Inside the Executive's Pocket

by Etta Faire

“This isn’t for me,” she said, pulling at the apron on her uniform. “Oh goodness, no. I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle.” She lowered her voice even though we were the only three in the whole place. “But George has been acting real strange lately, I tell ya. And not just because he passed out in the woods and can’t remember a dang thing about it. He’s been saying strange things too. Sometimes he just starts mumbling about taking sides and how Landover’s changing… something about a sparrow coming back. And he checks the sky a lot before we go out anywhere.”

  Mrs. Nebitt lifted an eyebrow at her.

  “Not that we go out a lot of places together,” she added.

  It was pretty well known that she and old George had been an item for a while, but neither one of them was willing to admit it just yet.

  I made a mental note to see George as soon as possible to ask about his “dementia.”

  “What are you here for, Carly Mae?” Mrs. Carmichael asked because going to the library was not on most people’s to-do lists in Landover.

  “I’m doing research on a new ghost,” I said. “For that book I’m writing.”

  It was my go-to lie. Being a medium was not enough of an excuse to research random dead people in Landover. You had to have a logical reason. I had about two chapters written in my logical reason so far.

  “This time I’m researching the incident at the drive-in from 1978,” I said, then added, “the one where four people died in the woods,” in case they didn’t know which incident I was talking about.

  “Oh yeah, everyone knows about the incident,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “I tell ya I was in high school at the time. It was the talk of the town. Could’ve been any one of us.”

  Mrs. Nebitt nodded, her coke bottle glasses falling forward just a little bit more. “The Young Executives Club. Quite a scandal,” she said as we all walked together over to the periodicals section. Mrs. Nebitt slid behind the computer and mindlessly smoothed out the wrinkles in her light blue polyester pantsuit then tapped away on the keyboard, her eyes never leaving the monitor in front of her.

  “If I remember correctly, there was something in one of the pockets that led the police to the alleged killer. I say alleged because she was never convicted. Rebecca Torrance.”

  “Oh yeah. I remember that too, now that you mention it,” Mrs. Carmichael agreed. “A key. To Rebecca Torrance’s secret life.”

  “Secret life?”

  Mrs. Carmichael laughed so hard she got her smoker’s cough going a little. She composed herself then continued. “Turns out, the girl liked to make homemade pornos.”

  I coughed on nothing too. “I’m sorry. Did you just say homemade… pornos? Because I thought you were going to say cookies, so that’s a pretty big difference right there.”

  Mrs. Carmichael’s smile grew. “And from what I’ve heard, she made those cookies right there at her daddy’s vet clinic. No animals were involved in the making of the movies, thank goodness. There was a whole big tadoo about that one back in the day. People rightfully worried.” She instinctively took off her hat and re-pinned her fluff pieces into it. “But I heard they did use the cages and leashes and stuff.”

  I was too stunned to say anything, so Mrs. Carmichael went on. “You know, the kind of movie where a lonely woman can’t pay her vet bill and needs to talk to the vet in private to discuss an alternate form of payment, in the back with the cages,” she said with a wink, in case I wasn’t familiar with a usual porno script, which I wasn’t.

  “Patsy, please,” Mrs. Nebitt said, adjusting her hearing aid, probably turning it down.

  “I’m only glad I didn’t have a pet in the 1970s. The ones at Landover Pet Hospital had to see far too much. Poor things,” Mrs. Carmichael added.

  I realized my mouth was open, and I closed it again, wondering about my own dog who shouldn’t have been alive back then, but probably was.

  Mrs. Nebitt grabbed a little pencil and scratch paper from the container at the end of the desk. “You can read all about it yourself. There are quite a few articles for this one. From October of 1978 until well into the following year.”

  I looked up at the screen she was pointing to and counted the search results. Eleven articles. She wasn’t kidding.

  In a large city like Indianapolis (where I was from), eleven articles about one subject was nothing. Even the smallest of news stories could drum that up, no problem.

  This was not the case with the Landover Gazette. In Landover, the “big news stories” were usually treated like pie recipes, just a brief mention on page six, right after the fishing awards and chili competition results. We were a tourist city, after all, and tourists did not like to hear about “sharks in the water.”

  So, this incident must have been a big deal.

  I followed Mrs. Nebitt to the microfilm cabinet and waited as she pulled out one of the relevant rolls of film. “This was a shock to the community,” she said, handing me the box. “And in the end, most people agreed that the police had the right person, but because the prosecution could not prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt, they had to let Miss Torrance go.”

  “What happened to her? Does she still live here?”

  Mrs. Nebitt and Mrs. Carmichael exchanged looks before they both shrugged.

  “I have no idea,” Mrs. Nebitt said. “I know her whole family moved. Who could blame them? There wasn’t much left for Rebecca here. Allegedly murdering her friends in a fit of jealous rage. Cut and chopped them beyond recognition to make it look like a silly paranormal rumor.” The reel made a cracking sound as she struggled to pop it into its place in the microfilm machine then scrolled through the articles from 1978 illuminated on the screen. A large picture of a jack o’lantern with a knife advertising for the premier of Halloween scrolled by along with the block lettering that accompanied it: “He came home for Halloween.” Mrs. Nebitt didn’t even notice. I did. A dollar matinee.

  “Here we are,” she finally said when she stopped on the article titled, Four Dead Just Outside Bear Rock Drive-In.

  She always liked to “get me started” on my research, which meant she wanted to know everything I was researching.

  I sat down in front of the article.

  “It’s funny,” she said, motioning to the screen. “I hear we have quite a few police officers in town right now looking for Bobby, in that same spot you happen to be researching.”

  “You don’t say? That’s a pretty interesting coincidence, all right,” Mrs. Carmichael chimed in. She prided herself on being the town’s source of gossip, and I could tell she smelled a bigger story here.

  The heat creaked on overhead but my cheeks were already warm. I hadn’t realized how strange the coincidence must’ve looked. “Everyone’s talking about the massacre,” I said. “So I thought, ‘perfect timing for my book.’”

  Mrs. Nebitt went on. “Mmmm-hmmmm. It does appear as if everyone’s figured out a way to capitalize on Bobby’s disappearance. The gym was handing out half-off memberships for joining his search party. And now, the bed and breakfast is full.”

  I tried not to show surprise, but it was always amazing to me how quickly everyone in town knew everybody else’s business.

  She adjusted her glasses. “I only know because Paula Henkel stopped by this morning, talking about how we needed to take down the fliers she had advertising her bed and breakfast. She’s booked solid until the end of summer.”

  “Solid until the end of summer, huh?” Mrs. Carmichael said like she was mentally taking notes on all the latest gossip so she could pass it along to her customers at the diner. She looked at her watch. “Oh goodness. I gotta get going. Thanks for all your help, Mrs. Nebitt. I’ll keep you all posted about our guests at the bed and breakfast, whatever I can find out about them. Booked until the end of summer. My goodness. That woman knows her business.”

  I was just glad Rosalie wasn’t here to hear how business-savvy everyone thought Paula was. “I can see why Paula had to come in to tell you to take down those fliers. Couldn�
��t possibly have called about that one,” I said, making Mrs. Nebitt smile. We both knew Paula only came by because gloating in public was much more fun than phoning in your bragging.

  Both ladies waddled off and I stared at the article in front of me, sighing.

  I already knew I had my work cut out for me, and not just because there were eleven articles. I also had to distinguish the truth from the rumors, not an easy job seeing how this was Landover, and those rumors had been circulating for 40 years. I was also hoping to find Rebecca to get her side of the story. Homemade pornos and all.

  I turned the focus knob carefully and the fuzzy words straightened out on the screen.

  Four Dead Just Outside Bear Rock Drive-In

  Four mutilated bodies were discovered this morning in the Dead Forest just outside Bear Rock Drive-In.

  Although identification of the bodies has not been confirmed, police believe they belong to a group of friends who went missing three nights ago after going into the forest to play a joke.

  Spent shell casings and a chainsaw were recovered from the crime scene.

  Rebecca Torrance, 22, from Landover, first arrived in the emergency room close to 3:00 a.m. Saturday morning after flagging down a passing vehicle on the highway near Bear Rock Drive-In. Witnesses say she was babbling incoherently and appeared bloody.

  According to police, Miss Torrance told them she and her boyfriend were “hanging out” in his car near couples path, a popular “lovers lane,” after a showing of Texas Chainsaw Massacre when they saw rustling in the woods and thought they heard laughing.

  Going to investigate, she became disoriented and passed out. When she awoke, she was near the path and ran out to get help.

  The missing friends are Curtis Sumner (22), Danny Kahl (21), Jay Hunt (24), and Sylvia Darcy (22).

  Anyone at the Bear Rock Drive-in Friday night is encouraged to call the police department’s non-emergency number…

  A chill went up my spine. A part of me couldn’t wait to channel with Sylvia, relive the murder, and find out what happened. That was not the sane part of me, though.

  I skimmed through every article, noting the differences between the reported story and the rumor Shelby told me ten years ago. She said it had been weeks before the bodies had been discovered. It had been days. Still, that gives a killer a lot of time to stage a crime scene.

  I read on to find out that Rebecca had been arrested for the crime not long after the bodies had been discovered, and during the trial, everyone found out why.

  New Evidence Reveals Motive For Murders

  May Involve Double Life

  More surprises in the Rebecca Torrance trial came out today as the prosecution revealed what experts are calling a “smoking gun.” The night Miss Torrance was questioned, police discovered a key in her jeans pocket that was later found to belong to a locker at Darcy’s Roller Rink where Miss Torrance was employed as a manager.

  However, it was what was inside the locker that was most revealing. Police discovered an amateur “homemade” adult film starring Miss Torrance and her boyfriend, Curtis Sumner, one of the victims, apparently filmed at Landover Pet Hospital, a veterinary clinic owned by Miss Torrance’s father, Burt Torrance. The movie was titled Small Town Vets Do it Doggie Style.

  “I take my cat there. Not anymore,” said a local resident who wanted to remain anonymous.

  A letter was also found in the locker linking Miss Torrance to a sordid love triangle but details were not disclosed in court.

  The defense has requested a change of venue for the trial.

  As I was reading, I kept thinking about that poor woman. How she barely escaped, how she found out that her friends had been murdered, and then, not only wasn’t she allowed to grieve, but she was put on trial, with all of her homemade secrets spilling out everywhere.

  Unless, of course, she was guilty.

  A few of the articles detailed the reasons they believed her to be guilty. The movie ended at eleven. She and Curtis had only hung out a little bit afterward before they went into the woods, but she wasn’t picked up until close to 3:00. She claimed to have blacked out, but that was a convenient defense no one believed even then.

  She was also having an affair with her best friend’s boyfriend, both of whom ended up dead.

  I gulped, wondering if Sylvia remembered all of that or if she’d blocked it out. I looked around for her. She must’ve been here in the library somewhere. After a minute of not seeing any ghosts, I read on.

  Rebecca’s trial ended in August of 1979, almost a full year later.

  Hung Jury in the Porno Murderer Case

  Rebecca Torrance’s trial ended in a hung jury yesterday after being moved to the larger city of Lake Dodson, Wisconsin earlier this year.

  The trial, which was originally set to be held in Landover was moved to Lake Dodson for fear that too many local citizens either knew the defendant or were tainted by rumors about the Dead Forest.

  “They [the prosecution] just didn’t establish anything,” one juror said. “Not enough that we didn’t have reasonable doubt. No motive to kill her friends besides an x-rated movie and some convoluted story about a love letter. No weapons were recovered. How could one young girl kill so many so quickly? Being the only one to escape a tragedy doesn’t make you guilty of it. No matter how many pornos you’ve made.”

  The prosecution said it is not planning to retry Miss Torrance without new evidence coming to light.

  A grainy, black-and-white photo from the trial accompanied the article where a chubby police officer with a bushy mustache held what looked like a ski hat in front of a table with the rest of the evidence. The caption said, “The spent shell casings, chainsaw, clothing, fast-food containers and other trash found at the scene.”

  I printed out every article I could find, including the one where the victims were remembered with photos.

  Something told me this was going to be one of my toughest cases yet.

  I looked up at the enlarged, 1950’s photo of the library’s ribbon-cutting ceremony that hung above the copiers as I waited for my print order. In the photo, a young Mrs. Nebitt scowled at the people around her like she wanted to stab every last person in the picture with the oversized scissors she was holding. I took a deep breath, allowing the heat from the overhead vent to warm my face a little. This town had so many secrets. Everything was shrouded in darkness and mystery, down to my own life.

  My mother always said, “When in doubt, just take the next logical step.” But she never said what to do if no logical steps existed, and never had. She didn’t have life advice for people running into paranormal darkness filled with shapeshifters, ghosts, and murderers while juggling ridiculously oversized scissors.

  Sylvia appeared, faded and concerned, in front of the copiers. “I read the articles along with you. I know they think Rebecca did it.”

  I stretched my neck to see if the librarian was watching before answering the ghost in front of me. Mrs. Nebitt was staring blankly at her computer monitor. Still, I lowered my voice. “What do you think?”

  She shook her head. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  “Were Rebecca and Jay having an affair?” I asked. “I know a love note came out in Rebeca’s trial. Is that a surprise to you or did you know about it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, honestly. I was hoping you could find that out too. I’ve forgotten about a lot of things, or blocked them out.” Sylvia paused, again. I noticed she did that a lot, kind of like a politician trying to think of just the right answer to dance around the issue with, without saying too much. “Jay didn’t really like her or Curtis very much, but I don’t know.”

  Sylvia was gaining color. I could see the blonde highlights in her hair now, the sparkle in her eye that could have been rage. Who knew? “There’s a lot to figure out,” she said.

  “Oh, we’re going to figure it out, all right.”

  I wasn’t sure my mother would agree that “figuring out a 40-year-old
murder for your ghost client” was the next logical step here. I briefly thought about calling her up and asking her.

  Maybe even mention the pornos.

  Chapter 4

  Crooked

  The whole way home that evening, I couldn’t stop thinking about the thing lurking in the woods. What in the hell was it? A ghost? A bear shifter? I laughed at that one. It had been way too fast and nimble for a bear. No offense to Justin, but bears lumbered clumsily in their shifted state. Like even they were surprised by how bulky and awkward they were.

  And that thing seemed to glide.

  Maybe Jackson was right and I really had imagined it. I had been known to hallucinate from time to time ever since I started channeling with ghosts.

  Stopping at a red light, I turned down my music and rolled down my window in order to search the woods around me. I fumbled through my purse for my phone just in case I saw the shadow again. Maybe I could grab a photo of whatever it was out there. So far, I’d been the only one to see it.

  That’s when I heard something. A low growling noise that sent goosebumps shooting along my arm. Followed by a scraping sound coming from the top of my car.

  I pushed the button to roll the window up so fast I hurt my finger a little. Throwing my foot on the gas, I bolted forward, thankful the light was green because I was heading through that intersection green or not. I checked the side windows every once and a while, never stopping or breathing properly until I made it inside Gate House. That growling sound could only have meant one thing: those weird birds were back. Unless the thing in the woods growled too.

  Rex rushed up to me as soon as he heard my key in the lock, and I bent down and stroked the golden fur of my lab. I always felt safe with Rex.

  He was supposedly an old dog, but he still seemed like a three-year-old to me. Spry and healthy, ready to protect everyone.