novel. He rarely did in the beginning and she never nagged him. He’d tell her about it when he was ready.

  “No, I thought I’d go by the newspaper and do some digging on our sailor ghost. Since our visit with Glinda, I’m intrigued. I just called the newspaper and Samantha is there now getting the new issue ready for press. I mentioned what I wanted, told her about Glinda’s ghostly visitation, and she said she’d look in the archives for me before I got there and pull out anything she finds about the situation. She said she’d heard the stories about the sailor who’d built Evelyn’s house and his hidden treasure all her life. Seemed real interested in the whole thing. You want to come with me?”

  “Nah. I’m going to knock out those sketches for Miguel Angel. He’s expecting them tomorrow. You go ahead. You can fill me in on everything you learn when you get back.

  “You know, Frank, I can’t believe we’re on another one of Myrtle’s crazy mysteries again. How did this happen?”

  “Well, to be fair, it wasn’t Myrtle’s doing, honey. It isn’t one of Myrtle’s mysteries at all if you think about it. It is Glinda’s. She’s the one who was contacted by the sailor’s ghost. She’s the one who’s asked us for help.”

  Abigail shook her head and released a stoic sigh. “I guess you’re right. But she’s Myrtle’s niece and now we have two of them who see ghosts and drag us into dangerous secrets we are supposed to help solve. You know as well as I that somehow it’ll all lead us to a big fat mess of one sort or another. It always does.”

  Frank hugged her as he chuckled. “You’re right about that. But I don’t mind. Life was getting too boring anyway.”

  “Yeah, for you maybe. I like it boring and safe with Laura in college, only coming home on weekends, and Nick following his musical siren by being in a band and practicing almost every night. And your son, Kyle, a busy medical resident hours away. We have the house to ourselves more and it’s quiet. Most of the time anyway. Unless Myrtle or Glinda drop in and bring their normal brand of chaos, as they frequently do.”

  Life was good and Abigail didn’t want anything to change it. Nick at sixteen was lost in his music. He could play a melody on his guitar simply by hearing it once and he was already writing his own songs. The boy was a musical genius and as talented in it as his sister was in art. Abigail was so proud of both of them, the adults they were becoming, and blessed the day so many years ago she’d met them in the library, two hungry urchins with big eyes, and the day she decided to take them under her wing and raise them. Now they were her and Frank’s children as much as Kyle and as if they’d been born to them. Laura and Nick had made her and Frank’s life so much fuller and better. And Kyle was now in his third year of medical residency at a large Chicago hospital and doing exceedingly well. He was on his way to being a good doctor. He wanted to complete a full seven years before he would hang out his physician’s shingle...hopefully joining Doctor Andy’s practice in Spookie. Frank was thrilled his son wanted to be a small town doctor and he had chosen Spookie to be that small town. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Doc Andy would be retiring about the time Kyle would be ready to take over. They rarely saw Kyle these days because his schedule was so demandingly hectic at the hospital. Whenever Frank could swung it, though, he’d drive up to Chicago and drop in at the hospital or Kyle’s apartment to visit. He missed his son.

  “Don’t worry. How can a dead sailor’s spirit who only wants atonement for his earthly sins, to find his child, and a hidden treasure which may or may not have ever existed lead to any real problems for us? It was all so long ago. Probably nothing will come of any of this. Glinda has trances and dead people visiting her all the time and often they never revisit. That’ll end it. But the whole buried treasure scenario fascinates me–everyone loves tales of buried treasure–and I’m thinking I might use it somehow in my new book. The legend, I mean.”

  “You might, huh?”

  He nodded. “So I want to learn more about it.”

  “I guess I’ll see you later then,” she said as he headed for the door. “For supper?”

  “Since you’re going to be busy on those sketches, you want me to bring back something for us?” Frank offered. “How about a pizza from Marietta’s?”

  “That sounds tasty. Get some of their cheesy bread and salads, too, enough for Nick. He’ll be at band practice until eight but we’ll save him some.” It was the middle of the week so Laura was at art school six hours away. The house sometimes felt empty without the children in it, but Abigail looked forward to the evening of solitary drawing. Just her and Snowball. The cat was getting older, no longer a kitten, and in the evening when she was working the cat liked to sleep on the chair beside her.

  “I will pick up a pizza and sides.” Frank gave her a kiss before he walked out.

  Abigail stood at the door for a moment and then gathered her art supplies so she could get started drawing. She had the strangest feeling someone would soon come knocking at her door and disrupt her solitude. Time to get to work before that happened.

  Chapter 2

  FRANK PRACTICALLY BUMPED into Claudia as he got out of the truck and headed towards The Weekly Journal’s building. The sun was in his eyes but he knew who the woman was the minute she spoke.

  “Hi Frank. What brings you to town in the middle of the day? Abigail said you were working at the sheriff’s department today on your consulting job?”

  “Good morning Claudia.” He met her eyes as she paused on the sidewalk outside the newspaper’s window; clutching a white box he recognized immediately as one from The Delicious Circle bakery. “I took off early. Glinda had to tell me about one of her latest visions so I went to her place. The gang was there, Myrtle and my wife. I’ve just come into town to check something out at the newspaper. Samantha is expecting me.

  “How are you and your husband doing?”

  “Oh,” she spoke with an amused inflection in her voice, “we’re fine. Since Ryan finished the Willowby’s kitchen remodeling he’s restless. Again. He’s back to going on and on about taking that dream trip to Africa to hunt big game before he dies. You know how he is?”

  Frank grinned. He knew. Claudia’s husband had been talking about a safari to Africa since he’d known him. Thirty years, at least. He wanted to bag a wildebeest or a Greater Kudu or some such be
ast. Everyone had their dream vacations. Frank wanted to go to Ireland and wander around in the small quaint villages. Abby had always dreamed of visiting England. One day perhaps they’d even go.

  “And at the homestead we’ve been overrun lately with these sneaky raccoons. An entire family of them. They get into our trash cans every week and make a mess of things in the street. One, a baby, even snuck into the house through the dog door the other day and, boy, did Ryan have a wild time getting it out again. It got in the cookie jar and ate half the cookies before we realized it was in the house. It jumped in his face when he first tried to catch it. Small as it was, it sure could run and hide like a little demon. We finally cornered it, tossed it into a bag, and set it free outside where its mother was anxiously waiting for it. She tried to bite him. You should have seen my brave husband fighting that tiny critter. Ha! It nearly got the best of him, let me tell you. And he wants to go to Africa and hunt big game? Yeah, sure. That man!” She was shaking her head.

  Frank couldn’t help but smile. “Raccoons can be pesky all right.” He said nothing about Ryan’s forever trip to the Dark Continent. No need to. “How come you’re not in your shop selling books?” His eyes were on the bakery box. He’d had an early breakfast but it was past two now and his stomach was growling. He thought he could actually smell the pastries Claudia had bought.

  Claudia laughed and raised the box. “I suddenly had the irresistible desire for some of Kate’s famous glazed donuts so after lunch I stopped by there and purchased a dozen. Now I’m going back to the bookstore to have some with coffee. Can I interest you in joining me?”

  The offer was tempting, but when Frank glanced up he saw Samantha in the window gesturing at him.

  “Any other time I’d happily accept, Claudia. You know I love Kate’s donuts. But Samantha is waiting for me and you know you can’t keep a pregnant lady waiting.”