by Mark Tufo
“He can’t. Or rather, he chooses not to. At least, in this case. We’re going after a murderer.”
Bridger raised a brow. “All the more reason to make sure all the T’s are dotted and I’s are crossed, don’t you think?”
She brought her eyes back up to meet his gaze. “I’m just the messenger,” she offered, suddenly feeling like a school girl again.
Bridger chewed the inside of his mouth a moment then nodded. “Fine. Give me a minute to take care of a few things.”
Please tell me he needs a shower, she thought. She shook her head to try to clear her thoughts. “Fine. I’ll just wait for you here.”
“Suit yourself.” He stepped behind the counter and pulled a beer out of the mini-fridge. Popping the top, he stepped down the hall and disappeared into a side room.
Denise tried to keep her mind on the task at hand, but kept imagining him wet and naked in a shower and had to nearly slap herself to get the thought out of her head.
Within moments he reemerged with duffel in his hand. “Let’s go,” he announced and walked past her.
“Yes, do let’s.”
32
Eckerson and Foo escorted their prisoner back through the graveyard, urging him to remember which graves had gleaned anything of value, but Casper’s drug rattled mind could only remember the huge payoff from the oversized double grave behind the church.
“I’m telling ya,” he groaned. “I can’t remember shit.”
He sat down on the edge of the old church and tried to wipe the sweat from his brow, but his chained hands couldn’t quite reach. He rubbed his forehead against his sleeves and shook his head. “I’d kill for a beer.” He suddenly stiffened and stared at the two deputies. “That was just a figure of speech! I wouldn’t kill nobody for nothing.”
“We get it.” Eckerson stared out along the rows of unearthed graves. He looked to Foo, “Should we go back and get some shovels, or…?”
Jon shrugged. “Man, I don’t know.” He glanced to Ginger who was staring at her machine and just now turning the corner toward the grave behind the church. “Hey, Ginger?” he called, but she was so engrossed in the readings on her device, she never heard him. Jon looked to Jeff and shrugged. “What gives?”
“Beats me. Go check on her. Make sure everything is okay. I’ll stay here with Captain Obvious.”
Jon returned to the rear of the church and found Ginger standing over the freshly buried grave. “Hey, Ginger,” he called as he stepped back through the tall grass. “We wanted to ask you about this.”
“You won’t believe what I’m seeing here.”
“What?”
She turned the device to show him and he stared at the meter still unsure what he was reading. “Is that good?” It was just then that he noticed how pale she appeared.
“Jon, you don’t understand.” She pointed to the dial. “Either that spirit has been returning here…like, regularly, for whatever reason, or there is something still here that it’s tied to, or…I dunno, feeding it or…”
“Or, something.”
“Yeah. Something.” She waved the meter over the graves again and shivered. “This is unreal.”
“Okay, it’s like a hundred degrees out here, and you just gave me a cold chill. Let’s get the hell out of here for now and talk to the others. We need to formulate a game plan before we start wasting the time and manpower digging this thing up again.” He tugged at her arm and pulled her back to where Eckerson was waiting.
“It’s so strange though. I get small readings all the way through the graveyard, but they fade as you exit. It’s as if it actually traveled through here, then stayed at the grave for an extended period.”
“That’s nice to know, but I still don’t want to be here should it return.”
“You’re not on the list, Jon.”
He paused and tried to find the right words. “I realize I’m no expert like you are, but from what I’ve been told, the longer a vengeful spirit is allowed to run around all helter-skelter and do whatever it wants, the less…focused it becomes. It can start attacking anybody. And if it gets wind that we’re trying to stop it? You can bet the farm that it will want to do us harm.”
She considered his words for just a moment, then nodded. “Agreed. Let’s boogie.”
As they approached Eckerson and Wineguard, Jon quickly informed him, “Change of plans. Back to the station.”
“What?” Eckerson hauled Wineguard to his feet and fell in behind Foo. “What’s going on, Jon?”
The two secured Casper in the back seat of the SUV and were just loading up when Justin and Sheryn pulled up. “Stop in the name of the law!” Justin said over the Cruiser’s PA system. He turned to Sheryn, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”
“You are so cheesy sometimes.” She rolled her eyes at him.
Zimmer pulled up alongside the idling SUV and rolled down his window. “I need to borrow your prisoner for a moment.”
“What’s up, junior boss?” Foo asked.
“We picked up the stolen goods from Miller’s place, but my Bullshit-O-Meter pegged when we saw it. I thought maybe Casper-the-Friendly-Felon back there could shed a little light on whether or not everybody’s favorite oil baron, cattleman and horse thief is trying to pull a fast one.”
“Ah, so you’re needing an expert opinion on stolen goods, are you?” Eckerson opened the door. “Sure, hold on a second.” He hopped out of the SUV and went around to the back door. Uncuffing Casper’s leg shackled from the loop in the floor, he brought him around to the back of Justin’s cruiser. Justin had the box out and sitting on the trunk, the top open and was spreading out the articles.
As soon as Casper saw the first of the .45’s he began shaking his head. “No, sir. Those ain’t the shootin’ irons we sold him. No, siree.”
“Are you certain?” Jeff asked as Justin continued to lay out the pieces.
“Oh, I’m positive.” Casper stepped closer and looked down at each piece. “In fact…” he stared harder at the items strewn about the trunk, “…none of this is stuff we sold him.”
Sanders shot Justin a knowing look. “I guess we’re headed back to Miller’s place.”
“I guess we are.” He turned to Foo. “Care if we borrow your felon?”
Jon handed him the key to the shackles. “Don’t break him. I’m responsible for him.”
“Hey, I ain’t no felon!” Casper whined.
“Not yet, but soon.” Justin grasped the chain between his wrists and ankles.
“Don’t I get special consideration for helping you fellers?”
“Who you calling a feller?” Sanders asked.
“Well…I…I mean…” Casper stammered.
“Maybe we can talk them into giving you an extra pudding on Fridays or something.”
“They got pudding?” Casper asked hopefully as they tucked him into the back of the cruiser. Justin glanced at Sanders who rolled her eyes again.
“Sure they do. And ice cream sandwiches, too.” Justin teased.
“I like ice cream sand—” He paused and shot Justin a dirty look. “You’re joshin’ me, ain’t ya?”
“Would I pull your leg?” Zimmer snapped the lock in place then shut the door. “I wouldn’t shit you, Wineguard. You’re my favorite turd.”
*****
Calvin sifted through the logbooks and the personal ledgers of James Tolbert, totally fascinated at just how anal the man was at documenting every aspect of his work and personal life. “His spelling wasn’t too terribly atrocious for the era, and his syntax is off a bit, but overall, he was quite articulate for a…” he trailed off.
“For what?” Ben asked, “A cop?”
“Well,” Calvin said sheepishly, “I was going to say an uneducated cowpoke, but, perhaps I should take my foot out of my mouth first.”
“Right,” Ben replied disbelievingly. He turned to Jana, “It’s amazing how much of his personal papers you’ve collected.”
“They were all toget
her in the donation from the family.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I also got some personal belongings of his fiancé.”
Quinn perked up, “Oh, really?”
“Mostly books and a few personal papers,” Jana replied. “I know they aren’t really applicable, but would you like to see them?”
Quinn shrugged. “Sure.” She glanced at Calvin who had his nose reburied in the sheriff’s ledgers. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a glance.”
Jana pulled down a smaller, but much heavier box and set it beside Quinn. “I know that she often helped the resident school teacher and she taught a Sunday School class at the church. A few of the books are in Latin, I think.” Jana blushed, “I couldn’t make heads or tails of it,” she whispered. “And I think I tossed some of Tolbert’s books in there, too.” She tapped at the side of her head. “Memory fades.”
Quinn smiled and pulled a few leather bound books from the box. “None of these look familiar.” She flipped through another and noticed that some looked like recipe books. Quinn smiled to herself and shook her head. “Who writes a recipe book in Latin?”
“Someone who takes their cornbread very seriously,” Jana declared.
“Or their buttermilk biscuits!” Ben laughed.
Calvin lifted his head. “Odds are if it’s in Latin, they’re recipes for ancient religious rites. A lot of Scottish churches had specific recipes for unleavened bread, sacramental wines, even candles.” He gave Jana a questioning look. “What was her name again?”
“O’ Dell. Mary O’ Dell.”
Calvin nodded. “Well, that’s probably it then. My guess would be that the text was handed down through the generations and she ended up with it. Odds were that she couldn’t even read it.” He passed the ledger off and reached for another logbook. “If you think Latin is a dead language now, you can only imagine how useful it would be in an Old West pioneer town.”
Jana nodded and glanced back at the little book. “Still, it would be nice to know what it says.”
Calvin gave the book a cursory nod. “I have a translation program. If you have a computer, I can leave you a copy. It’s freeware.”
Jana gave him a questioning look and Calvin smiled. “That means it’s free. It doesn’t cost anything to use it.”
“Oh. I suppose I should have known that.”
“Bring me your computer and I’ll put it on there for you.” He turned and dug in his duffel for his flash drive.
“Thank you.” Jana pulled her laptop from the top of the armoire and set it next to him. “I truly appreciate it.”
“While this loads, do you mind if I peruse your online files?”
“Help yourself. I’m not sure how they’ll help.
“I noticed some of the notes you made in the margins. I’m assuming they’re page numbers of your manuscript?” Calvin asked.
“Yes.” She looked at him questioningly.
“Excellent.” Calvin found the manuscript draft and opened it. “It’s just much easier for me to navigate an electronic document than a paper one.” He glanced at Ben. “Especially when somebody else is hogging the hardcopy.”
Ben glanced up and smiled. “Bite me, computer boy.”
“Boys…play nice,” Jana warned. “Don’t make me bend you over my knee.”
Ben shot her a sly smile. “Don’t make threats I might enjoy.”
She giggled and patted his arm. “You really are rotten.”
“I try.” He winked.
Calvin rolled his eyes then turned back to the computer. “Ms. Mattox, when you compiled your list of the gang members, did you take into consideration the transients?”
“Check the Appendix, Dr. Whynot.” She stood and stepped into the kitchen. “There’s a list of known transients based on pay records from the Miller Ranch for the months in question as filed with the local accountant.”
Calvin looked up at the swinging door where she had disappeared and smiled. He glanced at Ben and shook his head. “She should have been a cop. She’s good.”
Ben just nodded. “Tell me about it.”
Jana came back in carrying a platter of finger foods. “The real question isn’t whether we can prove motive. Or even if we can show a way to quantify the depth of Sheriff Tolbert’s feelings.” She set the platter on the table. She paused and looked each of them square in the eyes, “Because truly, can you quantify love? Can you measure it? Can you weigh it? Can you put it in a bottle and say, there is ‘this much’ love in any relationship? No, you can’t. We can sit here and go through all of these old ledgers and logs and diaries and love letters and the best we can do is get an idea of who these people are, but we’ll never know just how deeply they felt for each other.
“But the question still remains, were the feelings that Sheriff Tolbert felt for his fiancée strong enough to allow his spirit to return from the grave and…and…do these horrible things to these people?”
Ben, Calvin and Quinn had all sat back in their chairs and listened to Jana as she waxed poetic. She almost reminded Ben of a defense attorney giving her closing arguments in court. Calvin thought she sounded like a graduate student defending her dissertation. Quinn thought she sounded like a writer trying to explain just how deeply Romeo and Juliet felt their love before they took their own lives. But to Jana, she was asking rhetorical questions that she felt needed to be asked so that each researcher could truly think about, ‘How do you quantify love?’
“If you can sit here and say, ‘Aha, I’ve found the one missing piece that explains how this man was able to cross the spirit plane and do these terrible things then I think you’re fooling yourself.” She sat down and picked at a cucumber sandwich. “I don’t think you’re going to find your “Eureka Moment” digging through these old letters or notebooks.”
Calvin thought about her comments a moment and nodded. “I think you’re right.” He slowly closed the logbook he had before him. “We’ve established who he was and how he died. We’ve established what they put him through…”
“And his fiancée,” Quinn added. “Let’s not forget that he had to witness the horrible atrocities they committed against her.”
“No, we can’t forget that,” Calvin admitted. “Putting it all together, I can see how that much rage could easily fuel a spirit to become vengeful.”
Ben nodded in agreement, “But is there anything in your experience that explains why he’s getting stronger?”
Calvin sighed. “To be honest, we haven’t had that much experience with vengeful ghosts.” He glanced at Quinn who shrugged and shook her head. “There’s not even that much information in the texts that I’ve looked up.”
“So this might be common?” Jana asked.
“I doubt that.” Quinn came to her feet and stretched. “It would seem to me that if it were common, there would be more information on it out there.”
Jana sat down, her eyes suddenly round with shock. She looked to Ben, her mouth open. “He’s going to strike again.”
Ben sort of shrugged. “Probably.”
“No, no probably to it. Jerrod Miller,” she stated. “He’s a direct descendant of the Millers that did this to him.”
“Well, not necessarily.” Ben argued. “It was Simon Miller, right? And he shot him dead on the street—”
“It was Simon’s father who supposedly oversaw their torture and ultimate deaths,” she interrupted. “And Jerrod Miller is a direct descendant of his.”
Ben glanced to the UCLA researchers. “I think we better wrap this up.”
*****
Denise escorted Bobby through the back door of the sheriff’s office and into Scott’s office. “Signed, sealed and delivered,” she chimed as she opened Scott’s door and waved Bridger through.
Bobby didn’t appear too happy to be walking through a police station, but he had a debt to settle. He entered Scott’s office and dropped his duffle on the table in the corner. “You beckoned.”
Scott looked up from the stack of papers he was workin
g through and sighed. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, Burress.” He groaned as he pulled his reading glasses off his nose.
“You said to get Bridger to help with the security system—”
“I said to ‘get him to help with the system’, not GO GET HIM and have him help with the system.” Scott leaned back in his chair and shook his head, chuckling. He glanced at Bridger. “Sorry, Bob.”
“No skin off my ass, Scott.” He plopped into the chair opposite Scott and propped his feet on the corner of the desk. He flipped out a knife and began cleaning his nails. “Talk to me about this system you need hacked.”
Scott stared at his boots on the desk for just a moment then motioned Denise over. “The system, I know nothing about. But the person is Jerrod Miller.”
Bobby looked up and stared at Evans. “The oil man on that big ranch outside of town?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah,” he grunted, “that may be a problem.” He slipped his feet off the edge of the table and stood back up.
“Why’s that?” Scott asked. Denise positioned herself between the two men and the door instinctively, but neither seemed to notice it.
Bobby sighed and gave Scott a sideways look. “I happen to know who installed that system. We’re not going to get a feed on it unless we get access to the house. And even then, we’d need access to a steel reinforced concrete safe room.” He raised his eyebrow at Scott. “In other words, it ain’t going to happen.”
“If you know who installed it, have him do it,” Scott offered. “Maybe we can make it worth his while?”
Bobby shook his head. “I don’t see that happening for at least a couple of weeks, minimum.”
“Because…?”
Bobby lowered his eyes. “He’s out of the country,” he lied.
Scott nodded. “Mm-hmm.” He wasn’t buying. “And when does he return?”
“Minimum, a couple weeks, like I said.” Bobby turned and went for his bag.
