The Haunting of Capstone Mill by Clay Wise

Author:Clay Wise [Wise, Clay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-27T00:00:00+00:00

“You have to be kidding,” Emily says.

“Wish I was,” I reply.

“Another ghost?”

“Well, technically, it’s one of the ghosts that came to visit us here a few days ago,” I say.

“One of the trio?”

“Yeah. It was the older girl.”

“What did she want?”

“What they always want. Find me.”

“Of course.”

“I know this isn’t much to go on, but her name is Joanna,” I say to Tia, who is sitting in one of the big easy chairs, her legs draped over the side, as she types away on her computer.

“No last name?”

“Sorry. She didn’t give it, and I didn’t ask.”

“Not that she would have been able to say it to you, anyway,” Emily says.

“Exactly.”

“I’ll see if I can find anything about a Joanna in the old census records,” Tia says, “but in the meantime, do you want to see what I found out about Conklin?”

“You found some stuff?” I ask.

“Yeah, I found some stuff,” she says with a little chuckle.

“All right, guys. I gotta head out,” Emily says. “I’m the closing shift tonight.”

“Okay,” I reply, “you have a good one. I’ll stop by later and pick up something to take home for Jerry.”

“Sounds good,” she says, with a smile before walking over and giving Tia a long and rather passionate kiss…so much so that I begin to feel like I’m intruding.

Eventually, the kiss comes to an end, and Emily gives Tia another one, this on the top of her head.

“I’ll see you both later,” she says before turning and heading to the door.

“Bye, babe,” Tia says, giving her a little wink and a wave.

“Bye, babe,” I say, mimicking Tia’s goodbye, which earns me a laugh from Emily and a frown from Tia.

Emily disappears behind the door, and I turn my attention back to Tia.

“Not funny,” she says.

“Really? You’re constantly making fun of me and ‘Loverboy.’”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Why is that different?”

“Because I’m not the target of the joke,” she says, grinning at me.

“Noted,” I say, with a shake of my head.

“Apology accepted,” she says. “Do you want to see what I got?”

“Absolutely.”

She starts to pull up a couple of screens, projecting them onto the larger TV as usual. “So, what we have here is Reginald Conklin,” she says, opening an image of a painting of the man Jerry and I saw at the mill yesterday.

“Yeah. That’s the guy.”

“So, he was a wealthy businessman from the New York City area, made most of his money in shipping.”

“What brought him up here?”

She shrugs and starts pulling up images of various newspaper clippings and other stories about him.

“I really don’t know. Anyway, he never married that I could find, and he had no siblings. His parents died when he was in his teens. From all accounts I could discover, he was ruthless. He owned several boarding houses in New York, as well as a couple of garment factories. When things started to go poorly for them both, they each experienced ‘mysterious’ fires.”

“They never investigated?”

“Oh, they ‘investigated,’ but Conklin had money, and just like today, money buys you ‘justice.’

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