Gunther waited, wondering how far Crimley would dare to elevate this. Instead, Crimley sighed and said nothing, apparently choosing to keep his thoughts to himself.
* * * *
After another hour of hard, sweaty work, both men were up to their waists in the hole. They’d removed their jackets long ago. Plenty of time for Crimley to fume over the danger Gunther had put him in.
Crimley finally tossed aside the shovel, bracing himself to finish the unpleasant work ahead. “Okay. This is more than plenty.”
He watched Gunther drop his shovel. “Yeah. I still don’t get why it had to be so deep. I mean, there’s no way anyone is going to find the money.”
Crimley reached his hand into his pocket. “You can never be too sure.”
Gunther turned his back to climb out. Quiet as a cat, Crimley pulled out his pocketknife, unfolding the silver blade.
Gunther shook his head. “Yeah, well. This should be deep enough to discourage any—”
Crimley pressed in close, slamming Gunther against the side of the hole, and thrusting the knife between his ex-partner’s ribs.
“I needed a big enough hole to bury you, you crazy bastard.”
Gunther sagged against the hard-packed earth. Crimley pulled the knife up and out, then took a half-step back. I need to get out of here.
He realized his mistake too late. Gunther growled, apparently still having some fight in him. He made a sweeping motion with his arm, catching Crimley off guard.
A distant stab of pain penetrated the red fury of Crimley’s anger as Gunther’s prosthetic hook sunk into his chest, but he aimed his knife at Gunther’s gut, jabbing with all his strength.
“Traitor!” Gunther moaned. “I’ll kill you for this.”
Crimley pulled the knife out and thrust again, not caring where he hit, as long as the blade penetrated.
Gunther’s fingers locked around Crimley’s throat in a death grip. The hook twisted in his chest. Crimley pulled up in an automatic reflex, ripping a huge hole in Gunther’s exposed belly as they both fell.
Before they hit the ground, darkness overcame Grimley.
Chapter Fifteen
A huge boom of thunder woke Jim from his doze. He twisted the knob to light up the overhead dash and look at his watch. It’s quarter ’ta one, for Christ sakes. He’d sat with the engine running and the radio on for three hours, and the rain kept on pouring. He turned the high-beams on, illuminating the metal door in yellow light. This is crazy.
The only thing left to do was the last thing he wanted to do.
Mustering his courage, he got out of the car and bolted for the entrance. The door to the ride swung inward, and he scanned the brightly lit treasure scene.
They had moved the cauldron. His eyes focused on the hole in the midst of the island for several seconds before his brain realized its existence.
The hole spread out deep and wide, but from his vantage point, Jim could easily make out the two unmoving figures lying inside, smeared in liquid red.
“Oh, hell!” Jim rushed forward and crouched down, then hopped in.
Jim stared at Gunther’s back for a moment before he latched onto his shoulders and pulled him up. Gunther fell over, unresisting, into a reclined position.
The crazed eyes continued to stare ahead.
Jim gripped Gunther by the hair and placed two fingers at his neck to feel for a pulse. Nothing. Damn it!
A rush of lightheadedness froze him, and his mind locked. How could things have gone so horribly wrong?
A groan of misery reached his ears as if from a great distance. He turned his head to stare at Crimley, who struggled to sit up.
Crimley’s eyes blinked open, and cleared in recognition. “Help me. Hurry.” The weakness of Crimley’s voice shook Jim from his stupor.
Jim abandoned the staring corpse and crawled to get closer to Crimley. “How did this happen?”
“Help me, Jim. I’m dyin’.”
Jim rose to his feet, staring down at the torn and bleeding man. The gaping wound in Crimley’s chest bled freely, soaking the front of Crimley’s T-shirt.
Jim took off his denim jacket and wadded it into a ball. He shoved it against Crimley’s chest. “Here. Hold this, and press down hard. You hear me?”
Crimley nodded.
Jim gripped him by the shoulders, then pulled him up and propped him against the edge of the hole.
“Stay right here.” He muttered a string of curses. That’s a dumb thing to say. As if Crimley can move. He grabbed Crimley’s shovel and tossed it up, then pulled himself out of the hole.
He stared at the moneybag lying on the ground near the edge. The thought of touching the bag revolted him. With a swift kick of his boot, he sent the moneybag flying, landing atop Gunther’s corpse. “There ya’ go, ya’ son of a bitch. I hope it was worth it.”
Jim grunted and cursed, but with quiet efficiency, he buried Gunther’s body and the moneybag in the dirt.
During the process, Crimley kept fading in and out of consciousness, but the man didn’t complain. Jim knew Crimley would not live through the night without help.
He lifted Crimley out of his corner of the hole and carried him out to the car.
“Here,” Crimley said, reaching out and handing Jim the keys. “Turn out the lights in the control booth, but—make sure the room looks the same.”
Jim nodded and ran back.
In less than half an hour, he finished the burial. He glanced at the platform underneath the cauldron that hid the freshly turned dirt beneath. Jim scattered the decorative doubloon coins around as best he could. On a boat ride in the dark, it would look good enough.
He found three small dots of blood near the door, still wet, which he wiped clean with a handkerchief.
Jim threw the shovel in the trunk and got into the car, driving back toward town, uncertain of what to do.
Crimley stirred next to him and called out. “Jim! I need to get to the hospital. Please, hurry. I’m gonna die.”
Jim gunned the engine. He could reach the Emergency Room in three minutes.
“Jim, come on. I’m...” Crimley passed out again.
Fighting back a growing dread, Jim pulled over and checked for a pulse. He could barely find it. “Crimley? Crimley! Oh, no.”
Jim buried his face in his hands. The rain continued to pour. I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t keep Crimley. I can’t stay here with a body in my car.
He strained to come up with options. Crimley’s as good as dead—why should all our lives be ruined?
The answer came to him in sudden clarity, along with a cold determination to see it through.
He got out of the car, walked to the passenger side, and yanked at Crimley’s shirt.
Crimley slumped sideways, fell to the shoulder and landed with a thud. A grunt escaped his lips. “Jim, don’t do this…”
As Jim tried to stand, Crimley reached up, pulling at Jim in desperation.
Jim cursed and pulled his jacket out from the clawing grip of the dying man. He popped the trunk and threw the jacket inside.
“Jim!” The voice calling out in the rain seemed to find new strength. “Don’t leave me!”
A flicker of compassion lit up deep inside. “I’m sorry, Crimley. I truly am. You did this to yourself, and I won’t pay for it the rest of my life.”
Jim climbed back into the car. He took a deep breath, mentally shutting out the quiet voice of his conscience begging him to turn around before it was too late. Instead, he hit the accelerator and drove off into the rainy night.
Chapter Sixteen
Perionne—Present Day
Without Joey-like distractions, I absorbed myself in schoolwork. For pleasure, I read my books and fiddled with my poetry, basking in the theoretical freedom to smoke, drink, and party at will. At the same time, I patted myself on the back for not doing any of those things. I chalked it up to my newfound self-discipline.
Miz Leona Shaefer, super-attorney, drummed up enough busine
ss to keep her in the office after-hours an average of four nights a week, but not tonight. “I’m taking a short trip. I need to wrap up a few things in Indy this weekend.”
Seated at the dinner table, I tried to keep my voice casual. “Can I go with you?”
She shook her head. “I’m checking into a hotel room and eating out. I’m spending the rest of my time at the old office building. It’s not a vacation, Fiona.”
Before I could argue, she pointed at my plate. “Eat your vegetables.”
I stabbed a fork into an unnaturally hard carrot. “Yes, Mommy Dearest. It’s the least I can do after all the minutes you spent defrosting this delicacy in a pot of boiling water.”
She opened her mouth to fire off what was sure to be a scathing retort when the phone rang. I rose from my chair before she could move. “I’ll get that.”
The wireless headset laid free of its cradle on the edge of the counter. I stabbed the “Call” button. “Hello?”
“Hi, Blue.”
“Chip! Great timing. I just finished eating.” I waved at Mom, who shook her head in disgust and picked up our dishes.
As I made small talk, I watched Mom dart around the house to set up shop in the living room. She barely glanced at me as she strolled by to turn on the TV, and then grabbed a stack of paperwork.
I hurried into my room with the cordless to keep the conversation private.
I curled up on the bed and made myself comfortable, determined to put off my algebra homework as long as possible.
Chip chattered in my ear. “So, how long do you think before Perionne Park closes?” His voice filled with a casual curiosity, as if he presumed I had some stake in the question.
It took me a while to recall the dilapidated old amusement park I’d seen on my way into town, and I hadn’t given the wannabe-Disneyland another thought.
“Why? Is the Board of Safety looking to shut it down?” I rolled over and got comfortable.
“No, Blue. The park closes every year when it gets too cold to support business. Last year, they’d already ended the season by this time.”
“From the road, it looks deserted.”
“Oh, no, not at all!” I held the phone away from my ear to save my eardrum from his enthusiasm. “Perionne Park’s been doing great business since it opened in the ’70s.”
As much as I wanted to give Chip 100% of my attention, just about anything else was more interesting than Perionne Park.
Chip droned on. “It’ll probably be around long after you and I have left here.”
That deserved a response. “Well, it will certainly outlast me, since I graduate next May, and I am fully prepared to do a disappearing act immediately afterward.”
Somehow, Chip sounded put off by my lack of excitement. “Clearly, you mock what you don’t understand. We’re pretty proud of the park around here.”
When I added nothing to the conversation, he continued. “Every year, we try to guess how many more weeks we have before it closes.”
“Mmm-hmm. That’s very interesting. No, wait, I’m wrong. It’s not interesting at all.” I grinned at the mouthpiece, expecting a big laugh at my amazing wit.
Instead, Chip ran right over my sarcasm. “The Pirates of Perionne is one of the best rides of its kind. It’s a pirate boat ride. Kinda slow, but it has outstanding mannequin effects. I’ve been hoping to one day use some of the imagery in a video game.”
I grinned again. His dorky excitement had a certain charm that made it hard for me to make fun of him, but I still tried.
“Well—” I said. “Let me check my busy social calendar. Hmm. You know what? I think the idea of us—you and I—together at the town park, would be mind-blowing. Just to see the looks on everyone else’s faces. Okay, it’s a date. If you think you can handle it. Tell ya what. I’ll spike the hair extra high and break out my leather miniskirt and high-heeled boots. I’ll put on my prowler girl costume just for you, Chip. They’ll think you won a contest at the local strip club.”
“Ah…” Chip floundered.
I showed no mercy. “You do have a strip club around here—or do I presume too much?”
Chip ignored the question. “Maybe you should just put on what you normally wear.”
“Ha! Chicken shit. As if that will save you.” I propped myself on an elbow. “Listen. Mom’s going back to Indy for the weekend. Let’s head straight to the park after school, and we’ll make an evening of it. Maybe Saturday we can catch a movie.”
“Sounds good. I guess it’s a date.”
* * * *
Walking home from school the next evening, shuffling across the sidewalk to the house, I saw the old woman. Sylvia slowly rocked and stared out at the street. As I passed the house, her head craned to follow me. She squinted in open scrutiny. I walked along the stone bricks cutting though my lawn, trying to pretend her attention didn’t give me goosebumps.
Her hands wove her knitting needles in an automatic motion through the off-white something spread upon her lap, the same something she’d been working on the day we’d met. The intensity of her gaze sent a chill through me.
She spoke in a rasping whisper that didn’t quite carry across the yard.
I fished in my pocket, looking for my keys, debating whether or not I should pretend I didn’t hear her.
Like they had a mind of their own, the keys slipped from my hands and bounced across the cement and into the lawn.
“Young girl. Come here, I say!” She must have known her voice reached my ears this time; no sense in denying it.
I stepped onto the grass, retrieved my mutinous key chain, then trudged across my clipped lawn to trade words with my creepy neighbor.
Her cloudy eyes reminded me of nonfat milk. Kinda opaque-white with a bluish tint surrounding them.
Hands in my pockets, I stared at Sylvia, waiting.
She rocked back and forth, a half-smile curling her thin lips.
“I hear you are beginning to settle into our town.” Her voice grated on me like crinkled sandpaper, and my legs itched from the contact with the dried stalks of what used to be a lawn.
“Oh. I didn’t know we had any mutual friends.”
“I hear things.”
I waited, but she didn’t elaborate.
I was not in the mood to play “cryptic comments” with her. “Look. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m only committed to this nut house until graduation.” I fidgeted where I stood. Being around this old woman made me want to have a cigarette—a habit I’d hoped I’d given up when I gave up Joey.
Sylvia settled back into her knitting, her gaze dropping down, away from me. “Where would you say, then, that you belong, young lady?” Her hands moved, continuing in their mundane repetition. Her rocking remained constant.
I shrugged. “Chicago, Los Angeles, New York—someplace with good music and lots of people. Someplace interesting and relevant.”
“Strange to want to leave. When I was a girl, growin’ up in Perionne, I didn’t want to ever move away.”
For a wicked moment, I entertained asking if she grew up with a car or if she rode to school on horseback. I resisted the urge. Instead, I reached down and plucked a piece of dead grass. “Times have changed.”
She nodded and continued her knitting. “Kids leave for the city while the city folk, why, they turn around and hightail it out to us. Everyone’s restless for something different. Nobody’s satisfied. Hmmm.”
Just when I thought she must have lost her train of thought, she started up again. “My boy wasn’t ever satisfied.” She looked up, shaking a bony finger at me like I’d been personally responsible for her “boy’s” selfishness. “Always restless. Always wanting more.”
“Boy?” How old might Sylvia’s son be now? Quite possibly a grandfather himself.
I couldn’t figure out how Sylvia’s legs didn’t give out from all the rocking she did. The woman must be in her early 90s, yet her hands were as nimble as her feet.
Sylvia took a dee
p, shaky breath. “Thing is, my boy never left the town, either. Been restless his whole life, but he’s never seen more than the twenty miles of Perionne. I told him one time he should git’, but he never did.” She stopped knitting and looked me straight in the eye. “Paid for it, too.”
Okay, now I want to run home and slam the door.
Sylvia shook her frail head. “Nope, he never left. Shoulda tried harder to kick him out. He mighta thanked me in the end.”
“Where is he now?”
She continued rocking. “He’s around. Here and there.” I contemplated the latest cryptic comment. A strong breeze blew across the yard, rustling my jacket and causing a bunch of leaves to flurry over the cracked pavement. “He’s around,” she repeated, her words almost lost to the wind blowing across my ears.
The chill from the resulting gust cut through my denim jacket. Now I was cold. “Look, Sylvia, I’d better get going. I have a test to study for.”
Sylvia perked up. “Test, you say?”
“Yes. The midterm for American Folklore’s going to have a lot on that Gunther guy everyone gets so worked up about.”
“You’re studying Gunther,” she said, her eyes reflecting intense interest. “Learning about the ghost, are ya?”
“Sort of. The teacher doesn’t believe the stories, but we’re learning them, anyway.”
Her eyes flashed anger. “Thomas Haplin is a young fool. You take heed in what you hear about the ghost. The ghost of Gunther is real, girlie. Seen him myself, several times. Never sneer at things you don’t understand.” She waved a tangled knitting needle at me. “You remember that, an’ you’ll live to be older than me.” She cackled in that freaky way, again.
Oh, Lord, I hope not! “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, backing away.
She nodded and dropped her gaze back toward her knitting, apparently satisfied she’d confused me enough for one day.
I stepped across the crunching leaves and angled toward the door of the house—my sanctuary. Only after shutting the door behind me did I breathe a sigh of relief. I wiped cold sweat from my brow, even as I told myself not to get worked up about the delusions of an old woman.
* * * *
Haunting Blue Page 12
