A Halloween Tale: Chapter 3

Picture Credit:https://tinyurl.com/ddhjn3n7

Mrs. Cromford and her housekeeper consider their next steps, with the deceased Mr. Summerville’s body on the floor.

“How they gonna find each other?” Anna said.

“Speak plainly.”

“Considering how many people have died and are dying every minute, the afterlife must be a crowded place.”

“Good point, Anna.”

“Then how will Emma find Mr. Summerville’s spirit?”

“Not our concern. Emma has eternity to work that out.”

“Ya plan ta keep on, then?” Anna said.

“Yes, if we send enough companions to her, she’ll eventually find one.”

“Abigail, ya agreed there’d be no more!”

“What’s the count, Anna?”

“Ten, plus this one, makes eleven. But —”  

Turning away and looking out the window. “Fortunately, our garden is expansive, Anna... Under the lilacs should be an excellent place for Mr. Summerville, don’t you agree? And afterward, a bed of yellow and orange tulips will brighten our spring.”

“But we’ve got the problem of Alfred, his manager. What’ll we do about him?”

“Wasn’t he to meet Mr. Summerville later?” Mrs. Cromford said.

“What ya have in mind, Abigail? I don’t like that look on yer face.”

“You could invite him for a dessert coffee?”

“My God, Abigail! Two bodies?”

“Once the grave is dug, one or two bodies make little difference.”

Anna rubbed her calloused hands together. “Might we ask Zeke ta help with the diggin’ again? My hands, ya know.”

“I suppose so.” Mrs. Cromford looked out the window and mumbled. “Roots under oaks and maples run wide and deep, but we have many bushes. Room for so many more.”

While Mrs. Cromford rambled on, she nearly fainted and leaned against the wall.

“What’s wrong, Abigail, ya feel all right?”

“I feel a bit funny... My left hand and arm are tingly... Weariness, that’s all... So many things to deal with, but Emma must have a companion. She must... She —”  

Mrs. Cromford stood and looked at Anna; the left side of her face sagged, and she slurred her words. “Is it Friday? Mr. Summerville should be arriving soon.”

Anna rushed to Mrs. Cromford’s side, took her arm, and guided her to a chair. “Maybe ya ought ta sit fer awhile.”

“Coffee...” Mrs. Cromford said, flopping in the chair. “Yes, Anna, we’ll need coffee for Mr. Summerville.”

“How about some tea, ma’am. A hot cup of tea is what ya need,” Anna said, mopping the perspiration from Mrs. Cromford’s brow.  

“Tea?” Mrs. Cromford mumbled.

“Yes, hot tea.”

“I’d like some. Thank you, Anna.”

“I’ll brew a fresh pot. A unique blend just for ya. It’s smooth as silk ta yer palate.”  

“Anticipation heightens the delight of a good cup of tea all the more, don’t you think, Anna? Remember... Not too hot. Too much heat bitters the taste, you know.”

From the pantry, Anna said, “I know, ma’am... I know.”

A few minutes later, Anna returned with a silver serving tray with tea, milk, and sugar. “Piping hot, ma’am.”

“Not too hot... Not too —”

“No, ma’am. Just the way ya like it.” Anna mixed some milk and sugar with the tea. Then, she handed the cup to Mrs. Cromford.

Mrs. Cromford brought the cup to her lips but didn’t drink.

“Yer tea’ll get cold,” Anna said.

Cromford looked past her toward Emma’s portrait. “Mr. Summerville will arrive soon. Emma... Companion... We must —”  

Anna stood facing Emma’s portrait, her back to Mrs. Cromford. “Em. Where are you, Emma?” Anna turned to Mrs. Cromford, who was transfixed on Emma’s portrait. “Emma? Emma —”  

“Drink your tea, Abigail... Don’t ya remember Emma’s passing?”

Mrs. Cromford took a sip.

“Another sip... That’s right,” Anna said, tilting the cup to Mrs. Cromford’s lips. “Emma’s not with us anymore; she died four years ago... Remember?”

Mrs. Cromford nodded.

Tipping the cup again, Anna said, “One more sip... Good, good.” Anna returned the empty cup to the serving tray. “Now rest, ma’am.”

Mrs. Cromford slumped in her chair. “You’re so good to me, Anna,” she said, sobbing. “But I miss Emma so.”

“I know, ma’am, but you’ll see her soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“The tea.”

“What about the tea?” Mrs. Cromford said.

“Another unique blend, ma’am.”

“You didn’t?”

“It won’t be long,” Anna said, patting Mrs. Cromford’s hand.

“But why?”

“Too many bodies,” Anna said. “I couldn’t let ya murder another one.”

“They were all for Emma.”

“In the beginning, maybe, but after a while, it became more. Something purely evil. I had ta stop ya.”

“But you helped.” Mrs. Cromford loosened her collar. “The antidote... Top shelf... Kitchen... Hurry.”

“There’ll be no antidote,” Anna said, shaking her head. “Try ta be calm, Abigail. ‘Don’t fight the poison,’ is what ya always said. Ain’t so easily done when yer clinging ta life, is it?”

Mrs. Cromford’s muscles twitched and spasmed. Her breathing labored. She foamed at the mouth. She tried to lift her good arm, but it flopped to her lap. “Anti... Dote... Help... Me... Hel... P —”   

Her body convulsed one last time and then was still.

“Hopefully, ya’ll find Emma and the peace ya could never find here.”

When rain pelted the library’s windows in earnest, an icy chill ran from Anna’s head to her toes. She pondered the bodies of Summerville and Abigail lying on the floor and Summerville’s business agent, Alfred — he knew of the appointment and would ask questions when Summerville didn’t return. First, Anna went to the kitchen and had a hot cup of tea to settle her nerves. Then she rang the Heritage Park Hotel.

“Uh... Connect me ta Mr. Summerville’s suite... Yes, I’ll wait... Is this Alfred? Hello, Alfred. I’m Anna, Mrs. Cromford’s housekeeper... Oh, yes... They’re doin’ just fine. I was wonderin’ if’n ya’d like ta come a bit early and join me in a desert coffee?... Right now, if you’d like. Park in front and knock... I can’t wait either.”

###

March 25, 1908

After the hotel reported the disappearances of Mr. Summerville and Alfred, an investigation led directly to the Cromford mansion. By late winter, Mrs. Abigail Cromford’s disappearance added to the mystery.

In early spring, the garden’s trees and shrubs surpassed themselves by sprouting blossoms everywhere. Under the bare lilac branches, a massive bed of yellow and orange tulips carpeted the earth with colorful blooms.

A paunchy police detective, Alan Wilson, stepped through the greenhouse’s door onto the gravel walkway. Following close behind in handcuffs were Anna and Ezekiel. After them, two uniformed police officers kept pace.

“What’s the fuss, Missy Anna? Who dees men?” Zeke said.

“Be quiet, Zeke,” Anna said. “We’re in a bit of trouble.”

“What’s kinda trouble, Missy Anna? I’s done no one no harm.”

“I’ll handle this, Zeke. Just be calm.”

In the service driveway, several police cars and utility trucks crowded into the limited parking space.

“All right, men,” Detective Wilson said. “Ms. Hillyar and Mr. Moses will show us where the bodies are buried.”

“How many, detective?” a police officer said.

Detective Wilson turned to Anna and Zeke. “Thirteen. Right?”

Anna nodded while Zeke looked dazed and afraid.

“Thirteen bodies buried out there. Let’s get to it.”

The men mumbled, murmured, and even chuckled among themselves.

“Show some respect. This is like a cemetery, after all.”  

The men entered the side garden gate and stood near the greenhouse for directions and instructions.

Detective Wilson turned to Anna and Zeke. “Where’s the first one?”

“I’ll show ya,” Anna said, leading the entourage to a raised bed of daffodils. She stopped and pointed. “There.”

“How deep?” Detective Wilson said.

“We always put three feet of dirt on top of ‘em. No more, no less.”

Detective Wilson gestured to the men. “Stake and rope it off. Be careful to uncover only two and a half feet. Then, we’ll wait for Doc Adams to exhume what’s left of the bodies.” He turned back to Anna and Zeke. “Next one?”

One by one, Anna identified the graves of the next nine victims. Then she led them to the massive patch of blooming yellow and orange tulips under the lilac bush. “Here. It’s the last one.”

“That’s only eleven,” Detective Wilson said.  

“There’s three in one.”

“Oh, my God, you didn’t?”

“They didn’t seem to mind,” Anna said.

“You’ll both get the chair for sure.”

“Not Zeke. He’s a child. Look at ‘im; he don’t know what this is all about. He’s more concerned about ya digging up his pretty flowers than finding bodies.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Started out Abigail wanting eligible men for Emma’s spirit, but after ten, she wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop killin’, so I... Well... I stopped her.”

“And Zeke?”

“Oh, he’d jump off that roof if’n I’d ask ‘im. He don’t know no better. So I don’t think anyone would send poor ole Zeke ta the electric chair.”

“You could be right, but I’ve got you dead to rights.”

“Me? I doubt it. I stopped her lust for murder and her hold on me.”

“Self-defense?”

“A powerful woman coercing a defenseless maid ta do her biddin’. A juror might buy that argument.”

“Who were you defending when you invited Alfred for coffee?”

“How... How’d ya know that?”

“Seems Alfred kept an appointment book and scribbled an entry to meet you for coffee. He packed up in such a hurry that he left it behind. The hotel’s been safekeeping it.”

“Then... What took ya so long?”

“Gathering evidence. We’re slow but methodical. With what we’ve got, you’ll get what’s comin’ to you. I’m quite sure of that.”

Police officers led Anna and Zeke to the waiting police cars. Anna sat in the back seat of one car, and Zeke in another. Detective Wilson got into the third one.  

Zeke turned to look out the back window for one last glance at his beloved gardens while the police cars drove down the service driveway. Tears welled in his eyes, not entirely understanding why those strange men were digging up his beautiful flowers.  

The medical examiner’s vehicle passed the exiting patrol cars and screeched to a stop in the service drive. Joshua Adams, MD, exited the passenger side, and his assistant got out the driver’s side. Doctor Adam surveyed the activity in the garden. When he approached the police officer at the garden gate, he chuckled, “Better late than never, as they always say. How many you got for us today? One? Two?”

“Maybe thirteen,” said the police officer. “A baker’s dozen.”

Doctor Adams stepped backward in disbelief. “Thirteen? Holy sh*t... Excuse my French, but did you say, ‘thirteen?’”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

The medical examiner turned to his assistant. “Better get more supplies and... And more help, Charles. We’ve got a massacre on our hands.”

The End