by Mark Tufo
“Sí! I take good care of the horses. Mr. Judge Carter knows this. That is why he keeps me here for so long,” the man said defensively.
“Right, but you aren’t the only one who works there, right? Maybe he thinks someone else isn’t pulling their weight…I really don’t know. Either way, he wanted us to help keep an eye on them.”
The voice was silent a moment, but she heard him exhale stiffly into the phone. “It is probably Carlos. He can be lazy sometimes.”
“Yeah. It probably IS Carlos,” she agreed, but pressed on. “Well, listen, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we do this? Tell me the rest of the horses’ names, I’ll pass them on to another deputy and he can just tell the judge that he went by and checked on them and they were all just fine and dandy. Meanwhile, if the judge asks you, then you can tell him that we checked on them. If he doesn’t, then don’t say anything to him about it and you just keep a close eye on old Carlos…keep him honest on the job.”
“Sí. This sounds like a good idea.”
“Okay, and I’ll just tell my deputy that you’ve got everything under control, and he doesn’t have to waste the gas driving all the way out there.”
“This sounds like a good idea to me,” the man said.
“Excellent.” Amber smiled into the phone. “And what is your name? So I can tell my deputy who the contact is out there?”
“Is Juan, but everybody call me Jefe,” Juan said.
“Jefe, I like that. So you’re the boss. A take charge kind of guy.” She had him eating out of the palm of her hand. “Okay, Jefe, tell ya what, just go ahead and give me the names of the rest of the horses and maybe a brief description of them and I’ll pass that information on to my deputy.”
Juan agreed and began listing the horses to her. Amber wrote down the names and thanked him for his time. She began trying her new passwords and hit pay dirt on the second try. “Who in their right mind names a horse ‘Yellowjacket’?” she mumbled as she was granted access.
She began accessing the sealed records of the two youths and when the data came up she sat back and felt the color drain from her face.
“Oh, this can’t be right…”
*****
“So how do you expect to find evidence of a ghost?” Eckerson asked.
Jon shrugged. “I have no idea. And it wasn’t like I meant I was going to go out and find evidence supporting the ghost theory, I just meant that if we found something that pointed in that direction, would he dismiss it out of hand or would he at least consider the possibility.”
Eckerson swallowed the last of his coffee. “Well, to be honest, it was a nice idea, but I don’t think we’re going to find anything. So far, every crime scene has come up empty. Nada, nothing, zilch…as if the perp vacuumed before he left, filtered for evidence then scattered the trash back on the scene.”
Ben sat at the booth with the other two officers and rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t know how you guys go so long without sleep. I’m dragging.”
“Lots and lots of coffee,” Jeff said, holding up his cup at Ruby to get her attention.
“I hated the stuff until I got put on night shift. Now I can’t function without it,” Jon said. “Too many nights bleeding over into the day shift.”
Ben yawned and stretched, shaking his head to try to wake himself. “This is really sapping my neurons.”
“Why don’t you head home and get a little sleep, Ben? We’ll call you if anything new pops up,” Jeff offered.
Ben smiled and shook his head. “No way, buddy. I finally weaseled my way into this investigation, I’m not quitting now. Besides, I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead.”
The front door dinged as Calvin, Quinn, and Ginger walked through. Calvin glanced around the diner and chose a booth in a corner with a larger table. Quinn adjusted her oversized bag on her shoulder and made for the lady’s room. Ginger’s eyes homed in on Jon sitting across from Eckerson and Gregory and made straight for their booth. She slid in next to Jon and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, “You never called, you don’t write…I’m starting to think that I didn’t leave a very good first impression.” She smiled at him.
Jon stared at her a moment, his mouth hanging half open. “I, uh…er…I mean…”
“Wow, you have such a way with words,” Ginger teased. She glanced at Eckerson. “Is he always so chatty?”
“Usually.” Jeff turned to look for Ruby and her always full coffee pot.
Gregory sat up, his eyes wide. “I’m wide awake now.” He glanced at Foo, “Who’s your friend?”
Jon glanced at him. “Oh, she’s a…um…a psychiatrist.”
Ginger snorted and shook her head. “Psychologist,” she corrected. “Guys!” she exclaimed. “Unless it’s tattooed on your ass or across your chest, they never remember anything about a girl, am I right?” she teased as Jon’s face flushed bright red. “Ginger Lynch, UCLA School of Psychology.” She extended her hand to Ben.
Ben bumped the table reaching for it, but he shook it gently, smiling like a dork the entire time. “Dadgum, Jon. She’s way out of your league,” he said quietly. He quickly glanced at Eckerson, “Shit. Did I just say that out loud?”
“Yup.” Eckerson leaned back for Ruby to refill the coffee.
Ruby glanced at Ginger. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. And pie.”
“Coconut cream or pecan?” Ruby asked.
“Apple?” Ginger asked.
Ruby smiled and nodded. “Be right back.”
“Melt a slice of cheese on it please?”
Ruby gave her a thumbs up and the three officers stared at her with confused looks on their faces. Finally Ben asked, “Cheese on apple pie?”
“Don’t knock it, shit-kicker. It’s the bomb,” she said as she dumped a gob of cream into her coffee. “So. Where were we?”
Ben smiled, “Something about tattoos on your butt, I believe.”
Ginger smiled at him. “Dream on, Alice.” She glanced at Eckerson who was nursing his coffee and fighting to stay awake. “He’s the life of this party.” Turning her attention back to Jon, she asked, “What about you, Sum Young? You gonna spill it?”
Jon was still feeling the effects of her simply popping up again and had to take a moment to absorb the whirlwind that was Ginger. “What? What do you…”
“What are you boys gabbing about? Is it the murders?” She looked to each of them innocently as she sipped her coffee.
“No,” Jon and Eckerson said at the same time Ben said, “Yes.”
Ginger’s eyes bounced between the three and she smiled. “You boys are horrible liars. You really should take a lesson or three from the guys you arrest, you know that?”
“Even if we were discussing it, we couldn’t discuss any open cases with you.” Jeff did his best at sounding official.
“Oh, well…” Ginger waggled her fingers at him. “Don’t let me keep you boys then.” She stood and picked up her cup of coffee and turned for the corner booth that Calvin was setting up their gear. Quinn had just returned from the ladies room and was sitting with him. Ginger lowered her voice and leaned down where the officers could hear her but outside ears couldn’t, “But if you boys would like to know what my friends and I found at some of your crime scenes? You know, that stuff you might call ‘evidence’, feel free to use those newfangled contraptions called TELEPHONES and give me a call sometime.” She winked at Jon as she stood back up. “Who knows? I might actually share what I know.”
She walked to the back of the diner and slid into the booth to help crunch the numbers that they had collected. Ben sighed heavily as she walked away and mumbled, “I hate for you to leave, but I sure love watching you go.”
Jon glared at him. “Knock it off.”
“What?” Ben asked. “I was just saying.”
Ruby showed up with the pie and Eckerson pointed to the corner booth. As she left he looked at Jon. “You still got her card?”
Jon reached for his wallet and pu
lled it out. Jeff read it but it merely stated what Ginger had said. UCLA Psychology Dept. Jeff flicked the card between his fingers as he stared across at the other table. “What the hell kind of evidence could a bunch of head shrinkers have collected that we might have missed?”
“Beats me.” Jon shrugged.
“I’ll be right back.” Jeff stood and headed for the door, the business card still clutched in his fingers.
“Where are you going?” Ben asked.
“To make a call.”
*****
Maria had finished cleaning the kitchen and putting everything away when she felt the breeze pick up again in the kitchen. Her head swiveled toward the back door and she watched as it slowly pushed open once more. She smiled as the familiar smell of honeysuckle drifted through her kitchen and settle around her.
She hadn’t realized that she had tensed, but she relaxed visibly as the familiar scent washed over her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Mr. Miller’s study door was closed. She could sense that he was most likely in for the evening, spending the night with his closest friends, either Jack Daniels or Johnny Walker. She stepped to the rear kitchen door and pulled it closed.
When she turned back, the breeze kicked up a notch, blowing in dust and grit from outside. Rising from the dust a mist began to form and take the shape of a person right before her eyes. She watched with anticipation and felt her face tighten as her smile widened when the eyes lit up in the face before her. They began as a soft glow then quickly burned as bright as a distant fire on a moonless night. In the breadth of a few heartbeats she found herself face to face with the face in her dreams, its fiery eyes burning with the fierce intensity that only extreme hatred fueled by loss could bring.
She looked up into that timeless face and sighed. She knew the story that brought this restless spirit back for she had been given the story in her dreams. She had seen the pain of love lost, taken in its prime by monsters called men who were left unpunished to spread their seed of hatred across time. She knew why this restless spirit had returned and she welcomed the vengeance that would be paid upon the apples that fell close to the original trees.
“I missed your company,” she said softly.
The wind gusted and blew threw her kitchen, a small dust devil playing about her feet as a reply whispered across her ear. Maria smiled in return and nodded. “Yes, I believe he did. He seemed quite upset before supper.” She lowered her voice a bit and glanced once more over her shoulder, “Is there anything you’d like me to do?”
The wind gusted lightly and whispered a soft, ‘No-o-o.’.
“My poor child, I wish I could do something to ease your pain,” she whispered.
Although Maria knew in her head that this specter was old enough to be her great grandparent, she also knew that it had been taken from this earth at such a young age that she felt a motherly tug at her heartstrings. She reached her hand up as though to caress the cheek and was actually surprised when her hand passed through the spirit’s face. She withdrew her hand abruptly, the cold sapping the feeling from her flesh.
The wind gusted slightly and blew past her ears once more, trying to whisper an apology. “No, it’s not your fault. I just felt the need to ease your suffering. You couldn’t help it.” Tears formed in her eyes and she wiped at her face absently.
She glanced over her shoulder again and motioned toward the door. “You should go. It wouldn’t help your cause to be discovered yet.”
She watched the spirit fade, the mist’s shape crumble and fall to the ground only to be scattered by the breeze like a fog. As the wind blew back out the kitchen door, most of the dust went with it. She watched as the door slowly pulled to and clicked shut.
She glanced about at the floor and was pulling out the broom when Jerrod Miller opened the rear door. “Maria? Did I hear you speaking with someone in here?”
She looked up in slight surprise. “Oh, Mr. Miller. You startled me,” she exclaimed. “Yes, I was speaking to myself…about how I make such a mess, even when only cooking for two.”
Jerrod looked around the kitchen and it appeared spotless to him, but he noticed the broom in her hand. He was still feeling the effects of his vision from earlier and wasn’t sure what to believe any more. He stood there a moment longer and continued to stare at her, his mind obviously occupied. He turned as if to leave, then paused. He looked back at her, as if he had only then had a thought that surprised him.
“Perhaps…” he paused, “perhaps you and I should eat together? It’s been too long since either of us has enjoyed a meal with another person that wasn’t business. That is, if you care to join me?”
Maria stood silent a moment and simply stared at him, unsure what to say. She simply nodded. “Yes, Mr. Miller, I would be happy to share a meal with you.”
Jerrod gazed off at the corner of the kitchen, his mind in a hundred different places. “Good,” he replied. He finally turned his attention back to her as if noticing her again, “Thank you.” Miller then turned and left her to her chores in the kitchen.
Maria watched the kitchen door slowly close behind him and she stared at it for a moment, unsure what exactly to think. She wasn’t sure if Jerrod Miller was in his right mind or not, but…she smiled and shook her head. If he were changing his ways, perhaps it would be a good thing. First a gift from out of the blue, then this? What next?
She began sweeping up the last of the dirt from the floor and chuckled to herself.
23
Scott barked when he heard the knock at his door. He was busy shoving file folders into a brief case to take home and continue studying, but he knew he had to get out of his office. The same four walls were driving him nuts. He looked up to see Sgt. Sanders and Deputy Zimmer come through the door.
He knew better, but he said it anyway, “Please tell me there’s been a break in the case.”
“Sorry, boss,” Justin sighed.
Sanders approached him tentatively. “Sheriff, DPS is wanting an update. I’m not sure exactly what to tell them.”
Scott stopped what he was doing and shook his as head he turned to address her. “Sanders, I don’t know either.” He sat on the corner of his desk and put the files next to his briefcase. “You know as much as I do. And you know as well as I do that if you don’t get a break in cases like this in the first forty-eight hours that it tends to be an uphill struggle from then on.”
She nodded and averted her eyes. “Look, sir, I know I told Zimmer that I came here to act as support and that’s true. But there was also a caveat involved. And that was—”
“I know,” Scott interrupted. “He informed me. And I appreciate how you didn’t just step in and try to take the case…give the boys and me a chance to work this ourselves.”
“And from what I’ve seen, you’ve done a hell of a professional job at it. But sometimes it’s an impossible task. Even with the resources that we sometimes have, if a perp doesn’t leave you anything to go on, you’re just—”
“Fucked,” Justin said.
Sheryn shot him a dirty look. “I was going to say, ‘stymied’, but under the circumstances, you may be closer to the mark.”
Justin shrugged. “It came to mind.”
Scott stood up and began repacking his case. “If you’re here to tell me that DPS isn’t going to like your report and insist on sending a team here, I can’t say that I blame them.”
Sanders nodded. “I wish I could say that I knew for sure what will happen, but that is a possibility.”
Sheriff Evans picked up his case and turned to them. “What happens, happens. And at this point, I don’t really care. I just want this bastard caught.”
*****
Roger drove his old pickup back up the bumpy road toward Casper’s ramshackle hut that he called home. The entire ride back, he continued on his tirade about how old man Miller needed to be made to pay. He ranted about how the rich got richer by stepping on the little guy and they were the little guys in this situation. They
shouldn’t have to settle for the scraps from Miller’s table when they could just take the table. Who could stop them?
At one point Casper wanted to smart off and say, ‘well let’s just kill the old man and move into his house…I’m sure nobody would notice he was missing and the housekeeper wouldn’t mind cooking and cleaning for them if they were nice to her’ but he feared that Roger might take him seriously. So he sat and listened to Roger rant on about how they could do this and they could do that and they’ll get what’s coming to them while Casper felt his stomach sicken.
When Roger bounced the old truck to a stop at the shack, Casper all but jumped from the cab. “I’ll come get you when we’re ready.”
“Looking forward to it,” Casper lied.
Roger shot him a tobacco-stained toothy grin and threw the old truck into reverse, turning around for the return trip home. Casper stood in his yard and watched the tail lights disappear down the road, waving occasionally as the dust kicked up and resettled. When Roger was finally out of view, Casper shook his head and turned for the house.
“That boy is crazier than a shit-house rat.”
He hopped up onto the makeshift porch and entered the house. He wasted no time as he grabbed the duffle bag that held nearly all of his belongings. He turned to leave, expecting to desert the shack and never return. If Roger couldn’t find him, he couldn’t drag him into another of his hair-brained schemes and possibly get him sent to prison or worse, end up dead.
Casper no sooner turned to head back out the door than he found himself facing the silhouette of a large man blocking his path. His first panicked thought was that Roger had guessed his thoughts and had doubled back to kick the shit out of him.
“Roger? I can explain…” he exclaimed just as a fist came forward and punched at his middle.
Casper fell to the ground, rolling, shoving his duffle to the side. His eyes caught the glint of twilight on metal and saw a knife handle sticking out of his duffle, realized that it had been meant for him and screamed like a little girl. Instantly, his drug frazzled mind made the connection that this wasn’t Roger and that he was in serious trouble.
