Haunted Secrets: Tales of James Moran Vol. 2

A Path to Riches

Harry Burton’s corpse was found behind a gas station in Manchester. It looked like a mugging, save for the fact Burton had more than ten thousand in cash on him. There was also a winning lottery ticket he’d just purchased at the gas station worth another five thousand.

He was brutally beaten, and his ribs, arms, legs, and pelvis were all broken. He had a punctured lung, a ruptured spleen, and a lacerated liver. The security camera was malfunctioning, and all that was recorded was static. Police were canvassing and questioning and still had no suspects.

Among Burton’s possessions were a new Rolex watch, a golden pendant, and two silver rings. All were brand new, purchased in the previous week. The only old item of note was the money clip that held his substantial cash supply. It was sterling silver and nearly one hundred years old, engraved with the initials P.F. Obviously not originally Burton’s.

Burton’s mother Diane, a sixty-five-year-old woman on disability after years of working as a nurse, was the sole recipient of her son’s possessions. He had no will and no wife or children. In Mrs. Burton’s words, her son was a bit of a drifter, fell in with some unsavory types when he was in his teens and had never fallen out. She had no idea where he got the sudden windfall before his death, but he had been generous.

Burton had bought his mother a new washer and dryer, and a new microwave. He promised he’d get her a new house, too, but he died before that promise came to fruition.

Two months after her son died, James Moran received a call from Diane Burton. She had been referred to him by another antiques dealer Moran had known for some years as a casual business acquaintance.

“It’s a silver money clip,” Mrs. Burton told him over the phone.

“Do you know the age or provenance?” James asked her.

It was a Tuesday morning, just after nine o’clock. Mrs. Burton was an early bird when it came to business, and the shop had only been open for five minutes when James got the call.

“Provenance?” Mrs. Burton asked.

“Where it came from. Anything about its history,” Moran said.

“Oh. I’m sorry, no. My son was not much into antiques, I’m afraid. Oldest thing he owned was his car. It was an eighty-nine Lumina.”

“I see.” James was unsure of why the woman had been referred to him. An antique money clip could have been worth money, but it hardly sounded rare or interesting.

“The other dealer here in Manchester, Mr. McHenry, said you’d know more about it. Said it was your area of expertise?”

“My area of expertise,” James repeated.

David McHenry had met James Moran maybe three times in person, though they had corresponded more than that. They had run across one another many years prior as a continuation of business between McHenry and James’ father. He seemed to know what Moran and Moran specialized in but never specifically mentioned it, and James had not taken it upon himself to ask. It was not the sort of thing he brought up unbidden.

“It has initials engraved in it,” Mrs. Burton continued, “and it’s very cold to the touch.”

James nodded but nothing in response to her information.

“Can you come to the shop so that I can perhaps appraise it for you?” he asked.

“Oh, my. I’m afraid I don’t leave the house that often, Mr. Moran. My arthritis makes it hard. Especially when I have a flareup.”

“Not to worry; I’m due for a trip up your way. I could stop by while I’m in town if that’s okay with you.”

“I don’t want to put you out—”

“Nonsense,” James said. “I’ll be there tomorrow if we can work out a time to meet.”

Mrs. Burton agreed that James could visit in the early afternoon. He had no plans to visit Manchester, of course, but he would make the journey for the sake of seeing her money clip, which sounded very much like a haunted item. He just hoped it would stay docile until he arrived.