Sleep was hard to come by that night. My dreams were riddled with ghosts and scraps of paper which kept floating just beyond my grasp. When a tumble-down house fell in on me, I awoke, my heart pounding. I’d had enough. Stumbling downstairs, I aimed my feet toward the kitchen.
The nightmares were one thing; I could deal with them because they weren’t real. The ghostly figure on the Saunders stairs was quite another. Despite wanting to believe it hadn’t happened, I knew it had. What should I do about it? Scary, yes, but surely it wasn’t a ghost. Could it have been Jeremiah Humphrey? Maybe. Whatever or whoever it was, it wanted me out of that house. I shuddered. It had certainly accomplished that.
There’s an old saying that a problem shared is a problem halved. I wanted to tell someone of my experience, but I couldn’t talk to any of my friends. Cade, Miss Ann, Pat, Jackie—even Daisy or Greta–they would either worry or be angry that I had gone to the farm alone.
I was sitting at my kitchen table, trying to dispel the nightmares as well as the memory of that thing which came down the Saunders stairs toward me, when Dink Renfro arrived.
Cheerful and down-to-earth, Dink brought a reassuring feeling of practical good sense with him.
“Thought I’d better get an early start on that bathroom,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and cap. “Who knows when the weather’s going to change and not be fit for a man to get away from the home fire.”
Dink! He was an Ednalee old-timer, and he could keep his mouth shut. He was one of the most sensible people I knew.
“How about a cup of coffee?” I asked. “I just made a fresh pot. It’ll warm you up.”
He grinned. “Don’t mind if I do. Thanks.”
“So, Dink,” I began, sitting across from him at the table, “what do you know about the Saunders farm and do you recall when Mr. Saunders was killed?”
Dink poured his saucer full of coffee, blew on it, raised it to his lips, and took a noisy slurp. He winked at me. “Mighty fine coffee, Miss Ned. I’ve always admired your coffee. The Saunders place? Well, I know that it’s in need of lots of repairs. And, yep, I do remember a bit about old man Cletus and the night he died. What do you want to know?”
Quickly summarizing the current state of the house, I told him about the note Ulysses had brought home, and my foolish hope that I could find out more about the murder.
He shook his head. “Daisy has that Jed Penson workin’ for her? Never much cared much for that fellow, but then, that’s just me. Miz Saunders was an English teacher. I liked her fine. I remember her poetry. It was pretty good. I don’t know much else–she was never just right in the head after her husband was killed. I guess that’d be enough to knock anybody for a loop.”
He hadn’t told me anything new. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to relate my experience yesterday.
He stopped drinking coffee and stared at me as I finished my story. “You don’t say.” He whistled. “Now, that’s mighty strange.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “But, what do you think I should do about it? You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”
He shook his head. “Can’t say that I do. However, some mighty odd things have happened that I don’t have any answers for—any logical answer, anyway. Take those spook lights out by the river…”
Heading him off before he got started on a long story, I said, “I know. I’ve heard about them. But, you do believe me, don’t you, Dink? What is your opinion on what I saw?”
Murder By Moonlight, the fourth Ned McNeil mystery is available on Amazon.com. Click here to read the rest of what Dink thinks about Ned’s discovery.
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