Authors: Kathryn Meyer Griffith
On the way home she brooded over the unlucky things befalling the elderly in town. Were they really true hauntings? And, oh, how she wanted to know the answer because she couldn’t get the man-in-the-window-glass out of her mind. Was his appearance a warning that something worse was about to happen? But just thinking like that made her shiver.
*****
The night rain was pummeling the outside walls of the house but the knock on the door was expected. It was late, though, after ten, and the kids were long asleep.
“It’s storming like a hurricane out there,” was the first thing Frank declared as she ushered him into the living room. “The Lemmons Creek is overflowing and flooding the roads on the east side of town and I had to backtrack more than once just to get here.”
“Kind of late, isn’t it?” She was in her nightgown and robe and had been about to go up to bed. Earlier she’d given up on Frank stopping by but here he was.
He wiped the wetness off his face and slipped out of his jacket. “What I have learned can’t wait. Well, I thought of waiting until tomorrow morning or calling you, but I knew you’d want to know. And I wanted to see you.” Frank settled on the sofa, pulled Abigail down beside him and gave her a kiss.
Snowball was asleep on one end of the couch and didn’t wake when Frank came in. The cat was used to him coming and going. To her he was part of the family.
The living room was shadowed with faint light because she’d been busy at the kitchen table sketching ideas she’d had for a new painting. A section of evening woods filled with eerie looking trees and mist. She always had to be working on something. Besides doing commission work she sold her paintings in some of the local stores. They sold well so she always made sure she had a good supply of them out there.
After the kiss she prompted, “Okay, tell me.”
“I cornered Samantha at the newspaper office and spoke to her about those other three victims around town. She gave me their names and addresses and I went to talk to each of them. All old folks…living in the vicinity of Beatrice and Alfred’s houses; actually within a five, six mile radius. Just as I’d suspected.”
“The same neighborhood?”
“The
same
neighborhood.
“They all had stories very similar to what we’ve already seen and heard. You might know them. Jeff Stricklin, Clementine Kitteridge and Dotty Cumming? Though Dotty is younger than the rest she only lives about five miles away from Beatrice.”
“Now that’s odd, isn’t it?” she muttered. “Unless the trouble makers are targeting that exact area for some reason. I don’t know Jeff Stricklin, but I know who Dotty Cumming is. I’ve seen her around town here and there and you’re right, she’s about fifty or so. I know Clementine Kitteridge, too, and she happens to be Kate Greenway’s mother.”
“Kate Greenway?”
“You know, the woman who’s going to open the new bakery on Main Street? The commission I’m working on now?” Abigail’s thoughts were contemplating what he’d just told her. “That’s a coincidence.”
“There are no–”
Abigail put her fingers to his lips. “I know, I know.”
Her eyes went to the window as a flash of lightning lit up the outside. The wind cried as if the lightning had hurt it. “What do you think is going on here, Frank? I mean, these vandalisms and all? What’s behind them?”
“It sure as hell isn’t ghosts, as Beatrice believes. That I’m sure of,” Frank said, reclining against the couch.
“But why would anyone want to torment old people in their homes? I don’t see any reason for it.”
“I think I do,” Frank replied softly. “After grilling those three people Samantha directed me to I have a theory.”
“And that theory is?”
“Someone either has something against these people, they want to scare them or they want them to leave their homes. I know Alfred and Clementine said they’d never move but Jeff and Dotty are frightened enough to be considering it. They told me so. You should see the mess at Dotty’s place. It’s like a tornado went through her yard. Her flowers were yanked up by the roots and half her windows were broken or cracked. She’s seen unexplained shapes flitting around her yard at night, making weird noises. She’s afraid to let her dog, Spot, outside. And Jeff…someone burned his garage down two days ago.”
“What does the sheriff’s department say about all this?”
“Oh, what they always say. They’re looking into it. No leads so far.”
“What’s new? And how was Clementine?” Abigail had to ask.
“That was the hardest visit of all. She almost didn’t answer the door, she was so afraid. She’s close to ninety years old and obviously isn’t well, physically or mentally.” He lightly tapped his forehead. “She believes, as does Beatrice, that everything that’s happening is supernatural. Poltergeists are behind everything. She hadn’t even reported her troubles to the police; I had to do that. But then she doesn’t know from minute to minute what day it is and forgets what she was going to say at any given moment. Half the stuff she told me made no sense. She might have dementia, Alzheimer’s or an illness something like it.”
“That’s one of the reasons why Kate moved back here, to take care of her.”
“From what I’ve seen, she’ll have her hands full. I couldn’t tell if Clementine’s house was a pigpen or if someone had trashed it. And something else is bothering me. Because of the severity of the storm, after I left Clementine’s place, and since I was so near, I decided to look in on Alfred. See how he was doing. He never answered the door. So now I’m worried.”
“Maybe he didn’t hear you? Or didn’t want company?”
“That could be. But I can’t imagine why he’d be rambling out in the bad weather, in the rain and wind. He’s an old man. Old men huddle in their homes during a storm. I’ll have to go back there again tomorrow or the next day and see if I can catch him home.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Outside the thunder boomed and the water hit the roof hard. Frank didn’t stay much longer. But before he left, they planned for their trip the following weekend with the children and Abigail showed him her new sketches.
Then he drove off into the rainstorm.
Chapter 4
Myrtle and Tina
It was the final night of the seven day cruise and they were floating back to where they’d begun and would be there by morning. It’d been a pretty nifty voyage, all things considered. Myrtle and her friend Tina had raked in the cash each night gambling with a group of rummy players so the voyage had turned out extremely profitable.
The cabin they shared on the top deck was a nice one. Sort of small, but they had a great view from the balcony of water…lots and lots of water. Not that it mattered. They didn’t spend much time in the cabin because there were too many things to do–bingo, play cards, eat and watch live shows or movies–and people to watch, meet and talk to.
And then there were the glamorous port stops they made. Myrtle enjoyed roving the foreign streets and admiring the wares and souvenirs, but she rarely bought anything. Waste of money, she’d carp. She did the cruises for the gambling, the food and to get away. She and Tina would sample every stop but didn’t stay out long. Besides, her legs were beginning to give her trouble and hiking around the live-long day off ship made her too exhausted to play cards all night. So she limited the physical activity.
The food on board had been lip-smacking; best she’d ever had. And she was determined to eat as much as she could before they docked. Shame she didn’t have food pouches in her cheeks like chipmunks had. Boy, could she stuff a mouthful of food into those if she had them. Well, she did have an enormous purse, stuffed with plastic bags waiting to be filled, she’d been dragging around. That worked even better. Candy of any kind wasn’t safe from her.
Myrtle sidled up for the third time to the dinner buffet, grabbed a clean piece of china, utensils and napkin, and began heaping food on the plate. All the shrimp, crab and fried chicken she could eat. Yummy. The desserts this time were spectacular. She’d eaten so much ice cream with all the toppings they could stick a cherry on her head and call her a sundae. A dollop of cocktail sauce slopped onto the front of her sunflower dress and she swiped it off with a napkin.
Oh, she adored these cruises, but she’d probably added five pounds since they’d left home port. What did she care? She was old. No one cared if she was fat or not. Her friend, Tina, didn’t. But then Tina was a chubby dumpling herself.
Myrtle bobbed her head at her shipmate over the buffet offerings, and they exchanged satisfied grins. Tina’s plate was heaped higher than hers. Bet Tina had gained ten pounds so far. Tina could afford to because she was a good foot taller than her. Tina the giant. Tina had a bird’s nest of curly dyed-strawberry hair and sparse fur on her chin; one of her hazel colored eyes sat lower than the other at half-mast. But they’d been friends since grade school and, of their entire decrepit crowd from that time, they were the last two left breathing. Sure Tina had her peculiarities but, by their ages, didn’t they all? So she fell asleep at the oddest times, snored like a sick buffalo and had this quirk where she stuffed left over food into her pocketbook or pockets to devour later? And sometimes forgot it was in there…for days. Oh, well, no one was perfect.
On the plus side, Tina was an adventurous individual and was at all times open to going anywhere, anytime. She enjoyed gambling and could play a mean hand of pinochle or poker. Winning was her specialty. That’s why Myrtle liked to take her along on cruises or to the gambling casinos. Of course Tina wasn’t as well off as she was, her investments not chosen as wisely, so Myrtle had to often pay her way or help her out some. It didn’t matter. The companionship was worth it.
She reckoned her time on earth was dwindling so she’d best grab all the excitement and gusto she could. Eat, travel and have all the adventures she could cram into the remaining years. Cruising was an adventure she’d come to later in life and she had catching up to do.
Years ago, thirty by her count now, when she’d been married, she’d never done much of anything. Her husband Oscar, sweet moose-of-a-man that he’d been, had been a home body of the worse sort. Looking back now, she supposed he probably had that sickness…the one where people couldn’t or wouldn’t leave their house. Agoraphobia she thought it was called. He’d never wanted to go nowhere but work and home, work and home. When their children, a son they’d named Silas and a daughter they’d called Alisha, had been young, her husband had forced himself to take them places. Doctor and dental appointments. The skating rink. Movie matinees. Sports events and school dances. Then, after they’d grown up and left home for distant shores, Oscar had permanently planted himself in his over-stuffed recliner, when he wasn’t at work at the factory, and that had been that.
Myrtle frowned slightly as her memory replayed her life. When retirement finally arrived Oscar and his chair had been nigh inseparable and Myrtle, being the good wife, had stayed at home with him, except for visits to the store and bank. Until he got cancer and over a terrible four years slowly wasted away until there was nothing left. Myrtle had dearly loved her moose and had grieved for a long time. She’d been lonely. Sad. Then one day she’d said:
the heck with this!
and had grabbed Alisha’s old red wagon and started her roaming expeditions around Spookie looking for her treasures and new friends. Years after her husband had died she finally began to live.
Now she was virtually alone in the world, except for her friends, because she’d outlived Alisha and Silas, too. Silas had died twenty years before in an airplane crash. He’d grown up to be a shrewd investment broker with a national brokerage company, which is why and how she’d learned to so wisely invest. He’d set up her account, taught her how and what to invest in and how to grow it, and she’d been an excellent pupil. Silas never married. So Myrtle had no grandchildren. And her sweet daughter Alisha? Alisha with the curious brown eyes and long silky hair the hue of spun silk? She’d grown up to be a great artist living in New York, but one fateful, awful day she’d gotten on the subway and was never seen again. She evaporated into the city, the world, the ether. Forever. Childless also. That was a long ten years ago.
But life was for the living so Myrtle had gone on. What other choice was there?
She filled her plate and sat down at a table. Her eyes took in the wall of windows. A bird, possibly a seagull or a dodo bird, flew across behind the open expanse of glass to the right of her table, tipped its wings at her and winked.
They always got a table by the windows. Tina liked looking out at the ocean as it churned by. Myrtle didn’t know why. The waves and water all looked the same to her with miles and miles of blue and green and every once and a while a monster fish or the Loch Ness Monster jumping out of the whitecaps. Oh well, that was in her mind. Truth was, the sea wasn’t that exciting.
The water was boring, except during sea storms. They’d had a doozy of a tempest the third night they were out at sea. The ship bucked and rocked like one of those crazy machine bulls in a country bar. The sea had roiled with waves higher than the boat. The rain had come down in a solid sheet rippled with lightning.
Myrtle had perched by their cabin window in a chair and soaked it all in. Now that had been exciting. But Tina had cowered in her single bed behind her, moaning, praying that they’d live through the night; a throw-up bucket close by. Of course, the storm had eventually subsided, the seas calmed, and Tina had dragged herself from her bed. They’d dressed and went to breakfast. Tina hadn’t eaten much, though, at that morning’s spread. Myrtle hadn’t minded. There had just been more for her.
The remainder of the cruise the weather and the seas were tranquil. They’d spent the nights in the lounges or the bars gambling with their new friends and eating. Myrtle wasn’t much of a booze drinker. A person had to have a clear head to play cards so they could remember what they’d seen played and what was left to play. Tina never drank. She was a teetotaler from way back. She liked cherry Pepsi.