She gives me a cup of tea and slaps me on the back of the head then sits beside me. “It’s time for you to marry.”
I’m choking on a sip of tea. She ignores me.
“Soon you will be too old to give me grandchildren. I cannot allow that to happen. You must continue our bloodline. I had a vision dream. A child is waiting for you. He is growing impatient. He spoke to me and told me that you must be convinced. He cannot wait much longer. The time is now for you to become pregnant.”
“Have you been drinking? Smoking the peace pipe again?”
“This is serious, child. I understand that your work is important. It is important to me as well. But it is only part of the life you must have. Your destiny will not be fulfilled if you live but half the life you were intended to live.”
“We need to leave soon. Why don’t you go change. Is TK coming?”
“No. Who is this man you are meeting tonight?”
“Dan Barboza. I told you already. He owns the radio station and wants to do a traveling psychic show.”
Maybelle shrugs. “Good enough. He will have to do.”
I choke again and push the tea away. “He will be doing nothing where I’m concerned. Are you changing or not? We have a reservation.”
“Not. You are the one who must change. It is predetermined. Your child is waiting for you. He was allowed to give me his message. Take this seriously.”
“I’m going out of town. Minnesota. The job is about a spirit who may have pushed a kid to his death. It involves a lot of spiders. I can’t connect with their totem message.” I wait for her to tune into this new job and give me her words of wisdom as she always does.
She shrugs again. “You push your own blood to his death if you ignore this message. The Great Spirit has spoken through him. You dishonor the Great Spirit if you do not listen.”
“I’ve got to go. Are you sure you don’t want to join us? I think you’ll see that Dan isn’t the one for me.”
She shakes her head and starts to tell me who I know she thinks is the one for me then stops. “It is time, child. Your work must wait.”
“I better be going. I’ll see you in a week or so.”
“I spoke with Agustina.” She says this like it’s a dire warning. Agustina is Maybelle’s closest friend, a healer, a wise woman, and one of my most valued spiritual teachers.
“We prayed for you. We asked the Great Spirit to open your eyes. We pray still for you to open your own eyes. Time is running out. Soon it will be too late.”
Chapter Seven
§
Well that was a barrel of fun and now I have to eat dinner with Dan, alone. I wasn’t looking forward to the night even when I thought we were a foursome. I should be home repacking the things that I’ve already packed for my trip.
I pull the jeep over and scroll through my phone; the woman’s called me too many times not to have her number. Just when I think I’ve deleted every trace of her, I see it.
“Libby, it’s Jack. Did Dan get in touch with you?”
“Dan? No, why?” Libby’s voice has gone from excited to terrified in three seconds flat.
“He called about an emergency meeting. I think he expected me to call you. Sorry for the late notice, but he wants us at The Hibiscus at eight. Turns out I can’t make it after all. I’m leaving for a job in Minn— out of town. Please tell me you can make it to the restaurant.”
“Of course I can. What’s the meeting about?”
“He didn’t say. It’s been crazy with this last minute trip I’m taking. All sorts of arrangements to make. Please explain it to him, okay? I know you will. What would I do without you? See you in a week or so.”
“Wait—
I wait for no one. I may have told a few white lies, but they don’t count. The thrill in Libby’s voice convinces me of that. I’ve seen too many sad stars in her eyes when she looks at Dan. Right now, my bet is that she’s pulling up her tummy flattening spandex, slapping on some red lipstick, and singing my praises. I know she isn’t his type, and probably not many are, but tonight Cinderella goes to the ball.
I shut off my phone for the evening and make a u-turn in the direction of home. I’d be congratulating myself for making the woman’s night if not for Maybelle’s words buzzing in my brain. She’s been trying to pop her grandchildren out of my uterus for the last few years, but this ploy is a new one. My son. Unfortunately, I believe the old woman. She doesn’t lie about messages she receives or about the Great Spirit.
I stay up late watching old movies and sipping peppermint schnapps that’s been in my cabinet since three Christmas’ ago. It tastes as bad as it sounds and smells. Mojo has come out of the bedroom twice to look at me and turn around and walk back.
A son, how weird would that be about now? It’s not like I could bring him with me to track down ghosts and send them on their way. At times, my work gets difficult, spooky, and dangerous. This isn’t good at all.
I need more time. A lot more.
∞
When my alarm goes off at six the next morning, I’m already wide awake when I shouldn’t be. I have ten hours on the road today, and I barely slept five hours last night.
“We’re going all the way to Kansas today,” I tell the wolfdog. He’s sitting at the door waiting for me while I fill thermoses with coffee. I’m pretty sure his eagerness to go has something to do with my mood. Mojo’s part dog, part wolf, wise and intuitive, and at times, judgmental.
I’ve checked my emails and phone messages twice to be certain that Loren or the Spider crew haven’t called to report any changes. The last email was from Loren last night reminding me that it would be best if I stayed in Salina, Kansas, based on some formula she came up with involving road miles and speed limits.
She is spending way too much time mapping out my travel plans. I started to email back that I have GPS, but she’s just too into the task.
The woman also sent me over twenty photos of the outside and inside of the barn with Todd and Zeda pointing at things. This morning there are no new messages from my Minnesota friends, but locally I’m more popular than I would prefer.
Dan left a message at ten o’clock last night. He says he needs to talk to me before I leave, and we need to meet as soon as I get back in town. What’s with the in-person demand? I start to ignore him, but know he’ll just call again. I email him to send me a short email on what he needs then tell him we can talk when I get back. Employers are an inconvenience at best.
I have two more calls: one from my dad telling me to be sure to go ice fishing and asking me to get him and Georgia matching trapper hats in either red or blue. He also wants to know if I’ve talked to Maybelle. I send him a text that I have talked to Maybelle many times and that if he asks me again, he’s getting pink trapper hats. What does he need a trapper hat for in New Mexico anyway?
The last call is from Maybelle. She wants to know how dinner went last night. I’m tempted to leave her a message that as soon as the lab test results are back, I’ll let her know. My empty womb feels oddly popular.
I load the last of my things into the jeep. Mojo is busy making sure that all corners of his property are properly marked in his absence.
“Hey, Neil,” I yell to my resident ghost– the one I’m doing nothing at all to help crossover, which is just pathetic on my part. He’s been sneaking around the place, coming and going and keeping a low profile for a few months now.
“Hold down the fort while we’re gone. If anyone tries to break in, scare the lutefisk out of them. We’ll see you in about a week.”
I’ve really got to deal with the man when I get back. Who knows what he’s seen since he’s been here. No wonder he isn’t communicating.
I lock the door and check my phone again. I’d hate to drive all the way to Kansas before finding out the Silvers were arrested for Morgan’s death, and that the spook and spider shows are nothing more than a nest of hungry rats. There are no messages so I send a text to Loren that I’m on my way.
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Mojo comes up behind me and pokes me. When I turn around he’s looking at me with those weird amber eyes. Stringy black legs are hanging out both sides of his mouth.
“You know people in Minnesota think that’s a vile and disgusting and crude act. Is that how you want them to think of you?”
He hangs his head and what was once a happy striped garden spider falls out of his mouth. It’s a disgusting mess.
I start to slip my phone into my bag when it rings. I’m hyped up thinking it’s Dan, and I’m ready to give him an earful. I’m wrong.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey, Jack. Heard you were leaving town again. Where to this time?”
If Levi knows I’m leaving, he also knows where I’m going because everyone in this town knows my business. “Minnesota.”
“You can see the Northern lights there. Make sure you don’t miss them.”
“I didn’t know that. I’ll check out the night sky.”
“You should do some ice fishing too. There’s probably no ice at this—
“Levi. I’m going to be working so I won’t have time to fish, ice or not.”
There’s an awkward pause then he says, “I talked to Maybelle.”
Oh, no. I should have known the old lady would. I laugh like that’s just too funny. “Don’t worry. Your sperm is safe where I’m concerned.”
I don’t have a comedic bone in my body and right now, I don’t know how either of us could feel more uncomfortable. “Sorry, that line was funnier when I read it on Twitter.” He still hasn’t said a word. Oh, no. “She didn’t ask you to….” Oh, Great Spirit, she did. I feel my face heating up. Levi is still silent.
“Listen, Maybelle thinks she knows what’s best for me. She also knows that I’m going to do what I decide and not anyone else. I’ll tell her not to mention it again. I hope nothing’s gotten back to Julia. I’m so sorry if it did…. Are you still there?”
“You’ll be back in about a week?”
“I… expect… to… be.”
“Good. We’ll talk when you get back. Maybe go out to dinner.”
“Levi—
“Talk to you soon.”
He hung up on me. I lean against the jeep, fighting tears and the urge to pay Maybelle a visit. One where I drive the jeep through her front door. Mojo retrieves the mushed-up spider and drops it at my feet.
“Thanks,” I say. “That’s just what I need.” I open the back door and the wolfdog climbs inside. “How would you feel about moving to Minnesota?”
He wants to think it over.
Chapter Eight
§
As soon as we get on US Route 54, I set the cruise control to seventy and crank up the radio. US-54 is about two thousand miles of flat and mostly barren land. We have nine hours to enjoy a view of almost nothing much at all.
That suits Mojo just fine because he’s not a city creature. Each time we’re the only vehicle in sight, he wants to stop and get out to mark the weeds and bushes. He turns our ten hour trip into twelve, and I fear we’re going to have to sleep in the jeep tonight.
When we get to Salina, Kansas, it’s after nine and the streets are nearly empty. Much to my relief, so is the Best Western parking lot. Loren was right. The place is new and clean and friendly and exactly where her typed out directions said it would be.
I hit the bed with an exhausted thud. I’m not even going to look at the barn photos Loren sent. Normally, the photos are the highlight of my travel time. I like to get a sense of the haunting that awaits me before I get slammed with the rattled energy of the haunted. Tonight, I doubt I could stay awake through the first one, and my psychic senses are too beat to entertain my efforts.
I go to set my alarm and see I have an email from Maybelle. First, my grandmother is not a fan of electronic devices so I’m instantly worried that something has happened to my nosy loved ones. Second, Maybelle is not only blind, she doesn’t know what email is and I know she doesn’t care to know. Third, I’m still ticked at her for talking to Levi about helping me out with my as-yet-to-ever-be conceived child.
I click the email anyway because my nosy loved ones are the only people I have in the world. In all caps, the email starts out explaining that it’s written by TK Booker, like I don’t know who the man is, as dictated by Maybelle and is being sent because I didn’t return her call this morning. It’s not a short email.
Maybelle wants me to know that she talked to Levi. She’s not sorry no matter how mad I am. She knows what’s best for me, but that’s not the point. The point is that she received the message from my son. She didn’t make that up.
The email rambles on for another few dozen lines, but my eyes are heavy and I keep losing track of where I am as I skip through TK’s typos. She thinks the radio talk show isn’t as bad as she initially thought, and I should be nicer to Dan next time. Next time is underlined. I think Dan called my grandma on me about dinner last night. It ends with her saying she has a few more ideas about how I can use my abilities without having to travel all over the country.
I’m tempted to delete the message, but I know I’ll have to read another one just like it tomorrow if I do. I email back, Thanks. See you in a week. It’s the best I could come up with.
Arthur sent me a text. Thankfully, one that’s short and sweet. Georgia would like a blue trapper hat, not a red one. I text back ok. Dan also sent me a text, one that says we have a meeting at the end of next week, nine a.m., sharp. This one I do delete; the next one I don’t plan on reading.
According to Loren’s last email, Salina is windier than Chicago. Seeing as I’ve seen more cows than people since I’ve been here, I consider that a blessing from the manure gods. She also thought I needed to know that frozen food maker, Schwan’s, can produce a million Tony’s pizzas in a single day. She claims they make the sauce from real tomatoes and real cheese, which only makes me wonder what everyone else is using– but not enough to keep me awake.
The next morning, I stop at the local Applebee’s and load up on chicken wings, mozzarella sticks, onion rings, and artichoke dip– foods that are just as good hot or cold and enough of them to keep me full the last eight hours of our trip.
I’m about to pull onto the highway when my phone vibrates. I’m thinking that I’m loving my loved ones just a little less than I did this morning when I see it’s a text from Loren. She’s checking to make sure I enjoyed my stay at the Best Western. That’s a lot creepy because I never confirmed I was staying there.
She wants me to check her email for my directions today so I don’t get lost. I text her back that everything is great and I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I don’t know how GPS works other than by satellite. Maybe the service hasn’t reached Minnesota yet. I shouldn’t judge.
I check her email and there, line by painful to read line, are amended directions from Salina to Eton Bluff. She says the town is about three hours south of Minneapolis. Then she warns me not to miss the exit off I-35 or I’ll end up in the Big City and be lost forever. If I do miss the exit, she wants me to call her so she can guide me back.
She took the liberty of making me reservations at the Best Western. According to her, I’m really going to love it. I get the feeling that she has stock in the Best Western chain. Attached to her email is a photo so I’ll know exactly what she means by love it.
So far, I’m not loving her deciding where I’m going to be staying. I check the photo. It’s the front of the place with a really big sign that reads, Really Good Food and Spirits. Spirits, yeah, I get it. I’m just loving it. At this micromanaging rate, I’m looking forward to drinking one of those spirits tonight.
“There are a bunch of friendly people in Minnesota,” I tell Mojo. He hangs his head. He’s not big on friendly people.
The second I cross the state line, my bundled up nerves relax. I’ve been transported back to a simpler and kinder time. The buildings are old and ornate. Two people have waved at me and not the one finger salute type wave. I had in my head the Minneso
ta with the doers of great evil from the movie Fargo, minus the snow since it’s mid-May.
I check into the Best Western and order some of the really good food to take back to the room. Mojo’s already checked out the grounds beside the hotel, and now he’s checking out the bed in the room.
I go back to the jeep to get the last of our things when a woman carrying a kid comes running towards me. At first I think she’s running to one of the rooms. She isn’t. She runs right up to me.
“Take him, would you?” she says. She’s already putting the kid into my arms despite my protests. Then she goes into a nearby room and slams the door.
I’m standing there wondering what just happened. The kid, two years old at the most, is looking as confused as me. After a few seconds, I knock on the door that the woman slammed behind her.
On the second knock, the door opens and she steps out, drops a diaper bag, and pushes past me.
“I’m going to be late,” she says.
“Wait, isn’t this your child?”
“I’ll be back around one o’clock. He’s already eaten. Depending on tips, I’ll pay you ten or fifteen bucks.”
“No offense, but not even for fifteen hundred bucks will you be leaving him with me.”
She’s got on a skimpy outfit and too much makeup. She doesn’t look old enough for either. I move to block her from getting into an old Ford Escort with California license plates. She’s doing her best to get around me.
“Please, you don’t understand. I can’t take him to the bar with me, and I’ll get fired if I don’t show up another night. My boyfriend took off. I don’t have nobody but you.”
“You don’t have me,” I say, putting the kid into her arms. “I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t leave your child with a total stranger. I could be a serial killer.”
“Are you… a serial killer?”
“No, but I could be.” I’m backing up in the direction of my room. “I wish I could help you, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
The woman’s just standing there on the verge of tears. About the time I start reconsidering my new babysitting job, a truck pulls into the parking lot and I’m forgotten. The boyfriend has returned. They exchange a few choice words and the man and the kid head back to the room as the woman drives away.
The Eton Bluff Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 4) Page 4
