Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
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Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
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Two Ghosts Haunt A Grove
Janet McNulty
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents within are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or location is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove
Copyright © 2013 Janet McNulty
Cover Illustration by Robert M. Henry
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Dedication
For all those who ever explored a haunted building only to meet a real ghost.
Chapter 1
Hot August Nights. They weren’t kidding when they coined that phrase. Hot was right. I would say downright blistering. Mr. Stilton wanted to get in on the craze and once again I had to set up a new display for our August special of candles. He wanted to make sure that I used the term Hot August Nights.
My name is Mellow Summers and I had three weeks until I entered my third year of college. Two more years to go until graduation. Who would have thought it? Anyway, I work at the local Candle Shoppe with my friend Jackie. We also rent an apartment together and I have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world, Greg.
But there is one other thing about me that I try to keep under wraps: occasionally I can talk to ghosts. Mostly they just seek me out when they need something. I have Rachel to thank for that. Ever since I helped her solve her own murder, other ghosts decided they wanted the same. Occasionally she pops in just to keep my life interesting. As though it wasn’t interesting enough while juggling a job and a full load of classes.
I came to work in the morning like I usually do on Wednesdays. Right away Mr. Stilton wanted the new display set up. I hadn’t had any time to cool off from the scorching heat outside. It had to be at least 98 degrees already with high humidity. Coming into work today was when everything started. I knew I should have stayed in bed.
The bell above the door jingled as an elderly gentleman walked in. More like he shuffled in. He didn’t look too good.
“Are you Mellow Summers?” he asked me.
I momentarily thought about lying to him. Who was he and why did he want to see me? “Yes,” I said, tentatively.
“My name is Philip Kellmore. I need to speak with you. Is there someplace we can go?”
I glanced around the busy shop. Most of the customers that day came inside just to escape the heat. “I don’t get off for at least five more hours.”
“It’s important,” he said, “I know you see spirits.”
I put the box of candles down. Did he have to say that last bit so loud? “Come over here.”
I dragged him away from the bulk of the customers who busied themselves by glancing at various objects. Quickly, I made certain that no one watched. Noting the sweat forming on his face, I made sure he stood under a vent. He really did not look healthy. “What is this all about?”
“Someone is trying to kill me.”
Oh boy. Why me? “Pardon?”
“What are you deaf?”
“No, but don’t you think you ought to go to the police if you think you are in danger?”
“I believe that Smiley’s Ghost is after me,” said Philip.
I knew ghosts would come into this sooner or later. “Smiley’s Ghost?”
“I usually don’t believe in such things, but—frankly, weird stuff has been happening. I got this threatening letter the other day.” Philip pulled out a crumpled envelope and handed it to me. “It says I’m going to die tonight. Yesterday someone tried to run me over. Now I know you’ve helped solve a few murders recently and I need you to solve mine.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Look, I really think you ought to take this to the cops. They are far better equipped to handle this.”
“Don’t you understand?” Philip Kellmore grabbed my shoulders shaking me slightly. A part of me wanted to scream. “I’m a dead man. Only you can help me. If you don’t then—”
His face had gone ashen as he stopped speaking midsentence. Suddenly, Philip clutched his chest gasping for air. Immediately, I caught him before he fell to the floor.
“Call an ambulance!” I shouted.
Jackie ran up to me. She took one look at the old man in my arms and whipped out her cell phone dialing 911. “We need an ambulance at 110 Main Street. An elderly man seems to be having a heart attack.”
Gently, I laid him on the floor not knowing what else to do. “Breathe slowly,” I said. “Keep your eyes on me.”
I knew the paramedics would never make it on time when Philip Kellmore closed his eyes. Fear filled them. I administered CPR while waiting for the ambulance, but to no avail. The poor, frightened man had died.
The wailing of sirens told me that the paramedics had arrived albeit a bit too late. As they rushed in with their equipment, I moved out of the way. They worked on Mr. Kellmore a bit before pulling a sheet over his head.
“Massive heart attack,” one of the paramedics said as they wheeled the man out of the store.
A sedan pulled up outside. Instantly, I recognized it as Detective Shorts’ car. He strolled through the door all business like. I wondered how he could be wearing a suit in this heat. Soon after spotting me, the man stopped. “Why is it whenever someone turns up dead, you’re here?”
“Uh, I’ve been wondering the same thing,” I said before clapping my hand over my mouth. Now was not the time for sarcasm.
“Detective,” said Jackie, “what are you doing here? The man wasn’t murdered.”
“I realize that, but when a person dies in a public place, the police usually conduct an investigation. Now, who was the last one to speak to Mr.—” Detective Shorts checked his pad, “—Philip Kellmore?”
Warily, I raised my hand.
“Oh, I should have known,” muttered Detective Shorts to himself. “All right, Miss Summers, what did Mr. Kellmore say before he passed away?”
I fidgeted slightly. I did not want to say anything with all of these people around staring at me. Detective Shorts noticed my nervousness. “Officer, push these people back will you? No one may leave until they have been questioned.”
Two uniformed officers pushed the c
rowd back out of ear shot.
“Miss Summers?”
“He said he had come here to speak with me directly.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said he—he said he was about to be murdered.”
Detective Shorts eyebrows shot up. “Did he say who wished to kill him?”
Well, this part wasn’t going to sound good. “Smiley’s Ghost.”
The pen stopped. Slowly, Detective Shorts looked up at me giving me a good, long look over as though trying to determine if I made it all up. “Smiley’s Ghost?”
“That’s what he said,” I replied.
“Was Ichabod Crane searching for him as well?”
The confused look on my face told the detective that I didn’t get the reference.
“Miss Summers, every place has its ghost story. Smiley’s Ghost is ours. According to legend, a man named Joseph “Smiley” Bourtonson sailed to the shores of Vermont from England in 1689. It is believed that he opened an inn in this area. One day he started spouting gibberish and disappeared. A week later his body turned up. It wasn’t long after that that the local townsfolk started reporting sightings of his ghost and any who saw it met an untimely end.”
“I didn’t know you knew about such things,” I said.
“It is a local legend,” replied Detective Shorts.
“I don’t understand how seeing a ghost could cause someone to die.”
“There is a wilderness about fifty miles from here. That is where Bourtonson’s body was found. I know that Mr. Kellmore was planning to develop that area. Did he mention it at all?”
“No,” I said. “Did you say fifty miles from of here?”
The moment Detective Shorts glared at me I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.
“No,” he said.
“What?”
“You are not to go up there. You are not to get involved. So help me I will lock you up if I have to.”
I hung my head.
“Did Mr. Kellmore mention anything else?”
“No,” I replied. “He just said that he thought someone was going to murder him and that he needed my help. Before anything else could happen he clutched his chest and collapsed.”
“Very well. The paramedics believe it was a heart attack that killed him. The coroner will tell for certain. In the meantime, stay available in case I have any more questions.” The detective started to walk off before turning back to me. “And do not under any circumstances go investigating this.” He left.
I reached into my pocket and felt the crumpled letter that Mr. Kellmore had given me. I don’t know why I had forgotten about it. I thought about running after the detective, but changed my mind. There wasn’t any harm in hanging onto it for the moment.
I opened it. “Death awaits you,” it said.
Chapter 2
I tossed and turned in bed that night unable to sleep. I know Detective Shorts said that Mr. Kellmore died of a heart attack, but I could not get his death—most importantly his words—out of my mind. Why was he afraid of a ghost killing him? I had never heard of the legend of Smiley’s Ghost, but decided I would look it up.
Unable to sleep, I pulled out my laptop and turned it on. A Google search of “Smiley’s Ghost, Vermont” brought up about 500,000 results. Sheesh! I clicked on the first one. It turned out to be a product page trying to sell me all kinds of weird stuff. I clicked on the second website listed.
Bingo!
This page was from the Paranormal Research Society of Vermont. I scanned the pictures of the page scrolling down to the bottom. A short paragraph read:
Joseph “Smiley” Bourtonson was born August 1652 in London, England. Seeking his own fortune in the New World, Bourtonson sailed across the Atlantic with the East India Trading Company to Jamestown, Virginia. Not able to make a living selling tobacco, Bourtonson travelled northward to Vermont. He settled in the northern section of the state and built an inn: the Forked Road Inn.
Frequented by travelers from all over, Bourtonson became quite wealthy. He bought the property around his inn and established a grand estate. After the loss of his wife to pneumonia, Bourtonson started speaking nonsense one day. Many of his relatives and friends assumed that he had succumbed to madness and grief. He disappeared in the winter of 1689 only to have his frozen body found a week later.
Soon afterward residents reportedly saw Bourtonson walking around as though he still lived. Such sightings continue to be reported to this day. There is the belief that any who see Bourtonson’s, or Smiley as he is now called, ghost will die. Merely legend? Well, there seems to be some truth to it. Adelaid Kingsley was the first to see Smiley’s Ghosts in 1690. The next morning her father found her dead in her bed. The cause of her death is a mystery as she was a very healthy young girl. Since then at least 50 out of the 75 who have reportedly seen Smiley’s Ghost have died of unknown, or natural causes.
I scrolled through the pictures that people had taken which supposedly had Smiley in them, but I couldn’t make anything out. I checked my clock. Five in the morning. Well, it’s as good a time as any to get up when you can’t sleep. I checked the webpage and wrote down directions for how to get to the property. No harm in checking it out for myself.
Of course, I wasn’t going to go alone. I went to Jackie’s door and knocked. “Jackie?”
“Go away!”
“Jackie, come on. I got something I want to do and you’re coming with.”
“Do you know what time it is?” demanded Jackie.
“Yeah, but I can’t sleep.”
“Where do you want to go anyway?”
“Joseph Bourtonson’s estate. He is also known as Smiley’s Ghost.”
“What!?” Jackie bolted upright in her bed with an astonished expression on her face. “Are you insane?”
“Mr. Kellmore claimed to have seen the apparition and then he died. I want to know if the legend is true and find out what is really going on.”
“Mel, the guy died of a heart attack.”
“But don’t you think it’s a bit strange that it happened after he saw a ghost known for killing people?”
“Go back to bed,” moaned Jackie.
“Fine. I’m going alone then.”
“All right!” Jackie crawled out of bed. “I should have known you wouldn’t let this go.”
Jackie and I both got dressed. I grabbed my keys figuring that I should drive since I was the most awake out of the both of us. Before we left, I snatched a couple of bananas.
The fifty mile drive to the abandoned estate took three hours. It would have been less if we hadn’t gotten a flat tire on the way out there. The strange thing was, I had had my tires checked a week before and they were fine, but the left rear tire popped just as we were a mile away from the estate.
Luckily, I had a jack and wrenches in the trunk. “Wrench?” I said to Jackie.
A wrench held in a gloved hand appeared in my face. I couldn’t believe it. Here it was already eighty degrees out with high humidity and she was wearing gloves to avoid getting her hands dirty on the tools.
“Really, Jackie?”
“I just had a manicure a few days ago.”
“A few chipped nails is nothing to worry about,” I groaned as I attempted to get the washers off.
“It wouldn’t kill you to get a manicure once in a while, Farmer Jane.”
Yep, we were polar opposites. Jackie always looked perfect and put together no matter what outfit she wore. Nails and hair were always perfectly groomed or filed. Her makeup, flawless, and you couldn’t even tell she wore any. Me? I wore boot cut jeans and a tank top with steel-toed boots. No point in getting dressed up all pretty when you’re going to go hiking in the woods.
“Oh, curse the guy who put these on,” I said as I tried to work the lug nuts loose. That’s the problem with changing a tire. At the shop they use an air wrench to put the lug nuts on and I was stuck using what strength I had. “Jackie, I need your help.”
“But it’s mud
dy right there.”
“Will you stop complaining and get you butt down here?”
Grunting, Jackie went to the trunk and pulled out a spare blanket I always kept in there. She carefully placed it on the ground before kneeling down on it.
“You are unbelievable,” I said.
“I don’t feel like getting dirty.”
“A little dirt won’t kill you.”
After several minutes and working up quite a sweat, we managed to loosen the lug nuts. All I needed was to get it to budge; the rest was easy after that. Soon I had the tire off. The spare was in good condition, though I would have to drive more carefully with it.
“Okay,” I said once I had put the hubcap back on, “when I say, remove the jack.”
Jackie grasped the jack waiting my command.
“Now!”
She pulled it free while I steadied the car allowing the new tire to plop on the pavement. “All right let’s go.”
In about ten minutes we pulled up to the abandoned inn.
“Oh, look there’s a gate,” said Jackie, “It might be locked.” Her tone was too hopeful.
I put the car in park and hopped out. It wasn’t that difficult to pick a lock. As I neared the gate I noticed I wouldn’t have to. No lock was there. I swung the gate open remarking at how well-oiled the hinges seemed for a place that was supposed to not be in use. I checked them. Sure enough, someone had recently sprayed WD-40 on them. Not sure what to think of it at the moment, I got back in the car and steered it inside parking near the gatehouse.
“What was that all about?” asked Jackie.
“The hinges were just oiled.”
“Strange. Well, we’re here and I’m hungry.”
“There are some bananas in the back seat.”
“You mean the back seat that the tools are on?”
I turned around. Sure enough, I had forgotten to put the tools back in the trunk. Instead, in my efforts to get here faster, I just tossed them in the back seat right on top of the bananas.