A Dead Market Read online

  Now that I knew more about the property, I was hoping the reputation about the ghost had died long ago. When I’d written the realty listing, I’d tweaked the verbiage to describe it as ‘an artist’s get-away for someone to build their dream house.’ Hopefully, these potential buyers I was meeting were as much in the dark as I had been about this place.

  I walked toward the quaint little house built far from the original homestead, new by Brookfield gossip standards, but my listing papers said it had been there since 1980. It had white shutters and rickrack around the awnings. Although just shy of nine-hundred-square feet, the home had a charm that reminded me of a gingerbread house. All it needed were a few peppermint candies on the front wall.

  My phone rang, and I answered it, wondering if it was the buyers. “Hello?”

  “Stella, darling. How are you?” a woman asked. I recognized her right away. It was Mrs. Crawford, my landlord. She was in her seventies, and as graceful and lovely as any legendary movie star.

  “I’m great. Standing in front of my first listing, actually. I’m supposed to be meeting people here, any minute.”

  “Oh, how fun. What house is it? Any I know of?”

  “I’m at the Johnson’s house. The one with the lake.” I figured if Oscar knew about it, then she did as well.

  “I know of it. Good luck with that, honey. You know what they say….”

  “What do they say?” I smiled, expecting to hear the flood story again.

  “That there’s a treasure buried at the bottom of that lake.”

  “What? Are you serious?” Hearing some old wives’ tale was the last thing I expected her, of all people, to say. She was a sensible, well-traveled woman.

  “Yes. I remember it well. They talked about it when I was in school, you know. Kids dared each other to go in the water. Supposedly there was a root cellar with a fortune hidden inside.”

  “A fortune? Really?”

  “Well, who knows. The treasure was never truly discussed. We all had our own imaginations on what it could be. I, of course, always fancied it was a great chest filled with gold. It wasn’t that hard to believe. You know, there were decades where people didn’t put any trust in banks. Back then, after horses or crops were sold, they’d stash their money in mattresses even. Who knew what the treasure was.”

  “You think the money’s still there?”

  “Oh, surely not. Any paper money would have rotted away by now. And I’ve found treasure chests filled with gold pieces are decidedly rarer than the cartoons that I grew up with led me to believe.”

  “Yeah, that and quicksand.”

  She chuckled. “I guess every town has a story about an old house. This one even has a ghost. Old Mr. Johnson.”

  I glanced at the water and shivered and paced to the other end of the porch. “Don’t remind me. I’m here alone at the moment.”

  “It’s supposed to walk along the shore of the lake every night. Of course, it’s all just a rumor. You know how we like to have our spooky tales out here. Now, let me get to the reason I called. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  “Okay.” That oh-no feeling prickled down my spine. I knew exactly where this conversation was going. You couldn’t be in your late twenties without having people trying to constantly set you up with someone they knew would be perfect for you.

  “He’s a friend of mine. I’m having a dinner party in a few days. Would you like to come?”

  “Dinner?” Drat. She was being tricky, not giving me an exact day where I could beg off by saying I was busy. I tried to sneak the time out of her. “What night is it again?”

  “I have a few options. I want to make sure you can make it.”

  I closed my eyes. This was getting worse and worse. “That’s so nice, but I don’t want to inconvenience you. I have so much on my plate with this sale. I have to be available at a moments notice.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve been hiding away out in that little house of mine like a hermit crab in its shell. It’s time to get out and meet people.” She paused and then added, “You can’t hide forever.”

  I swallowed hard. She was the only one, out of my dad, my uncle, and my new friend, Kari, that had an inkling on why I’d moved from Seattle to Pennsylvania. It was just too close for comfort. “Okay, well I guess I can try to be there. What night again?”

  “How about Tuesday? Can you make it that night?”

  Let’s see. My evening plans that night included finishing my laundry and maybe tackling the grunge in my bathtub. I was also planning to try my new charcoal mask.

  In other words, not busy.

  “Yeah, I can make it.” I couldn’t keep the dread out of my tone.

  She laughed. “I’m looking forward to it. Come with an open mind. David is quite an interesting fellow. I’m sure you will both have a lot to talk about.”

  I tried not to groan. Talking to a man was the last thing I wanted to do at this time of my life. I paced down the side of the house and into the sunshine in the backyard. The sun’s rays warmed my skin as I gazed at the lake again.

  “Sounds lovely.” I sighed.

  “I’m planning on a light fair. Maybe some chicken fricassee.”

  I tuned her out as I stared at the bright ripples on the lake.

  What was that out in the water?

  One second later, I was screaming.

  Chapter 3

  The screams poured out of me, something a little shy of coherent words, more like long shrieks.

  “Stella!” Mrs. Crawford’s firm voice was meant to snap me out of my shock. “Stella, answer me this minute. What’s going on?”

  “Call 911!” I finally managed to gasp out.

  “Stella! Tell me what’s happened!”

  By now, I was racing down to the lake's side. There was a body out in the water, floating with its arms and legs spread wide like a starfish. When I’d first seen it, I’d thought it was a black trash bag. It wasn’t until I saw the silver air tank on the body’s back that I realized it was a diver.

  “There might still be time!” I yelled. “There’s a body in the water! Please call for help.”

  “You’ve got it,” Mrs. Crawford said and immediately hung up. I dropped the phone in my purse and started sloshing out into the water.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Hey, buddy!”

  There was no response. The body joggled with the waves, looking like a fishing bobber tossed from a boat. I waded out to my knees, and then to my thighs. The body floated up and down, moving farther away. Other than that, there was no other movement.

  As it drifted toward the center of the lake, I realized there was nothing more I could do. I wasn’t a strong swimmer. I never had been. People used to call me arm-floaties back in junior high summer camp because I wouldn’t go in the water without a life jacket. Seeing where the body was now, I didn’t think I could make it all the way there, let alone bring the person back with me.

  I splashed back over to the bank and sat on the grass. I could barely breathe under the weight of helplessness.

  Fortunately, I wasn’t alone for long. Soon, wailing sirens heralded the long chain of police cars and ambulances that raced up the road. I walked up the hill to meet the emergency vehicle parade turning into the driveway.

  The first officer to approach me introduced himself as Officer Taylor. He took a quick statement while the other cops pulled out an inflatable boat and immediately set it up. Within minutes, two of the officers were in the boat, paddling to the center of the lake.

  I crossed my arms and shivered, soaking wet from my waist down. A blanket draped over my shoulders, and I glanced up and smiled gratefully at the paramedic.

  When the police reached the body, one of them dragged it close and pulled off the diver’s mask. I could see the officer shake his head, and then heard the mic from the cop next to me squawk. A code was given. As soon as that code was received, the heightened sense of urgency dissipated immediately. It didn’t take rocket science to understand th
at the diver was indeed, truly dead.

  I turned away from the shore, feeling like I might throw up. Officer Tayler approached me again with a few more questions, and then I was left alone.

  I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Waves of surrealness washed over me. How long had he been there? Had it just occurred?

  At the sound of tires in the gravel, I turned to see a black car pull up. A man in a sports jacket climbed out and briskly walked over to join the group of police.

  “Who is he?” I asked the officer closest to me.

  He glanced in that direction. “That’s the coroner.”

  “Why the yellow tape?” I asked. I was confused to see two officers stringing it at the end of the driveway, actually attaching the first end to my sign. The remaining end they fastened to the mailbox on the other side of the driveway. Oddly enough, the mailman was there, trying to put in a flyer. I dumbly wondered who would collect it now.

  “We always do it for a murder.” The cop said the words bluntly.

  My jaw dropped. It felt like the ground shifted under my feet and I nearly fell over. I grabbed the cop’s elbow for balance. He glanced at my hand with eyebrows raised and gently extricated himself.

  “It’s a murder?” I whispered.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. Then he made a slashing motion to his neck. “Someone got the body with a knife.”

  Oh boy. Why did he tell me that? I reeled for a second at the visual, finally sitting on the ground with a flop. Look at the pretty stars.

  He squatted next to me, his boots squeaking. “You okay? Need me to have medical come look at you?” He fanned his notebook over my face.

  I was breathing fast. My cheeks felt hot, the rest of me cold. I cupped my hands over my mouth to try to slow my hyperventilating down.

  A man had been murdered and in a gruesome way.

  The stretcher rattled past on its way down to the lake and brought me another chilling shiver.

  “So you didn’t see anything, then?” the officer asked. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes closed.

  “No cars, no one running in the woods, no one in the house?” he prompted.

  “No. I didn’t see anyone,” I answered.

  “And what were you doing out here, again?”

  I pointed limply to the signpost. “Hanging the sign. I was supposed to meet a client.”

  “Did he ever show up?”

  I shook my head and then shrugged. “He might have and then been scared away by all of this.” I vaguely waved in the direction of the emergency personnel milling about their vehicles.

  He studied the flamingo, enrobed with the yellow tape flapping in the breeze. His eyebrow arched, and he wrote some more.

  “You going to be sticking around town?” he asked, still scribbling.

  Wait, what was this? Was I a suspect? “Yes. Of course I am.”

  He nodded and stood up. A second later another swarm of officers swept by, heading down to the shore of the lake.

  I heard what sounded like the hundredth car drive up. Was this finally my clients? I wearily rose to my feet to see.

  It was Uncle Chris. He parked his sports car and climbed out, the sunshine glinting brightly off the polished chrome of his Jaguar. He searched around, and I waved. Seeing me, he marched over with determined steps.

  An officer stopped him. Uncle Chris said a few words and pointed to me. The officer let him pass.

  Uncle Chris was breathing heavily by the time he reached the house. He wiped his face with his palm. “Day’s warmed up,” he said and unbuttoned his winter coat. Then he looked at me. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “He was murdered,” I whispered, wrapping the blanket more securely around me. Standing there, with my pants clinging to my legs and shoes squelching, I felt like a cat that had been dragged out of a fish tank.

  Uncle Chris stared down at the lake. I followed his gaze for a second, just in time to see them hoist the body up on a gurney with a thump. Nausea quaked through me, and I turned away to count the beech trees as a distraction.

  “They tell me it was Old Man Lenny,” Uncle Chris noted. He reached into his front pocket and slid out a cigar. His teeth nipped off the tip and then he lit it with a few puffs. The coal glowed bloody red. He exhaled a dark plume of smoke.

  “Who?” I asked. The scent of the cigar was a welcome distraction.

  “The guy who… met his maker,” he said as if he were trying to soften the verbiage.

  It didn’t work, but I appreciated the effort. “The officer was asking me if I’d seen anyone here.”

  “You’re lucky, girl. If you had come here a little earlier….” He let that thought hang in the air without finishing it.

  Holy cow. He was right! What if I had come earlier and seen a struggle? Or had been identified by the murderer? Would I be floating out in that lake myself?

  I shuddered and wrapped the blanket tighter.

  “It’s no joke,” he said again. “Someone up there’s watching out for you. You’re a lucky girl.”

  I nodded. “So, Old Man Lenny…who is he exactly?”

  “Lenny Johnson. He’s the one who sold the seller the property in the first place. In fact, that’s his grandpa’s place under the water down there.”

  “Why was he here? And who would kill him?” I shielded my eyes from the sun and stared down at the lake again. A paramedic was zipping the body bag. But what was the other officer carrying?

  “What is that?” I asked, at the same time as my uncle.

  “That’s an air tank, is it?” Uncle Chris added, answering himself.

  That’s right. I had seen it earlier. The clunky heavy thing looked straight out of a World War Two movie. Water dripped from its cylinder sides as the officer heaved it up on his shoulder.

  “I guess Lenny was hunting for something,” Uncle Chris said.

  “There was more than one person hunting,” I amended.

  He nodded and took another drag off his stogie. “You’re right. There must have been at least two people. And my guess is that one of them found what they were looking for.”

  I nodded. But, what could they have found in that old cabin under the water that would be worth the death of another? A real treasure chest? And why were they searching now, especially after all these years? Why not sooner?

  An officer walked past us.

  “Excuse me.” Uncle Chris stopped him. He gestured with his cigar toward the gurney bumping up the side of the hill. “Any idea how Lenny died?”

  The officer shook his head. “I have nothing to say other than he still needs to be identified.”

  Uncle Chris arched an eyebrow. “Come on, now. You know who it is. Heck, I know who it is. You’re not going to say?”

  The cop’s face turned red. I was surprised to see he was angry. “Listen, you might think you’re some hot shot storming into our town and selling all our property to be built into apartment buildings, but that’s not the way it works around here. We don’t tell anyone but the next of kin who it is. If and when the public needs to know, the Sheriff will hold a press conference. Got it?”

  Uncle Chris gave a slow nod, seemingly unimpressed by the officer’s sharp tone. He puffed his cigar and squinted some more. I remembered how his old comrades used to be some questionable characters in the past, so I could understand his lack of fear. I personally was shocked by the officer’s accusation and was glad to have my uncle by my side.

  “I don’t know what his problem is,” I whispered to Uncle Chris. “The first cop I talked to was nicer.”

  The stretcher wheeled past us, its wheels squeaking as they ground over the dirt. A clump of grass caught in one of the wheels and the body shuddered as the stretcher jerked to a stop. After clearing the debris, the paramedics continued on to the ambulance.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Uncle Chris mused as they moved past us.

  “What’s interesting?” I asked.

  “The tank. It had a gull sticker slapped on it.”
/>   “Yeah?” I said, all ears.

  “There’s only one place I know of that has stickers like that.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Laughing Gull Sport Shop.” He jabbed his cigar in the direction of the barbed wire fence. “The business of the not-so-friendly feuding neighbor over there.”

  Chapter 4

  We waited around another twenty minutes or so, and then we were cleared by the police to leave. Uncle Chris suggested I go home and relax, which sounded like a great idea to me. It was only after I’d driven half-way home that I realized my buyers had never shown up for their appointment. I suspected my original assumption was correct in that the police cars and ambulance scared them off.

  My stomach growled. After missing lunch, I needed some comfort food so I stopped off at the grocery store in Brookfield to pick up some ingredients for my favorite meal—spaghetti with meat sauce.

  The store was crowded, as was to be expected near dinner time, and I was bummed to find all of the carts gone. I walked inside and searched for the hand-held baskets, spying a stack next to the customer service desk.

  A woman was talking to the clerk manning the Lotto counter. As I reached for a basket, I heard the customer say, “Did you hear about the murdered guy they pulled out of Johnson Lake?”

  I nearly fell over. Now, I’d heard news traveled fast in a small town, but this was insane.

  “I sure did,” the clerk answered, chomping on a piece of gum. “They say it was Old Man Lenny.”

  “No!” exclaimed the first. She then asked for two packs of cigarettes.

  I spun around and grabbed a magazine. Nonchalantly, I flipped to the middle, trying to look as absorbed as possible in the article. Definitely not eavesdropping on you, ladies.

  “Yep. They say he was searching for his family’s buried treasure.” The clerk set the packs on the counter.

  “You think it’s still there after all this time?” the woman asked, sounding skeptical.

  “I remember when my brothers used to dive in that water. If anyone could have found it, those two sure would have.”