“Wow,” Deem said, turning to look at Winn. He could tell she was a bit overwhelmed by the information, unsure what to make of it or how to respond.
“Was there ever any attempt to explain what happened to Henry?” Winn asked. “Or explain what happened to his friends?”
“There was one point of coincidence,” the professor replied, “that had a lot of people in Paragonah speculating a hundred years ago. The disappearances seemed to occur around the same time an executed serial killer was buried at the cemetery. Some people felt the serial killer’s conviction was erroneous and that they’d hung the wrong man, citing the subsequent disappearances at the Blackham mansion as evidence of the man’s innocence. The odd thing about that theory was that the only people disappearing were the ones in Henry’s house, the ones participating in the séance. That led others to believe that the serial killer’s ghost was continuing the work it had conducted in life, preying on the souls of the people in the séance. Members of the church in the town saw it as a just result of the participants having opened themselves to communication with the other side. It became a popular sacrament meeting subject, and helped turn the tide in the area against Spiritualism of any kind. Particularly in Paragonah.”
“Do you know who the serial killer was?” Deem asked.
“A man by the name of Willard Bingham. He was accused of a string of murders from St. George to Tremonton over three years. There was plenty about him in the local records. By all accounts his murders were violent and gruesome. There was a lot of brutality in the west at that time, and people were a lot more accustomed to lawlessness. Even by those standards, Bingham was a monster. Of course, his reputation made it easy to hang more on him after he’d been put in the ground.”
“Do you think that’s true?” Deem asked. “The serial killer was responsible for the disappearances at Blackham mansion?”
“Of course not!” the professor replied. “Pure superstition! At that point the killer was incapable of doing anything other than rotting. Why, do you think he rose from the grave and spirited those people away?”
“Maybe,” Winn replied. “I’ve seen the dead do some pretty despicable things.”
Winn watched as the professor cocked his head at him. “I’m sure you didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Cloward said. “I tell you these details merely in the role of repeating folklore, not because I believe any of it. The facts of the matter are the house and its inhabitants. The rest is speculation, and I’m relating that as context. Nothing more.”
“Did they ever find the bodies of the ones who disappeared?” Deem asked.
“No. Not that I ever found in my research. There were some memorial markers placed, but from what I could discover there were no bodies under them.”
“Then what do you think happened to them?” Winn asked.
“That is a mystery,” the professor replied emphatically, “and will likely remain one for a very long time. I can tell you that in my line of work, some lines of inquiry just come to an end, and you can’t find anyone living or any document anywhere that can explain the conclusion of the story, and you have to live with a string of unexplained events that appear unusual because we don’t have all the facts.” He paused, looking at them for agreement. “Happens all the time. It doesn’t mean anything supernatural occurred, such as the ghost of a serial killer kidnapping or killing them. Right?”
Winn could tell the professor was well practiced at explaining a rational theory and having others agree with it. You’d have to be, to be a successful academic, he thought. In his line of work, no one’s going to take you seriously if you espouse supernatural explanations. He wouldn’t have had a career if he did. But there’s a part of him that doesn’t entirely believe everything he’s saying. Do I call him out on it? I know Deem’s not going to bring up what she experienced in the house, and he already suspects I’m not on the level, with what I said about the dead. What do I tell a closet-gifted professor emeritus with such a strongly voiced opinion?
“Right,” Deem injected, smiling while agreeing with him. “We appreciate your time.”
The professor stood and escorted them back through the house, asking them questions about where they’d gone to school and what careers they hoped to have later in life. They exchanged goodbyes at the front door, and Winn observed the professor’s grandson tugging on the starter cord of the lawnmower, trying to revive it. He walked across the grass to the kid.
“You look tired,” he said, watching the child tug on the cord without success. Sweat was pouring down his forehead.
“This lawn is brutal,” the boy replied, “and this mower sucks.”
“How about I tell the old man you flooded it, and it needs to sit for a few?”
“Would you?” the kid asked. “He’d never believe me if I said it. He’d think I was trying to get out of working.”
“Sure, kid,” Winn said, turning to walk back to Deem, who was already at the Jeep. He called back to the professor over his shoulder.
“He flooded it! It’s gotta sit for ten minutes before it’ll start!” Cloward acknowledged him with a wave.
He got into the Jeep, and Deem joined him.
“It wasn’t flooded, was it?” Deem asked.
“I don’t think so,” Winn replied. “I didn’t smell any gas.”
“Why’d you lie to him?”
“He’s been lying to himself his whole life,” Winn replied. “He’s used to lies.”
Chapter Four
When they arrived at Carma’s several hours later, they found David sleeping in the drawing room and Carma on the phone.
“I don’t understand what you mean by an e-ticket,” she said. “Why can’t you just deliver the tickets to the house, like last time?”
Winn and Deem exchanged quick glances, wondering what Carma was up to. Then they wandered to the back porch, hoping to leave David asleep. Winn turned on the misters, and a light fog of water began to descend from the awning overhead.
“The water’s too hot for the first minute or so,” Deem said, retreating to a shady area away from the nozzles. “It makes me feel like a lobster.”
“It’s too hot out here not to have them on,” Winn replied. “They’ll cool down in a minute.” He landed in a recliner.
“What do you think Carma is up to?” Deem asked. “Sounded like travel planning to me.”
“Who knows,” Winn replied, closing his eyes and waiting for the mist to cool.
Carma burst onto the patio, a notepad in hand. “I don’t understand! Perhaps one of you can explain it to me.”
“Explain what?” Deem asked.
Carma sat in a padded chair next to Winn and began fanning herself with the pad. “Oh, those misters are way too hot!” she said, looking up at the tubing and nozzles that encircled the awning. “Awful, annoying water!”
“Give them a minute, they’ll cool down,” Winn said. “Ten minutes from now it’ll be nice and comfortable out here.”
“These travel agents!” Carma said, looking once again at her pad. “They’re so lazy nowadays. They won’t run the tickets out to the house like they used to. I say it’s damned inconvenient.”
“You going somewhere?” Winn asked.
“No, Winn, you are,” Carma replied. “You’re going to take David to a specialist in Missoula. You have a flight out of St. George in three hours. Unfortunately the travel agent is being very uncooperative, and you only have e-tickets, whatever the hell those are.”
“I didn’t know there was any other kind of airline ticket,” Deem said. “What, they used to be made of paper?”
“What else would they be made out of?” Carma replied, exasperated. “It’s a ticket. It has to be made of paper, otherwise, how would you use it? What’s an e-ticket made out of? Air?” Her eyes widened as she looked at the two of them for an answer.
“When’s the last time you booked a flight with your travel agent?” Deem asked. “And they sent you paper tickets?”
&n
bsp; “Not that long ago,” Carma replied. “Ten, twenty years?”
“Before I was born,” Deem muttered.
Carma paused. “Don’t say that. It makes me feel old.”
“No one’s used paper tickets for years now,” Winn said. “Your travel agent can’t deliver them because they don’t even print them anymore.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Carma said, leaning back in her chair and raising her face to the misters, which had finally begun to cool. “How do they know whom to let on the plane?”
“You show your ID and give them the confirmation number,” Deem replied. “That’s all you need.”
“Well, no wonder 9/11 happened!” Carma said, flabbergasted.
“What time is the flight?” Winn asked.
“6 PM,” Carma replied. “I couldn’t get you all the way through to Missoula tonight, so you’ll stay in Salt Lake overnight, then take a 7 AM flight tomorrow morning. The appointment with the specialist is at 10, and your flight back is at 4. You’ll be back in St. George round 9 PM tomorrow. It would all be in an itinerary, but they refused to drive that out to the house, either. They wanted to email it. I refused.”
“Let me call the travel agent and give them my email address,” Winn replied. “They can send it to me.”
“Here’s their number,” Carma said, turning the pad to Winn. As he plugged the number into his phone, he saw the notes Carma had made about other parts of the trip — the car rentals, the hotel, and the prices. It added up to quite a bit of money.
Once he finished with the travel agent, Winn put his phone away and turned to Carma. “They’re sending it to me.”
“How?”
“Email. On my phone.”
“Oh, good heavens!” Carma said, irritated. “How will you print it?”
“I don’t need to print it, it’s on my phone,” Winn replied.
“Well, that’s completely unacceptable!” Carma sputtered. “What if your phone battery dies? Then what will you do?”
“I’ll email a copy to David,” Winn said. “Our phones won’t both die.”
Carma threw up her hands and raised her face to the misters. “This world, going straight to hell in a handbasket…” she muttered upward.
“This trip is last minute,” Winn said to her. “I saw on your pad how much it cost. Are you sure? That’s a lot of money, Carma.”
Carma sighed. Winn could see the coolness of the mist calming her, and the muscles on her face relaxed. “Money is the least of my concerns. I’m far more concerned about that boy and figuring out what’s wrong with him.”
“Who’s the specialist?” Winn asked.
Carma raised her head back into position and looked again at her pad, turning back a page. She ripped the paper from the pad and handed it to Winn.
“At least that’s on paper,” she said. “Winston Talbot. Outside of Batchelder, he’s the closest. I wouldn’t send either of you boys to Batchelder ever again, given how she treated you before. The woman is a total…well, you know.”
“I believe you called her a c-word,” Deem said.
“Yes, she’s a c-word,” Carma replied. “So Winston is our best bet. I’ve already made arrangements for the bill to come here, so don’t let him extort money out of you, either.”
“I don’t have any extra clothes here,” Winn said, rising up from the lounger. “I should go back to Moapa and pick up some.”
“You don’t have time,” Carma replied. “Buy a few in Salt Lake tonight to get you through. I’ll give you some cash.”
“Well, thank you, Carma, but you don’t have to do that,” Winn said.
“Back in the day, long before they got really good at catching counterfeiters, Lyman made a killing,” Carma said, reaching into the pocket on her house dress. “For the last hundred years it’s all been invested, so money is the least of our concerns right now, young man.” She peeled off five one-hundred dollar bills and handed them to Winn. “That should cover the cars and the hotel and food, with a little left over for clothes. And buy a little something for David, too, to lift his spirits.”
Winn turned to look at Deem, his surprise hanging on his face like a mask. It had been a while since he’d seen five hundred dollars sitting in the palm of his hand. Deem just shrugged at him. He felt himself slowly raising his jaw back into position, and he lay back down on the lounger.
“Well, thank you, Carma,” Winn said, tucking the money into his jeans. “I appreciate it. That’s very kind of you. I’ll spend it carefully.”
“Maybe some tighter jeans,” Carma said, rising from her chair and walking back to the house. “I know you’ve got plenty to display, and the ones you’re wearing require far too much imagination for my taste.” She disappeared inside.
Winn turned back to Deem, who was blushing. “She’s a dirty old woman!” he said, laughing.
“No comment!” Deem replied, suppressing a smile.
▪ ▪ ▪
He doesn’t seem sick, Winn thought as they passed through the small security line at the airport, keeping an eye on David in front of him. They found a spot to sit in front of large windows that offered an end-to-end view of the runway.
“You look like you’re used to travel,” Winn said to him, as they settled into seats and placed their bags on the floor.
“My parents flew everywhere,” David replied. “A lot on business, but some for pleasure, vacations. They took me along once I was old enough. I’m used to airports.”
“And this leg from St. George to Salt Lake,” Winn replied, “I suppose you’re used to that, too.”
“They were prop planes, back when the airport was on the mesa above Bluff Street,” David said. “Really bumpy during the summer. Not so bad since they built this new airport and you can take a jet.”
Winn hadn’t done much traveling in his life. His mother left him with nothing but a trailer for an inheritance. He’d sold it and bought his own after she died, not wanting to keep memories of her around. Then he found the cheapest plot of land he could plant his trailer on — the outskirts of tiny Moapa, Nevada. Occasional construction jobs kept him going, and it was all he needed to get by; he owned the trailer and his Jeep outright, and he didn’t have expensive tastes. Quite the opposite.
David, on the other hand, was accustomed to money. Winn had seen David’s house when they helped him empty it in preparation for going on the market. It was a large, comfortable place, full of mementos of family trips and expensive toys like ATVs. In the days following the discovery of his parents’ murder, Carma had stepped in to help David manage his inheritance, and David had decided to sell the house and as much of the furnishings as possible. They’d removed all of the personal items and put the home up for sale. Winn suspected that between the sale of the house and whatever life insurance his parents possessed, David was well off and might never need to work a day in his life. Carma hadn’t directly confirmed it, but he knew she wasn’t worried about David’s financial situation.
What had been much harder was allowing the bodies to be found; exposing the graves in such a way that no one could implicate David. They all knew who murdered David’s parents — Lizzy had confessed before Deem killed her. Killed herself, he heard Deem correct inside his head. Deem had been emphatic that everyone remember it the right way: Lizzy’s attempt to kill Deem resulted in Lizzy killing herself. But they couldn’t share that information with the authorities without wrapping themselves up in an unexplainable story that would never be believed.
They spent some hard time with David, going over options. The easiest was to just leave his parents in the desert, where they’d likely remain unfound. Both Carma and David were against it. In the end, they found a way for a random hiker to call in a suspicious grave off the old highway. When there’s a large collection of birds hovering in one spot in the desert, it’s usually a bad sign. Clark Country deputies took care of the rest.
It allowed David closure. The funerals were tough, but David had a solid group
of friends from high school and college that got him through it, and he moved into the room at Carma’s house immediately after Carma extended the invitation. David had been overwhelmed by the prospect of dealing with his parents’ estate, but Carma stepped in to guide him through the details. It had been a rough couple of months, but they survived together. Winn remembered a recent dinner at Carma’s when David had broken down, thanking them for what they did to keep him going through it all. He said he considered them his new family, and that he knew they couldn’t replace his parents, but he was grateful that they’d filled a huge gap in his life. Winn had been touched by the kid’s sincerity, and it had softened a good amount of the animosity he’d initially felt toward him.
Now, sitting in the airport, waiting to fly to Salt Lake, some of the animosity returned, and it bothered him. Petty, he thought. You’re being petty. Yes, David has more money than you. So does Carma. Deem too, probably — her family is well off. You’re just white trailer trash who marveled at five hundred dollars like you’ve never seen that much money in one place. None of the others would have considered five hundred dollars significant enough to drool over. It was just disposable spending money to Carma, but you reacted like she’d given you a handful of diamonds. Kinda pathetic.
And now David talking about how familiar travel was to him and his family. He probably went to all kinds of exotic places with his parents, he thought, feeling resentment rising. He knew it was irrational and unfounded to feel that way, but it was there, nonetheless. Popular high school quarterback who probably never had to worry about anything a day in his life.
The Blackham Mansion Haunting (The Downwinders Book 4) Page 4
