The Ghost in Mr. Pepper's Bed by Vansandt Sigrid

Author:Vansandt, Sigrid [Vansandt, Sigrid]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2016-03-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

“This place is filthy!” Melanie Mitchell complained as she picked her way gingerly through the debris of the burnt-out shell of the Turner house.

After Sheriff Walker’s visit, Ricky wanted to see for himself what the fire might have unearthed with its destruction. If that treasure the old woman had hidden was still out there, he believed it was rightly his.

“Why did you wear those ridiculous shoes, woman? You’re not going to be any help dressed like that,” Ricky said irritably, as he tried in vain to lift some fallen timbers from over a charred trap door in the floor. “Why would anybody burn this place down, Melanie? It’s like it was done for a reason. Everyone knew about the treasure. It might be burned up now for all we know.”

Ricky’s better half appeared disinterested in soiling her outfit or her hands with the dirty business of treasure hunting on a condemned site. Melanie sat down on what was left of the stone foundation, let out a bored sigh, and turned the exquisite sapphire ring on her left hand.

“What makes you think it’s even here? The treasure was probably a lie. The only treasure, Ricky, was the land itself. It’s not likely that there was ever a hoard of money stashed somewhere in this old pile anyway. You said yourself Poppy’s mother up and left one day. If there was money, she probably took it with her, Ricky.”

Not deterred by his wife’s laziness or her disinterest in a possible fortune, Ricky continued his search. He’d freed an entire area of what was once the hallway between the living room and the kitchen. The crows squawked and beat their wings in protest to his interfering presence. Some took to the air calling out their warnings, while a few swooped down to land on the ground not far from the entrance to the lovely barn which had been standing since before the Civil War.

“Those birds scare me,” Melanie said eyeing the black-winged creatures who kept a reciprocal watch on her. “They’re getting too close.”

“They are stupid birds, Mel. Tell’em to shoo, and they’ll go away.”

With two great heaving efforts, Ricky finally lifted an old trap door in what was left of the house’s floor. A fine ash mushroomed up on air currents created from the suction of opening the hatchway.

“Hey, I’m going down. Don’t wander off, Mel, in case I need you. No one has been in this cellar for years. This might be where she hid it.”

As Ricky descended the cellar steps, a great shot rang out, sending the crows into flight with raucous cries. Melanie bolted upright into a standing position wobbling on two precariously tall high heel shoes, as Ricky twisted around to look up into the air at the flying black birds beating their wings over his head.

“What the hell?” he yelled. “Was that a gunshot, Mel?”

But Melanie wasn’t answering; she was already running for their rusty, red pickup truck. It wasn’t an easy thing to do in three-inch wedge pumps, but she managed a fast toddling gait in the direction of their truck.

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