The Ghost in Mr. Pepper's Bed Page 13

  Here was her break.

  “Ryan, Poppy came to my spirit intervention session…”

  “Your what?” Ryan asked, his expression perplexed.

  Sonya sighed, her attempt at another good catch phrase dashed. “Séance,” she corrected. “Poppy came to my séance last night, and she told us her name and where she died.”

  The man behind his desk put his head in his hands.

  “She really is dead. God! I want to believe you, Mrs. Caruthers, if for no other reason than I feel like a man who’s been haunted. I loved Poppy and no other woman has ever come close to her.”

  For a minute, he sat and stared at a three-inch stainless steel man balancing on a miniature pedestal and holding a barbell. Ryan reached over and gave the tiny statue a gentle flick. He and Sonya both watched as the stick-man rocked back and forth on his pointy, metal feet.

  “I’m ready to put down this weight,” he said finally with a hint of exhaustion in his tone. “Where do we find her?”

  Sonya sat up briskly and smiled. “If you come to my house tomorrow at around seven in the evening, I will hopefully be able to bring Poppy to us. She may be difficult because my…helper who works with me and relates well with ghosts, I mean spirits, is out of town at the moment.”

  Ryan squinted his eyes and answered her with an expression of uncertainty. “Well, I’ll come by, but I’ve got one question. If she’s dead, then someone had to murder her, right?”

  This might be the reason Zeb didn’t want Ryan to be told, Sonya suddenly realized. Her shortsightedness with the living was always a problem for Sonya.

  “Well,” she said drawing out the word, “that’s yet to be seen. Sheriff Walker is doing some investigation regarding the Turner house being burned down and the body found in the pit. There was talk of a treasure, so maybe that brought Poppy back as well.”

  Ryan calmed down and again ran his hand through his hair.

  “If she was murdered, I’ll kill him.”

  “Who?” she asked tremulously.

  “Rick. He killed her. I can feel it.”

  “Poppy fell down a set of stairs, and someone did bury her, Ryan; but that doesn’t mean we have proof of a murder. Don’t point blame yet. We need facts, and in this case, we actually have a chance at getting some proof with the help of the victim. If she was murdered, and you create a big hullabaloo that tips off the guilty person, we will lose our chance at resolving this completely. You need to be discrete, okay?”

  Their eyes met and Ryan, after a few sticky seconds, nodded his agreement.

  “She was a beautiful person. I loved her the minute I laid eyes on her. Every day since she was taken from me, I’ve missed her, and I’m angry, I guess. I can’t get over the anger of it. I knew Ricky was lying when he said she ran off with some guy in Springville.”

  He sat down again like all the air had been deflated from his earlier puffed up torment.

  Sonya nodded. “I do understand, and you need to know that she can’t go to her next home until you let go and are at peace, too. That’s why you both need to say goodbye. Ryan, if you love her, you’ve got to let go. If you don’t, Poppy will suffer in ways no mortal can ever understand.”

  There might have been a tear in Ryan Houseman’s eye, but he blinked and made a pretense at rubbing his temple effectually obliterating any trace of the tear’s existence.

  “If it’s her, I’ll know.” He paused and went on. “I love her. I miss her, but I want her to be happy and maybe, who knows, we’ll be together again someday.”

  Sonya smiled and stood up to go. “That,” she said with finality, “goes without a doubt.”

  Chapter 23

  “It’s Poppy?” Ricky asked with a look of fear blanching his face and causing his upper lip to break out in a dewy, nervous sweat.

  Sheriff Walker was enjoying himself. The morning had started out with a perusal of the forensic report from Pineville and the dental records retrieved by Deputy Kirchner from Dr. Dempster’s office. It was by special request and police escort that Ricky Mitchell had been transported to the police department to discuss his wife’s disappearance.

  Zeb watched the human heap sitting opposite him. Ricky didn’t look like a murderer, but most people are excellent at hiding their inner demons.

  “We are, of course, waiting on DNA confirmation, Ricky, but the dental records match exactly. You’ve got some explaining to do. If you want an attorney present, you may request one. It’s important, though, that at this point in the investigation, you tell us everything that happened the night Poppy died.”

  “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking!” Ricky cried throwing his hands up in a gesture of despair. “Okay, I lied about her coming back to town and I forged the divorce document, but that was because she disappeared, and I wanted to marry Melanie.”

  Ricky laid his head down on the wooden table between him and Zeb and moaned causing the rickety thing to wobble and shake. Zeb rolled his eyes heavenward. The cowardice nearly oozed from the pathetic man’s pores. Something didn’t fit.

  “A jury might think that’s the very reason you killed her. You wanted to be rid of her and you wanted her money,” Zeb said trying to push another button.

  “Money! She never had a penny,” Ricky said practically spitting the last word with disgust. “Old Mother Turner took every dime with her when she left. I’d asked Poppy for a divorce and we’d both agreed on it. She knew about Melanie, and I knew about Ryan. We were both sick of each other and our marriage.”

  “When was the last time you saw Poppy?” Zeb asked.

  Ricky took a drink of the bottle of water in front of him and swallowed hard.

  “It was a year ago at the end of August. Remember we had the huge flood? She’d come home from being with Ryan and found me upstairs packing. Poppy was fine with me leaving. She even told me to come back for my other things anytime.”

  “So, what happened? Did you leave? Take up housekeeping with Melanie and never see Poppy again?” Zeb asked with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

  “It was when I went back to the house about two days later to get more stuff that I realized something wasn’t right. The door wasn’t locked and the cats came running and mewing like they were hungry. I called out for her, but she was nowhere to be found.”

  “Did you look for her in town? Ask people if they’d seen her? Why didn’t you contact the police about the situation?”

  Ricky rubbed his hands together nervously. Zeb saw his uncertainty about something.

  “Rick, it’s going to come out anyway, so you might as well tell me now and maybe I can help you.”

  After a short time, he seemed to make up his mind. “Melanie said we should stay quiet about Poppy disappearing. She said since we weren’t divorced, I had the right to sell the contents.” He shrugged. “So we did, and when people gave me the eye and asked about where Poppy got off to, I made up the story about Poppy running off with some guy in another town.”

  “Ryan Houseman didn’t believe you, did he?”

  Ricky’s face puckered up like he smelled something bad. “That son-of-a-…”

  “Now, Ricky,” Zeb said holding up his hand, “let’s keep it real. I know what happened between you and Ryan. I was there to pull him off you. He claimed you killed her.”

  “Houseman had the gall to attack me that day in front of the grocery store. He’s crazy. If that body you claim is Poppy, why don’t you have Houseman in here questioning him? I didn’t murder Poppy. I didn’t need to.”

  Zeb considered Ricky’s claim and asked, “Why haven’t you ever sold the Turner place? It’s worth a fortune.”

  “It’s not mine to sell. The house and land belong to Nellie Turner and her descendants. Can’t be touched, and I found that out after I married Poppy and Mother Turner made sure to remind me of it daily.”

  “Why didn’t you divorce before?”

  Ricky didn’t answer, but Zeb could guess the answer. It was for the hope of
money. There was one last question he wanted to ask.

  “Did you decide not to have children?”

  Now it was Ricky’s turn to roll his eyes to heaven. He shook his head.

  “She never got pregnant. I lost interest in her.”

  “I can’t hold you for murder, Rick. Someone buried your wife not more than three miles from the home you both shared for six years. You gained a modicum amount of money from her disappearance and you’ve forged legal documents. It’s this last bit that may buy you some time in jail. I’ve pulled the divorce document you forged. It’s six months past the date Poppy went missing. I suggest you get an attorney.”

  Zeb got up and signaled for one of his deputies to come and collect Ricky. He’d probably get Melanie to put up bail and the wheels of justice would begin to grind.

  Once Ricky was gone from the room, Zeb collected his files and headed to his office. He believed Ricky Mitchell was innocent of the murder, but he definitely knew more than he was letting on. People who were guilty had different body language and something about the way he answered the questions made Zeb suspect he didn’t do it.

  Picking up his phone, he dialed Ryan Houseman’s number. It was time to bring him in and talk, but, as he was dialing the number to the tractor supply, he put the phone back down on its cradle.

  “Hey! Kirchner! Come in here!” he called.

  “Yeah, what’s up, sir?” Tommy appeared in the doorway.

  “Let’s take a drive and bring your new dog. We’re going out to the Turner place. I’d like to see something and I might need another hand.”

  “Sure. I’m ready when you are,” Tommy said with an easy-going smile.

  Soon, they were heading out of town down along the river not far from where it had all begun. It was a nice day. Not too muggy yet, and, with the windows down, the air whipped through the car’s interior bringing that scent of earth, water, and fresh-cut grass into the cab.

  “Do you think Mitchell killed his wife?” Tommy asked as he maneuvered the car along the bends in the road.

  “If I had one guess, I’d say no. I don’t want to think Ryan Houseman did it either. If Ricky did kill her, it wasn’t for the right to sell a few trinkets and to be with Melanie. I don’t think he’s telling the truth about the night he left Poppy. As for Ryan, if he had a motive for murdering her, it hasn’t come to light. The day I pulled him off Ricky, Ryan Houseman was a crazed animal. He had blood in his eye and he would have killed Mitchell if I hadn’t been there.”

  Tommy shook his head slightly. “What about Melanie Mitchell? How does she play into this whole story?”

  “That’s a good question. She certainly didn’t gain much by Poppy’s death unless you figure on Ricky being a prize.”

  Both men smiled at the idea.

  “Do you think the house burning down has anything to do with all of this?” Tommy asked.

  “Deputy, that question smells like you’ve been talking with Mrs. Caruthers,” Zeb said with a hint of teasing in his voice. “Has our resident spiritualist made a believer of you yet?”

  Tommy grinned and eyed the sheriff. “Actually, sir, yes to both questions. I’m telling you, she definitely has some kind of special ability. She told me I’d have two new people come into my life and it happened.”

  “You’re not considering that dog in the back are you?” Zeb asked.

  Looking in his rear view mirror at Sheba with her head hanging out the side window, Tommy said, “Mrs. Caruthers told me two new souls would come into my life, both from difficult situations. You’ve got to admit, Sheba’s situations was pretty harsh.”

  Zeb considered his deputy for a moment. “It was probably a coincidence, Tom. As for your question about the Turner house burning down, that’s why we’re going out there. The fire chief told me it looked like the fire started in a kerosene heater in the living room. Could have been tramps staying there and accidentally caught the place on fire, but I’d like to see for myself.”

  “Local kids like to hang out in there, too.”

  “Yeah, but I want to see if there’s been any digging around or signs of people looking for something. People have talked for years about a treasure out there. Poppy Turner may have been killed for it and who knows, the house may have been burned for it as well.”

  Having left Willard at Marnie’s to play with Lewis and Clark, Sonya was busily unpacking her picnic basket and blanket. A cold bottle of ginger ale, crackers with cheese, homemade potato salad, and two fried chicken legs wrapped in tin foil were perfect for a springtime picnic. She’d come out to the Turner house ruins to find Poppy, who’d never returned after Fritz ran her off the day before. After talking with Fritz last night, Sonya knew she needed to find the lost ghost and bring her back fast. Chances were good that Poppy had gone home again.

  The weather-beaten barn was a charming sight in the mid-day light. Painted the traditional red, it was set back far enough from the main house that it wasn’t affected by the fire. A mound of hay filled its upper story loft doors and birds flew in and out making nests for their chicks high up in the old rafters.

  Sonya surveyed the area to decide on a good place to lay her blanket and have lunch. There was a nice backyard in between the house and the barn where a few rickety chairs still sat. A healthy lawn stretched out in all directions, and along its perimeter were wild rose bushes, a few bright forsythias still radiant with their yellow blooms, and huge pink azaleas that were well over fifty years old. Two ancient oak trees provided a nice dappling shade, keeping the sun from being too pervasively hot.

  Thinking there couldn’t be a prettier place to spend a morning, Sonya put the basket on the ground and laid out her lunch. Two crows flew over and landed on the top of the barn to survey her work. She watched them as they cocked their heads to one side and strutted along the roof’s edge. As if sure of Sonya’s decision to stay, they announced her arrival to the rest of the barnyard denizens by making three loud cawing noises and flapping their wings.

  “Oh hush! Do you really think that’s necessary?” she called up to them. “Everyone is completely aware of my presence.”

  With the crows silenced, Sonya lay back on her blanket to gaze into the leafy canopy of the oak tree boughs above her. A soft breeze played among the dancing branches while sunlight dappled down upon where Sonya lay. Feeling drowsy, she shut her eyes to quietly enjoy the serenity of the place. The crows cawed and took flight from the barn’s roof as a shadow moved between Sonya and the sunlight.

  Her eyes fluttered open to see a human silhouette standing over her. Blinking, she sat up trying to make the person come into view better.

  A woman’s voice said, “Are you comfortable? This isn’t your typical picnic spot, lady.”

  Pulling herself upright, Sonya realized she was being addressed by a woman who was probably in her late sixties wearing work overalls and a hat that read ‘Clyde’s Backhoe Service.’ Grey hair was fluffed out around the cap’s bottom, and on her feet were men’s work boots.

  Sonya offered an answer. “I’m Sonya Caruthers. I live in Willow Valley. Who are you?”

  “Maybe I’m not interested in giving out my personal information as quick as you like to do,” said the woman suspiciously. She pursed her mouth together and with a steely stare inspected Sonya from head to toe.

  “Well…” Sonya attempted another route to an introduction, “this is the Turner farm, as you may already know, and I’m curious about the family who used to live here. Do you happen to know them?”

  The newcomer nodded grudgingly. “I might and I might not. Who are you and what do ya want? People don’t come out here unless they are up to no good. What’s your story?”

  Sonya thought it couldn’t hurt to tell the truth. After all, maybe this tough-talking, ninety-eight pound (from the looks of her) character would know something.

  “What I say may be a bit disconcerting for you, but I’m here about a ghost. It’s a woman, and I’ve already spoken with her and she wants help c
rossing over. I believe she was murdered and she wants a proper burial.”

  Most people upon hearing a few statements such as those strung together would have either run Sonya off, backed away with a weak smile on their face, or declared her to be another looney in a world which had too many already. But Nellie Turner squinted her eyes at Sonya like she was trying to figure out what commune she’d wandered away from.

  When she did finally speak, her tone was firm.

  “What the h-e–double-l are you talking about, woman? There’s no ghost living here, and this is my farm, so maybe you’d better be getting along. Take your fancy basket and put your back end on that red motorized bicycle you arrived on and hightail it back to Willow Valley with the rest of those free-love, organic food-eating hippies.”

  Sonya ignored the rant and honed in on the one thing the woman had said that was a clue to her identity. “This is your farm? Are you a Turner?”

  Nellie Turner’s jaw was set in a hard forward manner as if she hadn’t any intention of acknowledging who she was to anyone, especially a trespasser. As for Sonya, she wasn’t easily swayed from her intentions either. She climbed to her own two feet to be on equal footing with the tough-talking matriarch.

  “If you’re Mrs. Turner, I think we need to talk. I won’t pretend to imagine what a difficult situation you’ve returned to.”

  The woman flicked a cursory glance over Sonya’s basket of food. Taking a long shot, Sonya asked kindly, “I’m not a free-love hippy, but I did pack more food than I can eat. Would you care to have some lunch with me? We could get to know each other a bit? I don’t bite and the ability to talk with ghosts wasn’t a choice, it was more like being born with blue eyes or attached earlobes. It’s what I was dealt by nature.”

  This had the desired effect. Hunger may have been a deciding factor in the decision, too, but you work with what you have. Sticking out her hand to shake Sonya’s in the way of a rough greeting, the tough customer bought Sonya’s offer of lunch, saying, “Better to not look a gift horse in the face. Thank you, I would. I’m fairly famished. Been out here two days and didn’t bring enough groceries. Once I show my face in Willow Valley, it’ll be a full-on inquisition. I am Nellie Turner, Poppy’s mama.”