HAUNTED: A Jenny Watkins Mystery

by Becky Durfee

  “Sure,” he said. “Are you going to be able to type while holding the baby?”

  She bit her lip and looked at him. “Well, I was kind of hoping you could put him to sleep while I wrote it.”

  Zack remained quiet for a while. “I’m no good at this.”

  “Neither am I.”

  He contemplated some more. “If it gets bad, will you help me?”

  “Absolutely.” She flashed him a loving smile.

  “Okay,” Zack said, handing over the laptop. “I’ll give it a whirl. But I make no promises.”

  He walked out of the room with the baby, leaving Jenny to herself. She reached over and picked up her phone from the nightstand, scrolling through to find the unfamiliar number among her received calls. Once she found it, she began a text, stating, “John, it’s Jenny Larrabee. Can I have your email address? I’d like to offer you a job.”

  Jenny held out a pizza box.

  “Where’s the baby?” Mick asked, taking her offering.

  “I’ll have you know, I left him with my mother.” She slid the chairs-in-a-bag off of her shoulder, setting one up as she spoke. “I took your advice, and I brought the baby down to her yesterday when I was desperate for a nap. It turns out you were right.” Pressing down the arms of the chair to make sure it was secure, she began unfolding the second one. “She was actually chomping at the bit to get her hands on him.”

  “See? I told you.”

  “You were absolutely, one-hundred percent right. I openly admit that.” Once the second chair had been unfolded, Jenny sat down, gesturing to the empty seat next to her. “Care to take a load off?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Mick also sat, situating the pizza on his lap. Once he took a piece for himself, he held the box out to her in a silent offering.

  Jenny held her hand up. “I already ate. It’s all yours.”

  Mick looked at her sincerely, his blue eyes striking a nerve. “Thanks for this.”

  Ignoring the little bolt that went through her body, she replied, “No problem. It’s the least I can do.” Awkward silence threatened to ensue, so Jenny pulled a piece of paper out of her bag. “I’ve got a picture for you…it’s the guy I think did the killing.”

  Mick tucked the bite of pizza into his cheek. “You figured out who it was?”

  “I believe so.” She handed him the printout. “His name is Aiden Fletcher; he had schizophrenia. I believe he used to buy marijuana from your friend to try to ease his symptoms…what he may not have known is that once the immediate relief wore off, the marijuana actually made his condition worse.”

  Mick studied the image. “He doesn’t look familiar.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head.

  “Can you show this picture to your friend the next time you see him? Can you ask if this was the guy who was supposed to buy from him the night Timothy Reynolds died?”

  Putting the paper down on his pile of belongings, Mick replied, “I can do that.”

  The silence she had managed to thwart before had arrived. After clearing her throat uncomfortably, she asked, “So, how are you doing?”

  He shrugged with one shoulder. “Same shit, different day.”

  “I’d still like to help you, you know.”

  “That’s nice of you,” he replied, putting his slice of pizza down, “but I’ve already told you, I’m un-helpable.”

  “Okay, see, now that’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair?”

  “I asked my mother for help, thanks to your urging, and it turns out that it’s the best thing I ever could have done. And now you’re turning around and telling me that you can’t be helped?”

  “I’m too far gone.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to throw the bullshit card on that one.”

  He flashed her a skeptical look.

  “How about this; I would like to offer you a little bit of temporary relief. Nothing permanent…for now. I’d just like to put you up in a hotel room for a little while…let you shower and sleep in a bed. I’ll get you a dentist appoint…”

  Mick’s head fell into his lap, his hands covering his ears. He started rocking and moaning, clearly in a state of complete and utter despair. “Get down!” he screamed. “Get DOWN!”

  Jenny searched frantically around, trying to figure out what was happening to him. Then she heard it.

  A helicopter.

  Mick stood up for a moment, seemingly in a daze, the pizza box falling to the ground. He then collapsed into a ball, covering his head, continuing to warn Jenny to take cover.

  She had absolutely no idea what to do. After a moment of frozen helplessness, she knelt down beside him, placing her hand on his back. “Mick,” she said softly but urgently, “you are safe. You are in Oakton. Nothing is going to hurt you.”

  His whole body trembled. Jenny looked toward the sky, wishing away the helicopter with all her might. She leaned in closer, her face next to Mick’s ear. “You are safe, I promise you. It’s just a helicopter. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

  The sound of the beating blades faded into the distance, but Mick stayed huddled into a ball for what seemed like an eternity. Jenny sat patiently by his side, allowing him this moment, rubbing his back without saying a word. Eventually, Mick rose up onto his knees, sitting back on his heels. Tears had made clean tracks down his dirty face; his eyes were so affected by the incident that the tears made them look green instead of blue. His gaze was loosely fixated on a spot on the ground several feet in front of him, although Jenny could tell he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. He continued to shake, albeit more subtly, and his breathing was labored.

  She looked at him for a moment before speaking. “You okay?”

  He didn’t reply. He simply closed his eyes and lowered his head.

  Ignoring the dirt that covered his clothes, Jenny scooted closer to him, putting her arm around him, leaning gently into his shoulder. She didn’t speak for a while, allowing the sensation of touch to be the only comfort. Eventually she whispered, “You’re not alone, you know. This happens to a lot of people when they come back from war.”

  He still didn’t speak.

  “It’s understandable…even expected.” She repositioned her head so she was looking at him instead of leaning on his shoulder. “War is inhuman. It’s cruel and unusual punishment for brave young people who haven’t done anything wrong.”

  He continued to stare at nothing.

  She scooted around and sat across from him, putting her face in his line of sight. His eyes went from distant to focused, so she knew he was seeing her.

  “If someone came back from the war missing a limb, you wouldn’t expect them to come back and be fine without any treatment, would you? Of course they’d spend a lot of time at the doctor.” She softened her expression, looking into the eyes that had witnessed so much tragedy. “Why should it be different when the wounds are on the inside?”

  His gaze stayed fixed on her face for a long time, then it slowly worked its way to the top of her head. His eyes worked their way downward, following the path of her long hair, making Jenny feel strangely exposed. He reached out his hand, slowly taking a portion of her hair between his fingers, strumming it gently.

  She imagined that was something he sorely missed—the softness of a woman’s hair—so she allowed it, despite the deep feeling of intimacy that went along with it. They couldn’t have connected more at that moment if they had gotten naked and had sex right there under the bridge. In Jenny’s mind, this was even more personal, making her feel as if she was somehow being unfaithful to Zack.

  “Have you spoken to Olivia?” The words came out of her mouth before she even knew she was inclined to say them. Mick’s trance seemed to break upon hearing that, his eyes venturing from her hair to her face, a smile gracing his lips.

  With the intensity of the moment behind them, Jenny returned the smile. “Who is Olivia?”

  His body relaxed as a quick laugh escaped him. “
Olivia Greenspan.” He didn’t elaborate any more.

  “And who is this Olivia Greenspan?”

  “I went to high school with her. She was in a few of my classes, and I always had a thing for her.” His face appeared nostalgic.

  Jenny spoke softly. “The one that got away?”

  “Exactly.”

  For a brief moment, Jenny considered her own ‘one that got away.’ Toby, the boy who’d had a crush on her in school. His only flaw had been that he was too nice, but it was enough to make her not interested at the time. “Yeah, I know all about that.”

  “Rodriguez had a girl like that, too. We had made a pact one night, he and I, when the fighting was bad. We had decided that, if we made it home alive, we’d find those girls and let them know how we felt.”

  Jenny crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Did you?”

  Mick looked down and shook his head. “Nah.”

  “And why not, candy ass?”

  “Candy ass.” He flashed a subtle smile. “Was that you or him talking just now?”

  “Me,” Jenny said definitively. “Don’t change the subject. Why didn’t you find her?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I figured she was probably married by then. Besides, I didn’t think I had a snowball’s chance in hell anyway. I didn’t exactly come back from the war with a whole lot to offer a woman.”

  To Jenny, those sounded like the words of a depressed man. “What are you talking about? You have a lot to offer.”

  “I’m fucking homeless.”

  “We can change that,” Jenny replied. “Besides, the stuff I’m talking about isn’t material. You obviously have a lot of valor—it’s not every man who fights for his country. You’re funny—you can’t teach that. And,” she said, raising her finger in the air, “your blue eyes would be enough to melt any woman’s heart, I guarantee it.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “And this gets me back to what I was saying to you before. I would love to put you up in a hotel for a little while…get someone to cut your hair for you, shave your beard. Get you an appointment with a dentist and a doctor, just to make sure you’re healthy. Buy you some new clothes, or, at least, wash the ones you have. And then, if you’re willing, see if we can do something to help you with those flashbacks.”

  He still said nothing.

  “I looked into it after I spoke to you. It turns out a lot of vets come back and experience flashbacks—and have alcohol and drug problems, and have trouble keeping jobs. It would probably help you to talk to someone who is going through the same thing…to let you know you’re not alone.”

  Met with more silence, Jenny kept talking.

  “It helped me, you know. When I went downstairs and told my mother I was having a miserable time being a new mom, she told me she’d gone through something similar. She hated being a parent at first, too, and just hearing that made me feel so much better.

  “Now, for you,” Jenny continued, “it’s entirely different. Here I am, struggling with something that’s supposed to be positive. You went to war. That’s one of the most horrible things anyone can go through. Of course you’re having a tough time dealing with it, and it sucks that you’re out here, having to cope with it on your own. You need a network—a support system.” She poked him with her finger. “Just like you told me I needed.”

  Mick continued his silence.

  “You mean to tell me you wouldn’t enjoy a nice, hot shower and a comfortable bed? That’s being offered to you.”

  His eyes appeared glossy as he whispered, “I’d scare the other guests.”

  “You let me handle that,” Jenny replied. “Besides, fuck them. If they’re offended by your appearance, I’ll be the first to inform them that this is what the cost of freedom looks like. Their freedom. You took the hit so that they could enjoy their lavish lifestyle, and if they’ve got a problem with that, they can go screw.”

  “Damn,” Mick said as he looked up at her. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

  “Oh, I have it in me. I’ve got so much pent up angst from the baby that I’m just looking for an excuse to haul off and chew somebody out. So, what do you say? Will you let me do this for you?”

  He ran his hand over his bushy hair. “I think I have to say yes; I’m afraid not to.”

  Jenny smiled, feeling a huge sense of accomplishment. “Excellent. I do have one requirement first, though.”

  “What is that?”

  “We have to swing by my house so I can feed the baby.”

  Mick appeared relieved that Jenny’s requirement wasn’t about him. “He’s due to eat?”

  Shaking her head, she replied, “I’m sure he’s already eaten; my mom probably gave him a bottle. I’m the one who needs him to nurse.” Jenny deliberated not saying the next part, but she was too tired to care if she was offensive. “It feels like I’m carrying around two bowling balls under my shirt.”

  Chapter 12

  Jenny hurried down the stairs, her breasts throbbing. “Where’s that baby?”

  “He’s sleeping,” Isabelle said.

  “Not anymore.” Jenny went to the play pen where Steve was lying peacefully, picking him up and quickly getting him situated for his meal.

  Isabelle couldn’t hide her smirk. “Waited too long, did you?”

  For the first time, nursing actually felt good. “Apparently. I never thought about what impact skipping a meal would have on me.”

  “Live and learn.” Isabelle sat next to Jenny on the couch. “How was your afternoon? Did you get anything done?”

  “I didn’t make any progress on the case today, but I did have a huge breakthrough with another little mission I’m working on.”

  “What other mission?”

  “When I was out at Hammond Park looking into the murder that happened there, I was led to a man who was living under a bridge. He’s an Iraqi war veteran, and he’s having a tough time adjusting to life back home. One of his fellow Marines who died in the war is hoping that he’ll get back on his feet.”

  “So, what was this breakthrough?”

  Jenny couldn’t hide her smile. “Well, he’s actually upstairs taking a shower right now.”

  “You brought him home?”

  “For now,” Jenny replied. “After I finish feeding Steve, I’ll work on getting him set up in a hotel.”

  “I-I-I can believe you brought a homeless man over to the house.”

  “He’s harmless, ma.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Jenny shrugged. “I just do. The spirit that has been contacting me has assured me of that.”

  “You allowed a stranger into your home because a spirit said it’s okay?” Isabelle shook her head, looking panicked. “Honestly, Jenny, I question your judgment sometimes.”

  Jenny remained silent, marveling at how someone who had just been so helpful the day before could then turn around and drive her crazy.

  “You need a gun,” Isabelle declared.

  “Ma, I do not need a gun.”

  “Yes, you do. If you’re inclined to go out and chase after these people—and even bring some of them home—then you need to protect yourself.”

  “Mick is not a problem.”

  “I’m still not sure how you can know that. But even if he isn’t, maybe the next one you bring home will be.”

  “I’m not having this conversation with you, Ma.”

  “I’m just looking out for you, honey.”

  Jenny bobbed her foot as she chewed on her irritation.

  After a tension-filled silence, Isabelle asked, “So, where is this man now?”

  “Like I said, he’s probably in the shower. Zack is arranging for someone to come over and cut his hair, and then Zack’s going to run out and buy him some clothes. Once he’s all cleaned up, we’ll get him set up in a hotel.”

  “I’d like to keep the baby down here until he’s gone.”

  “Mick isn’t dangerous, Ma.”

  “You don’t know that
, and it’s too big of a chance to take.”

  Jenny held up her hand. “Alright, whatever. You can keep the baby until Mick is set up at the hotel.”

  “At least now you’re using some common sense.”

  Jenny’s foot bobbed even more aggressively as she looked down at Steve, wishing he would eat just a little bit faster. Mercifully, Jenny’s phone rang, and she said to Isabelle, “I’m sorry; I’m going to get this. It might be important.” Truthfully, she didn’t care if it was important; she simply welcomed the opportunity to stop the conversation with her mother.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Jenny, it’s Charles Littleton.”

  “Oh, hi. How are you?”

  “Okay.” He said it in such a way as to imply that he was just okay.

  “Yeah, I know you are going through a tough time right now.”

  “I spoke to my wife last night about your suspicions. She was not having it.”

  Jenny looked down at the baby boy in her arms, wondering what it would feel like to be told in thirty years that he had killed three people. “That’s understandable.”

  “She wants nothing to do with the idea, but, personally, I’d like to get some answers.” He softened his tone. “I’d like to know for sure, one way or the other, if he did this. I just don’t know how to make that happen.”

  “I actually have an idea,” Jenny said sheepishly, glancing over at her mother, waiting for the look of disapproval. “In my vision—the one with Elaina Maldonado—the killer hit her over the head with a crowbar. I imagine that would break the skin. If he put her in the truck after that, she probably left some blood evidence behind.”

  Isabelle shook her head.

  “It’s been years,” Charles said.

  “It might still be there,” Jenny replied. “It’s worth a look.”

  He let out a sigh. “I guess I’ll bring the truck in to the police department…on the QT, of course. Promise me you won’t tell my wife I’m doing this?”

  “I absolutely will not,” she declared. “Honestly, I just really appreciate that you’re willing to look into this. I know it can’t be easy.”