Murder on the Ghost Walk

  Murder on the Ghost Walk

  by

  Constance Barker

  Copyright 2018 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Thanks for Reading

  Catalog of Books

  Chapter One

  Mr. Twain pushed open the old cast iron gate, and the hinges protested with the prerequisite whine. The eerie creaking of the rusty joints served as a sort of welcome for the guests visiting their first stop on the historic ghost tour.

  Once the portal was open, Mr. Twain directed the group up the intricately paved walkway. They stopped just short of a massive set of granite steps leading up into an inviting portico, which housed stately double hung entry doors. He raised his hands to quiet and focus the group, then said, “Here we start our paranormal trip in a place full of history, and home to three specters.” Twain turned to scan the large structure.

  “This elaborate mansion, now converted to a museum, was home to the Montagues, the wealthiest and most powerful family in Sinking Springs during the nineteen twenties. They achieved their rank in society through whiskey distribution for an infamous Chicago based gangster. A noble, if not risky, venture. Proving once again, there will always be a market for the luscious brown liquor, since too much whiskey is barely enough.”

  Karen Broadhurst chuckled then her voice soared over the crowd. “Do you have to pay royalties whenever you quote the real author.”

  The Twain impersonator ignored the loud, distasteful woman and continued. “But let’s head inside where we can continue the story of Stanton and Rosemarie Montague.”

  Another guest, Cynthia Hall rushed to Mr. Twain’s side as they approached the granite stairs. She said, “Don’t listen to her. We love your personality just the way it is.”

  Mr. Twain smiled at the spry woman. She was not much younger than him, but she ascended the stairs like a teenager. He smiled in return and offered a sincere thank you, then he pushed on with the tour.

  Following the lead of their guide, the group climbed the steps and entered the museum. Mr. Twain directed them through the entry foyer to a nearby library.

  Inside the book repository, a well lit display case anchored the center of the large, open room. The walls were lined with overflowing mahogany bookcases. And an intricately carved, exotic wood desk sat opposite the door, strategically positioned so that the person seated behind the desk monitored the entrance.

  Mr. Twain took up position next to the lighted display in the center, and continued. “Stanton Montague conducted much of his business from this library. And business was good all through the nineteen-twenties. But then nineteen thirty-three arrived and proved to be a very bad year for Stanton Montague. The string of bad luck started when his wife, Rosemarie Montague, was found dead with a knife in her back, and the crime was never solved. Then prohibition ended, and so did the days of Stanton Montague selling overpriced, watered down liquor.

  “Eventually, Stanton Montague’s reputation was ruined when it was learned he made his fortune through the illegal distribution of whiskey. And combined with the murder of his wife, a dark shadow fell over his affairs. Business suffered, and twenty years later, he was almost penniless when he too was found dead. Once again, it was a knife to the back, found in the same spot as his wife. And like his wife’s murder two decades earlier, the crime was never solved.”

  A thin, tall woman in her thirties, Nikki Hawkins, shivered. “That’s so bizarre. Both killed the same way, in the same spot.”

  Mr. Twain chuckled. “Yes, very peculiar. But it gets stranger, the knives used were similar. That is what you see in this display I am standing next to. These are the actual murder weapons.” He waved his hand over the top of the case.

  Karen’s strong voice once again cut through the air. “You expect us to believe the police never solved either case. Two murders involving the richest family in town must have been top priority. But they couldn’t solve the cases?”

  Mr. Twain stared at the brazen woman. He guessed she was in her sixties and single. And she clearly had been drinking before the ghost walk. Mr. Twain smelled the rum on her breath when he greeted her earlier at the tourist center, the starting point for their tour. He attempted to use his polite tone. “Yes, it’s precisely how it happened. And it leads us to why we are here as part of our ghost tour. Rumors started soon after Stanton’s death that a ghost had taken justice into its own hands, issuing final verdicts for the husband and wife. For what crimes, we can only infer. But after the second murder, the surviving children and the servants started seeing the ghosts of Stanton and Rosemarie, as well as a third unknown figure. These apparitions are often seen in the conservatory, where both Stanton and Rosemarie Montague were murdered. And sometimes here in the library.”

  “Can we see the observatory?” Karen’s voice boomed over the others who tried to ask questions.

  “The murders occurred in the CONservatory. This home does not have an ‘observatory,’ ma’am. And, yes, the conservatory is open for viewing. I can show you the way in a moment.”

  Karen bellowed, “I want to see a ghost!”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes and moaned. The quiet man she seemed to be friends with, Lewis Bellamy, shushed her.

  Mr. Twain chuckled. “That is not up to us. If we are lucky, the spirits will choose to show themselves.”

  Karen gave Twain a Brooklyn cheer, then quipped, “Sounds like you are making excuses in case we see nothing.”

  Like many in the tour group, George Wicks was in his sixties. But unlike many in this crowd, he appeared to be a polite, mild mannered man. Mr. Twain earlier noticed at the tourist center that Karen and George seemed to be friends, and he spoke softly to her. “Karen, let the man do his job. We will have our fun, I’m sure.”

  Mr. Twain sighed. “I clearly explained before we left the tourist center, there was no guarantee of sighting an apparition or paranormal activity tonight. It is up to the spirits. But we we will do our best to see what we can find.” He paused, then added, “Now, this is the point in our tour where you are free to roam and explore on your own for forty-five minutes.”

  Twain politely glared at Karen. “If you would like, I can show you to the home’s conservatory. Those who would like to see it, follow me.” And with that, he strutted for the exit.

  Cynthia giggled, then said, “Come on, Lewis, let’s go see the place where it happened.” Lewis and Cynthia fell in behind Mr. Twain and join the group being led to the conservatory.

  About half the tour group chose to follow the tour guide. The large mansion swallowed the other half as the
y scattered in all directions. Forty-five minutes was not long to explore a place of this size. But Twain had other stops to make and the museum reluctantly stayed open once a week for the ghost walk. The museum director tried hard to be nice, and wanted to help promote the town’s paranormal reputation, but she also insisted on closing at nine-thirty, sharp. Something about overtime and insurance concerns.

  So it was soon time to leave and Twain scurried from one room to another, searching for the meandering guests. This part of the ghost tour was always intriguing and fun for the tourists. But at the same time, it was the most difficult part of the tour for the guide. Twain struggled on every tour to comply with the museum’s stipulations.

  On entering the library, Mr. Twain spotted Lewis hovering over the display case and he smiled at the sight. Lewis was probably in his mid to late fifties, a gentleman, about the same age as himself. For most of the night Lewis appeared aloof and withdrawn. So, it was good to see him finally showing interest in the ghost tour.

  Mr. Twain strolled over to Lewis while saying in his professorial voice, “Everyone is always interested in the murder weapons. But I prefer the spot where the nasty deed was conducted. Do you...”

  “They’re gone.” It was almost as if Lewis did not hear Twain.

  Mr. Twain flinched. “What did you say?”

  “Someone broke the glass and the knives are gone.” He turned to face the tour guide as he finished speaking.

  As Lewis swiveled to face him, Twain glimpsed the case and noticed the broken glass. However, it was the missing knives, the ones used to murder Stanton and Rosemarie Montague, that commanded his attention. Mr. Twain’s jaw hung and he fought to collect himself. “My good man, if you would be so kind as to help me find the other guests. We need to call the police and assemble our group immediately to account for all present in the museum tonight.”

  Lewis seemed frozen for a couple of seconds, but eventually nodded yes.

  Mr. Twain wondered why Lewis took the ghost walk. The man's mind wandered, and he showed no interest in his ghost stories. Circumstances forced Twain to ask this odd man for help, but he was leery about it.

  Both men exited the library and searched the mansion, telling stragglers to look for others and gather in the large foyer. After examining several rooms, Mr. Twain hurried back to the entry hall hoping to find all the members of his tour assembled. But a head count dashed his plans. He was missing three.

  The distant scream made the hairs on the back of Mr. Twain’s neck stand. It came from the conservatory and he, as well as most of his group, instinctively sprinted toward the sound to investigate.

  On arriving at the large greenhouse, they saw George Wicks kneeling next to a man, lying on the floor face down in the very same spot where the infamous murders of Stanton and Rosemarie Montague occurred. Standing just behind George was Nikki Hawkins.

  Mr. Twain rushed over to the scene but stopped in his tracks when he saw it. The two knives, the ones used to murder Stanton and Rosemarie Montague, were buried in the back of the motionless man.

  Chapter Two

  The morning following a ghost tour, tourists were common in The Monkey’s Eyebrow tea room, and today followed suit. I was busy waiting on people who came to make the ghost walk with Mr. Twain last night.

  To be honest, it was hard for me to miss the large group of people yesterday, arriving at the Sinking Springs visitor’s center. They poured from a charter bus out of Pittsburgh. Most came for a chance to experience something paranormal, but some also wanted an opportunity to have tea with a monkey. So Twain entertained our town’s guests last night, and today it was time for Grandma Rose and me to keep our visitors amused and content.

  I noticed Daisy signing to the trio at table six. She repeated the motions furiously, frustrated that the people seated there were confused.

  Grandma Rose and I had noticed Daisy trying to communicate with us on her own, so it made sense to teach her a more established form of communication. And our chimpanzee hostess skillfully learned her sign language. It is something most people will never be able to admit, but I am truly proud of a monkey that wears dresses everyday.

  “Raine, dear, can you please clean table seven?” Grandma Rose was making a new batch of croissants and her hands were covered with flour.

  “Sure.” I went to clean seven and watched as Daisy signed to the customers at table six once again. “Daisy!” She turned to look at me. I signed to her, telling her they did not know sign language.

  Daisy sighed, as best as a chimp can, and she signed back to me, “Why not?”

  I flashed a few hand gestures that told her we could talk about it later. I glanced back to the three people who sat at table six. “How is everything? Can I do anything else for you?” It was good manners to check while I cleaned the table next to them. Plus you usually got bigger tips when you made yourself available to the customers.

  One woman sported beautifully coiffed hair and wore an attractive dress. She had ordered tea and sipped it daintily. The second woman was also well groomed and wore what appeared to be expensive jewelry, but she drank coffee. And the third member of their group was a quiet, older man with graying hair, who enjoyed some classic Earl Grey tea. The pair of woman featured brunette hair, although I could see the gray roots on both of them. And the wrinkles around the eyes of all three revealed they were likely in their sixties. The first woman sipped some more of her tea, then put the cup down. “Everything is very nice. In fact, the ginger lemon chamomile tea is quite good. And thank you for asking, but we are fine right now.”

  “You’re welcome.” And with that, I went back to cleaning table seven. As I organized the salt, pepper, and flower vase on the table, Daisy hopped up on a chair and used her newly acquired sign language to ask, “Can I help?”

  I smiled at her her for being considerate, then said, “No.”

  “Excuse me, but is that monkey talking to you?” The second woman at table six clearly had shock in her voice.

  “Yes. She understands quite a bit when you talk to her. So, we taught her some sign language to give her a way to better communicate her thoughts. And she is quite good at it.”

  The first woman, the tea sipper, snorted. “So she was trying to talk to us. We were wondering what she was doing.”

  The man smiled and stared at Daisy. “Well, how about that. I knew she was trying to tell us something.”

  I added, “She wanted to tell the ladies that your attire is pretty. Daisy loves her dresses and always notices when other woman wear beautiful clothes.”

  The two woman politely chuckled and the tea sipper said, “Tell her we thank her for the compliment.”

  Daisy gestured at them. I smiled and replied, “I don’t need to. She understood and says you’re welcome.”

  The two woman stared at Daisy, then the tea sipper raised her cup to her. “Well I never. Who would have ever expected to have a conversation with a monkey today?”

  The second woman said, “This is more of a conversation than we had with that Lewis character last night, for sure.” The two woman chuckled, then went back to their small talk and brunch.

  Once again, Daisy tried to help me, but without asking this time. And she knocked over the small vase in the center of the table. “Daisy, I told you I didn’t need help. Now we need to replace the table cloth. Go get me a new one, please.”

  Daisy jumped off the chair and shot through the swinging door into the back of the tea room to fetch a clean table cloth. I removed the various items from the table and then gathered up the wet covering. Just in time, Daisy returned with the clean replacement and I put it on the table, then rearranged a new vase with fresh wild flowers in the center of the table. As the final touch, I put the salt and pepper on either side of the centerpiece. As I worked, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation at table six next to me.

  The man said, “I know we just met on the bus trip here. But I’m telling you, Karen, it was so bizarre. There was an apparition,
no doubt about it. It appeared at the top of the stairs and I could see right through it. It looked like a man wearing rags, and it floated for a few seconds, then flashed off so fast towards the conservatory. I could swear it tried to say ‘stop,’ too. I know I heard the word. So I raced behind it to see where it was going.”

  The tea sipper, Karen, replied. “George, we were on a ghost tour, and your mind just played tricks on you. You were already thinking about ghosts and you just thought you saw one.”

  The second woman hung her head and went silent, ignoring the topic discussed by the other two. Then she rose and went over to join the group sitting at table three.

  George replied after the second woman had left. “Well, it was awful when I found him dead. It was a nightmare for me. I couldn’t believe what was happening.”

  I spoke before my mind had a chance to tell me to keep quiet. “What do you mean you found ‘him’ dead?”

  Karen glared at me. “Were you eavesdropping on us?”

  “No! It was hard to miss what you were saying, though, as I was cleaning the table right next to you. And a sentence with ‘I found him dead’ will always get someone’s attention. So someone died on the ghost walk last night?”

  Karen snarled at me. “Yes, two knives in the back can do that to you!” Then she raised her eyebrows. “I thought everyone in a small town like this would know by now.”

  I smiled. “Were not as small as some towns in this part of the country. But we start real early here to get things ready in the tea room. So Grandma and I exist in our own little world and are always the last to know things. We always find out, well...” I shrugged and held up my hands. “...pretty much like this.”

  Karen eyed me and I got the message. She wanted privacy. So I went to help Grandma. But as I left, I heard her say one last thing. “I can’t say I’m upset he’s dead. Jack was an awful person.”

  Just as I was almost ready to dive into the croissant dough, my good intentions of helping Grandma were interrupted by Daisy’s screech. I turned to see what she was excited about and spotted Andrew entering the tea room. The squeal from her now made sense, he always brought a treat for Daisy.