While Levi’s driving the twenty minutes to the future supermall of Cathville– if Dexter doesn’t end up in prison– I call Matt Noger. According to Dexter, Matt and his brother Tommy are the premier real estate developers in the entire state, maybe the entire South.
Dexter said he considered himself blessed by financial fortune when they contacted him about building the supermall. He said he had come into the land by luck, which he didn’t explain, but it sounded suspicious and he looked shady saying it.
He said he planned to sell off the parcels and build a house or two to get the development moving. Before he got started on that, the Noger brothers called. Now, he’d boasted, the money he planned to invest in the place is going to make itself back a thousandfold and ten.
With that kind of return, I figure the Noger brothers are in the business of selling pipe dreams and have dumped Dexter in the nearest trash bin.
When I get Matt Noger on the phone, he’s weaving a different yarn. The only thing he claims will make him happier than knowing I’m here is to find out just how we’re going to get Dexter out of this mess of his. Despite his friendly y’all Southern attitude, my skin is crawling.
I make an appointment to meet with the brothers the next morning, and Matt promises to have the trailer delivered to the property. When I’d said motorhome, he laughed and not in a funny way. Based on that laugh, even at seventy bucks a night, I’m not looking forward to leaving the Belladonna.
During our visit, Dexter promised to make up for the days I’d lost tracking him down and visiting him in jail. He said his lawyer would make good on it and told me to call her to make arrangements. I decide to wait until after I enlighten myself about his situation before I ask Weaver for anything.
Levi takes a turn onto a dirt road that gets my full attention. “Wait a minute. Is this the right way?”
“According to the directions I got from Herb, this is the way.”
“How do you build a supermall when you don’t even have a road that goes to it?” I ask.
“It’s nothing to put down some asphalt. Plus, it’s legal to drive tractors on the roads in Arkansas. Lack of a highway won’t keep these hillbillies home.”
“Rude, and you’re still enjoying this too much,” I tell him.
“You’re not enjoying it enough.” Levi pulls onto the property, goes past the Future Home of the Cathville Supermall sign that has a half dozen bullet holes in it, and parks. “What? You look weird. You getting one of your ghost vibes?”
“No,” I say, staring at the police tape that’s wrapped around some pencil thin trees in the distance. “Something a lot worse.”
Chapter Twelve
§
After peeing on a couple of trees, the wolfdog is doing his weird amber eye stare in the direction of the police tape. Mojo’s The Great Ghost Tracker, to me anyway. When he senses spirits, he does this statuesque pose pointing in their direction. That’s not what he’s doing now. Right now, he’s doing his wolf pose, which means when it comes to the living, we aren’t alone.
Levi is still standing at the driver’s door. The man rarely considers the seriousness of a situation, which is half his problem. Now though, he’s staring at the police tape and looking more sober than a nun on Good Friday.
Levi’s mom was our fourth grade teacher, his father our high school principal. Now they’re retired in Florida. You’d think with those genes, he’d be as quiet as a corpse and as disciplined as a drill sergeant, but he’s not even close to either. Other than being switched at birth, how Levi turned out the way he did is a mystery to the three of us. Though they’re a little confused by my own career choice.
“What is it?” he yells, still at the door. Thank the spirits he’s here to protect me.
“We’re being watched,” I say, and see movement in the brush.
I’d bet money that the people who live near these woods consider this property as much their own as the land they live on, and they’re more likely to send a hearse before a welcome wagon.
I tried to get more information from Dexter about why Kylee came out here. Other than saying she wasn’t involved in the supermall project, he blew past the question. Dexter’s a salesman in heart, soul, and lips. He took off in another direction enough to make me forget my question and later wonder what facts he managed to slip under.
“Did you bring a gun?” Levi asks.
“No, I don’t even own a gun, and you already know that. I’ve got you to protect me. That’s why you came, right?”
“Right, kind of.”
“Okay,” I say, when Mojo gets interested in the bugs. “Looks like you scared them off. I need to spend some time alone where they found the woman’s body. Why don’t you look around to see if the police missed anything.”
“Like what?”
“Like evidence.”
I stand next to the police tape and stare in the direction our peeping tom went. The wolfdog has his nose in the leaves so I figure our visitor is long gone, but I still call out to see if anyone answers. No one does, so I sit at the edge of the yellow tape and pull out my phone.
Even without the snake, I can tell I’m sitting in front of the same tree that’s in the photo. It’s as tall as the heavens and as thin as a pole with a big knot right where the snake was slithering. I pull my sage smudge stick from my backpack and light it. Then I spend a few minutes clearing my mind, which is still halfway in the brush that’s not more than fifty feet from me.
I keep my phone in my lap in case the woman wants to reappear, and I whisper, “Kylee Price. If you’re still here, I’d like to communicate with you. My name is Jack Raven. I believe you sent me a message. First off, I need to let you know that you’re in spirit now, in case you’re confused. Unfortunately, you were murdered. I’m here to help you find closure if you’re still waiting to move on, and I need your help to do that.”
I listen with my eyes closed. Mojo is laying beside me, and I’m counting on him to alert me to anyone who’s not dead, but still wants to pay us a visit.
The air is sticky with light, cool, pig-laced breezes that I swear I’m getting used to. The gentle snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves is getting the wolfdog’s attention, more for entertainment purposes.
The buzzing of mosquitoes is getting on my nerves. Still with all that’s going on, I don’t get so much as a chill or tingle that indicates Kylee is around. She may not be ready to talk to me, but I sure wish she’d not play hard to connect with if she’s still here.
I check my phone hoping it’s her preferred method of communication, but all the photos are of the property and the trees and the bugs. I’m back to doubting what I’m certain I saw, or perhaps Kylee really has moved on. Why? Because her murderer is sitting in a jail cell?
Could be the super salesman’s sleight of hand gave me a false reading on him. I’m so busy with my wondering and analyzing that I’ve lost all hope of connecting with the spirit world.
I put out the smudge stick and am ready to go find Levi when the sound of a shot gun seems way too close for safety. “Hey,” I yell, hoping to warn the shooter that there are humans in these woods while hoping even more not to make their aim easier.
Mojo is only part wolf, but he’s got enough of the blood so as not to act like a domestic breed. He doesn’t jump around barking, ever. He knows you have to stalk and catch your prey before you can eat it. Right now, he’s in stalking mode.
“Hello, can you hear me? There are people on this property. Please don’t be shooting anymore.”
I can hear laughing and words exchanged; probably a couple of good old local boys out hunting in the woods.
“Hello—
“We hear you already.”
The voice is right behind me and I jump and turn around. Mojo’s no longer next to me. I’m looking at two teenage boys who are twice my size with rifles in their hands and up-to-no-good grins on their baby faces.
One’s dressed from head to toe in camouflage, the other in di
rty jeans and an even dirtier sweatshirt. The first one has a buzz cut, the other has on a straw hat and is chewing some long, stringy weed.
The first thing that pops into my head is Arthur’s warning about the Deliverance movie. The second thing I’m thinking is, where’s the wolfdog and Levi?
“I’m glad you did hear me. I’d sure hate to end up dead like the woman who took a bullet in the back. You know, the one whose body was found inside this police tape?” I fold my arms and tilt my head. “You two don’t know anything about that, do you?”
“Nothing we’re telling you,” one of them says with a chuckle.
“Guess you better be telling me then.” All three of us jump and the boys spin around. Levi is standing a few feet behind them with a ridiculously long and thin tree branch. Mojo is beside him.
When Levi wants to, and that’s almost never, he can look scarier than a Mexican cartel drug lord. He’s a good six feet tall and a former college football player who clearly took advantage of the weight room in prison. The wolfdog has his neck stretched out, his lips curled, and his long fangs are dripping saliva like he’s got rabies.
My big, strong heroes have come to save me. That is unless the kids turn their rifles on both of them.
The boys are looking at Levi and Mojo and each other like they intend to run. Finally, the one who was laughing at me says, “It wasn’t us, sir.”
I want to throw a rock at him. Instead, I tell them both this is private property and they better do their shooting elsewhere or they’ll end up in prison or dead themselves.
“We’ve been hunting in these woods for years. We have squatters rights. That woman’s dead because it won’t let this land be turned into no shopping mall.” The kid looks like he’s about to cry so he spits in my direction.
“It who?” Levi asks. His eyes are buggy with dollar signs. He’s about to discover the identity of the murderer and close the case while on the way to the bank.
“Not it,” the other kid says. “Her name’s Morowa—
“Shhh. You better shut it, big mouth,” the first kid says.
“What’s Morowa’s last name?” Levi asks.
The kids look at each other before the first one speaks. “Don’t got no last name. Just Morowa is all she’s called. Everybody knows that.”
“Yeah,” the other kid yells, like we’re the dumbest people he’s ever met. “These are her woods and she decides who gets to be out here.”
The boys exchange smiles. Their backwoods wisdom has pumped them up.
The first kid squints his eyes and his voice tries to go scary low, but fails miserably. “If she don’t like you being out here, you’ll get shot in the back too– with one of her witch bullets.”
Chapter Thirteen
§
“Witch bullets? Seriously? I heard she uses zombie spears.” Levi’s laughing and doing some sort of monster impersonation. The kids are laughing too, either with or at Levi. It’s hard to tell, but it doesn’t last long.
While all three are making fools of themselves, I see Mojo’s ears perk up just before he slithers around us and into the brush in the direction the boys came.
I get the urge to press my backside against a tree. They can joke all they want, but the dark side of witchcraft isn’t funny. Those who practice it are powerful and like Maybelle said, there’s nothing in my Navajo blood to protect me. The boys aren’t kidding about the witch bullets either.
After Maybelle’s warning of black magic and voodoo, I researched Arkansas’ unorthodox practices and came across a few posts about the witches of the Ozarks. They were known to roll hair and beeswax into balls to shoot like bullets at their enemies. They’d empower them with spells to make people sick, even kill them. Could be that some still do.
I assume though that the police would have figured out by now if Kylee’s bullet was missing shell casing and gun powder, but I make a mental note to double check.
“What does Morowa look like?” I ask, breaking up Levi’s and the boys’ bonding moment. I’m still checking between the trees and listening for Mojo. “She live around here?” I ask, when they don’t answer.
The boys get focused on the ground as if it’s suddenly real interesting. The one in camouflage is kicking rocks. I can smell maple syrup, but I don’t think it’s from either of the kids. “Come on, you said this is your land. You must know her or you’ve seen her a time or two.”
“Yeah, tell us what you know about the woman,” Levi says.
“Nothing to know.” The voice comes from the hill behind us. A voice that’s thick and slow and twangy. It vibrates through the trees and stings my ears.
“We gotta go,” one kid says. The other is already heading towards the voice. A man with leather skin who’s as thin as the trees, slips out as the boys hurry past him. Neither look at him and he doesn’t acknowledge them either.
His coal black eyes are on me and mine are locked on his. I step back as if I’ve been pushed. The maple syrup from a minute ago smells like it’s burning. The man’s got something shiny that’s reflecting the sun’s rays. I force myself to look away from him.
Mojo’s laying low in the grass several yards from him. His amber eyes are bearing down on the man.
“Can’t say I agree with you on that,” Levi says. “There’s something to know about everyone. No harm in that, right?”
I’m trying to get my bearings and think of something to say– in the unlikely event I can get the words out.
I look over the man’s shoulder as he pushes a long, stringy piece of slick, black hair behind his ear. His right arm is at his side, partially hidden from view. His left hand is dug deep in the pocket of his tattered jeans.
“Best go before you find out.”
His words sound like glass shards piercing my eardrums. Levi’s oblivious to the man’s energy.
“Sounds like she’s just the person the police need to talk to about what happened out here,” Levi says. “A man’s in jail for what—
“Can’t talk to vapor.” His voice echoes, and I squeeze my eyes and press my fingers to my ears.
“Where’d he go? What’s the matter with your ears?”
When I look up, Levi’s turning in circles.
The man’s gone. The wolfdog’s gone too and for a second, I panic thinking they’ve disappeared into some vapor vortex. Then I feel Mojo’s wet tongue on my fingers and jump away. He was a good six yards from me not more than five seconds ago.
“He disappeared. You see that?” Levi’s walking around in figure eights like he can’t figure out if he should go or stay.
“I’m feeling kind of sick. Do you smell burnt syrup? I can still see something shiny when I blink. What was that he had?”
“It’s all the bug spray. You need to cut that out. You’ll get used to the bugs.”
“No, I mean I’m feeling something else. Like a psychic attack or something. The man’s eyes were strange. We need to leave.” I start walking back to the jeep.
“I’m going to look over the hill first. See where he went. Not a real friendly sort, was he? Come on Wolf. Let’s go see where the stickman went.”
My legs are shaking and I’m seeing blotches now, the way you would after getting bit by a poisonous snake. I’m concentrating on making my way to the jeep and don’t even notice four very large and obviously intoxicated rednecks in a brown camouflage truck.
I know I’m in trouble the minute the hog calling starts. I consider retreating, but my legs are still wobbly, and I don’t know which direction is more dangerous. I slip on my sunglasses and try blinking away a shiny spot that seems burned onto one of my eyes.
That’s not my biggest concern though. I’m busy thinking, what do you say to a bunch of drunks yelling sooie at you in the backwoods of Arkansas? Or rather what shouldn’t you say?
“Sounds like you boys are ready for the meat grinder.” Okay, not my best ad-lib, but it does shut them up for a few seconds while they try to figure it out.
One o
f the two in the back of the truck spits in my general direction. “Sounds like you best be on your way little lady.”
“That’s Ms. Little Lady to you.” Heavens, please make me either say something intelligent or shut up.
“This is private property. Out-of-staters ain’t supposed to be on it.” This comes from the most intoxicated of the group, who’s hanging out the passenger window.
“Why’s that?”
“What?” he barks, then watches a long string of his drool drop to the ground.
“Why ain’t out-of-staters supposed to be on it?” All I’m doing is buying time here, waiting for my heroes. To get to the jeep, I have to get too close to the truck for comfort. I’m feeling a lot better, wobbliness and blotchiness wise. As long as I stay at this distance, I’m convinced I can out run all four of them.
“Just ain’t is all,” the driver answers, after some delay. I honestly think his passenger has forgotten all about me in lieu of the ground beneath his face.
“Well, this out-of-stater was hired by the property owner to be here, so you need to stop concerning yourself about my business so I can get on with it. Unless, that is, you have any information on the woman who was shot in the back out here the other day. Wouldn’t be involved with anything like that would you?”
“You a cop?”
“Private investigator,” Levi says, and about time.
“Watch out there’s a wolf behind you,” the guy in the back shouts.
“The near comatose passenger jerks up and reaches for the rifle that’s mounted on the truck’s back window.”
“He’s a dog,” I say in a flippant, you’re-an-idiot tone.
“Well,” the driver says, “Mr. Big Shot Private Investigator, we don’t shoot women and we don’t shoot anybody in the back.”
The guy in the back yells, “Yeah.” The other guy in the back hasn’t said a word so far. In fact, I haven’t even seen him blink yet. The front seat passenger has passed out.
“But we do consider shooting out-of-staters and people who try to build shopping stores in our neck of the woods. So whatever you’re here for, it’s best that you go on and get back to where you came from.”
The Cathville Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 2) Page 6
