The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) (7 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The women collided on the porch. “What the blessed heck happened?” Penelope demanded, checking Mary Lynn over for damage.

“The boiler. I think it was the boiler.”

“It blew up?”

“I didn’t hang around to find out.”

Penelope dug her cell phone out of the pock
et of her jeans and dialed 911.

The women huddled in Penelope’s SUV while the firemen checked out the basement. The fire chief took off his helmet as he came down the steps toward the car. “Everything’s fine.”

“Fine? Fine? The blessed boiler blew up!” Penelope thrust her face through the window and glared at the man.

“It wasn’t the boiler,” the chief repeated.

“Then what was it?” asked Mary Lynn.

He shook his head. “Nothing in the school as far as I can tell.”

“But we heard it. Felt it.” Penelope turned to Mary Lynn for support.

“Mrs. Pembroke…Mrs. Hargrove…I’m not denying you heard and felt something, but the boiler did not blow up, the fuel tank is in one piece, there’s no smoke, no fire, nothing.”

“Something blessed blew up,” Penelope insisted. “It did.”

The chief shrugged and began to unhook his yellow slicker. “Everything is fine, but while I’m here, I’ll remind you the building will need to be inspected before it opens to the public.”

“I know. I’ll get it done.”

“I can do it for you, Mrs. Hargrove. Come by the station and pick up a list of what we’ll be looking for. Give me a call when you’re ready.”

When the trucks had gone, Penelope opened the door. “I don’t believe everything is all right. I’m going to have a look for myself.”

The radiators squealed and groaned in a lower key as they entered the building. “I don’t like this,” Mary Lynn whispered.

“Why are you whispering? There’s nobody here but us.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Oh, get over it, Mary Lynn. The place isn’t haunted.”

“You heard the same thing I did the other day.”

“The more I think about it, the more I’m not sure.”

“Judas!” Mary Lynn muttered and stalked off toward the back.

“More like Doubting Thomas,” Penelope called after her. “Are you going down there?”

“Yes, I am. I want to see that boiler for myself.”

“I’ll go with you. Is the light working?”

Mary Lynn flicked the switch by the
door she called ‘the key-hole’
.
Nothing happened. “That was a brand new bulb,” she said.

“Where’s your flashlight?”

“In the other room. It has new batteries.”

Flashlight in hand, Mary Lynn led the way down the narrow wooden steps. As she reached the bottom, the flashlight flickered and went out, and the sound of male voices filled the air.

The women’s upward retreat beat out their previous time by several seconds. Breathing hard, they leaned against the wall and looked at each other in wild-eyed silence. Then, without a word, they headed out the front door to their cars.

****

Penelope almost stumbled over Shana sitting on the back steps of the B&B, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed into her hands. “What’s blessed wrong?”

Shana lifted red, swollen eyes. “I told him.”

“Come in the house. It’s too cold to sit out here. Your face is so wet, it’ll freeze.”

Shana got up and followed Penelope into the house. “I told him.”

“So you said. I assume he didn’t take it well.”

“He said he appreciated the fact I was honest with him, but he said he has to think about Tabby.”

“Spoken like a true father. So it’s over?”

“I don’t know. He left me hanging.”

“How?”

Shana sank down at the table and leaned on her elbows. “We had a wonderful time at the zoo. Tabby’s the sweetest little girl, so reasonable and agreeable. I think she really liked me. Anyway, we did the zoo and then went out for hamburgers.” Shana accepted the paper towels Penelope handed her and mopped her face. “And then Peter dropped Tabby off to play with a friend, and we went for a drink.”

“That’s when you told him.”

“Yes. He just sat there looking at me while I spilled my guts.”

“And said he appreciated your honesty.”

“Right. Then he told me Tabby’s the most important person in his life and the biggest responsibi
lity, and he has to be sure the people around her are the kind he wants her to learn from.”

“You can understand that.”

“Yes, I can, and I said so. He took me back to his house to pick up my car, and that’s when he said he’d call me.”

“Call you.”

“But I don’t know for what. To ask me out, break it off, tell me what he really thinks of me?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Shana lifted her chin. “I made a big mistake, but I cleaned up my act. I’m doing all right.”

“I agree.”

Her head went down again. “Oh, Penelope, I’m crazy about Peter Taliaferro.”

Penelope crossed the kitchen and rubbed the girl’s shoulders. “I know, honey. You
just have to tell yourself you’ll get over this bump, too.”

****

Penelope couldn’t help looking around the Sit-n-Swill, always full on weekends, but though she recognized the familiar faces of the regulars, there were no bikers—and no Sam. Millie had said word had gotten around about how the place had upgraded. Penelope guessed that was a good thing.

From the jukebox, Hank Williams warbled about someone’s cheating heart.

Mike brought Jake’s Reuben and beer. “Sure you won’t have anything besides that soda, Penelope?”

“I’m filling up on these pretzels.” She indicated the basket in the middle of the table. “They’re pretty good.”

“I get them from a supplier in Jackson, Mississippi, actually. Those and the potato chips to serve with sandwiches.”

“Jeremiah Bowden came from Mississippi.”

“I wish he’d go back.” Mike pulled out a chair and sat down. “Millie said she told you we were still having trouble with the fireplace. The thing is, there’s no reason. The wood’s dry, and it’s good. I bought two cords from Green Havins at the end of December. Everyone around here gets their wood from him, and no complaints.”

“Why do you think old Jeremiah’s behind the problem with the fireplace?” Jake asked, setting do
wn his sandwich.

Mike laughed. “I don’t, not really, but he built the house on this spot and lived in it a while.”

“He could still be here,” Jake said.

“Oh, Daddy, don’t start with that.”

“What?” Mike asked.

“Daddy says the story goes that Jeremiah haunts the basement boiler room at the old school.”

“Whenever the heat was cranky, we’d say it was Jeremiah Bowden down there pouting about something.”

“Pouting?”

“Seems his sister Daisy, who was the first teacher at the school when it was only two rooms, married some ne’er-do-well who went off and left her. Rumor has it he spent the rest of his life trying to find the man and take his revenge.”

“You didn’t tell me that, Daddy.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Do I have to pull every blessed bit of information out of you?”

“No, just ask nicely.” He reached across the table and patted her hand.

“What else did people say about old Jeremiah?” Mike asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. He built this town, you know, but from what I hear, his family didn’t fare as well. Heard one of his boys rode with Jesse James.”

“Everybody says someone in their family rode with Jesse James,” Penelope said.

“Well, it might’ve been true. And another one went out to Texas and just disappeared.”

“He just had two sons?”

“Three, I think, but I never heard anything about that one. He had two daughters though. They both married well and moved off to greener pastures. But his sister Daisy stayed here. She was Jessie Ruth Collier’s mother.”

Penelope snapped the pretzel she was holding. “Her mother?”

Jake nodded. “Everybody knows that.”

“If I knew
, I forgot. Jessie Ruth Collier gave the money for our library,” Penelope explained to Mike. “She married well, too.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “Collier Memorial. Of course.”

“And she left the school property to the town with the proviso they couldn’t sell it. Why, I don’t know.”

“Most likely she didn’t want it torn down,” Mike said. “Old schools fall victim to the wrecking ball
everyday.”

“It’s odd the property would end up in her hands,” Penelope mused. “She was only a niece.”

“Probably Jeremiah left it to her mother, Daisy, and she passed it down,” Jake said.

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Sure it does.”

“It’s odd
people around here don’t know more about the town’s founder,” Mike said. “I went to the abstract office and found out about this particular piece of property, but even Mayor Hargrove didn’t know who it belonged to originally until I told him.”

“Did it actually belong to Jeremiah Bowden or Daisy?” Penelope asked.

“I’ve got a copy of the timeline I sketched out, but yes, it seems he bought all this property when he laid out the town. His first house sat right here on this very spot.”

“And then his sister Daisy and her daughter must’ve lived in it.”

Jake sipped his beer. “I bet she was living here from the beginning.”

“What makes you say that, Daddy?”

“Well, where else would she live? She was probably a young single woman when she came from Mississippi, and this was her brother’s house. It would’ve been the proper place for her to live.”

“I wonder if she stayed on when she married.”

Jake sipped his beer again. “I don’t know. The place was a burned-out shell when I was a little boy, and then some people built the Short Creek Bar. It had been closed down for a few years when Roger opened the Sit-n-Swill

around
the time you were in high school, Nellie. Don’t you remember?”

“
I remember you telling me you’d tan my backside if you ever caught me near the place with or without a boyfriend.”

“I would have, too. It was pretty rough right there at first.”

“Bradley told me Roger was rough, too.” Mike let his words hang, pending some sort of reaction.

Jake snorted. “Always looked to me like he had lace on his drawers.”

“Daddy, really.” Penelope tried not to smile as she remembered she’d said the same thing once.  “Bradley mentioned he used to break up drinking parties out at the lake.”

“At Roger’s place? The house Millie and I bought?”

“That’s what he said.”

Mike nodded. “Well, it
was
a little worse for the wear, but we’re getting it fixed up. We still want an older home in town if we can find one.”

“Millie said your friend
Marlo found one.”

“She
did. I was kind of ticked off. We were here first.”

“I guess all’s fair in love and business,” Jake said, winking at Penelope.

“I guess. We’ll find something eventually. But I’d like to know more about this place. More about Jeremiah Bowden and his family.”

So would I
, Penelope thought.
And I know just the place to find out.

CHAPTER TWELVE

On Monday morning, Penelope signed in at the state archives in Little Rock and accepted the membership card with her personal number. “How can I help you get started today?” asked the young man who’d taken her information.

“I’m from Amaryllis, and I want to find out about the man who started the town—Jeremiah Bowden.”

“I’m familiar with the town but not the name. What time period are you looking at?”

“He came from Mississippi around 1880.”

“After the war. The Civil War, I mean.”

Penelope laughed. “In the South, when you say
the war
, everybody knows which one you’re talking about.”

“I guess they do. I’m from
Tennessee myself. Well, let’s see what we can find.”

W
hen Penelope left four hours later, she felt sure her tote bag weighed a pound for every one of the twenty-seven dollars that had gone into the copy machine. Jake followed her into the dining room and watched as she stripped the lace cloth from the long table and began to lay out her bounty. “I hit pay dirt, Daddy.”

“Looks like it. All that about old Jeremiah?”

“And his family, the town, and Jessie Ruth Collier.”

“Everybody knows about Jessie Ruth anyway. She came back here to live even before her husband died. Never figured that one out. You remember how the whole town shut down for her funeral ten years ago.”

“Yes. I met her several times at various functions around town. But we didn’t know everything about her. For example, did you know her husband was an art dealer in New York and Boston? He made regular trips to Europe, too.”

“I knew they got their money somewhere.”

“Here’s a copy of her obituary from the
Democrat-Gazette
. It was a bigger write-up than the one she got in the
Bugle.
And here’s her mother Daisy’s obituary, but it doesn’t mention a husband, only her daughter Jessie Ruth. Her married name was Ives, but there’s nothing about the husband. No marriage, no
preceded in death by
, nothing.”

“I don’t think I ever heard anything a
bout him, other than the story he was no good. I guess he died sometime early on.”

“The nice young man who helped me at the archives said to check the courthouse for marriage, divorce, and death records. I’m going to do that tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“If Jeremiah Bowden or any of his family are still down in that basement tinkering with the boiler, I want to know why.”

Jake chuckled. “You’re a case, Nellie.”

****

Mary Lynn stopped by after lunch. “I can’t believe you found all this, Pen. I wonder why nobody ever wrote a history of Amaryllis?”

“Somebody can do it now, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve got a ton of stuff. Maybe we should organize it a little.”

“I was thinking the same thing. I’ve got packages of three-by-five index cards I use to register my guests.”

“How about some markers? We could color-code stuff.”

“I think I have some of those, too.”

“By the way, have you heard from Shana since Saturday?”

“No, but I suppose I ought to call her. She was pretty upset.”

“When I returned some books to the library this morning, she looked like death warmed over. Apparently she and Peter are on the outs.”

“She told him about Travis.”

“Too bad.”

“Well, she blessed had to, Mary Lynn. You said so yourself. He’d have heard the gossip if he started coming around here more often.”

“It’s died down.”

“It’s still here, trust me.  No matter how squeaky clean she is from now on, Shana will always be
the girl who shacked up with Travis Pembroke
.”

“So it’s over between them?”

“She doesn’t know. He said he’d call her. I’ll go get the cards and the markers, and we’ll get started on this project.”

“I need something to do, that’s for sure. The boiler quit again this morning.”

“Just quit?”

“It came on right away, stayed on about fifteen minutes, rattled like it was being choked to death, and then quit.”

“Did you call Peter?”

“He can’t come until Thursday, and he didn’t believe me anyway.”

“Thursday is Shana’s half-day off. I wonder if that means anything.”

“Go get the cards, Pen.”

****

By five o’clock, they’d sorted, numbered, and summarized the pages, all two hundred fifty of them. “Can you buy groceries after paying for all these?” Mary Lynn asked.

“They gave me a break on the price per copy.”

“That was nice of them.”

“I think they just wanted me out of there before I used up all the toner in the machine.”

“Well, you found a treasure. When I tell Harry about all this, he’s going to want to see it.”

“I’ll stop at the variety store tomorrow and get some notebooks and dividers. Then I’m going to the courthouse to see what I can find there.”

“Like what?”

“Marriage and death records mainly. I’m curious about why Daisy Bowden Ives’s husband wasn’t mentioned in her obituary. And Jessie Ruth Collier’s obituary just says she was the daughter of Daisy Bowden Ives, sister of Jeremiah, who founded Amaryllis, Arkansas.”

“Odd.”

“I think so, too.”

“Maybe I’ll come with you tomorrow.”

“Be my guest.”

“Minnie Rene Taylor, the county clerk, was in the same class as Travis, I think.”

“I’ve met her.”

“I played bridge with her a few times before she ran for office. She’s a nice sort.”

“The young man at the archives told me to make nice whenever I went researching in courthouses. He said county officials don’t appreciate people who get in their way.”

“I don’t blame them. We’ll make extra nice tomorrow.”

****

“We didn’t exactly come up empty,” Penelope said as she and Mary Lynn shared one rather dry peach
kolache with their coffee after leaving the courthouse.

“I guess we didn’t! I can’t believe you agreed to take those boxes of old unfiled records.”

“They might come in handy sometime. They’re history anyway. And Minnie Rene knew a soft touch when she saw one.”

“They just didn’t keep too many records in the time period we’re interested in.”

“I guess I thought birth and death records had always been kept.”

“Minnie Rene said we couldn
’t see the birth records even if they were there. That privacy thing. And she said some places have rules about who can see death certificates.”

“Daisy’s death certificate says enough—she was married, not widowed or divorced. So what happened to…” Penelope glanced at the marriage record again. “To Mr. Vincent Ives?” She pushed Jessie Ruth Collier’s death certificate across the table toward Mary Lynn. “And just for openers, why is the space for father’s name marked ‘unknown’?”

“Maybe she didn’t know he was her father?”

“Unlikely. You knew Jessie Ruth. She was nobody’s fool, even if she was ninety-three when she died.”

“So he wasn’t her father?”

“I don’t blessed know, Mary Lynn. Where would the graves registration for the cemetery be?”

“City Hall, I think. I’ll call Harry and ask.” She whipped out her cell phone. “You’re looking for Mr. Vincent Ives, I take it.”

“Bingo.”

Harry Hargrove transferred the call, and Mary Lynn handed Penelope the phone. It took under four minutes to learn that no one by the name of Ives, other than Daisy, was buried in the Amaryllis City Cemetery.

****

Penelope took her new
Good Housekeeping
to bed that night and had almost finished it when the phone rang.  “It’s ten blessed thirty,” she said to Mary Lynn.  “What won’t keep until morning?”

“There’s a moving van in front of the Barnes house down the street. People don’t move in at ten-thirty at night.”

“I heard the Dancers’ friend Marlo Howard was thinking about renting or buying that.”

“Fine, but why is she moving in the dark of night? She only came from
Little Rock, didn’t she?”

“Call the PD if you’re worried about it.”

“I already did. Parnell’s on patrol tonight. He’s going to check things out.”

“Fine.
Call me in the morning and let me know if he captured any desperados. I’ll mark their hanging day on my calendar.”

Mary Lynn slammed down the phone. Penelope had reached to turn off the lamp beside her bed when she heard the unmistakable sound of gravel against her window. Her heart hit her toes, and she was at the bottom of the stairs before it came back up.