Chapter 3 Erik
THREE
ERIK
“Forecast says more storms coming in,” Erik announced when he came up from the store to check in with Ben after breakfast the next morning.
“Figures. The comment boards are jumping with people swearing they’ve seen strange things.” Ben pushed away from the table and stretched. “No woman in white. We might have taken care of Lila. But the latest is the ghost train on those tracks where the sand washed away.”
For nearly eighty years, the beach covered a stretch of private railroad tracks that once carried train cars full of sand taken elsewhere for industrial use. Erosion exposed the iron rails and wooden crossbars that everyone had forgotten about, resurrecting its ghosts in the process.
“If I remember right, that was never a passenger line,” Erik replied.
Ben nodded. “Crazy that they thought it was okay to take sand away from a beach, but that was back in the twenties and thirties. During the Second World War, the government used the tracks in their munitions testing. The tracks still appear and disappear in the sand depending on the tides and erosion. But right now, the storms have exposed them, and that brought back the ghosts as well.”
“Did you figure out the backstory on the ghosts?” Erik asked.
“There’s not much to go on, but what I could find suggests they’re probably workers from the sand company who got killed on the job. That squares with what people are posting on social media, about seeing ghostly men in bloody worker’s clothing near the tracks.” Ben looked up from his screen.
“There was another large magnesite mining operation that ran during World War II, and ended up being a Superfund site for pollution,” Ben added. “Any big operation like that usually has some worker deaths from machinery or getting sick from the conditions.”
“We should be able to check with Monty and Jon about the tracks, since they’re always at the beach,” Erik replied. “Anything else?”
“A couple of urban explorers posted about ghosts where the old World War I camp used to be,” Ben told him.
“There’s not much left of the original Camp Wissahickon except some abandoned concrete bunkers.
Everything else is overgrown. They went legend tripping to check out the bunkers and ran into some children’s spirits and ghosts in military uniforms that the explorers claim ran them off. ”
“Huh. Kids?”
“Yeah. I found this.” Ben pointed to his screen.
“Before the government built the camp, there used to be an amusement park on that property with a skating rink, a stage, and a few rides. They repurposed all that, and later on, most of the original buildings burned down. There’s still an active Coast Guard Training Center on some of the same land. ”
“You think the children’s ghosts were probably from the amusement park?”
“That’s my guess. Those old-time rides weren’t just scary, they were actually dangerous.”
“Any military ghosts?” Erik asked.
“Not as many as I’d have expected,” Ben replied. “But a few.”
“I don’t remember hearing about active ghosts or problems at those locations,” Erik said.
“We haven’t. I’m blaming the storms. Plenty of legends say that all that energy in the atmosphere rouses ghosts,” Ben said.
Erik started to pace. “Okay, so right now there’s no situation we need to fix with the weird tracks, and the ghosts at the bunker and military camp aren’t hurting anyone. That’s good, but it could change depending on how the spirits react to the storm energy.”
“We can’t be everywhere at once,” Ben pointed out. “We’ll keep looking for reports, decide what needs action, and go from there. We can get help if we need it from Haley, Monty, or Alessia.”
“I’ve been digging up more on Tiffany domes.
” Erik turned a chair around and straddled it to face Ben.
“There’s a huge one in Chicago at a museum.
The others I’ve found are in hotels or public buildings.
I also turned up a lot of references to the dome at the Commodore Wilson.
It was a popular place over the years for wedding ceremonies and photos, and in the years that the hotel was run by a fire-breathing minister, he gave sermons under the dome. ”
“Interesting,” Ben replied. “I imagine it shows up in a lot of people’s vacation pictures, from when the Commodore Wilson was a ritzy resort.”
“That, too. But so far, I haven’t found much about the dome’s background except that it was there from the opening day, and considered an artistic gem,” Erik said. “But I think maybe there’s some dark magic—or at least bad luck—that goes along with certain Tiffany windows.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ben sipped his coffee.
“Some of the smaller panels Tiffany made for other locations got stolen. People fought over privately commissioned pieces during divorces or inheritance squabbles,” Erik replied. “A couple of owners were murdered, and a few owners just disappeared, with or without their windows.”
“If they were mobsters or corrupt robber baron types, they might have had it coming, and the windows didn’t actually cause the bad luck,” Ben pointed out. “There’s a pretty small sliver of the population who can afford Tiffany windows, and most didn’t earn their money by being saints.”
“I’m well aware,” Erik replied in a dry tone, thinking back to all the high-profile fraud and theft cases he had handled when he put his art knowledge to work for Interpol.
“Famous artwork is different from owning an expensive car or building a mansion. There might be other Tiffany windows, but there’s only one of any given type.
Like paintings. There are other Picassos, but only one Guernica. ”
“I always thought the attraction was getting to display the famous art and show it off,” Ben remarked. “Kinda like ‘nah-nah-nah, I have this and you don’t.’”
Erik chuckled at Ben’s phrasing. “There’s definitely some of that, depending on the person.
Some collectors want to show off their wealth and be admired, or spark jealousy.
Or if they donate the money for a piece to be installed at a museum or church, they want credit for using their wealth for a good outcome. ”
He sighed. “But there are others who cause problems. They want to possess the art, and they don’t want to share it with anyone, even letting people view it. They’re super rich and very paranoid, sometimes with good reason if they’re mobsters or corrupt politicians, or if they stole the piece.”
Ben looked puzzled. “So let me get this right—there are filthy rich guys out there who will drop a shit ton of money on a famous piece of art, then hide it so it’s never seen again?”
“There’s a long list of famous artwork that just disappeared,” Erik replied. “Stolen, destroyed in fires, or lost, like the pieces that went down with the Titanic. Odds are good that the ones that were stolen or just vanished without verified destruction are hidden away somewhere.”
“Which kept you busy, back in your old job,” Ben observed.
“We chased the leads we got on art theft; and had to authenticate paintings that mysteriously turned up and were actually frauds. But we didn’t have the staff to find them all.
There’s a lot out there that probably won’t show up until old men die and their heirs get into a fight over the spoils,” Erik added.
“I can almost understand not sharing something that special with other people,” Ben mused.
“But I’d still want to be able to go in my secret room and sit there and look at my stolen artwork.
Something like the Commodore Wilson’s stained-glass dome isn’t doing anyone any good in a box.
It would have to be installed so the light could go through. Right?”
“I imagine someone with enough money to buy it could arrange for a discreet installation that wouldn’t be visible from outside,” Erik said. “Like the Amber Room.”
“Haven’t heard about that one,” Ben admitted.
“Imagine a whole room paneled with amber in the Catherine Palace in St. Petersburg before World War II,” Erik replied.
“It was disassembled by the Nazis, and no one’s seen it since.
Some people think it was stored in a location that got bombed, but most of us in the business believe there’s an oligarch out there who has it hidden away. ”
“Seems like that would be a hard secret to keep.”
“Some of the most notorious collectors are immortal,” Erik said, and saw the surprise register on Ben’s face.
“Think about it. They have money, connections, and plenty of time. They can assure their retainers’ loyalty. Some of them are actual connoisseurs, while I’ve always thought others want to be surrounded by things that remind them of their mortal life,” Erik added.
“I guess that makes sense,” Ben replied. “Although it certainly complicates recovering the items.”
“Definitely true.” Erik knew Ben had heard him in the throes of nightmares remembering the times his old job had nearly gotten him killed. Ben’s past as a cop and detective kept him up plenty of nights as well.
“How do you want to play this, assuming we actually get a lead on the whereabouts of the dome?” Ben asked.
Erik thought for a moment. “If the dome or the owner is still in Cape May, then we call in reinforcements, if necessary, and intervene. If it’s left the area, it’s no longer our problem.
We can pass the word along to Cassidy, Sorren, and our other contacts, but I got out of chasing down stolen art for a reason.
” He smiled and reached out to touch Ben’s cheek.
“And you’ve given me another very good reason to stay safe. ”
Ben pressed his lips to Erik’s for a kiss that made silent promises. “I’ll take a rain check on that.” his voice into a sexy growl.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Ben turned back to his screen. “I did find something else about the bunkers and the old military camp, and I wanted to bounce it off you.”
“Shoot,” Erik said.