It’s a little before the lunch rush and I’m caught up on orders, so I get out my phone and search for Navajo and spiders. The first site I find tells me not to kill a spider unless I draw a circle around it and say, You have no relatives or a Zuni did it. Hum, sounds a little dishonest to me. My ancient ancestors were proud and noble warriors, but not always virtuous.
I turn off my phone and go to slip it in my pocket when a brown widow spider crawls across the floor. This one’s dark with long reddish legs. They’re biters and I’m tempted to end its orphan life, but I’ve got to know. I scoop it up with a spatula and put it in a take-out container.
“What’s your message for me,” I ask. “Tell me why I’ve been besieged by your kind, and I will spare your life so you can go to your next family reunion.” I’m holding the container with both hands and listening. The diner is starting to fill with hungry customers.
Katy rings the bell on the counter with the first order. “Come on. I have to cook people’s lunches. Tell me your message or your circle is getting drawn, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
Piper yells, “Order,” and I toss the container to Mojo. Just when I start to take the first ticket, my phone rings. Normally, I’d ignore it at a time like this. Katy’s just dropped off two more tickets. Normally though, my phone wouldn’t ring when it’s off. I don’t need a psychic nerve in my body to know this is a message courtesy of the brown widow.
I take the container from Mojo who’s busy tearing it apart, walk to the back door as I answer, and release the spider to live another day. I’m not surprised to discover that it’s Loren calling. She starts out by reminding me that she called last week. I don’t bother to tell her I’ve found it impossible to forget that fact.
“I told you about Morgan’s girlfriend, Zeda. Well, she won’t stop calling me. She begged me to come to Spider Central– that’s what they call their office. It’s not really an office; it’s an old barn. It’s out in a field, almost an hour’s drive from me. I’m a wedding planner and I’m very busy this time of year. But Zeda, I don’t know, she was desperate. So I went.”
Loren paused before saying, so I went, and her voice turned mechanical. Now she’s silent. Piper has come out to check on me. She’s pointing and mouthing, orders. I hold up two fingers. She holds up one finger and says Arthur told her she could fire me if I caused her any grief. I roll my eyes.
Loren’s talking again, but now about her upcoming weddings and her opinion on chocolate cakes. Then she says she tried to convince Zeda that there are no ghosts or evil spirits. I still don’t get the connection between the two subjects.
“Anyway,” she says, “I agreed to go. It was two nights ago.” Loren’s voice is low and I sense she’s looking around, for what I don’t know. Then she screeches and I jump.
“They didn’t tell me what they’d planned. How was I to know? I probably would have gone anyway, but it… it was awful. Now Owen, one of the partners, is on medication.”
The woman’s voice is on a carnival ride. She whispered something after medication, but I couldn’t understand it. I don’t ask because I’m trying to keep the call short. I’m over Piper’s one minute limit. I think that’s what the one finger was about.
“They had a paranormal group come out. The group was supposed to spend the night in the place. They left their equipment in the barn and it’s still there. No one has seen them since.”
I’ve gone back inside and am cooking with one hand while making a mental note to buy a headset.
“So like I was saying, two nights ago I drove out to the barn. Traffic was awful and I thought since I’d gone all that way…. Well, they had a Ouija board—
I drop my phone on the grill, the plastic is melting. Kids, a Ouija board, an old barn in a field, a missing paranormal group, one kid dead, another on medication. This could be a serious haunting.
When I pick up my melting iPhone, Loren’s in tears. I don’t want to ask her to repeat herself in her condition, and I think I’ve heard plenty. Then she gets herself together and sounds like a woman in charge.
“So I want to hire you. For Morgan and Zeda and anyone else who goes out to that barn. I may not believe in ghosts, but I do believe in the devil, and only a demon would do something so vile and disgusting and crude as that.”
Chapter Three
§
As that? Whatever that is, it sounds bad.
Between screams of “Order up,” I work out the details of my services, mainly my contract and fee. Loren makes a peep sound on the latter then reminds me she’s a wedding planner and wants to know if we can exchange services. I assure her we cannot, especially now that I’ve got to get a new iPhone.
First though, I tell her that I need to talk to Zeda and the others. Not only do I want to find out what’s vile and disgusting and crude without letting on that I missed hearing what the woman was saying, I need to get a full accounting of what’s going on from the Spider crew.
It turns out that Loren and Spider Central are in Minnesota, and I’m not driving all the way there to find out the weird noises are an old barn creaking or that faulty electrical wiring is messing with the lights.
I also want to find out where the police are in their investigation of Morgan’s death. Loren said they aren’t telling her anything, but the file is still open. That means they don’t think it was an accident, even three weeks later. Since the police don’t investigate murders committed by ghosts, I’d like to know if one of my new clients is a suspect.
According to Loren, Zeda said Morgan had a bad cold the day he fell. The three others had gone to get take-out and Morgan went to the loft for a nap. When they returned, he was lying on the ground floor, dead.
Seems logical that he could have rolled over and fell out of the loft, but Loren said he only had minor external trauma. Stranger still, he had a high dose of over-the-counter cold medication in his system, but no medication was found in the barn or in his and Zeda’s apartment. The coroner ruled the death an accident: blunt force trauma after a fall due to medication impairment. Sounds logical to me, but the kids don’t believe it. Apparently, the police don’t either.
When the lunch crowd is fed and gone, I help with the clean up then head to the back door. Piper reminds me that I’m covering the dinner rush too. I throw someone’s uneaten cherry tomato at her and keep walking. I think I hear her scream that I’m fired. Since I work for free, I should be so lucky. Before I leave the parking lot, I order a new phone and a headset. Then I drive home to do some research.
How much cold medicine do you have to take to get so impaired you fall out of a loft? It doesn’t take long online to find that for a child, a few sips would do it. For adults, a bottle or three or four would be required. Seems if Morgan was slamming them back, at least one bottle would have been found somewhere near the kid.
Next I search the newsfeeds for Morgan Nordquist in the little town of Eton Bluff, Minnesota. There are three articles about the guy.
The first one is the day his body was found. There’s a photo of the barn; Loren wasn’t kidding when she said it was old. It looks like it may not make it through another Minnesota winter. She also wasn’t kidding when she said it was in a field– a big field without another building in sight. Just the kind of place four twenty-somethings would think a perfect location to develop the next billion dollar social media site.
I put my hand over the photo and ask it for its message. Fifteen minutes later, I almost have tears in my eyes. Love and heartbreak. But whose? I don’t think it’s the cows that once occupied the barn. Could it be the sad tale of Zeda and Morgan that’s still lingering? Or maybe a long dead farmer who lost his true love? No one would accuse me of being a romantic, but bringing departed loved ones back together again always warms my soul.
I click on the next article that’s dated a week after the kid’s death. There’s a black and white photo of a once tall, skinny, and very happy Morgan Nordquist. Cause of death is said to be an ac
cidental fall. It goes on to say that after an investigation by the State Workers’ Compensation Division, the technology firm has re-opened.
The article ends with a two paragraph warning about the hazards of taking over-the-counter medication and a targeted advertisement for an Acorn Stairlift: Just don't fall– appropriate content but in very poor taste. The last article was published yesterday. It says the police are still investigating.
Morgan, a partner in the technology firm Spider, fell to his death three weeks ago. Although the medical examiner ruled his death an accident, police have not ruled out foul play. Spider’s managing partners, Rice and Alice Silver, who were initially questioned in the matter, have left the area. Their current whereabouts are unknown. The public is encouraged to contact Detective Blanche Coleman if they have any information about the case.
“Sounds like the Silvers have skipped town,” I tell Mojo. He’s busy torturing a house spider that I suspect is the weaver of all the cobwebs in the house.
Seems like the kids would know where their managing partners went. Seems like Loren could have mentioned that they’ve gone missing. I’m getting mixed feelings about this job again. If only I hadn’t dropped my phone on the grill when I did, I’d know what happened that finally persuaded Loren to want to hire me.
Other than the spooky noises and flickering lights, which can be easily explained, and a possible accidental death that may be due to something vile, disgusting, and crude, I’m having doubts about this haunting. Just when I’m reconsidering taking the job, I remember the missing paranormal group.
I get back online and start searching. I should have gotten the name of the group since I can’t find anything about their missing status in the news reports. I spend the next hour searching paranormal groups in Minnesota. There are nine near Eton Bluff alone. No wonder I don’t get more business.
As much as I don’t want to spend the time or play undercover detective, I start leaving messages on all nine websites. I’ve had my fair share of bogus inquiries, so I don’t feel too slimy leaving my messages. I’m being close to honest in saying I want to write an article on the Spider barn haunting and want to interview the group that investigated.
I barely get all the messages posted when it’s time to go back to the diner. I’d tell Arthur to either stop taking days off or hire a cook, but I don’t even know the man anymore. He’s done something weird to his hair; I think it’s a different color but I’m not sure. It could just be fluffier. I even heard him giggle the other day. Giggle like a girl.
“Time to go back to the diner,” I tell the wolfdog. He gives me a weird look like he doesn’t believe me. Both of us are taking my father’s hormonal changes hard, or I just want to believe I’m not alone in this situation.
Lacey’s Diner, which my mom started fifteen years ago, is always busy. The hard work, endless demands, and my aching feet are imperfect distractions for my concerns about a job that I sense won’t turn out to be a normal haunting.
It’s after eleven when we get back home. I’m still hyper from all the noise Las Trebol’s hot spot diner generates. Arthur’s built a thriving business that I fear he will leave me when he runs off somewhere with Georgia to retire.
The first thing I do is get on the internet to see if any of the paranormal groups I contacted responded. I’m shocked to see that they did. Some of the responses are short: Nope, not us. Some are way too long and detailed about how it should have been them that investigated but wasn’t. Others want me to write an article about them anyway.
I go through my list until I’m left with one– The Spirit Searchers. Very mystical. Apparently, very unavailable seeing as they didn’t respond. I spend time on their website. Three researchers: one young guy with multiple facial piercings, an older man who says he’s retired, and a middle-aged woman who looks very… mystical.
There’s a long list of places they’ve investigated with photos of shadows and mists in graveyards. The last post is dated over three weeks ago and it would have saved me a lot of time if I’d found it earlier. I’m getting dizzy before I start reading.
Off to Eton Bluff to investigate the haunting of an old barn. Three business partners who use the barn for their tech firm report strange noises, electrical disturbances, temperature fluctuations, missing items, and some alleged vile, disgusting, and crude activities.
Chapter Four
§
The Spirit Searchers’ website promised an update when the group returned the following day. Apparently, they really are missing or something vile and disgusting drove them out of business. I leave them another message and go to bed.
I have a bad feeling about this job that has nothing to do with the dead, whether good or evil. Nothing is scarier than the living. I fear if the activities can’t be easily explained, they are the work of someone very much alive who’s up to mischief in the little town of Eton Bluff.
The next morning, I get ready for my Skype call with Zeda and Spider’s two other tech partners, Todd and Owen. Today, vile and its nasty companions will be revealed.
I’ve already ignored a call from Libby at the station. She wants me to come by the new coffee shop in town to sign autographs before my show today. She wants me to wear something colorful. After hearing that last part, I delete the message.
What is the woman’s obsession with my color choices? She needs a mirror. I hate to nit-pick about someone I could care less about, but besides being annoying, she’s… beige. She’s especially fond of dull pastels and tans and browns and grays. I don’t care what anyone wears, but she needs to get her nose out of my closet and stop visualizing me in living color.
The woman followed Dan here from Utah a few months ago. They worked together at another radio station before Dan bought KCRQ. She’s in her early thirties and looks a few years older. It’s the curly hair that’s dragging her down. It’s unruly and fuzzy and orange, and I think she cuts it herself– a little snip here and there each time she attempts to style it. The trendy oversized black glasses aren’t helping either. These are things I wouldn’t even notice if she wasn’t such a nag. All my thoughts about the woman are a waste of brain cells that could be productive elsewhere.
Ten minutes before my Skype call, Dan calls. Technically, I’ve never had an employer before and I don’t consider him my first. He disagrees.
“Jack, did you get Libby’s message about the Screamin’ Beans?”
“No?”
“You’re supposed to be here right now. She said she called. We’re ready to film you doing readings for people. There’s a line going out the door. This is great publicity for the station. You need to get down here a-sap.”
“Dan, once again, I do not do a-sap. I’ve never heard of the Screamin’ Beans.” This isn’t a lie. “Libby must have called the wrong number.” This is a lie. “I have a conference call in five minutes. Then I’m probably leaving town after the show today.”
I can hear Dan deflate. He’s a nice enough guy and better than good looking, but he’s not all that bright. According to Char, my alleged best friend, he recently inherited a ton of money. That’s a good thing because otherwise, he’d be doing cleanup on aisle five at Walmart or he’d still be the errand boy at the station in Utah.
“Okay,” Dan says. “We’ll figure something out until you get here. Anything for the star. See you in an hour.” He disconnects before I can respond.
Crafty. Maybe he’s not as dumb as he seems. If that were true though, he would have mentioned where this Screamin’ Bean place is.
I take a minute to center myself before I make the Skype call, but I can still hear the beans screaming. Zeda answers while sandwiched between a skinny guy with too much product in his hair and another with dreamy eyes behind round frame glasses – otherwise known as Todd and Owen.
“Hi, Jackie,” Zeda says. She’s an elf of a girl with sad pouty lips and short, coal black hair.
“It’s Jack not Jackie,” I say. “Nice to meet all of you. Sorry about the
circumstances. I’ve gotten the preliminaries from Loren. Why don’t we start with you telling me how things are going now.”
I sense Owen pull back before I see him move. He removes his wizard eyewear and pretends they need a good cleaning. Todd is friendly, energetic, and eager to talk. Zeda does a lot of head bobbing. Todd tells me it’s about the same. “No respect for the dead.” Zeda dabs her eyes.
Todd goes on to tell me, in great detail, about every weird noise, light blink, and each and every item that’s been moved from one place to another. “Charlie is especially fond of our car keys,” he says.
He’s been talking for ten minutes straight, and I almost missed that last one. “Wait, who’s Charlie?”
“The ghost,” Zeda says. She puts her head on the desk and starts crying, loudly. Owen, who still hasn’t said a word, shuffles in his seat.
“You know who the ghost is?” I ask. “How?”
Todd crunches his face. “We don’t know him. He just seems like a Charlie. We thought if we gave him a name, he’d get on better with us. Now look what he’s gone and done.”
They each deny that they’ve ever seen Charlie. They’re basing everything about him on noises and lights and missing keys and pens and coffee cups. I’m not convinced and I’ve only got thirty minutes to find the Screamin’ Beans and get there too. Not that it can’t wait, but I still want to speed up my agenda.
“What have you heard about the police investigation?”
Zeda makes a face and Todd’s jaw clamps. Owen is picking lint from his sweater. Todd says, “The detective on the case—
“Coldhearted Coleman. She’s a meanie.” Zeda shouts, and puts her head back down. I hope she leaves it there.
Todd shakes his head in wholehearted agreement. “One of the cops told us she’s on probation. We’re hoping she won’t be around much longer. She’s wasting our time coming around and asking the same questions over and over and never telling us anything. We can’t risk any bad publicity about the business, so we aren’t telling her anything about Charlie.”
The Eton Bluff Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 4) Page 2
