The Stubborn Schoolhouse Spirit (The Penelope Pembroke Cozy Mystery Series) by Judy Nickles
Authors: Judy Nickles
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certificate.”
“Why is that interesting?” Shana asked.
“Because he just sort of disappeared. He’s not even buried in the City Cemetery.”
Shana shrugged. “So he died somewhere else, and they didn’t send him back here.”
“But where did he die, and why didn’t they send him home?”
“Maybe this wasn’t his home.” Shana frowned suddenly and sat up straighter. “You know, one day right after I came the first time, I found about a dozen boxes in the storeroom marked with the name Collier. I called Miss Emma, and she said they’d been there since Mrs. Collier died. She said she’d never had time to open them.”
“How did they get there?”
“She said Mrs. Collier’s great-nephew brought them when he was cleaning out her house.”
“Lewis Collier,” Mary Lynn said. “I remember him. Came down from somewhere in Connecticut or Vermont when Jessie Ruth died. He was her executor.”
“Come to think of it, that was the name of the informant on her death certificate,” Penelope said.
“So maybe he didn’t know the name of her father.”
“Could be. But I know we ought to get into those boxes.”
“Be my guest,” Shana said. “I’d like to get them out of the way.”
“I could use Daddy’s pickup to take them to the old school. That way we could spread out everything as we unpack it.”
“On what?” Mary Lynn asked. “There’s not a stick of furniture in the building.”
“Then we’ll borrow some long tables from the parish hall. Fr. Loeffler won’t mind. There’s always four or five extra whenever we have a dinner anyway. We’ll go by and put those in the truck, too.”
“Wait until Thursday when we have some heat. If we have heat.”
“One of the boxes is labeled pictures, I think,” Shana said, coming out of her thoughts.
“I’ll take that one home with me tonight,” Penelope said, turning to Mary Lynn. “Harry’s book will even have pictures in it. How about that?”
“Book?” Shana asked.
“Harry’s going to get someone to write a town history and have it published,” Mary Lynn said.
“I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
Mary Lynn and Penelope exchanged glances. “I’ll tell Harry.”
Shana teared up. “I’m going to need something to do with the rest of the time I’m in Amaryllis. Beats going home to an empty apartment.”
“Get a cat,” Penelope advised. “ Abijah’s lots of company, even with Daddy and people coming and going at the B&B,.”
“Somehow a cat just puts the last nail in the coffin,” Shana said. “Admitting that I’ll be an old maid.”
Mary Lynn laughed. “Honey, you’re not anywhere close to that point yet. Get a cat. Tell it your troubles every night, like Penelope does.”
“I don’t tell Abijah squat,” Penelope snapped.
“Because you don’t have squat to tell,” Mary Lynn said. “Get a man.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mary Lynn and I tease each other all the time, but that was a low blow. Get a man. She lucked out with Harry all right, but I learned from my whopper of a mistak e with Travis. I’ve lived a dozen years without anything in pants and gotten along just fine. Penelope sighed and punched her pillow. The clock radio read eleven-thirty, and she still hadn’t heard Sam come in.
Who am I kidding? Maybe I don’t need a man, but I sure need what one can give me. If that phone hadn’t gone off last night, I might’ve given in. The old ache consumed her. Travis was a wham-bam-thank you-ma’am sort of lover. At least I got Bradley out of the deal, but I don’t think I enjoyed it very much. What am I doing thinking like this? I know it’s wrong, but…
She sat up, listening. Were those footsteps on the stairs? Sam’s footsteps? The soft rap on her door answered the question. “It’s not locked,” she called.
He stepped inside. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
She heard the laughter in his voice. “No, I’m not. I was worried about you.”
“Thanks.”
He
“Why is that interesting?” Shana asked.
“Because he just sort of disappeared. He’s not even buried in the City Cemetery.”
Shana shrugged. “So he died somewhere else, and they didn’t send him back here.”
“But where did he die, and why didn’t they send him home?”
“Maybe this wasn’t his home.” Shana frowned suddenly and sat up straighter. “You know, one day right after I came the first time, I found about a dozen boxes in the storeroom marked with the name Collier. I called Miss Emma, and she said they’d been there since Mrs. Collier died. She said she’d never had time to open them.”
“How did they get there?”
“She said Mrs. Collier’s great-nephew brought them when he was cleaning out her house.”
“Lewis Collier,” Mary Lynn said. “I remember him. Came down from somewhere in Connecticut or Vermont when Jessie Ruth died. He was her executor.”
“Come to think of it, that was the name of the informant on her death certificate,” Penelope said.
“So maybe he didn’t know the name of her father.”
“Could be. But I know we ought to get into those boxes.”
“Be my guest,” Shana said. “I’d like to get them out of the way.”
“I could use Daddy’s pickup to take them to the old school. That way we could spread out everything as we unpack it.”
“On what?” Mary Lynn asked. “There’s not a stick of furniture in the building.”
“Then we’ll borrow some long tables from the parish hall. Fr. Loeffler won’t mind. There’s always four or five extra whenever we have a dinner anyway. We’ll go by and put those in the truck, too.”
“Wait until Thursday when we have some heat. If we have heat.”
“One of the boxes is labeled pictures, I think,” Shana said, coming out of her thoughts.
“I’ll take that one home with me tonight,” Penelope said, turning to Mary Lynn. “Harry’s book will even have pictures in it. How about that?”
“Book?” Shana asked.
“Harry’s going to get someone to write a town history and have it published,” Mary Lynn said.
“I’ve always wanted to write a book.”
Mary Lynn and Penelope exchanged glances. “I’ll tell Harry.”
Shana teared up. “I’m going to need something to do with the rest of the time I’m in Amaryllis. Beats going home to an empty apartment.”
“Get a cat,” Penelope advised. “ Abijah’s lots of company, even with Daddy and people coming and going at the B&B,.”
“Somehow a cat just puts the last nail in the coffin,” Shana said. “Admitting that I’ll be an old maid.”
Mary Lynn laughed. “Honey, you’re not anywhere close to that point yet. Get a cat. Tell it your troubles every night, like Penelope does.”
“I don’t tell Abijah squat,” Penelope snapped.
“Because you don’t have squat to tell,” Mary Lynn said. “Get a man.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mary Lynn and I tease each other all the time, but that was a low blow. Get a man. She lucked out with Harry all right, but I learned from my whopper of a mistak e with Travis. I’ve lived a dozen years without anything in pants and gotten along just fine. Penelope sighed and punched her pillow. The clock radio read eleven-thirty, and she still hadn’t heard Sam come in.
Who am I kidding? Maybe I don’t need a man, but I sure need what one can give me. If that phone hadn’t gone off last night, I might’ve given in. The old ache consumed her. Travis was a wham-bam-thank you-ma’am sort of lover. At least I got Bradley out of the deal, but I don’t think I enjoyed it very much. What am I doing thinking like this? I know it’s wrong, but…
She sat up, listening. Were those footsteps on the stairs? Sam’s footsteps? The soft rap on her door answered the question. “It’s not locked,” she called.
He stepped inside. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
She heard the laughter in his voice. “No, I’m not. I was worried about you.”
“Thanks.”
He
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