Janet McNulty - Mellow Summers 07 - Two Ghosts Haunt a Grove (6 page)

The bell above the glass door rang as we walked inside.

“Hello,” greeted the bald man behind the counter.

“Afternoon,” I replied, “I got this pipe here that appears to be made of ivory, but I want to be sure of its value.”

“HMMM, let me see.”

The man gingerly took the pipe. He put in an eye piece so he could study it more thoroughly. He twirled it around in his fingers examining every inch of it. I waited patiently while listening to Jackie drum her fingers on the counter.

“I’m afraid you won’t get much for this.”

“Why?” I asked.

“These markings give it away,” the man pointed them out to me. Honestly, I never would have noticed it. “Also the weight is a bit off and—” he chipped some of the outer covering of the pipe “—this isn’t even ivory. It’s a good fake though.”

“Isn’t ivory,” said Jackie.

“Nope,” said the man, “it’s plaster. Most would never be able to tell the difference. Only those of us who know the trade can. It looks like this was a pipe that was coated in plaster and then carved to look like real ivory. A really good fake.”

“Why would anyone do that?” I asked.

“To make money,” replied the man. “People are always looking for some genuine something or other. If you’re good at forging things you can make a lot of money.”

Well that answered that question. Mrs. Dayton bought a fake ivory pipe at a flea market antiques shop that specialized in items made from ivory. And somehow this was all connected with that property. I wondered who owned it now that Mr. Kellmore was dead.

The man put the pipe under the counter; his eyes shifting as though he hoped no one saw him. Quickly, I snatched his wrist and yanked the pipe from him. “What are you doing? You trying to sneak off with it?”

“No—I—No,” he stammered as Tiny rose to his full height and bulkiness.

“I thought you said it was worthless,” said Tiny.

“It is!” The man looked at all of us afraid of what we might do. “I just thought, since it is a fake you might not want it and I can—”

“Con someone out of their hard earned money I bet,” finished Tiny.

“A person has to make a living somehow,” said the man.

“Dishonest buffoon,” murmured Tiny. “Let’s go before he tries to sell us something that isn’t real.”

We left the store a bit disappointed. For Mrs. Dayton’s sake I had hoped the pipe was real ivory. Oh well. One thing was definitely for certain, the guy at the flea market knew that all of his items made from ivory were fakes. So where was he getting them from?

“Thanks, Tiny,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Mel. Too bad someone gave you a fake. Where’d your friend get it anyway?’

“She got it from some antique shop at the flea market. Jackie and I went there earlier today and the owner insisted that he had every item appraised and was genuine ivory.”

“Talk about a lying sack of—” began Jackie before I interrupted her.

“This proves that he is either really ignorant—”

“Dumb,” Jackie spat.

“—or is purposefully selling fakes.”

“I think it’s the latter,” said Jackie.

“Want me and the boys to put the fear of God in him?” suggested Tiny. He would too. All I had to do was say the word.

“Not just yet,” I said.

Tiny’s face fell.

“But you could keep an eye on the guy. He’s getting his stuff from somewhere and I’d like to know where.”

“You got it. That man won’t make a move without us knowing about it.” Tiny jumped on his bike and the engine roared to life. “See you girls later.”

“So now what?” asked Jackie.

My cell phone rang. “Hello?” I answered.

“Mel,” came Greg’s voice, “you are going to love me. Tonight we are going to Antonio’s.”

“What?”

“I got some gift certificates for there. This older gentleman gave them to me this morning when I helped him with his car. So tonight, you and I are having a romantic evening at Antonio’s and it’s free!”

“That’s great!” I was really excited. It had been awhile since Greg and I had gone out, just the two of us.

“So get dressed up nice. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What’s up?” asked Jackie.

“Greg got gift certificates for Antonio’s,” I said.

“That’s a really expensive place.”

“I know! And he’s coming to pick me up.”

“You say that like it’s a big deal. He lives right across the hall.”

I glared at her.

“Sorry. Let’s go home. I need to do something with your hair and you can borrow my dressy sandals. Oh! I know exactly what you should wear.”

I found myself being dragged back home by my fashion consultant, but I didn’t care. I was excited to be going to the most expensive place in town with my man.

Chapter 5

Seven o’clock on the dot Greg picked me up. Jackie let me borrow one of her blouses and dressy sandals. Luckily I had a skirt and the jade jacket she had given me when we first moved here.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” I said, closing the door behind me.

“You two kids have fun,” Jackie called from the living room.

Antonio’s was packed when we arrived. Despite it being a bit expensive, they served really good food and everyone loved going there. The owner, Antonio Bonbarda, moved here from Italy with his family and built this restaurant offering authentic Italian food. His pizzas were to die for and were nothing like what you got at the local Pizza Hut. All of his sauces were homemade with his old family recipe; a closely guarded secret.

He made the noodles fresh each day adding a special blend of spices. Alone, the noodles were tasty, but add his pasta sauces and—Yum! Of course, you could always get the house salad and appetizers. Then there were the desserts, all of it made from scratch.

So you can see why people would be coming to this place to eat. Pricy? Maybe. But authentic Italian food made entirely from scratch with real, wholesome ingredients—how can you possibly go wrong? And Antonio’s was always crowded.

The hostess seated us in the middle of the restaurant. My mouth watered as I looked over the menu anticipating what delectable goodness I was about to choose. I decided on the veal ptarmigan while Greg ordered a pizza.

“So how was your day?” asked Greg.

“Okay,” I replied, “Jackie and I went to the flea market today to check out the place where Mrs. Dayton got the pipe.”

“What did you find out?”

“The guy who owns it has all kinds of things that are supposedly made from ivory.”

“But you don’t think they are,” said Greg.

“No,” I replied, “I took the pipe to an appraiser today and discovered it was a fake. The guy at the flea market insisted that everything he sells is real and has been authenticated. Either he screwed up, or he’s lying.”

“How could someone get so much ivory?” asked Greg.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, acquiring ivory for carving is next to impossible. Trading it has been barred internationally to prevent animals being killed for their ivory tusks. So how could one man get so many items made from something that people are no longer allowed to buy and sell?”

“He claims he inherited it from his great-grandmother,” I said.

Greg’s expression mirrored my own. I didn’t buy the store owner’s story either.

“Which is why I don’t think his items made from ivory are genuine. They have to be fake.”

“That is quite an operation. Making a bunch of fake ivory stuff and dressing it up to look old,” said Greg.

“Yeah.”

I sipped my tea and glanced around the room. A man with a young woman on his arm sat across the dining area. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it right then. However, I was willing to bet that the woman he was with was not his wife. “Who’s that?” I asked Greg.

Greg looked where I pointed. “That’s Kyle Kellmore.”

Kellmore! Of course, that’s why he looked familiar. Now that I thought about it, I saw his father’s jaw on him. “How do you know?”

“His face has been in the paper. You really need to read it more often.” Greg stood up and walked over to where a bunch of newspapers lay on a table for the taking. He grabbed one and handed it to me. “Here.”

I glanced at it. The headline read:
Prominent Businessman Dies—Son Inherits.
I glanced back at Kyle Kellmore. For a man that had recently lost his father—considering the guy died only two days ago—he didn’t seem that upset, especially with his face planted on young, hot thing on his arm. I know some people don’t get along with their parents, but you’d think that he would at least pretend to be sad.

“Doesn’t seem that shaken up,” I commented.

“Some people deal with death differently,” said Greg.

Different is right. Kyle and miss toy were sticking their tongues down each other’s throats. Something wasn’t right.
They’re trying to kill me.
Mr. Kellmore’s voice echoed in my head. He was adamant that someone was going to murder him and then he died. Suddenly, his accusations rang true to me.

“I want to know more about him,” I said.

“What?”

“Kyle Kellmore,” I said, “Something isn’t right. I want to know more about him and any other family he has.”

“I’ll get Jack to look it up,” said Greg, “In the meantime you can start by reading that article.”

I took the paper. Our food arrived as I read the front page article about Kyle Kellmore.

Philip Kellmore, owner of Kellmore Development, died last Monday from a heart attack. An aging man in poor health, his death came as little surprise.

Ownership of Kellmore Development passes to his surviving son, Kyle Kellmore. “We will continue in the ventures my father took before his passing,” said Kyle in an interview.

Recently, Philip Kellmore purchased the property of Joseph Bourtonson—an abandoned estate who many say is the residence of Smiley’s Ghost—with the intention of building a resort. Plans of construction have been put on hold as the family deals with their tragic loss.

“I think for now we need to amend ourselves with my father’s death,” said Kyle Kellmore, “At some point, Kellmore Development will have to decide what direction we wish to go in now that we are denied my father’s wisdom and guidance.”

For now it appears that Joseph Bourtonson’s property will remain untouched, something I’m certain the ghost appreciates.

See
Property Dispute
page 8A for more.

I turned to page 8A. A smaller headline read:
Sister of Kyle Kellmore Disputes Claim to Bourtonson Property
.

Stacy Kellmore, sister to Kyle Kellmore and daughter of the late Philip Kellmore, has filed a property dispute regarding the inheritance of Kellmore Development, but most notably of the Joseph Bourtonson Estate. “My father promised me half of that property,” said Stacy when questioned, “He was on his way to get his will changed when he died.”

Conspiracy theorists are already buzzing about how Philip Kellmore must have been murdered. Many ghost hunters claim Smiley’s Ghost did it. Rest assured, it was nothing more than a heart attack.

The court date for the property dispute is set for September 26. Mrs. Kellmore, Philip Kellmore’s widow, denied comment through her sister-in-law about this latest rift between her children—she hasn’t been seen for the last three years. I’m sure we are all interested in how this will turn out.

I folded the paper and put it down. So Kyle inherited his father’s company and all of the property that his father had purchased. But Stacy Kellmore insisted that the Bourtonson place was to be hers. All was not well in paradise. Something was up and the old man’s death still bothered me. And once again, the abandoned inn/house was in the middle of it all.

I dug into my veal savoring every ounce of it. The veal was tender and the pasta delicious. Investigations would have to wait, but Kyle was definitely on my radar.

Laughter from Kyle’s mistress echoed throughout the restaurant. I got an idea.

“Where are you going?” Greg asked as I stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

Straightening my outfit, I moseyed over to Kyle. His laughter and enjoyment stopped the moment I reached his table.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“Mr. Kyle Kellmore, I presume,” I said.

“Yes.” His agitated manner told me that he did not appreciate being noticed with his girlfriend.

“My name is Mellow Summers. I just wanted to extend my condolences about your father,” I said, extending my hand.

Cautiously, Kyle took it.

“I was there when he died. Tragic—tragic business.”

“Oh, you’re that clerk from that store,” said Kyle, becoming a bit more friendly.

“Yes, he came in to speak with me about something. Poor guy was really scared.”

“What did he want to speak to you about?” asked Kyle. His tone was too interested.