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“Huh. I’ve never heard of you.”
“I get that a lot,” Ambrose said. “About our questions.”
“What kind of stuff do you write?”
“Thrillers,” Ambrose said.
“Cool,” Ron said. He paused. “I don’t read a lot of fiction.”
“You’d be amazed how many people tell me that,” Ambrose said.
Ron’s eyes lit with excitement. “You know what? I’ve been thinking about doing a book about the history of Carnelian. Lots of great stories. You could be my ghostwriter.”
Ambrose ignored the laughter in Pallas’s eyes.
“Thanks,” he said. “But I’m tied up with my current contract. About our questions.”
“Sure,” Ron said. “What do you want to know?”
“There were some major changes at the college shortly before an anonymous donor funded the Institute,” Ambrose said. “Guthrie was appointed dean and Margaret Moore was hired to manage the endowment. Did Geddings ever mention those two?”
“He knew them because they paid a lot of attention to the Institute, but he didn’t consider them friends, if that’s what you mean,” Ron said. “He didn’t think too highly of them, I can tell you that. He mentioned once that he was sure they were sleeping together and had been for a long time.”
“Moore and Guthrie are a couple?” Pallas asked sharply.
“According to Geddings,” Ron said. “He suspected they are working a scam of some kind, probably skimming off the college endowment. He didn’t think it was the first time they had played that game. In his opinion, they are a couple of grifters. But, hey, the college authorities think they are brilliant because they brought in that big donor. Hard to argue, given the size of that donation.”
Pallas looked at Ron. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“No problem,” Ron said. His eyes lit up. “Think you’ll get a podcast out of Geddings’s disappearance?”
“Maybe,” Pallas said. “If we do I’ll be back to record an interview with you, assuming you’re up for that.”
“Absolutely,” Ron said. “Does that mean you’re not interested in our local ghosts, Catherine and Xavier Carnelian?”
“Ghost stories are not a focus ofThe Lost Night Files,” Pallas said. “As a faithful listener I’m sure you’re aware that we try to stick to more unusual cold cases.”
“Right,” Ron said. He looked around with pride. “But the Carnelian ghosts are special to those of us who grew up here. After all, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Catherine Carnelian haunted her bastard husband to his death, her sister, Eugenia, would never have inherited the fortune. There would have been no Carnelian College, no hospital, no library. Hell, there probably wouldn’t be a town if not for her.”
Pallas went closer to the impressive gray crypt and studied the list of names on the plaque. “The last name on here is Alexander Carnelian. The date is eighteen ninety-five. I don’t see Catherine’s name, or Xavier’s.”
“That’s because neither of them was buried in the family crypt,” Ron said.
“I can see why Eugenia didn’t want Xavier buried inside,” Pallas said. “But why isn’t Catherine here?”
“There was no way to identify the body,” Ron said. “She died inside the asylum. Back in those days the deceased patients were buried anonymously. They were identified with just a number. The number corresponded to a record of names that the director of the asylum kept locked up. Supposedly it was done that way to protect the family’s privacy.”
“Wouldn’t want potential marriages threatened by gossip about insanity in the family line,” Ambrose said.
“That was the official reason,” Ron said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if the director of the asylum was running a lucrative sideline blackmailing the families.”
Pallas looked grim. “I’ll bet you’re right.”
“In the end it didn’t matter,” Ron said. “The record of the names of the deceased and the corresponding numbers on the coffins was destroyed in a fire. That meant there was no way to identify Catherine Carnelian’s body so that it could be moved here to the family crypt.”
“I doubt if Catherine would have wanted to be buried in the Carnelian crypt,” Pallas said. “She must have hated her husband for having her locked up.”
Ambrose studied the monument. “Where is Xavier Carnelian buried?”
