by Etta Faire
“Where’d you say you were from again?” she asked me, her dyed-brown bob swinging naturally with her stride.
“Indianapolis,” I answered.
“I’m originally from Indiana too, Lake Tippecanoe. Here’s what these turkeys don’t know about us Hoosiers,” she winked at me. “We kick butt the same way we grow corn. In mile-long, ain’t-we-done-with-this-yet stretches of it.”
I smiled. I was really starting to like this woman. Her daughter-in-law, Christine, was behind the computer when we all stormed into the lobby. She hurried into the back as soon as she saw us. “Sheriff! You’ve got some visitors.” She sounded like a kid announcing Christmas.
Caleb strutted out, wiping his fingers on a napkin, the smell of chicken wafting up from the back room. His face fell when he saw all the ladies taking up the whole entryway of the small police station’s lobby. “I… uh… what’s all this about, Christine?”
“Sorry to interrupt your dinner, Sheriff Bowman,” Christine’s mother-in-law said. “I’m Amelia Mayfair. You obviously know my daughter-in-law.”
He gave Christine a look as if to ask, “Just what in the hell is going on here? And why wasn’t I properly warned?”
Christine only smiled, lipstick on her teeth the whole time.
Amelia continued. “You may also know this woman here.” She put her arm around me, squeezing me tighter than I thought a bony woman could squeeze. “One of the finest mediums I’ve ever met. I tell you. I’ll believe anything she says. And so should you. That’s why you’re gonna open Ms. Bessilyn Hind’s case back up and turn it from a suicide to a murder…”
“The hell I will,” Caleb said. “You all are crazy. I don’t even know if it’s possible to do that, but I am certainly not going to find out. That thing’s more than a hundred years old, and nobody cares.”
“I thought you might say that.” She placed her cell phone on the counter. “Go ahead, Mayor Bowman,” she said. “Your turn.”
Caleb looked at the phone like it might bite his hand off. “Uh… Dad?”
The voice was stern and gravelly. “Caleb, yes, it’s your father. I’m going to make this brief because I cannot for the life of me know why I even have to make such a foolhardy phone call. Do what these ladies want. They came to you in earnest with evidence that contradicts the work of your fellow police officers. It doesn’t matter if it happened now or 300 years ago. You take that evidence and you do what’s right. Everyone’s lives matter, and so do their deaths. And as mayor of this town, it’s my job to make sure we all know that.”
Caleb didn’t say anything. His face turned about three colors of red.
“Caleb, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard,” he said. “I’ll look into it.”
“You’ll do more than that. You’ll handle it.”
The mayor went on. “Ladies, I apologize that you had to come down here. We will handle all the details. You just go on home, being rest assured that those details will be handled. I saw the evidence myself, including the photo of Pleasant from the night of that party. She was wearing earrings that looked like the gem I saw in the pictures of that glove. Bessilyn Hind was murdered by her sister. Period. End of story.”
He hung up.
Amelia scooped up her cell phone. “Thank you for your time. I’m glad you can finally see reason,” she said, as we walked toward the door. She winked at me again as soon as we were outside. “More than half the country club contributes heavily to the mayor’s campaign.”
We took about a million victory pictures in front of the police station for the country club’s wall before everyone hugged and shook hands. Most of the ladies were vacationers here, and I knew I wouldn’t see them again until next summer. I slowly got into my car, already feeling the loneliness of a winter coming.
The whole way up Gate Hill, I thought I felt a presence beside me. I knew who it was, too. I turned toward the passenger’s seat. “Did you see that, Bessie,” I said to the ghost I now had a feeling had been traveling with me for a while. “Your case is officially closed.”
She materialized in the seat beside me. “Please tell the ladies I am forever grateful for their help. Yours, as well.”
“I’m sorry it was your sister.”
“I am too,” she said, staring out the window at the woods and dirt surrounding Gate Hill. “As it turns out, you don’t stop learning about life after you die.”
I threw my foot on the gas, easily maneuvering around the potholes and rocks that I had memorized along the dirt road up to my place. The sun was setting, but even in the shadows of dusk, I knew how to avoid the bumps by now.
I turned back toward my guest, unsure of how this all worked. “So, are you moving on?”
She tilted her head. “Wherever would I go?”
“Wherever ghosts go when their cases have been solved,” I said, trying not to be too presumptuous.
“Doubtful,” she replied. “I’m the star of the bed and breakfast, you know. I can’t see me wanting to move on anytime soon. I like it where I’m at with Walter, Pleasant, and Martha. Plus, my case isn’t done yet, which brings me to my next point of business…”
Justin’s muscles bulged through his t-shirt as he lifted another box out of the back of his truck a few days later. I shut the tailgate behind him then watched as he struggled to put it on the dolly. These boxes were heavy and there were a lot of them. “The last one,” I said. “Thanks for helping me get Mildred’s books.”
It was oddly warm today, like summer wasn’t quite done throttling us yet, even though it was technically fall now. Sweat soaked the back of his shirt, and I got a whiff of musky cologne as I caught up to him so I could open the kitchen door.
My ex-husband materialized on the veranda next to me as soon as the deputy stepped inside. “He’s flexing on purpose,” Jackson said, rolling his eyes. “You know that, right? It’s so pathetic how petty the living can be.”
“Almost as petty as the dead,” I whispered back so low Justin wouldn’t hear.
Rex growled from the kitchen when he saw Justin with the boxes. He didn’t always growl at Justin, but it happened a lot.
‘Rex, stop,” I said, grabbing his collar. I stroked my golden lab’s fur, trying to calm him down, but I could feel his back muscles tightening.
“I rest my case.” Jackson motioned toward the shaking labrador. “Even my dog knows a phony when he sees one, and there’s something phony about Justin Fortworth.”
He did have a point. Rex liked just about everyone, but for some odd reason, not always Justin, which made me not always trust Justin one-hundred percent.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” I said to the deputy, pulling Rex back. “I’ll take him upstairs.”
“Don’t bother” Justin replied. “I have to head into work soon anyway.”
We both looked at each other for a second, until I looked away. There were too many things between us for there to be room for anything else, I reminded myself. We tried this twelve years ago, and it ended awfully.
“I should go,” he said.
“I’ll walk you out,” I let go of my lab who seemed to relax knowing Justin was leaving.
Justin stopped in the doorway and ran a nervous hand through his thick, moppy brown hair.
“For what it’s worth,” he said. “I didn’t start those rumors about you being a gold digger way back when.”
I studied his eyes, looking for any telltale signs he wasn’t telling the truth, but only my mother had those. “It’s okay. I was dumb and nineteen, and the rumors were more accurate than I like to admit. I didn’t always make good choices.”
“Looks like you’re making better ones now,” he said, motioning toward my wall of books just inside the living room. I laughed.
He leaned into me, his head tilted, his eyes on my lips, and my heart jumped into my throat.
Was he going to kiss me?
I pulled away. I wasn’t ready for that, not yet. I still didn’t trust this
man.
He looked down at his boots, his face growing red under his tannish skin. “I should go.”
I knew now what Bessilyn meant when she said Justin was my Walter. I was pretending not to care. I’d made one of my famous “I deserve better” speeches when I broke up with this man years ago right before I went out with Jackson. And I’d been wrong. But, I still couldn’t admit that.
He turned back toward the door, and I watched him leave. Was my pride really going to let me lose him again, like Bessie lost Walter?
“Wait,” I said, walking out to the veranda after him. He turned around. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. It was scratchy and warm, and I wanted to pull him in closer, but I stopped. “Thanks for helping me with the…”
“You wanna get coffee sometime?” he asked, his arm on the dolly.
My ex appeared by my side. “Honestly,” he said, motioning toward Justin. “He’s flexing again. You see that, right? Who flexes while leaning casually? You know what they say about men who flex all the time. Overcompensating…”
“Please stop and go away. This is confusing enough,” I said to him, realizing how that sounded to Justin, because no one could ever see the ghosts I talked to. “I… I wasn’t talking to you, Justin.”
He nodded.
I knew it needed more of an explanation. “I was talking to a ghost just then, actually. I’m sorry. I talk to ghosts. And now that you know I’m weird, I totally get it if you tell me you don’t actually have time for coffee.”
“You wanna get that coffee this Saturday?” he said, walking down the steps of the veranda. “Maybe dinner’s less confusing. I can pick you up at six. We’ll talk more about your ghost issues then.”
“Perfect,” I said, a little shocked. I didn’t mention the part where the ghosts might ride along with us or that the main ghost was Jackson. It was probably best to take one crazy moment at a time.
Justin left and I almost wanted to call my mother. I was weird. I worked retail. And I had a date on Saturday with a wonderful man who knew those things about me and thought I was wonderful back. I didn’t even need to lie about anything.
I sat on the couch and grabbed a stack of books, opening one up to the bed and breakfast’s spot. I smoothed in the sticker I’d made for it, reading it to myself.
For more than 110 years, it was believed this founding member of the Women’s Club in Landover, Wisconsin shot herself in the heart over a break-up with her fiancé, millionaire Sir Walter Timbre. But the case was reopened and declared a homicide, in large part because of the help from the Landover Country Club’s Women’s Club of today.
Bessie appeared. Her smile took over her entire face when she saw the books. “Splendid!” she said, reading the label over. “But you forgot the part where I most definitely do not walk the halls of the bed and breakfast calling out for ‘Walty.’ That simply does not happen. So, add that in there too.” She motioned for me to get moving.
I glared at her. “You have got to be kidding me. I already printed the stickers out.”
“I’m sure pens still work for retractions in the modern age.”
I stomped over to the credenza on the far side of the room, searching for a pen so I could write in every single book that this dead women’s-rights leader definitely did not spend her nights pining for a man while yelling out a cutesy nickname, even though we both knew she did do that.
I caught a glimpse of my cute boots as I walked, and smiled to myself. I used to think nothing good was ever in my section, like “good” was something life bestowed on some while denying to others. And that I would always have to settle.
My life was good now. Maybe it always had been, but I could see it clearly now. Not just in spite of my dead ex-husband, but because of him. And that’s what scared me the most. I was getting swept up in this curse. And I didn’t want any of it to end.
Rex brushed against my leg just as I spotted the newspaper article I printed out about the hero dog and the birds. I pulled it out from the drawer and looked from the grainy black-and-white photo of the dog in 1954 to my own dog. What on earth made me think my dog could possibly be this one?
My eyesight flickered and the room suddenly went black. I realized I was clutching the dining room table, but only because I felt its smooth wood under my fingernails. I couldn’t actually see a thing. My heart raced as I fumbled and grasped for a dining room chair, trying to understand just what in the hell was going on. I managed to sit down as something brushed against my leg that felt very much like a large feathered fan. The sound of flapping wings filled the room, thick and monstrous.
“Rex,” I called, my voice frantic. “Jackson.”
Through flickering spots of light, I saw a dark shadow by my leg that I momentarily thought to be an enormous bird.
My ex materialized beside me, and I could see him perfectly. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Hallucinations. Flickering eyesight. These were all signs Rosalie had warned me about.
I looked down at my leg. Rex stepped out from under the table, away from the shadows and into the light of the room. Just a normal-sized dog, not a gigantic bird brushing along my pant leg.
“I’m fine,” I said to my ex after a second. “It’s nothing.”
Neither one of us believed me.
The End
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Behind the Boater's Cover-Up
Copyright © 2018 by Etta Faire
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Chapter 1
Date Killers
I realized I was making my ice-skating face again. My cheeks naturally scrunched into an odd, fake smile whenever I had to pretend to adore something I really hated. It wasn’t something I had control over, and it happened whether I was on the ice or not.
Snow fell along my path. My toes were numb in the skates I’d had since I was 14 and swore to my mother that my feet were done growing so she could go ahead and buy those expensive skates that everyone else had at school because I just loved ice skating. That day marked the beginning of my ice-skating face. I make that face a lot around my dead ex-husband now, whenever he wants to buddy up and solve another murder together.
The five-year-old little pink puff in front of me skated backwards, sticking out her tongue. “Come on, slow poke,” Lil Mil said, wiggling her hips in a mocking fashion. I tried to catch up but I lost my balance and fell into the six-foot, dark-haired man skating by my side.
“Don’t worry,” Justin said. “She’ll come ‘round again in a second. You can catch her next time.”
His already large arm was made even thicker by the puffer jacket he was wearing. We’d been dating for three months now, and it was nice, but not serious. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for serious yet, but I was sure enjoying the nice part.
Partiers’ Loop was the one part of the lake everyone came to ice skate on whenever the weather permitted, and it was packed with people today, enjoying a winter Sunday on Landover Lake. Soft rock music played out from
the speakers that someone had set up along the side. I tugged Justin in tighter, trying to warm myself on his chest as we passed under a tree limb.
I watched every branch intently as we went under, not quite trusting nature just yet, not after Delilah Scott said she heard “those birds” again last week.
Mrs. Carmichael came up behind me and grabbed my arm, making me lose my footing and fall onto the ice, mostly because I’d been thinking about the birds. Pain shot up my back, but I tried to laugh it off.
She put out a gloved hand to help me up. “Sorry about that, Carly Mae. You would think that’s why they call this Accident Loop, wouldn’t ya?” She looked different without her pink Spoony River uniform on. Her blonde hair was dotted with gray and flew crazily out of her knit cap as she talked. In or out of the diner, Mrs. Carmichael was still hands down the town’s biggest gossip. And I could tell, she couldn’t wait to tell me something here.
“I thought it was called Partier’s Loop,” I said.
“Same thing.” Old George grunted by her side. He pointed down to the ice we were skating on. “Terrible boating accident happened on this side of the lake.” His voice sounded straight out of a horror movie.
“Let me tell it,” Mrs. Carmichael teased, hitting his arm in a way that made me wonder if old George and Mrs. Carmichael were becoming the town’s latest bit of gossip. “Sometime in the 1950s. Oh no, it was the 1960s… Oh I don’t know. A while back, some kids went partying on a boat after dark. Four people didn’t come back. Drowned.”
“No, they got run over by their boat, mangled in the propeller,” George said.
“They drowned. They were high and drunk and they swam too far from the boat. Their bloated remains washed up right here.” She pointed.
He shook his head and she shot him a look.
