A Brady Paranormal Investigations Box Set

by Harper Crowley

  “About five years now. I came to this town because I love the romance and the history of the old West. I had just graduated college and was looking for some adventure. Then the real world came knocking and I needed money. I got a job as an actor with the previous group that ran things.” She smiles wistfully. “And fell in love with the guy who played Doc Holliday. It didn’t last.”

  Ah, so that romance must not have ended well.

  “But now I have my son, so I’m stuck here until he’s eighteen. I love him, I really do.” She hurriedly adds the last part, so I don’t think she regrets having her child. “But I’d probably move to Tucson or Phoenix if I could.”

  Annette’s not that much older than me. Could that have been my life, if I had let love get in the way of my dreams? Would I have turned a blind eye to what my former boyfriend, Cam, did after my parents died?

  “Have any of the actors talked about mysterious things going on?” Russ asks. It’s a good tactic. She might not have seen anything herself, but she might have overheard someone talking about something strange they saw over Friday night drinks.

  Before Annette can answer, the doors swing open, and a belligerent-looking guy in his thirties with a dark-brown mustache and stiff leather chaps that squeak with every step saunters in.

  “Oh hi, Bill.” Annette pushes herself up so quickly the bar stool clatters against the wall of beer taps behind her. “I didn’t know you were coming in.”

  His squinty brown eyes narrow. “I changed my mind. I’ll take my usual.” He grabs a seat at the stool on the other end of the bar.

  She offers him a shaky smile. “Sure thing. Let me finish ringing these folks up, and I’ll have it right there.”

  He grunts in response. If this is Annette’s current boyfriend, then she sure does know how to pick them.

  Annette slides a paper receipt at us with our bill before hurrying away to mix Bill’s drink. Five o’clock somewhere is apparently one o’clock in Tombstone. Russ picks up the bill and pulls out the credit card. We all have a card to the joint account, it just makes things easier. He pauses before he sets the bill down again.

  “Look at this,” he says, turning the little scrap of paper over. He passes it to Jessa and she turns it over.

  9:00 out back.

  Apparently, we did come to the right place, after all. Finally, something seems to be going right. Score one for the ghost-busters.

  Chapter 9

  Nightfall casts a sinister pallor on Tombstone. The shops are all closed, their windows darkened and foreboding. The streets are devoid of actors dressed up as cowboys, leaning against hitching posts and waiting at the corners, willing to chat about the town, its history, and its more notorious guests. Past the main street, lights twinkle in residential homes, but none dare to brighten this street. I wonder if places have memories, especially violent ones that make people want to hurry away at the sight of a setting sun.

  The few people I do see are either actors without disguises or tourists who haven’t left yet. They don’t stop or make eye contact with us, and we treat them with the same courtesy. Instead, we hurry around to the back of the Last Chance Saloon, and I hope it isn’t a trap to mug us, since we’re basically just kids with cameras, traipsing around the country. Annette doesn’t seem like the kind to do anything like that, but even though we’ve only seen Asshole Bill in action for a few minutes, he does.

  In the shadows, I lounge against the back wall while Russ fiddles with the camera. Jess hugs her waist, holding her can of pepper spray as if it’s her lifeline. Being in the back alley of one of America’s most notoriously lawless towns in the middle of the night is kinda freaking me out.

  A couple of minutes later, the door next to the dumpster opens a crack, and someone slips out. In the brief flash of light before she closes the door, Annette looks even more tired than she did before. Her hair is pulled back in a lopsided ponytail, and she wipes her hands on her jeans, as if trying to scrub away the scum of the place. Or maybe it’s a specific person she’s trying to wipe away.

  “I wasn’t sure you got my message,” she says, giving me a slight smile, barely illuminated by the moon, which hides behind a trace of wispy clouds.

  “We almost didn’t,” I say. “Who was that guy earlier?” I don’t reference the camera in Russ’s hand or the voice recorders in Jess’s and my pockets. If she doesn’t notice any of that, the better. I know she signed the waiver before, but now she seems spooked, and if she knows that we’re recording, she might clam up or demand that we turn our equipment off.

  “That’s Bill, or Wild Bill Hickok. His real name’s William Edwards, so it worked out pretty well for him since he didn’t have to learn a new name. He thinks he’s the star of the show, besides Doc and Wyatt—or Jim and Hank, as we know them outside the show.”

  Feigning ignorance, I say, “Speaking of Wyatt Earp, how was the show? We wanted to catch it, but we didn’t have time. Is it worth it?”

  Annette bites her lip pensively. “It was actually canceled. Hank didn’t show up. He must have been sick or something. I heard one of the guys went to his house, but he wasn’t there. Maybe he went to the hospital.”

  I pull the brochure out of my bag. “Is this him?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

  “Yeah, why? Do you know him?”

  I glance at Jess and Russ, but the former shrugs, and the latter is too focused on trying to hide the fact that he’s recording to say anything. I feel bad lying, but it’s not really my job to tell her what happened.

  She looks from Russ to me to Jess, her eyes narrowing. “You do know him. What happened? Where is he?”

  “It’s not that. I don’t know him, it’s just we thought he looked familiar, and...” I don’t know what to say. It’s as if my lie reel has run out of line.

  “Tell me the truth. Where’s Hank? Did he get arrested? Is he hurt?”

  “No, nothing like that. I swear.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” She scrutinizes all of our faces, and hers goes white. “Oh God. Something’s happened, hasn’t it? Something bad.” When we don’t say anything, she staggers back a step until she backs into the door. “Who are you people?”

  “Tell her.” Russ jerks his head toward Annette.

  I take a deep breath. One of these days, our luck’s going to run out, and we’re going to get arrested, I just know it. “What I told you earlier was correct. We are paranormal researchers who have our own show where we travel the country, researching strange events and trying to figure out what caused them. Last night, we were investigating another case and stumbled upon a body in the desert.”

  “What?” Her hand flies to her mouth, and she collapses against the door. “That can’t be Hank. There’s no reason why he’d be out there. You’re wrong.”

  “I really wish I was,” I say. “We didn’t know it was him at the time, until we went on the ghost tour and saw his face in the brochure.”

  Jess opens her mouth, as if to tell her about the brochure, but then it snaps shut. Hopefully, she trusts me enough to know that if I didn’t tell Annette something, it’s for a reason.

  I ignore her. Annette doesn’t need to know, and we don’t really know Annette that well to begin with. For all we know, she could be in on it.

  Annette sinks down against the door. “I can’t believe it. He can’t be gone.”

  “Did you know him well?” Russ asks.

  Annette raises her shocked gaze to meet his. “Pretty well, I guess, for seeing someone every day at work for six months. He was part of the new company that took over the acting about six months ago. Most of the old-timers left, and there were a lot of new faces. I think Hank said he was originally from Atlanta, but I’m not sure.” She closes her eyes. “God, does Cecily know?”

  “Who’s Cecily?” Jess jots down the name.

  “His girlfriend. A groupie, really, but Hank loved the attention. Are you going to talk to her?”

  I nod. “Eventually, but if she doesn�
��t know, you can’t tell her, okay? Wait for the police to tell her first.” If they even know who he is or that he was dating someone.

  “But she deserves to know. Everyone does.”

  “And they will, just not tonight.” I crouch beside her and touch her arm.

  She stares at my hand but doesn’t pull away. Her eyes look haunted, empty.

  “Do you know if Hank had problems with anyone?”

  Her head jerks up, and her gaze latches on to mine. “Do you think someone killed him? Oh God, oh God, oh God. This can’t be happening. This isn’t Phoenix. Tombstone is such a small town. No one would do anything like that.”

  I hold up my hand to stop her panicking. “We don’t know what happened to him. We’re not cops.” Well, we do know he was killed, but I don’t want to burden Annette with that knowledge.

  She takes a deep breath. “Okay. That makes sense. I still can’t quite believe it. I mean, nobody gets along all the time, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard Hank get into an argument with anyone. He was really easygoing and friendly.” She looks up at me, her eyes swimming with tears. “To be honest, he kind of kept to himself. I mean, he hung out with the other leads a lot, but other than that, he had Cecily, and that was it. He was from the new company, but I don’t think any of the old-timers hated him for it. If anything, they hated Bill.” She studies the ground guiltily.

  “Why would they hate Bill?” I ask. It’s not really relevant, but it’s still interesting.

  “Because he’s the one who got the contract in the first place. Hank was only around for the reenactment at the O.K. Corral. He didn’t work here during the day like the others. I heard he did some freelance horse work—he was a good rider—but other than that, I don’t know.”

  None of this makes sense. Someone must have hated Hank enough to kill him. I wish I could pull Russ and Jess aside and talk to them about what we should do next, but I can’t with Annette right here, so I press on and hope I’m going in the right direction.

  “Did he train horses?” Maybe that’s the lead we’re looking for. Maybe he was working with someone’s horse and screwed up, or there was an accident or something, and the owner wanted revenge. No, that doesn’t make sense either. He was on Beau’s property, and Beau looked as surprised as us to find him there. He would have said something if he knew him—he’s too much of a boy scout otherwise.

  Annette mulls over my question for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I’m not a horse person, so we didn’t really talk about it. I remember seeing his truck with a horse trailer hitched behind it, but that’s about it.”

  Wait. Could he have worked at a ranch? Adrenaline surges through my veins. That has to be the connection I was looking for, a thin thread linking him to where his body was found. I ask her if he could have worked at a ranch.

  “I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “I wish I could help you more.”

  “It’s all right. You’ve been great. I’m sorry about your friend.”

  Her bottom lip trembles. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to. I-I-I really appreciate it. I don’t how long I’ll be able to keep it a secret, but I’ll try.”

  “Thanks.” I squeeze her hand. “That’s all I’m asking.”

  We leave quickly after that, anxious to get back to the ranch to ask Beau if he knows Hank, and if he does, why he didn’t tell us that last night when we were out on the range.

  Chapter 10

  By the time we get back to the ranch, all of the lights in the big house are out, and none of us feel brave enough to call or knock on the door, even though the new knowledge we have is burning at the tip of my tongue.

  The irrational side of me can’t understand how Beau could be asleep or out or wherever he is when we have a case going on, but he hasn’t contacted us since this morning, so I don’t know what to make of it. Heck, I don’t even know if he still wants us to investigate the lights, but since he hasn’t said anything to the contrary, I’m just going to imagine that we are. So instead, we double-check the footage we have and upload it. Somehow, a couple of our subscribers have figured out that there might be another dead body involved, so we fess up to it. I help Jess craft a brief and almost cryptic post.

  ATTN: A couple of you have dm’d us about a dead body being found in the vicinity of our current investigation. Yes, it’s the same one we talked about in our video. That’s all we can tell you at this time. We’ll give you more information as soon as we have it (and won’t get arrested for sharing it).

  After Jess posts the message, she leans back in her chair. “Done. And now we wait.”

  I groan. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You know someone’s going to come down here. Someone who thinks they can solve the case faster than we can. It’s happened before.”

  “Crap. You’re right.” She grimaces. “I’ll edit it. Maybe I’ll threaten to ban them from the site if they come down and stalk us or something.”

  Russ peeks over the top of the Tombstone Chronicle he’d picked up as we were on our way to town yesterday. “Are you really going to do that?”

  Jess shrugs. “I don’t know. As long as they believe it, that’s all that counts.”

  “Good point,” he says.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I rap on Beau’s door bright and early. Well, bright and early for me, which equals about eight o’clock a.m.

  Behind me, Russ crouches next to Rocket, scratching the black and white dog behind her ears. Her tail thumps against his leg. The man who answers the door, however, isn’t Beau. He has the same dark, intense eyes and thick hair, although his is white, and slightly-too-large hooked nose.

  “Good morning,” I say. “I’m Meredith Brady from Brady Paranormal Investigations. Is Beau around?”

  He shakes my hand. “I’m Carlos Jimenez. Beau’s my son. No, he’s not around. Please, come in. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but I haven’t had the chance yet.” He sweeps his arm inside the house. “Come in, come in.”

  He leads me into the kitchen and pours us both a cup of coffee. I add sugar and cream to mine—I need it. Black coffee is only good for those who enjoy torturing themselves, and I’m not one of those people.

  My host leans against the counter, looking so much like his son that there’s no doubt they’re related. “So you hunt ghosts.” He says it flatly like a statement, but the question’s there.

  “Yeah, and we debunk the fakes, too. We get a lot of people who think every little crick and creak in a house is a ghost, when it’s usually just a house settling. Sometimes we get those who think we’re their ticket to fame and fortune, except we always catch them and out them for all of the world to see.”

  “That makes sense. I remember Beau telling me all about that. Listen, I’m sorry you had to see that last night.” He frowns. “We don’t usually have much trouble out here. Sometimes people cross the border, but as long as they leave us alone, we do the same.” He stares into his coffee mug. “I know it might not be popular with some folks, but I don’t give a damn. Most of those people who cross the border are looking for jobs and a better life for their families, and I’m not going to stand in the way of that. And the ones running drugs? Hell, I don’t want my son on the other end of their guns, either. We don’t want any trouble, but it looks like it’s found its way to our door.”

  “I appreciate that. I really do. And we’d love to help if we can. My team and I still want to figure out what’s going on, if that’s okay.”

  He mulls that over for a few seconds. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with any police investigations, I don’t see any harm in it.”

  A weight I didn’t even know was there lifts from my chest. “Thank you. Is Beau here? I’d like to talk about setting up again at night and seeing if we can find anything else.” What I really want to do is ask Beau’s dad if he knows Hank Gladstone, but after his earlier comment about interfering with the police investigation, I don’t dare.

  He shakes his head. “He took a lame horse to Tu
cson today to see someone at the university. One of our best barrel racers. He won’t be back until this evening.”

  Well, there goes our entire day. “Thanks for your help and the coffee,” I say, lifting the cup as I back toward the door. “I really appreciate it.”

  Mr. Jimenez tips his hat right before I turn around and retreat to the cabin. Looks like we’re at a standstill, so we might as well head back to Tombstone to see what else we can dredge up. Hopefully we won’t get run out of town in the process.

  Chapter 11

  The town too tough to die is as bustling today as it was yesterday, a stark contrast from last night. I stand in front of the Lily, one of the haunted theaters Rebecca pointed out during the ghost tour. Russ focuses the camera on my face, and I paste on a smile. Off to my left, Jess takes pictures of the building from a lot of different angles. She won rock-paper-scissors so I’m stuck in front of the camera. It’s okay though, I really don’t mind. Besides, our viewers will love the chipped white brickwork and stained-glass windows. The tour of the Lily was cheaper than the Bird Cage, which is also a plus. Russ uses his fingers to count down to one before I start the intro.

  “Thanks for joining us,” I say. “Behind me is one of the most infamous places in Tombstone, the Lily Theater. Like the more famous Bird Cage Theater, it’s home to many a murder and ghastly occurrence. This place is full of history, darkness, and Wild West intrigue, so we wanted to bring you on a tour with us to see if we can catch any mysterious sightings. So now that I have your attention, I’d like you to join us, if you dare.” That last bit was cheesy as hell, but hey, it was fun.

  Russ opens the heavy, scarred wooden doors to the Lily, and we walk into a room lined with ephemera from floor to ceiling, including black-and-white portraits of its most infamous inhabitants, ticket stubs, show memorabilia, and props for the shows. An elderly man wearing what appears to be the Tombstone uniform of jeans, button-up shirt, vest, and cowboy hat stands behind a wooden front desk to our left, complete with an old-fashioned metal cash register with round keys.