HAUNTED: A Jenny Watkins Mystery

by Becky Durfee

The comment caught her off guard, making her unsure how to respond. After a moment, she replied, “This isn’t about me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Again, she didn’t know what that meant. “This is about you…and Rodriguez. He’s been hanging around you, Mick, watching what’s become of your life. He asked me to help you, and I want to honor his wishes.”

  Mick raised his glance in Jenny’s direction, but over her shoulder, causing her to look back at a man who was walking toward them. He looked clean-cut, but Jenny felt a twinge of nervousness nonetheless. Perhaps Mick had been right, and she should have left her baby home with her mother and a can of formula.

  “Who is this?” Jenny asked.

  “Don’t know his name.”

  “But you know him?” She was starting to panic.

  Mick nodded as he stood up, a smile gracing his face as the stranger grew closer. “Hey, man.”

  They greeted each other with what appeared to be the street version of a handshake. “Who do we have here?” the man asked.

  A wave took over Jenny the second she heard his voice. She looked up at him, the familiarity nearly taking her breath away.

  “Ah, she’s cool,” Mick replied.

  “How cool? You mean, really cool?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “In that case, I got you something,” the guy said, pulling what appeared to be a baggie of marijuana out of his jacket.

  “Ah, yes,” Mick replied, “a thing of beauty.”

  Jenny couldn’t take her eyes off this man. “Excuse me,” she said, managing to get herself into a standing position while the baby still nursed. “I think you know someone that I know.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know his name…I’m hoping you do. He bought drugs from you…at night…at Hammond Park.”

  The man’s eyes worked their way back to Mick, who repeated with a reassuring nod, “She’s cool.”

  Jenny was growing excited. “I think he was planning to buy drugs from you the night the guy was killed with the rock…do you know who I’m talking about?”

  Seeming reluctant to answer, the man said, “I do.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Lady, I don’t know any of their names.”

  “Do you know what he drove? Was it a dark pick-up truck, by any chance?”

  “Maybe.”

  She was so close to determining the killer, she couldn’t stop herself from asking questions. “What other kinds of drugs do you sell, besides marijuana?”

  “Nothing. Just weed.” He laughed nervously. “What the hell is this about?”

  Jenny remained undeterred. “If I showed you a picture of the guy I’m talking about, would you be able to recognize him?”

  “I’m not in the habit of ratting out my customers.”

  “But he’s not a customer anymore. He’s dead.” Jenny bent down and used her free hand to fish her bag out of the bottom of the stroller.

  The man remained silent.

  “You haven’t seen him in a while, have you?”

  “No, he ain’t been around.”

  “That’s because he’s dead. Do you know when the last time you saw him was?”

  The man shrugged. “It’s been a while, but I don’t know exactly.”

  Finding what she was looking for, Jenny pulled the pictures of her seven suspects out of her bag. Handing them over to the man, she asked, “Can you please tell me if one of these guys looks familiar? I swear, the only thing I’m trying to do is figure out who killed the homeless man in Hammond Park a few years back. I’m not a cop…I’m working independently. Any information you give me is going to end with me.”

  The man thumbed through the images quickly, handing them unceremoniously back to Jenny. “None of them look familiar.”

  She looked at him incredulously for a moment. “Not one?”

  “Nope. Not one.”

  While she wanted to argue, she thought better of it. This was a drug dealer, after all. It was probably unrealistic of her to think he would identify one of his clients anyway, even if the killer’s face had been among those pictured. She imagined she’d just have to rely on Kyle’s legwork to figure out who the killer was.

  Mick chimed in, directing his comment at their visitor, “So, what’s new, man?”

  “Not a whole lot.”

  “Business good?”

  “Business is booming. You’ll notice a little extra love in that bag for you.”

  “You’re the best, man,” Mick said.

  “Well, Semper Fi.” The two men engaged in a fist pump and some casual conversation before the man disappeared back in the direction he came.

  Jenny was unsure what to say, although Mick didn’t seem to be. He looked up at her, rolling the baggie into a tighter ball before pocketing it. “I’ll just save this for later.”

  “I thought you were clean,” she remarked without judgment.

  “I don’t drink anymore,” he clarified. “I never said anything about clean.”

  “And he gave it to you for free?”

  “Yup. He fought in Iraq, too…knows how it is. He hooks me up.”

  Jenny resumed her seat on the cushion, the baby taking a break from eating for a burp. She paused to consider how a man honorable enough to fight for his country would then come back and make his living selling drugs, but she soon realized she was in no position to judge. She hadn’t witnessed the horrors that he had, so she had no way of knowing how well or how poorly she would have adjusted to life back home.

  God knows she was having a hard enough time adjusting to motherhood.

  “Well, I’m willing to hook you up, too…get you some help, with some legal drugs.”

  “I don’t think it will help.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “I’m too fucked up.”

  “You don’t seem that bad to me.”

  He looked over at her with those ice-blue eyes, his resolve sending a chill up Jenny’s spine. “That’s because you haven’t seen it yet.”

  “It,” she repeated, shaking her head, inviting an explanation.

  “I lose it sometimes,” Mick continued. “I mean, I completely lose it, and I have no idea when it’s going to happen. There’s no way I’d be able to work. I could never go to the grocery store. I can’t be around people…there’s no way. The best place for me is right here, so that when the shit hits the fan, I can just smoke my weed, curl up in a ball and ride it out.”

  Both Jenny’s sympathy and understanding rose to a new level, but she still had a mission. “That’s not what Rodriguez wants for you.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  “Ah, but there is,” Jenny said with emphasis. “The offer is on the table. I will get you whatever you need to get through this. All you need is to be willing to help yourself.”

  He glanced over at her with a look of condemnation. “Damned if that ain’t the pot calling the kettle black.” He put his hand into his pocket and added, “Speaking of pot, I actually think I might bust out my little gift. I don’t suppose you want any.”

  Jenny held up her hand. “Nah, I’m good. In fact, I think I’ll get going.” She started to put the baby back into the car seat.

  “I thought you wanted to visit the convenience store.”

  “I do,” Jenny replied, “but we can do that next time.” The reality was, she didn’t want to sit there with her baby while he smoked marijuana. “I assure you, you haven’t seen the last of me.” She glanced back at him with a smirk. “I’ve been sent here by Rodriguez, and I’m not going to give up that easy.”

  He started to pack some marijuana into a bowl. “You’re wasting your time.”

  Shrugging her shoulders, she replied, “Say what you will…I’m stubborn, remember? I will not be deterred.” She flashed him a smile before walking away with the stroller.

  Once she got settled in the car, she sat in the driver’s seat and let Steve finish his meal. While she waited, she pulled
out her phone, noticing she had gotten a voicemail. She placed the phone to her ear and played the message.

  “Jenny, it’s Kyle. Give me a call when you get a chance; I’ve got an ID on the latest victim.”

  Chapter 9

  “You know who she is?” Jenny wasted no time in calling Kyle back.

  “Yup. I’ve had to work on it almost constantly since we last talked, but I managed to figure it out. Her name is Seneca Lynch, and she’s from Chester, Wyoming. She’d gone for a run in a place called Rocky Point Park, and she never returned. Her body was found later that evening about a hundred fifty yards off the trail.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Five years ago.”

  “Did any of your seven suspects live in Wyoming at that time?”

  “That’s the crazy part,” Kyle said. “None of them did.”

  The dealer had said he didn’t recognize any of the men, either, although his reliability was definitely questionable. But none of the suspects had lived in Wyoming when this happened. Was it possible that the list of seven was inaccurate?

  “It could be that our killer was on vacation at the time of this murder,” Kyle continued. “I’ll have to check out the travel records of these guys.”

  “I don’t suppose they had any suspects in this Wyoming case…”

  “I haven’t looked into it all that deeply yet.”

  “Were there any other unsolved murders in that area around that time?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far.”

  “I can look into that when I get home. That should be public record, I would think,” Jenny reasoned. “If you could drum up the travel history on those seven guys, though, that would be great.”

  “I’m on it,” Kyle said. “Hopefully we’ll be able to figure out who this guy is before sundown.”

  Jenny knocked sheepishly on the door to the basement, where her mother lived.

  “Come on down!”

  After descending the steps, baby in her arms, Jenny rounded the corner to see her mother, Isabelle, with an expectant look on her face. “Oh, good, you brought the baby!” she exclaimed with clasped hands. “Can I hold him?”

  “Of course you can, Ma.” Jenny was careful to support the baby’s head as she passed him off to her mother.

  Isabelle never looked happier. “I am so glad your mommy brought you down here,” she began, bouncing and swaying as she looked down at the baby, her smile as wide as the moon. “I have been dying to get my hands on you.”

  “Then why haven’t you come up?” Jenny asked.

  “I wanted to respect your privacy,” Isabelle replied. “I didn’t live downstairs from your brothers when they had their babies, and I never popped over for unannounced visits. I didn’t want to bother you just because I live downstairs…but it’s taken everything I have not to come up there and steal him.” She changed her tone and addressed Steve. “Isn’t that right? I didn’t want to bother your mama, but I was desperate to see you, huh? Yes, I was.”

  Jenny felt her stress level plummet as tears of relief stung the back of her eyes. “I’m actually happy to hear that, Ma. Truth be told, I’ve been dying up there.”

  Isabelle looked up. “You have?”

  Jenny could no longer hold back the tears. Saying this out loud was going to make this both real and irreversible, but it would also break the dam that had contained her misery inside. “Ma…I hate this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I hate being a mom.” The tears became full-fledged sobs.

  “Aw, come here, honey,” Isabelle gave Jenny a much-needed hug. She patted Jenny’s back and added, “It’s hard, sweetie. Being a new mom is the most difficult thing in the world.”

  Jenny said nothing as they let go of their embrace, simply wiping her tears with the back of her hand and trying to regain her composure.

  “Come on…let’s sit down.” Isabelle directed Jenny over to the sofa, where they sat next to each other. Steve didn’t like the fact that Isabelle had now become seated, and he voiced his displeasure with a shrill cry.

  “See?” Jenny began, gesturing toward the baby. “This is all he does.”

  “Newborns are tough,” Isabelle agreed, bouncing little Steve in her arms. “Do you have a pacifier for him?”

  “No. I read that pacifiers could lead to nipple confusion.”

  “Nipple confusion?” Isabelle shook her head and dismissed the gesture with her hand. “Please. That’s half your problem right there. Do me a favor, honey, and go into my room. I have a couple of pacifiers in there.”

  Her mother had pacifiers?

  Jenny did as she was told, entering into a bedroom that looked like it was designed for a new mother. A playpen was set up in the corner, and the room also housed toys, an ExerSaucer and a high chair. Just as Isabelle had said, a two-pack of pacifiers sat on the dresser.

  She returned with the pacifiers, opening the package and pulling one out. Isabelle took it and gave it to the baby, who stopped crying within seconds. “Babies like to suck…it soothes them,” Isabelle said. “Whoever said not to give him a pacifier has cost you a lot of sleep.”

  Jenny laughed and looked down, tears flowing again. “I guess I have a lot to learn.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m here for. I fumbled the first time, too, but after doing this four times, you learn a thing or two.” She looked lovingly back at Jenny. “And for the record, I hated it, too, in the beginning.”

  She wiped her eyes again. “You did?”

  “Honey, I didn’t like any of you kids until you were about three or four months old.”

  Relief and validation consumed Jenny, taking the form of laughter mixed with tears. “Really?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. They have no personality at this age; all they do is poop and pee and cry and eat. They don’t smile at you, or ever let you know they are grateful. You spend every minute of every day doing everything you can for the baby, and the only communicating they can do is cry. It’s enough to drive you insane.”

  “Then why did you do it four times?”

  “Because they grow up,” Isabelle replied with a smile, “and then you love them more than words can describe. They start to smile at you around six weeks or so, and that makes a big difference…especially when their biggest smiles are reserved for you. Other people may try to get them to smile, but all you have to do is say, ‘Hi, baby,’ and their faces just light up.”

  The thought warmed Jenny’s heart. That was what she had envisioned when she thought about being a mom…not this.

  Definitely not this.

  “And then, I guess it’s about ten weeks or so when they discover their hands…that’s a nice little milestone. It means they can entertain themselves for a while. You can put them under one of those activity gyms, and they can bat at the toys. It’s amazing how long that will keep them occupied…then you can actually take a shower or eat a meal without interruption. It’s fabulous.”

  After drawing a shaky breath, Jenny said, “So, I guess I’ve got about eight more weeks?”

  “No, you have a lot less than that. Honey, I’m right downstairs. I truly don’t mind watching him during the day.” She leaned in and nudged her daughter, “Now, mind you, I’ll leave the overnights to you, but I can certainly take him for a couple of hours in the afternoon so you can take a nap. It’s amazing how much better equipped you are to handle a newborn when you are well rested.”

  “I feel like that’s a huge part of my problem.”

  “Of course it is. Nobody can be expected to be in a good mood when they only sleep in two hour increments.”

  “If that,” Jenny replied.

  Isabelle smiled at her daughter lovingly. “Can I offer you some advice, sweetie?”

  “Please do. I apparently need all the help I can get.” Jenny hung her head. “I think I’ve been failing miserably at this motherhood thing.”

  With a pat on Jenny’s leg, Isabelle said, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t fail at
this, but there are so many theories out there that will make you feel like you are…especially in this day and age.” She let out a laugh. “I swear some of the beliefs that were common practice when I was a baby would land a mother in jail these days.”

  Jenny shared in the laughter. “Like what?”

  “I remember your grandmother using whiskey on your Aunt Judy’s gums when she was teething. She even used it as cough medicine.” She placed her hand on her chin. “Or maybe it was bourbon. Anyway, it was some kind of alcohol. The thought behind it was that it would not only cure the cough, but it would let the kid get some sleep.”

  “Did it work?”

  “It knocked the kids out, apparently, which was the desired effect. But could you see a mom getting away with that now?”

  Jenny shook her head emphatically. “No.”

  “And your grandmother also used to say that crying was good for babies because it helped make their lungs stronger. That school of thought has gone by the wayside, too, but imagine if you believed that Steve’s cries were a good thing…you could leave him screaming in his bassinet while you enjoyed your lunch, knowing that you were doing what was best for your baby.”

  “I’m not sure I could enjoy my lunch if he was screaming.”

  “You could if you thought it was good for him. Now, by no means am I suggesting you let him scream or give him whiskey, but what I want you to know is that I survived. Your aunts and uncles survived. I can’t help but feel like new moms today are bombarded with messages that this is bad for your baby and that is bad for your baby. It’s enough to make a young mother feel neurotic and inadequate at the same time.”

  “I feel both of those things.”

  “Exactly. You’re doing your best, but your best isn’t good enough. You read these blog posts, or whatever they are called, from women who grow their own vegetables and puree them for baby food because, after all, manufactured baby food has chemicals and preservatives and GMOs or HMOs or whatever it is…and then you think, am I poisoning my baby? Should I be growing my own baby food? Am I a bad mother if I don’t? And formula…good mothers don’t use formula. And day care…what kind of mother puts her baby in day care?” Isabelle made another dismissive gesture with her hand. “The truth of it is, you can only do so much. And the important part is that you go easy on yourself. Don’t hold yourself to such a high standard that you are constantly on edge.” She repositioned herself so she was facing Jenny. “Let me put it this way…who is the better mother? The one who yells at her toddler because he just spilled the juice she’s spent an hour fresh-squeezing, or the mom who simply wipes up the spill and pours her child another cup of store-bought juice from a jug?”