When my alarm goes off at six o’clock, I fumble with my phone to shut it off. After I figure things out and the room is quiet again, I look around in detached confusion. I know I have something to do today, but I can’t recall what. It feels like I’ve slept more than a few days. I check the date on my phone and see that I haven’t.
The only cure for my state of mind is coffee. I head for the kitchen and see the bags at the front door. Right, I have a job in Oregon. This will require enough coffee to fill a few thermoses.
I’ve got about twenty five hours on the road to look forward to, and I really am looking forward to them. I’m taking the scenic route through small town America. Straight through Utah, across northern Nevada, then down the Oregon coast to Shem Bay.
Despite my thrown in the ocean dream last night and my micro-managing client, I can’t wait to get going. I’ve been helping the haunted full time for the past five years and never once have I scored a job near the ocean.
As I’m hauling the last of my things to the jeep, my phone rings. I’ve still got that edgy sensation that Pratt is cancelling. His fears of being discovered for working with a ghost eradicator is like glass shards to my psychic senses.
It’s not Pratt calling, it’s Arthur. My dad opens the diner at six in the morning and closes at ten o’clock at night– unless he has even one customer. He usually works seven days a week including holidays. I’d envy his devotion if that’s what it was. Alone since my mom died almost thirteen years ago, he’s made the diner and his customers his home and family.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Jack, come to the diner before you leave. I want you to meet someone.”
“Meet someone? I know everyone in town who I want to know. Who is it? Oh wait, why don’t you put Levi on the phone so I can save myself the trip.”
I’m not falling for this scam again. Levi and I have been friends since we were babies. We’ve gotten serious and unserious since junior high school. Back then, Arthur did everything he could to keep us apart. Now he can’t seem to mind his own business in doing everything he can to get us together.
“Levi’s not here. You need to eat breakfast before you hit the road. I’ve got a breakfast pizza I’m trying out. Stop by for five minutes and I’ll put one in a box for you. Five minutes.”
“What’s going— He hung up on me. “What’s with people not saying goodbye anymore?” I ask Mojo. He stands at the front door, ready to go.
I pull into the Lacey’s Diner parking lot and search for Levi’s car. I go to the back and do the same. No Levi, so I go inside.
The place is packed and the first face I see is a new waitress, according to her uniform. She’s looking at me like she’s been waiting for me.
“Well, now look at you,” she says. “You’re just as pretty as your pictures. As fit as a fiddle and with such beautiful long, black hair.”
Dad comes running from behind the grill acting more nervous than I’ve ever seen him before.
“What’s going on?” I ask, in a near whisper.
“Jack, this is Georgia Ward. Georgia, my beautiful daughter, Jack.” Arthur’s smiling too wide.
Georgia gives me a hug. I’m not a hugger. Now the three of us are standing and staring at each other.
“It’s nice to meet you, Georgia. Looks like you’re working here now?”
“That’s right. I moved to town last month, and Arthur was kind enough to give me this job.” She loops her arm around my father’s arm and gives him a squeeze. Arthur jerks like he’s been zapped by a cattle prod and runs back to the grill where things are heating up.
Georgia hugs me again and says she’ll see me as soon as I get back from Oregon.
“What’s going on?” I say, after I’m behind the grill.
Arthur’s fumbling with a pizza box and nearly drops a well done sausage pizza on the floor while pulling it from the oven. “Jack.” He clears his throat and tosses some sausage to Mojo. “I didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else. I also didn’t want to tell you like this but since you’re taking off, what choice did you leave me? You come and go like a traveling circus.”
“What are you trying to say? You’re rambling.”
“Nice looking isn’t she? You’re really going to like her. She’s friendly and smart and funny and…. Well, the thing is—
“You’re dating?”
Arthur slumps. “You okay with that, kiddo?” He squeezes his lips together, still with that goofy smile.
“I’m great with it. Do you remember how? I mean how to date?”
He lets out a long exhale and turns beet red. He hasn’t dated since my mom died. This is nothing but awkward for both of us. First Maybelle and TK and now Arthur… and Georgia.
“I’m happy for you,” I say, and mean it, I guess. “I’ve got to get on the road. I’m already off my itinerary.”
“Maybe the three of us could go out to dinner when you get back,” he says.
“That’ll be great, Dad.” I take the pizza box and start to head out the back door when I hear Levi’s voice. He’s talking to Georgia and look who is standing beside him– Julia. Now things really are awkward. Georgia sees me leaving and yells goodbye for everyone to hear. Great, someone finally says goodbye.
I merge onto I-40 with my pizza half eaten and a lump in my throat. Seems Agustina has been praying to Saint Valentine for a few people in town. I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself, but I do for no good reason at all because I love my life.
Helping the haunted is my calling. I couldn’t imagine doing any other type of work and doubt I’d find many employers willing to put up with me for long. I even got fired from the diner once, and I don’t get paid to work there.
I’ve got my freedom, good pay, endless adventures, and my best friend in the back seat chewing on a rawhide bone. And I’m going to be staying at a place overlooking the Pacific Ocean. For a girl born in New Mexico, this adventure trumps the rest. I’m thrilled and I shouldn’t feel sorry for myself.
I turn the radio up full blast and lower the windows. Spring’s early this year and the desert is getting colored in yellow deerweed and red rosettes of the coral gilia plants. I’m having a wonderful time.
Eleven hours later, I stop at a Super 8 Hotel in Price, Utah– population around eight thousand. The parking lot is nearly empty, the clerk is happy to see me. Mojo and I stretch our legs behind the building after I dump our things in our room. Gray skies are chasing out the brilliant blue and puffy white clouds that welcomed us to this little town; a town that’s right out of the 1950’s.
When we get back to the room, I unwrap cold tacos and burritos and watch the dirt bikers and ATV riders from the window. Price seems quaint, wholesome, peaceful, and lonely. I flip through the television stations as much as I can stand and check my phone three times for the photos Pratt promised to send me and still hasn’t. Clearly, he’s a maker of rules not a follower.
I give up on the fun and go to bed. Just as I’m about to turn off the lights, there’s a knock at the door. I figure it’s the friendly clerk checking to see that everything is okay, maybe bringing me a pillow that isn’t completely flat.
I yell for him to wait as I grab my coat. He knocks again, this time with a heavy fist. I tip-toe to the door thinking it isn’t the clerk after all and look out the peephole. Mojo’s beside me with his ears perked up.
There’s no one at the door or in front of the building. Unless they’re hiding to the side of the peephole, there’s no one there at all. “Probably the wrong room,” I say, and head back to bed. As soon as I turn out the light, I hear a knock at the window. We’re on the second floor and there’s no balcony.
I get out of bed and pull back the curtain. The sky is black and there are a million stars in the sky. Something runny is smashed against the window; I look closer and think it’s eggs– the high jinks of local kids.
A shooting star travels across the sky in slow motion. I’d make a wish, if only I could think of one. Inst
ead, I wish my mom a good night.
Chapter Eight
§
When I step out of the room the next morning, I nearly step on three eggs that are arranged on the door mat. Teenagers, the bane of society. I know because I once was one who would have done such a thing.
While checking out, I tell the friendly clerk about the mischief maker at my door last night. He gives me a curious look and I say unless it was him who was up to no good. He tells me he’s married and I congratulate him. It’s not until I’m on the road that I realize what he meant. My humor escapes many.
Seven hours later, I pull off I-80 and into the town of Battle Mountain, Nevada– population thirty-five hundred. I head straight to Donna’s Diner. The place is supposed to be haunted by the lady in blue. Sadly, the diner is closed and boarded up.
I peek inside and try to sense the mysterious woman who supposedly strolled in the place one night to have a bite to eat and was murdered in the restroom by a drunken patron. After a few minutes of watching for her, I see nothing and figure she’s moved on too. So disappointing.
I grab some fast food and a couple of vintage postcards that I mail to Arthur and Maybelle. When I come out of the post office an older man starts following me. Mojo’s in the jeep watching the whole thing. If I wanted, I’m pretty sure I could take the old guy down all on my own so I stop and turn around.
“This isn’t the end of the parade,” I say.
He cocks his head and pulls back then looks around. I try hard not to laugh. His head is too small for his body, his polyester suit is too baby blue. “You looking for a job?” he asks.
This time I do laugh. “I’ve got a job.”
He’s searching his pockets and finally comes up with a business card: Donna’s Love Ranch. “Pays good,” he says. “Easy work. Hardly any time on your feet.” This he says with serious eyeballs that travel from my face to my feet.
“Is this the Donna who owned the diner in town with the ghost?”
“Who? A what?” He shakes his head. “It’s a friendly place. I think you’d fit in real good. Stop by and talk to the other girls. They’re a bunch of good eggs, all of them.”
“A bunch of what?” He squeezes his eyes like he can’t see me. “I’ve never been accused of being friendly or fitting in anywhere,” I say, “but I’ll think about it.”
It’s another hour’s drive to Winnemucca where I plan on spending the night. I toss the Love Ranch’s card into my glove compartment. Mojo pokes me in the head as I pull onto the highway.
“Hey,” I say. “I have to keep my options open. You never know when the ghost busters will drive us out of business.”
Winnemucca has about the same population as Price, Utah, but there’s no comparison. We pull into the Quality Inn and Model T Casino, because in Nevada you either get a brothel or a casino anywhere you go. The place is packed and there isn’t a light in town that isn’t turned on. So much for small town America.
Once we get settled in the room, I check my phone again. Pratt has finally sent the photos. I can hardly wait to check them out, although the music blaring from downstairs isn’t the best atmosphere for tuning into ghostly vibes.
I get under the blankets and try to center myself. Some very lively guests are going from one end of the hallway to the other. Mojo has his head under the bed. Natural relaxation is hopeless so I grab a beer from the mini-bar and start clicking through the photos.
The first one is of his daughter’s room: a very bright and colorful princess palace. I steady my hand over the second one where she said the shadow stood at her door, according to Pratt’s email anyway.
I try to get a sense of what’s going on, nothing much that I can tell. The next two are the hallway outside her room and a playroom, a room that seems anything but a place to play.
Pratt’s email says he’s never seen anything in any of the areas that Mackenzie reported the phenomenon. Isn’t that implied in telling me he’s only seen it once? The man’s keeping secrets from me.
The final three photos are the path that the figure took from where it stood at Pratt’s bedside and put its hands around his neck then went down the stairs in the direction of the dining room before it disappeared. I’m not getting any psychic vibes at all, but it could be the alcohol. Or it could be the stark difference of the rooms that’s throwing me.
I assume the rooms are all professionally decorated, or the doctor is multi-talented. Mackenzie’s bedroom and playroom are fun and cheery. The dining room is elegant gray and warm gold. Pratt’s room is neither bright nor elegant. It’s dirty brown and forest green. Even with sunlight squeezing through an opening in the heavy drapes, it’s… what? Ah yes, disagreeable. Perfect for a ghost haunt.
I put my hand over the photo of the man’s bedside and ask for a vision. It feels like my hand is being pulled down. “Give me your message,” I whisper.
In my mind, Pratt’s face, the face I saw on the hospital website, is engaged in a heated argument with who I can’t see. It’s there and gone but the hostility lingers. The argument could have been an actual exchange or one he once had in his own mind. We humans do like to torture ourselves that way.
“Watch what you think, Doctor. Watch what you bring to life, it may stick to you like glue and haunt you for years.”
My stomach is churning so I click off the photos and set the phone aside. About the time my gut stops dive-bombing to my toes, another crowd of noisy guests go down the hall. I put on my earbuds and throw a pillow over the wolfdog’s head, seeing as he’s joined me on the bed and is trying to get under it.
When I go to reach for my phone, I see smoke coming out of the screen. The smoke is a wispy black haze that goes up a few inches and disappears. I run my fingers through it and it moves away and into the ether. I test to see if the phone is hot or about to explode. Neither seems to be the case, so I pick it up and look at the screen.
The image of the doctor’s bedroom appears in the window even though I had clicked off the photos. “What is your message?” I ask.
“Shame on you.” This comes from my earbuds, which isn’t even connected to the phone. I listen for a few minutes. All I hear is more guests in the hallway. When I go to connect the earbuds, I stop short.
The sunlight that was coming through the drapes before is gone now. The room is dark, as it would be if the photo had been taken at night. I click through the other photos of the house; they’re all the same as before: light and cheery and elegant.
So the problem is in the doctor’s bedroom. That’s nice to know. All I have to do is find out which former resident lived and maybe died in the house and is still haunting it– and shaming me. This could turn out to be a short and easy job. I just wish I hadn’t seen Pratt’s angry face.
“Shame on me for what?” I ask the ceiling. “Send me your message in my dreams.”
∞
The next morning, I look like I spent my entire visit in the casino. The good times continued through the night, and I didn’t get a single message from the spirits.
Winnemucca may be a small town where the party never ends, but I’m done with the fun. I can’t wait to get out of Nevada and see the Pacific Ocean for the first time in my life. We have ten hours left on our road trip, and I’m eager to cross the Oregon border.
When we finally get there, the moment is lackluster. The neon green sign with the state’s sloppy square shape reads Bgon. Someone’s graffitied over Oregon to form a message that’s a less than welcoming omen.
Six hours later, I turn down a road with a sign that warns, with the threat of prosecution, that the entrance is for residents only. I pass the shared beach and wind around a narrow road. It branches into four private roads, and I take the one that climbs straight up to Pratt’s home. If it wasn’t for the rocky cliff that his massive house hangs from, it would be in the middle of the ocean. All it’s lacking is a dark, stormy night.
Pratt reminded me in another email to adhere to the terms of our agreement when I me
et his housekeeper, Mrs. Jankovic. I park in the impressive circular driveway and go to the front door. Security cameras have already turned in my direction; mechanical eyes trail me. After a second ring of the musical door chimes, I hear heavy footsteps. I smile at the digital peephole.
“Private property. No soliciting,” a harsh voice shouts, before the footsteps stomp away. I ring the bell again and hear a scream threatening to call the police. The voice is from a woman with, I’m guessing, an East European accent.
“I’m Dr. Pratt’s niece,” I yell through the door. “Are you Mrs. Jankovic? Hello?”
She opens the door barely a crack and shouts, “No niece.”
“Yes, I’m Jack Raven. Didn’t Dr. Pratt tell you I was coming? I’m here for a short visit. I’ll be staying in the guest house. If you could let me—
“No,” she barks, and slams the door. I stand there wondering if the police are on their way then pull out my phone and call the doctor. I get his voicemail and leave a message then I call his office. After waiting on hold for five minutes, I’m told he’s at the hospital seeing patients.
“This is working out well,” I mumble to myself. I’m about to go to my car when the front door opens wide.
The woman, standing as stiff as a cardboard cut-out, looks to be in her late fifties, definitely European with beady blue eyes, a thick gray mustache, and short, stocky body.
“Hello, I’m Jack. Dr. Pratt’s niece? Didn’t he tell you I was coming today?”
She raises her finger and shakes it at me. “You go away,” she yells. “Don’t come back. Lidérc itt lakik.” She slams the door and the lock snaps.
Lidérc. Where have I heard that word before?
Chapter Nine
§
I drive back to the residents-only beach and let Mojo out. It’s cloudy and cold and the place is empty. By the looks of things, there aren’t many residents who like to share this beach, which suits my current disposition just fine.
I sit in the jeep while Mojo chases the waves in and out. At least one of us is having fun. I pull out my laptop and search for lidérc. I’m not sure what the other words were that the housekeeper screamed at me, but I know I’ve heard the term lidérc before. It doesn’t take but a second to find it online.
The Shem Bay Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 3) Page 4
