Ghost of the Karankawa (The Bill Travis Mysteries Book 10)

by George Wier

  “Who made you the Red Queen?”

  “We’re sitting at an intersection in the dark with strange sounds, honey. Let’s...do something.”

  “Suit yourself, then. The Sheriff’s Office it is.”

  I took a right hand turn and started looking for the town square.

  *****

  I found it in three city blocks. I toured us around the square twice, and then saw a pair of headlights enter one of the main intersections, go a block, then turn off. It was a law enforcement vehicle of some kind.

  “We’re on ‘em,” I said.

  “Good.”

  I caught up with the car as the driver was getting out and pulled into an empty slot close by, but not too close by. The car was either a Sheriff’s Deputy’s or the Sheriff’s himself. As we got out beneath a dim streetlight, I could see he was waiting for us.

  “Help you folks?” the fellow asked.

  “Looking for the Sheriff’s Office.”

  “You found it. But it’s not what you’d call normal business hours, especially if you’re here to see an inmate.”

  “Got any?” I asked. “Inmates, that is?” Julie came up beside me and we approached the man. Franklin sat looking at us from the front seat. He would be overdue for a potty break soon.

  “Exactly four,” he said. “What’s this about?”

  I held out my hand and the officer took it.

  “Bill Travis,” I said. “This is my wife, Julie.”

  “Meetcha. Ma’am,” he said, shook hands with Julie and ducked his head a tick, a tip-of-the-hat gesture without tipping anything.

  “The Ghost Killer,” Julie said.

  The officer stared at her, raised an eyebrow.

  I took her hand, squeezed it hard.

  “Uh, honey. That’s a little dramatic.”

  The lawman whistled. “Where did you two escape from?”

  “Okay, that didn’t work so well,” Julie said to me. “Your turn.”

  “It’s late, officer. First, can you suggest a good hotel for a couple of tourists who are missing a clue? Second, I noticed that GPS reception isn’t so great down here, so do you know where we can find Trinity Street? Or a map?”

  The officer leaned back against his cruiser and crossed his arms and regarded the two of us. He brought a hand up and rubbed his jaw.

  We waited. The appraisal took thirty long seconds of silence. I listened for the cicadas, the crickets, the bullfrogs, the hum of the lamp over our heads—anything, for that matter—but I could hear nothing. Then the moment was cut short by a shriek. Julie moved hard against me and clutched for me. The shriek died out into nothing and the silence came back at us in waves. The shriek had either been a few hundred yards away on the edge of town, or a mile, there was no way of knowing. I did know, however, that sounds have a way of carrying for long distances in the night.

  “That,” the lawman said, “is the Ghost Killer.”

  “Uh huh,” I said. “What did you say your name was, deputy?”

  “I’m not the deputy. I’m the Sheriff. Sheriff Hamp Renard.”

  “Sheriff Renard, what happened to Purcell Lee?”

  “He went and got himself dead. The body is at Jones & Crum Mortuary. I don’t think you and Missus would care to see it, though.”

  “Is it...a mummy?” Julie asked. I suppose my brow wrinkled in disbelief. I turned to look at her and saw her eyes were wide, waiting for Sheriff Renard’s response. She was like any given Girl Scout at a campfire during the telling of the scary stories.

  “Purcell Lee’s body is...not right,” Sheriff Renard said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I’ll let you follow me to Trinity Street,” Sheriff Renard said, “and I’ll even show you a good hotel where you can put up for the night. But I think you two should come into my office and we can have ourselves a little talk.”

  “Just so long as we’re not under arrest,” I said.

  Hamp Renard smiled, looked from me to Julie and back, and said, “Naw. Not unless you’re planning to break the law.”

  “It’s the furthest thing from our minds,” Julie said.

  “Well, come on then.”

  I gave Franklin a wave as Sheriff Renard led us into the building and past the dispatch desk where a young officer was fighting sleep. His heavy-lidded eyes barely took us in before we were past him. We were led to a small inner office with a desk and old leather chair that looked both worn and comfortable. Sheriff Renard gestured to two stiff-backed chairs opposite and Julie and I took our seats. The desk was covered with paperwork, and there was a stack of trays labeled IN, OUT and PENDING. Each tray was stuffed full of papers.

  “If you’ll pardon me,” Sheriff Renard said, then proceeded to remove his gunbelt. He hung it from a hat rack behind the door, then sat in his chair and leaned back. The chair gave a satisfying creak.

  “You’re here because of the Ghost Killer, huh?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “We’re here because of Cathy Baha, who lives here locally.”

  “The medium,” Renard said. “Yeah, she lives in a travel trailer down on Trinity. There’s a whole row of trailer houses and a few travel trailers on the east end. Not so many on the west end, toward the bayou. What about her?”

  Julie began talking, “According to her brother, who lives in Austin, she’s a little scared from recent events—the screams in the night, the strange death of Purcell Lee. Apparently she relies on her brother’s financial support, and he doesn’t want her moving back to Austin. But we don’t want to tell her that. We just want to get her calmed down. Chilled out, so to speak, so that she doesn’t do anything...brash.”

  “That makes sense. How much is he paying you?”

  Julie was hesitant to say, so I chimed in, “He’s giving ten thousand bucks to my wife’s favorite charity if we succeed.”

  Sheriff Renard whistled. “That’s not bad. I would have taken the job too.”

  “We don’t look on it so much as a job,” I said, “but a chance to get away together for awhile. You know, the kids.”

  He nodded, then leaned forward, put his meaty hands together as if he were about to begin praying, then thumped his hands flat on the desk. A pencil rolled two feet across random papers and came to rest against the base of a miniature statue of the Eiffel Tower. The things people have on their desks.

  “Does this have anything to do with the dig?” he asked.

  “Dig?” Julie asked.

  “What dig?” I said.

  “Hmph. Nothing. Nothing, really. There’s an archaeological study going on about a mile southeast of town, down there where the woods are thick. That’s where the screams in the night were first heard. Also, the whole place got pretty messed up one night while all the scientists were here in town. That was about a week ago. Since then things began to quieten. That is, until Lee died.”

  “Did you know him?” I asked.

  “Everybody in this town knows everyone else. It doesn’t mean we all like each other, but by and large we all seem to get along. Look, I think I know where you’re going with this. Lee’s death is being properly investigated.”

  “By you?” Julie asked.

  Sheriff Renard nodded. “Yep. By me.”

  “All right then,” I said. “That’s good enough for us. I’ve got one other question, and goes back to my wife’s first question to you. What does that mean? Ghost killer? It doesn’t make much sense. I mean, a ghost is supposed to already be dead. Strictly speaking, of course.”

  The Sheriff grimaced, but nodded again.

  “That’s true. All right, I’ll tell you. Some claim they’ve seen a ghost around these parts.”

  “Here in town?” Julie asked.

  “No, mostly out along the highway and in the woods to the east. The thing is, each time there’s a reported sighting of this particular...uh, specter, the event is cut short by one of those Godawful screeches.”

  “The screech banishes the ghost,” I said. “Therefore the screecher is
—”

  “The ghost killer,” Julie and the Sheriff said together.

  “Hmph. Makes sense,” I said. “I wonder what all this has to do with Lee Purcell.”

  “Purcell Lee,” Sheriff Renard stated. “Maybe nothing. Of course, he heard one of those shrieks in the night and thought it was coming from the library for some reason. He ran over here and raised hell with old Harley, the night deputy. Harley woke up one of the deputies who lives a couple of blocks from here, but an investigation turned up nothing, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’?” Julie asked.

  “Because, we’ve been hearing those shrieks off and on for the past month.”

  “But nobody else has died, have they?” I asked.

  “Not to my knowledge,” Sheriff Renard said.

  “What about this dig?” Julie asked. “What are they digging for?”

  Sheriff Renard chuckled and leaned back again. “You two sure ask a lot of questions. It just so happens that there are a lot of Indian mounds around these parts.”

  “I thought the Caddo Mounds were up around Nacogdoches and west towards Lufkin,” I said. “If I remember my lore, this area would be the bailiwick of the coastal tribes. Tonkawa and Karankawa.”

  “That’s right. But they had mounds too. Not as tall as the Caddo, but still burial mounds.”

  “What do the archaeologists from the dig say it is?” Julie asked.

  “They’re pretty set on Karankawa.”

  “Interesting,” I said, and nodded. “All right, Sheriff. I think we’ve taken up enough of your evening. You were going to show us to Trinity Street?”

  “That’s right,” Sheriff Renard stood and reached for his gun belt. “I can drive you right to her trailer.”

  “That’d be great,” I said, “but when you get there, maybe you could pull by it, flash your lights to let us know which one it is, then mosey on?”

  “Ah. You don’t want her to know you stopped by and talked to me or that I took you to her.” The man laughed.

  “Why is that funny?” Julie asked.

  “You’ll see,” the Sheriff said.

  We followed him back out into the night.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sheriff Renard led us through the town and I tried to pick out a few landmarks to remember. The town isn’t that big, and I had no doubt we’d find it again. About six blocks south the Sheriff’s car turned onto Trinity, and we followed. I understood what he had said earlier—the large, almost antebellum homes to the east of town gave way to an area of travel trailers and mobile homes.

  After a few blocks, Sheriff Renard stopped, motioned with his hand over his car, then drove on. We pulled into the narrow driveway.

  “It’s pretty late at night,” Julie said. “Now that we know where it is, do you want to try this tomorrow?”

  “What happened to all that pluck you got into town with?” I asked her.

  “The ghost killer scared it out of me.”

  I nodded and looked down at the dashboard and saw the clock click over a minute to 11:33. It was late, yes, but not that late. I turned the SUV off and opened the door. “Come on. Let’s get the awkward introduction part over with.”

  *****

  Before going up to the house, we let Franklin out to inspect the property, sniff out evidence of other dogs and varmints and take care of his business. When he was safely back in the SUV, we walked up to Cathy Baha’s trailer.

  There was no apparent doorbell, and so I banged tentatively on the side of the trailer. The tromp of feet from within sent small earthquakes throughout the structure.

  “Here goes nothing,” Julie said.

  The door opened and we looked up at a tall and willowy middle-aged woman with a long nose, deeply mascaraed eyes, long, straight black hair tinged with a few strands of silver, and a black satin top with what looked like sequins.

  “Two of you,” she said. “You’re the Nine of Wands,” she pointed at me, “and you’re the Hierophant,” her finger jabbed the air in Julie’s direction. “The Guides could have been more specific, but they’re not happy with me these days. Do you want me to cleanse your auras?”

  “My aura is just fine,” Julie said. “Bill’s could need a tune-up, but that’s my department.”

  She looked back and forth between us several times, a quizzical look on her face, then she arrived at some kind of answer because she sagged backwards and her chin dropped.

  “Evanston, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Evanston. Evanston.” Cathy Baha sighed deeply. “Come in,” she said, as if we had come to claim her firstborn.

  *****

  As we came in, we made our introductions. I wasn’t sure she even heard us.

  Cathy Baha’s living room in the travel trailer was divided from the kitchenette and the remainder of the space by a black curtain with a doorway composed of strung black beads. There were three chairs around a small, raised card table.

  “No crystal ball?” I asked.

  “I have one. They’re expensive and damage easily—obsidian, you know—so I keep mine packed away until it’s needed. I don’t go so much for divination, though. It’s highly overrated.”

  “Aren’t tarot cards—?” Julie began, but I shook my head.

  “Aren’t they what?” Ms. Baha asked.

  “Uh, aren’t they useful in predicting the future?”

  “Or muddying things up. It depends upon how receptive you are. You two can sit down,” she gestured to the two black faux-leather chairs and took a seat in the high-backed chair opposite. “Now...how does Evanston want to screw up my life this time?”

  *****

  Julie laid it all out for Cathy, pretty much point blank. I am sometimes amazed at her shrewd directness.

  “I would rather give away one of my kidneys than have to move back to Austin,” she said. She probably didn’t appreciate my doubtful look, because she said, “Don’t get me wrong. Austin is a wonderful place to live, if your rich brother isn’t always looking over your shoulder. Sometimes, I think, he feels I owe him my entire life, if not my immortal soul.”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Julie said.

  “You’ve come all this way. You may as well hear it. That’s if you want to.”

  I nodded. Julie said, “Okay.”

  “First, let me do something.” Cathy got up, ducked through the curtain of beads and they made a little susurration the way only rustling beads can make. She was back in a moment with a small, inlaid wooden chest, which she placed before her on the table. She opened it. I don’t know what I was expecting—a puff of smoke, a jack-in-the-box, a deck of tarot cards. When she reached inside and withdrew a small mother-of-pearl Derringer pistol, my breath caught, but then she laid it on the table between us.

  “You see this?”

  We nodded.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not even loaded. I never bought ammunition for it. I detest guns of any kind. I think they’re bad karma. They invite dark spirits and they disrupt the entire aura of the area. They’re sort of...anti-ley.”

  “Anti- what?” Julie asked.

  “Ley. As in ‘ley lines’. You know—lines of force and power in the earth. Firearms are chaotic, and ley is order. There’s a reason my travel trailer is sitting exactly in this spot.”

  The thought leapt unbidden into my mind that there was likely no one else renting travel trailer lots at the moment, but I managed to keep my mouth shut.

  “Then why do you have this one?” Julie asked.

  “Evanston bought it for me. He claims he bought it at auction in London. Supposedly it was a gift from Queen Victoria to a Knight. He said he paid forty thousand dollars for it.”

  “Why’d he give it to you?” I asked, and Julie kicked me gently under the table.

  “For protection. He thought I should keep it handy in case somebody didn’t like their fortune, or if they wanted to run me out of town. Now, I ask you, how the bloody hell am I supposed to get rid of a t
hing like this? I can’t take it to a pawn shop and say, ‘give me two hundred bucks for it’. No, it’s sort of like a cursed object. I can’t just throw it away.”

  “Sure you can,” I said, and this time the kick wasn’t as light.

  “No, she can’t,” Julie said. “Okay, the gift isn’t what you’d call...right. But it doesn’t exactly qualify as screwing up your life.”

  “That’s just one thing. The big thing...the big things were—I’ll just name them. Jackson, Stan, Guillermo, Butch, Brandon and Tom. In that order.”

  “Boyfriends?” I asked.

  “Two of them. Two were more than boyfriends—they were fiances.”

  I counted the names quickly in my head. “What about the last two?” I asked. “Husbands?”

  “That’s right. Evanston has a way of killing my romantic life. He never met a boyfriend or husband mine he couldn’t run off. I’ll tell you about them sometime, but that would consume an evening. Or two. Evanston wants me to die a divorcee. He’s never actually said it, but his actions speak volumes.”

  “Well, you’re on your own down here,” I said. “It seems like you could pull up stakes, easily change your address, switch your phone number, and leave your brother behind you.”

  “He hires people, Mr. Travis.”

  “Hires people?” Julie asked.

  “They find me, they spy on me, they report back.”

  My ears started getting red. Evanston was using us to spy on his poor sister, whom he likely factually kept poor by some means or another.

  “Bill,” Julie said.

  “What?” I replied.

  “I know that look. He’s not here. You can’t punch his lights out.”

  I ground my teeth together.

  “You two didn’t know,” Cathy said. “You had no real idea. Oh my gosh. I’m sorry. How much is he paying you?”

  “Not a damned dime,” I said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Julie was dog-tired and I was both tired and angry. I made apologies for a hasty withdrawal, citing the two-hundred mile trip and the need for rest, and we went back out into the night.