Ghost of the Broken Swing

By C. M. Spriggs

On Halloween evening, 1926, Allison Cook and Harry Houdini die at the same time but in different parts of Michigan. Their earthly lives are interconnected by a doctor who treated Harry in Detroit and did the autopsy on Allison in Muskegon. Upon arriving on the other side, Harry and Allison are given an assignment to work together and subtly assist in resolving Allisons murder. Tommy Bartlett, Allisons boyfriend, gets arrested for the crime, but there are some hidden circumstances that must be uncovered. The two spirits create ways to lead the doctor, his family, Tommy, and the quilters of Muskegon on a journey of justice and purpose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466956872

C. M. Spriggs

Chris Spriggs, a retired engineer from Oklahoma Natural Gas Co., has published several technical articles. This novel is his first historical fiction. The script is based on local stories he and his wife heard while visiting family in Muskegon, Michigan.

Book preview

Prologue

October 31, 1926

The Muskegon harbor was a fun and exciting place to be for everyone this Halloween afternoon. The city had done well planning the activities. Food vendors, games, and small shows were scattered all over the dock. The smell of caramel corn and candied apples wafted across the pier beckoning everyone for a taste. At the west end of the pier, all the yachts and wooden boats were being pulled out to dry-dock and this became part of the entertainment. Each boat coming out of the water would get decorated with pumpkins, witches, and ghosts before being rolled to final storage. The yacht club held a contest each year for best decorated boat. This year the best-of-show went to the local dentist’s forty-five foot cruiser. Although the boat was well decorated, the judge’s pick was a result of the show in front of the boat. The dentist/cruiser captain had dressed up as Captain Hook and his wife had dressed as his pirate’s maiden. The local kids just loved it when the captain would wave his hook around and growl out Who goes there? and then his maiden would cry out, Don’t hurt them—please! Don’t hurt these poor—innocent—children!

Doby Sprague was also there just a few feet away helping with the water balloon toss. Doby was a muscular young man who had dressed up as a shipmate with a black patch over his left eye and an orange-spotted kerchief on his head. Three young teenage girls had come up to play the game. Two of them weren’t so interested in the game but rather they were interested to see if they could catch Doby’s one open eye. The third one, more quiet, seemed preoccupied with other matters. Doby remained as professional as he could even though the flirtations from the two were obvious. As he prepared to set the game up, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the quiet auburn-haired girl.

The purpose of this game is to hit the clown face with a water balloon when the clown face pops up. If you win, you get a handful of taffy. What Doby didn’t say was they were all going to win whether they hit the clown face or not.

Doby—Doby Sprague! Come over here and help us with this rigging, the crane operator hollered out. Jake, the crane operator was Doby’s supervisor around the dock. He knew Doby could handle the problem with the twisted lines on the yacht that his other helper couldn’t seem to figure out. Doby quickly put the balloons down he was handling, and ran out on the pier to where the problem was occurring. Suddenly, the ferry boat blasted its horn, a balloon popped at the water-balloon booth, and Doby—startled—slipped on the water drenched dock. He was able to catch most of his fall but his left foot slipped off the dock and wedged between the yacht and the wooden pier. Yeow! Doby cried out. Someone help push this (words to embarrass a sailor) yacht off my foot!

The three curious girls came running up to the accident first, but they were of no help except to just squeal and let everyone know there was still a problem. Finally, Jake, figuring out what was happening, jumped out of the crane cab and hollered to his other helper, Get over here Pete. See what Doby’s problem is. At first, Jake seemed very concerned over everything except Doby, but then Captain Hook and the maiden arrived. Jake, now more concerned asked, Okay Cap’n—what do you suggest?

You and your helper push on the yacht and I’ll pull his leg up, Captain Hook directed. After just a short struggle, Doby’s leg was free but the damage was done. Let’s wrap his leg up and immobilize it as best as we can, Hook said. We can use a couple of tent stakes from the game area and this pirate’s head kerchief to tie his leg up. My wife and I will haul him to the hospital to get him cared for. I sure hope Doctor Feltwood is there this afternoon."

Chapter 1

The Next day

The neighborhood was all abuzz about Doctor Mark Feltwood’s return from Detroit. As a side note, the locals first wanted to let the doctor know all about Doby’s accident. But what they really wanted to hear about was the medical treatment of the famous escape artist, and, most importantly, they wanted to hear his take on the unfortunate death of Allison Cook.

Several days earlier Doctor Feltwood had been called in from Grace Memorial Hospital to administer treatment to Harry Houdini. The famed illusionist had been diagnosed with a severe infection from a ruptured appendix. Doctor Mark knew the odds for survival were slim when he first saw Houdini’s yellowish color. Still, he was willing to give it a try since he had been somewhat successful with a new serum he and his team had developed back in Muskegon. Initially, the serum seemed to work. Houdini’s color started to change to a yellow-pink and he began to stir in a more relaxed manner. Houdini even began to calculate with the nurses how he planned to make his next great escape and joked with the red-haired one that he could use her in the act if she didn’t mind tight places. Unfortunately, the following day—Halloween, the infection grew and Houdini was unable to escape. At that moment, broooot—a fog horn sounded off Lake St. Clair as if to signal his passing from life unto death.

Houdini had been obsessed with death. Not only were some of his stage performances focused around the possibility of the audiences seeing his demise, but another side of his life centered on exposing those who would deceive others by pretending to communicate with the dead. He would often bet he could uncover their trickery by just sitting in their séances and observing their methods. He never lost the bet, even though secretly he wanted to lose.

As soon as Doctor Mark arrived home, Pat and Betsy were waiting on the back porch with more anticipation than just the normal hug, kiss, and welcome home. Pat was first. Honey—you have three messages you will need to read as soon as you unpack.

Betsy couldn’t wait any longer. Daddy, you have to hear about Allison!

Pat scolded back, Betsy! Let your dad catch his breath before you go blurting the events of the week. Besides, you may have to wait a little longer. I think his office is desperate for him to return.

Doctor Mark had planned on taking a half day rest after the long, 150 mile, 5 hour ride from Detroit, but, he sighed, Rest will have to wait. After neatly placing his medical bag and luggage in the closet, he began to read the first of his three messages which had been delivered the day before: A young man at the pier got his foot caught between a moving yacht and the dock and needs his ankle set. Two hours later the second message had been delivered: An older man from the Muskegon Lumber Mill fell from a scaffold and dislocated his shoulder.

Why do these things always happen when I am away? He knew Margaret, Suzie and young Doctor Watts were covering at the office and would do the best they could for the two men. He figured they would be able to set the dislocated shoulder but they might not be able to handle the broken ankle. He also knew they would make the men as comfortable as possible and give them opium and whiskey to relieve the pain.

I swear—Pat’s party probably wiped me out and I’ll have to restock my whiskey from the . . . pharmacist. For the life of me, I don’t understand why a group of quilters need to spike their punch.

The last message was the most disturbing. It simply read, Your neighbor’s daughter, Allison, needs an autopsy. Chief Mitchell asked specifically for your services. The family is quite anxious for you to release the body so they can begin the funeral processes. Will fill you in when you arrive.

Allison? Allison Cook? Allison was just fine when I left. Pat had just mentioned a few days ago she spied out the kitchen window and saw Allison and Tommy Bartlett sneaking off during school just to get a little sparking in around the big oak tree.

Pat! What happened to Allison Cook? She was fine a week ago.

Pat and Betsy came running into the bedroom and before Pat could speak Betsy chimed in, Daddy—Just after I heard the ferry ship blast its horn, Allison died! She fell out of the tree swing next door. Allison and Tommy Bartlett were flirting around during mom’s quilting bee and the swing broke and she hit her head and broke her neck!

To give herself a chance to speak, Pat grabbed Betsy by the shoulder. "Tommy came running over just after it happened. He was extremely distraught. He said he was at her house to help hand out treats. Allison had decided to go out to the backyard and rest awhile and he stayed in to watch for kids. After a short time he went to check on her and he found her hurt underneath the broken swing. He said she must have gone over backwards and hit her head. The quilters were here and we all ran over to see if we could help. Allison was just lying there under the swing as lifeless as could be. What an awful tragedy! Freddie also came and checked her over and determined that she had apparently died just after hitting her head.

What about the chief? When did he show up? What did he have to say? Dr. Mark asked.

I called for him just after Tommy came running over. He arrived in just a short while, Pat replied. "He didn’t say much—just questioned everyone for a bit—then grumbled