Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove

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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 crowd 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.