“Really digging, I discovered a lot of what we know now online, through various ancestry sites and old Salem records. But I’m surprised the first wife never made it into any of the ghost stories,” Kylie said.
“I guess the ghost of a woman viciously killed by her husband, who was then justly hanged, makes for a good story,” Jon said. “And, of course, we are talking hundreds of years of history here. So maybe, in time, those telling it have to get to the basics to get it all in.”
“Okay,” Kylie said. “So, we believe someone is targeting descendants of Ezekiel Johnson’s first wife, Teresa. Possibly because Hamish or Rebecca murdered Mary?”
“Possibly.” Obadiah shrugged. “None of them remain,” he said softly.
“Kylie is great with research,” Jon said. “And we also have a tech team back at my headquarters with some brilliant computer nerds. Tell Kylie about the neighbors.”
Obadiah shook his head. “I’m afraid I found out little but the usual. Charles and Emma Flannery are like any older couple. They had a bit of a heated argument over him not washing a cup, and she wound up reminding him that he could be a pig and said he should be grateful she was old and exhausted, else she’d be divorcing his ass. But they reconciled quickly and sat on the porch in their rockers, holding hands soon after their discord.”
“They don’t have the strength, size, or speed to haul in a corpse or to be looking up at our window last night,” Jon said. Then, he explained to Kylie, “I told Obadiah about the peeping—disappearing—Tom.”
“Oh, I saw all the excitement,” Obadiah said. “I had slipped into the Matheson home, but I didn’t see the culprit because I didn’t know anyone was spying on the house until I saw Jon racing out and the police car arriving. The Matheson couple, again, seem to be like any other. They both dote on their girls. Mrs. Matheson snapped at her husband for allowing the little one to get spaghetti all over everything while she was in the kitchen, but he apologized and told her that they had to let kids get a little messy now and then. Oh, and I saw a family picture of them taken at the Fairy Fae Ball—an event that went on the evening the killer presumably put his victim in the wall. That does not mean they didn’t come back and one of them became the clown, but I do think it’s unlikely. Let me see… Mr. Ned Olsen. Poor fellow sits in his chair and stares at the television, sipping bourbon all night. Then there is the young man. Now, spying on him was more interesting. He takes the dog out, and he does make sure the animal has food and water. But he spends most of his time online with his computer. He even created a Puritans vs. Witches game—not in the best taste, considering the Wiccan population here and the tragedy. But I’m assuming it does quite well.”
“Computer games do very well when they become popular,” Kylie murmured and smiled. She’d asked Obadiah once why he didn’t speak with thee and thy and other forms of the English language associated with his era. He reminded her that he’d been around for hundreds of years. He was, naturally, up on technology as it came along. He could be capable of mischief, too—messing with the computers of those he followed if he saw them practice cruelty—not something illegal, just cruel.
“Puritans vs. Witches. Calvin is young, tall, and capable of the strength needed,” Jon added.
“Can he be followed?” Kylie asked. “Or watched in some way.”
“We can do our best,” Jon said. “I spoke with Ben this morning. His task force has been following clowns—but we know that our killer changed costumes at least once. I can ask him to get someone on our young Calvin. And if not, I’ll see if someone can come up from headquarters. This still isn’t an FBI investigation in any official way, but Ben and the guys here don’t resent any help. We have a major problem because we’re in the middle of Haunted Happenings.”
“That would be good,” Obadiah said. “Now, mind you, the young man did nothing to indicate that he is secretly homicidal.” He gave them a weak smile. “I saw him working or playing several games. He’s quite good. I think I was born at the wrong time. I would have made a wonderful warrior. A fine member of the Knights Templar.”
“The end wasn’t too great for Jacques de Molay,” Kylie said, grimacing.
“Because Philip IV of France was an avaricious man—deeply indebted to the Templars,” Obadiah told them indignantly. He looked at Kylie sheepishly. “Forgive me. I do enjoy reading history books and catching a good documentary when I can pop in on someone watching a fine show.”
“It’s all right. I agree. The Templars were wrongly persecuted,” Kylie assured him.
“Well, I have said what I know. Which helps little, I fear. But I shall keep at it,” Obadiah promised. “Oh, and yes, I visited next door. Kenny and Ginger had a bit of a spat over him waking her up when he crawls around the kitchen at night, but…” He paused, wincing.
“But?” Jon asked him.
Obadiah shuddered. “I told you. I don’t go into bedrooms. They seemed to make up with a great deal of movement.”
Kylie lowered her head, trying not to smile. They all stood, and Obadiah headed for the door. He could, of course, go through it, but he waited for Jon to open it for him and bid them all good luck, pausing to say, “There is today, my friends. Halloween approaches. I don’t believe there has been a pointed threat from this murderer, but…it is Halloween. And he seems to take great pleasure in dressing up. Halloween, ah. In my day, it was merely the night before All Saints’ Day.”
“Thank you, Obadiah. We will try hard to stop him before he can kill again,” Jon promised.
Obadiah nodded and started down the walk. And then he disappeared into the bright sunlight rising on the late October day.
It would be a good Halloween for New Englanders. Early snows had not come that year. The air was growing colder each day, but the sun made for a nice touch of warmth.
“What’s the plan?” Kylie asked Jon.
“I think we should see something of Haunted Happenings,” Jon said.
Kylie frowned.
“And we’re dropping in on the realtor.”
“I told you; I met her already with Brenda. She was devastated and said she’d take the house off Brenda’s hands.”
“At Brenda’s loss, I imagine,” Jon murmured. “I haven’t met her yet. We’ll see.”
“She was sincerely upset and seemed really worried about Brenda.”
“Speaking of, give her a call. Tell her we’re sorry since she could be out partying, but she needs to stay locked in tight.”
“Will do. She should be fine. People are out in the streets, masked in various ways. Several of the happenings are virtual this year, but businesses are open, so the streets will be filled with musicians and performers and more.”
“Exactly. Shall we?” He politely offered her his arm.
“Okay, where are we off to?”
“The Pedestrian Mall on Essex Street.” He gave her a wry smile. “We can pay a visit to the Old Burying Point and see if anyone is about, and then stop by the realty office.”
“What makes you think Mandy Nichols will be there?”