This was supposed to be spooky, not sad.
She turned and had deftly switched the flashlight for a laser pointer that she was now pointing at a second-story window over Mistery Flowers and Gifts.
“Weasel died there.In that room.And people say, if you’re in the room he was in, and awake at one thirty-seven in the morning, Weasel’s time of death, you can hear the disembodied words of a young man saying, ‘But I won.’”
Okay, a little spooky.
But still sad.
She shoved the picture she had in her messenger bag and started walking.
The small group followed her.
Hutch and I drew up the rear, with Hutch saying in my ear, “That building wasn’t there in gunslinging days.If anyone looked, they’d see the year plaque on the front says 1911.”
I slapped his chest and snapped low, “Don’t ruin it.And give a girl some room to hustle.”
He grinned and slung an arm around my shoulders.I slid mine around his waist.
And we took the tour, which wasn’t that spooky at all, so I figured, unless the tour had significantly changed in the last few years, Abigail wanted to get laid by Brett and was looking for an excuse.
When it was over, and tourist lady and her man were approaching people to see if anyone could drive them the five blocks to the start of the tour, undoubtedly so she could get off those heels, Hutch and I were again last to give Jill a tip.
While Hutch was handing over ten dollars, I asked, “In your awesome bag of history, do you happen to have a picture of Chisolm Beckwith or Clementine Cosgrove…erm, Beckwith?”
Jill brightened up, but she said, “No.Though I have a ton of boxes of old pictures and stuff at my place.I can dig through them.You have an interest in Misted Pines history?”
“I moved here just under a year ago.So now I get to do the fun parts of getting my bearings,” I told her.
“Well, you should take my history tour.I do it two times during the week, and every Saturday and Sunday.”
Since her ghost tour only cost ten bucks a person, and there were only eight folks in tonight’s tour, and she had the same schedule for the history ones, I hoped she got good tips.
“I’ll do that,” I told her.
“How do you know about Chisolm and Clementine?”she asked.
Considering she knew a lot about MP history (even if she embellished or changed things to suit her fancy and get her numbers up), I wasn’t sure Hutch wanted me to say anything due to the fact he was a private person, and she might know where Chisolm and Clementine lived, and as such, Hutch.
So I was surprised when he said, “I live on their land.”
In the old-fashioned, black iron, globe streetlights, her face veritably beamed.
“Oh my God!”she nearly squealed.“Does it still have the Tate kitchen?”
That got my attention.“That Tate kitchen?”
She nodded giddily.“Tate and Sons Cabinetmaking and Woodworking.They were based in New York City.They did Gilded Age mansions.They also shipped custom pieces out west for government buildings, like state houses, and gold and silver rush mansions.Their work is supposed to beamazing.And word is, Beckwith commissioned Tate to build the kitchen in his log cabin for Clementine.They say it cost a year of furs he trapped.But he didn’t even blink.”
That explained Hutch’s kitchen.
And how much Chisolm loved his wife.
“So?”she pushed.“Is it still in the house?”
“’Spect not,” Hutch lied (and that would be what I’d expect him to say).“My kitchen is old, but not that old.”
Her face fell.
